Ashe was someone Byleth understood.

In some ways, they shared a lot in common. Both had reached heights beyond those born to the third estate through the patronage of the first and second. While she had caught Lady Rhea’s and Prince Dimitri’s eye, he had captured the heart of Lonato, Baron of Gaspard. Then, he became the heir presumptive for the Gaspard territory after his brother Christophe died, just as Rhea had nominated her as the next archbishop.

They both owed their rise in status to luck and happenstance.

Unlike Byleth, though, Ashe had not had the benefit of sleeping through most of the war. He had told her of what had transpired during her five-year absence, at least from his perspective. And he said it with such candour and vivid detail that she was amazed that he had made it to their appointed meeting at the ruined Officers Academy.

When Garreg Mach Monastery had fallen to the Empire, Arianrhod had swiftly yielded, too. Once word spread that Prince Dimitri had been executed for the murder of his uncle Rufus, Count Rowe praised Cornelia for delivering justice. After all, he had been very close with the late Grand Duke, and he felt he owed Cornelia personally; she had saved his life as a child when the Blue Plague had gripped Faerghus. So, Arianrhod sided with the Empire willingly.

Since the Gaspards were bannerets to House Rowe, Ashe had been expected to follow the lead of his liege, Philippe Josef Rowe, the Count. The fledgeling knight had no choice but to pledge allegiance to Edelgard’s rule – failure to do so might have incited an attack on Gaspard lands. The villages and towns would have been raided by the Imperial forces, and Castle Gaspard sacked – the place where his twin younger siblings, Hollis and Ivie, lived. For their sakes and want of stability, Ashe had clenched his teeth and accepted the woman who had beheaded his old House Leader. A woman that served an Emperor whose twisted idea of a ‘better world’ flew in the face of everything Faerghus stood for.

For nearly five years, Ashe served as a knight of House Rowe under the command of Lord Gwendal Roche, the so-called “Gray Lion” and Marshal of Arianrhod. Being the brother-in-law to the Count, one would have been forgiven for assuming that Gwendal owed his position to nepotism alone. However, his military prowess afforded him the honour of land, rank and ultimately the hand of Count Rowe’s only sister, Selene. She had already passed away, so Lord Gwendal’s two daughters had grown up within the protective walls of Arianrhod while their father served their uncle. 

Lord Gwendal had no airs or graces – he was modest, straightforward to a fault, and unwaveringly loyal to his liege. It was precisely what Ashe needed in this dark, uncertain world. ‘Something easy and understandable,’ or so he had put it when he first shared the story.

Being under twenty-one, Ashe could not assume the official title of Baron. As a result, Count Rowe had named his uncle – former steward of Arianrhod – as regent. To his credit, Nera Rónán Rowe of Cumhal did not involve himself much in the day-to-day management of the estate. He guided Ashe in areas where Lonato had never had a chance and then retreated to the background, only emerging when a new lesson was required. 

When he wasn’t managing the Gaspard territories, Ashe was sent on missions to deal with anything from brigands to food riots. The war had not been kind to the harvest, and what little corn Faerghus produced had needed to be heavily rationed. Winter of 1183 had been harsh – even the court at Arianrhod went hungry. Every morning, no matter how heavy the snow got, they would hunt for game to supplement the depleted grain stores; when they failed to find a big enough beast, they would stay in the fortress and shoot at the rats. Ashe found a good hunting companion with Lynette Fae, the younger of Lord Gwendal’s daughters, who was a keen archer. 

Together, they would take the dubious meat and turn it into watered-down stews to stretch it as far as it would go. It had been a pleasure cooking again, even with meagre ingredients.

“Yuri taught me how to cook,” Lynette proclaimed. Though she was seventeen, her pale-blonde hair and short bangs made her look much younger. “Pfft, silly Uncle Philippe could never get his head around why we’d bother.” 

Her elder sister, Lenore Shae, was a comparatively better cook, though nought would dare say it aloud.

Tasting the entirely bland stew, Lynette frowned. “Needs more parsley, or basil, or whatever we can spare. And pepper. Lots and lots of pepper.”

But Lenore snatched the packet from her tiny, teenaged towhead sister. 

“You’ll destroy people’s taste buds if you put too much in, Nettie!” the small honey-blonde scolded. 

Even with a scowl, Lenore was stunning. Ashe was almost too scared to look at her for too long, lest Lord Gwendal notice.

“Ashe – tell my sister that it’s not my fault her taste buds are too fragile to appreciate my cooking!” Lynette tutted.

“Ashe – explain to my sister the importance of moderation,” Lenore joked back.

The ‘Gray Lion’ sisters could seldom get through a task without bickering. Thus, Ashe often had found himself moderating. Whether it was cooking, what flowers to plant, or which of the knights were the more handsome, they would call on Ashe for the deciding vote. Still, the companionship of Lord Gwendal’s daughters made the loneliness of being separated from his old school friends that bit less painful. Aged seventeen and twenty-two, Gwendal’s daughters were very short, but both were full of life and vim. They treated him like a friend, so Ashe, in turn, returned the honour, speaking of his old friends, though Lynette reminded him to be careful not to mention Sylvain Jose Gautier in front of their father.

“Papa doesn’t like him,” Lenore chuckled.

Sandwiched between them on a tree swing, Lynette enthusiastically recounted the story.

“He tried to convince my sissy to elope with him. Do you remember, Lennie?”

“Of course I do. I was there!” 

“Yeah. I was pretty young at the time,” Lynette admitted, swinging her feet back and forth, “but I remember it was at her fifteenth birthday party. When Sylvain saw Lennie, he declared her the prettiest girl in the world. After that, he sent her love notes, flowers, sweets, gifts; you name it.”

“It was adorable,” Lenore confessed. “But I wasn’t interested. And I knew House Gautier would have higher expectations for him than me. So, I tried to let him down gently.”

“But he just thought he wasn’t sending enough gifts!” Lynette exclaimed. “So he sent more. With love letters, too.”

“It was very embarrassing,” Lenore lamented. “Incredibly so.”

“It was! But he wouldn’t be told. Yuri warned him that Papa wouldn’t like it when he found out, but he didn’t listen. Ingrid was ’round every moon apologising for him. And poor Glenn–“

“Oh, Glenn! May the Goddess receive him!”

“–threatened to knock his lights out unless he stopped. Still, Sylvain kept coming back, even after Glenn made good on his word and gave him a black eye.”

It seemed almost comical; one would have thought Sylvain would have got the message, even at fourteen, at that point.

“How did you get him to stop in the end?” Ashe asked. 

“We drenched him!” Lynette grinned.

“Huh?”

Lenore winked, a glimmer in her eyes.  “It all came to a head when he broke into Arianrhod and tried serenading me beneath my balcony…”

“Serenading?” Ashe bleated. “As in… Singing?”

“More like lousy poetry,” Lenore tittered behind her palm. “Ha! I think he was quoting some Loogian couplets. You know those somewhat raunchy and questionable ones where Lord Kermet is trying to sneak up to see Queen Fionnour without her husband hearing?”

Ashe had cringed, “Yes, I know the one.”

Fionnour von Buach, the ‘Lying Lionness’, the queen consort to Loog von Blaiddyd, the first King of Faerghus. There was a disparity in her portrayal between the chronicles and the romances. From the historians’ point of view, she was a wilful traitor and political actor in the degradation of Loog’s government. To the poets’ eyes, she was swept up in her love for Sir Kermit, and more significant blame ought to be assigned to Loog’s unworthy sons.

“Loog’s kingdom was almost destroyed,” Dimitri once told him. “Once Pan and Kyphon died, his own family chipped away at everything they had built. Were it not for Princess Iseult raising King Cuthlain to be a wise and worthy successor to his grandfather, Faerghus might not have survived Loog’s death.” 

Lynette poked him in the shoulder. “Ashe, you okay? You look like you’ve swallowed a hamster.”

“Oh! Pardon me. It’s nothing…” 

Ashe had once told Byleth that he had always found the ‘Lying Lioness’ an uncomfortable figure in the Loogian mythos. He preferred to focus on the goodly deeds of a young Loog, Kyphon and Pan; legends from the latter period of the King of Lion’s reign always made him sad. Though they made for a wonderful opera, ‘The Death of Loog’, but a rather dower ending to the epic saga of the King of Lions.

“Um, what were you saying?”

Lynette had looked sceptical but continued. “Well… Lennie and I slept in the same room, even then–” It was true that despite their squabbling, they had always shared apartments in Arianrhod, “–so in the end, Lennie distracted him while I dumped a bucket of water over him!”

They swung back and forth, laughing.

“It was a mean trick, but he took it in his stride,” Lenore sighed. “And it taught him a lesson.”

“Yep! Papa woke up and shoved Sylvain against a wall. He told him that if he tried to seduce Lennie again, he’d take his head and mount it over our fireplace!” Lynette finished.

That sounded like Lord Gwendal, Ashe had thought, and asked, “Sylvain must have been quaking in his boots.”

“He was only fourteen,” appended Lenore. “Father said he’d let him off if he apologised for bothering me. He did, and that was that. Moved on to the next girl that caught his eye, no doubt.”

That sounded like Sylvain. It didn’t matter how often he was knocked back; it took a life-threatening incident to give him introspection. Ashe had wondered how he was doing now. Since the fall of Garreg Mach, Ashe had been unable to make contact with him, Ingrid, or Felix. He prayed they were all safe.

“Have you ever been serenaded, Lynette?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

She blew a raspberry. “I never get the opportunity! Papa chases them all off. But Uncle Philippe and Great Uncle Nera are pickier about potential husbands for me than they are with Lennie.”

Ashe knew why, too. Though no one knew which, most people knew Lynette possessed a crest. Thankfully, unlike other examples of history, the sisters did not seem to hold grudges against each other for it. 

If anything, Lenore seemed concerned for Lynette. 

“I’ll inherit Father’s lands and marry some appropriately titled lord, I’m sure. But my sister? Now Yuri’s gone, they’ll shove her at everyone they can. It won’t even matter if she likes them.” 

They held hands behind Ashe’s back.

“I wish I could protect you from all that, Net.”

“It’s not your fault, Len.”

Ashe pitied them both. The aristocracy valued crests highly. Mercedes and Ingrid frequently lamented how crested-noble girls were married off for large dowries or valuable alliances. Sylvain’s brother had been disinherited for not having a crest, just like Rufus had been passed over in favour of Lambert. 

“She’s right, though,” Lynette groaned with resignation. “They’ll find me some well-to-do noble once the war is over. If Edelgard wins, which she probably will, they’ll try and hitch me to one of her inner circle. Ferdinand von Aegir or Linhardt von Hevring, knowing my luck. But if the whole thing collapses, well…”

“It’ll be someone on the winning side,” Lenore shrugged. “If Duke Fraldarius somehow pulls off a miracle, they’ll angle her for one of his allies. Maybe even Felix, if they think they can get away with it. Lord Rodrigue might want Arianrhod enough to agree.”

“Hey, Len, maybe I’ll end up marrying Sylvain!”

Both sisters had snickered at that notion.

“Ha! Maybe Leicester will come through in the end, rising to rule the ashes!” the elder sister suggested, looking up at the branches above them dreamily. “Tell us, Ashe, you’ve met Claude, right? Is he as handsome as they say?”

It was then Lynette had apparently given Ashe a mischievous look.

“Or maybe you will sweep me off my feet, Sir Ashe.”

Ashe had turned so red he thought his freckles might blend. “I-I… What?!”

With another titter, Lynette promised she was “only joking.”

Winter began to thaw with the flowering of violets, and the new year brought in spring. Still, more bandits were born out of the hardships. The world beyond the walls of Castle Gaspard or the shining stone of Arianrhod grew ever dimmer. 

More desperate.

The most challenging days were when Ashe rode through the struggling towns and villages in Gaspard territory. People were suffering from lack of work and want of food, barely surviving on their pitiful rations.

‘I always wanted to be a knight worthy of Lonato’s legacy. But you can’t fight hunger with lance and bow.’

Many in his lands were waiting for the day when the conscription order came, and they would inevitably die fighting. Should that day come, Ashe liked to think he would lead them himself – and turn cloak at the first opportunity to join Rodrigue and his allies.

‘If I was going to die, I wanted to die fighting for the side I believe in.’

The only thing that gave him pause was fear for his brother and sister and the common folk he would leave behind. His little siblings were forced to grow up in this world. At their age, he had experienced a lot of hardship: first, their parents died, he turned to thievery to survive, and then they were all adopted by Lonato, only to lose their wonderful new brother, Christophe. 

One day, while sharing a single bowl of porridge, Hollis asked Ashe when he would be expected to join the army. Not ‘if’ but ‘when’. He was only twelve.

“Never, if the Goddess is merciful,” said Ashe.

Ivie then tentatively asked if Ashe himself would be going to war soon. “Count Rowe is already supplying troops to the Duchess’s forces, isn’t he?”

He was, not that Cornelia seemed to require them. Peculiar metal dolls empowered demonic beasts, and dark mages practised unusual magics and did most of the fighting. Lord Gwendal confessed to Ashe that the few times he led men to the frontline, they were used as bait rather than infantry. Cornelia took sadistic pleasure in seeing the horror on seasoned warriors’ faces as their battalions were ripped apart as the resistance army attempted to break the line. Faerghusians killing Faerghusians. The veteran knights had started taking older troops to spare ‘children’ like Ashe from losing their lives in a fruitless death.

“I don’t know, Ivie,” he admitted at last. “Though if that day comes, I’ll do all I can to ensure the two of you are safe.”

And he meant it.

Autumn turned into another harsh winter. All the bannerets brought their families to the Silver Maiden so all the food could be consolidated and distributed. Lynette graduated from rats and started accompanying the hunting parties in taking down beasts for their meat, while Lenore attended as a healer. Instead, rat-parole went to the children of Arianrhod. Even Ivie got in on the act. Ashe gave her his first training bow so she could practice in the courtyard with the other kids, and she proved to have a natural talent for it. On the other hand, Hollis was better with a lance and put his sharp eyes to use by ice fishing in the frozen lake for lack of poles.

“It’s grim, really,” Lenore observed as they returned from a hunt. “We’re not teaching these kids how to hunt and fish; we’re preparing them for war.”

Hollis’s question resounded in Ashe’s mind, making him feel hollow.

With the next spring came a new change. A slight disturbance in the half-hearted participation House Rowe had played in the war effort. To Ashe’s surprise, Lord Gwendal brought him to a meeting with the Count. Only a few people were permitted to attend: Sir Nera was there, as were a few old friends of the Count and the dead Duke Rufus. 

All huddled in that darkened room, Lord Philippe announced the disturbing truth. 

“My dear friend Rufus was murdered not by his nephew but the Lady Cornelia.”

That was no surprise to most – Ashe had long speculated it to be true. If Philippe had doubted the official story before, he had remained silent. Whatever had now reached his ears made him feel he could no longer sit idle.

Who knew Count Rowe had a backbone? Had standards…

“House Blaiddyd is no more with Dimitri dead,” he had continued grimly. “But Lord Rufus did have children. Bastards and crestless they may be, but Fhirdiad should be theirs.” He had looked straight at Gwendal and Ashe then. “If not them, then we could elect a leader among ourselves. Just as Leicester do.” He placed a hand on Nera’s shoulder. “Rodrigue could be that man. I wish to treat with him, to offer supplies and oust that murdering hell-bitch! If we ally with Charon, Gautier, Galatea and Fraldarius, we can push the Imperial forces back. Houses Gideon and Dominic will collapse, and Arundel will no longer be able to move troops through our territories. That would leave Cornelia with next to no allies. We could do it. We could…”

The frailty of his voice did not escape Ashe’s notice.

‘He was afraid. We all were.’

Still, his decision gave Ashe heart. It gave him the chance to see some of his friends again. The east of Faerghus might as well have been orbiting a different star entirely, with the kingdom split down the middle. So, getting word to them had been difficult. Then again, he also hadn’t heard from Annette or Mercedes, despite them being in ‘allied’ territories. They seemed worlds away from the tiny plot of land Ashe was tied to. So was Garreg Mach, lying in ruins on that mountain top, a den for thieves and, supposedly, a dreaded one-eyed beast. Word had it that Edelgard sent a platoon to see if the structure still had integrity – not a single man returned.

Day after day, Ashe waited. Waited for the order. 

For the push…

Until, at last, it happened one day while he was on patrol in Gaspard territory, a few months short of when the millennium festival would have taken place. Not from Count Rowe, but a displaced princess.

Like a beautiful blessing, his old crush appeared before him. Petra Macneary, Brigid’s modest and gentle princess, arrived with Bernadetta, the timid and shy maid of House Varley. They had abandoned the Empire and were on their way to Garreg Mach. They had thought they could cross one of the bridges across the Airmid. However, since Lorenz was taken hostage by the Empire, Count Gloucester had been forced to yield the Great Bridge of Myrddin to the dreaded command of Ladislava. Though Ferdinand was stationed there, they couldn’t trust him not to tell Edelgard if he saw them. So, they had headed east through the ruins of Remire to try and meet up with other old classmates and the reunion where their beloved Professor might reveal herself at last.

“I had heard that you are serving the Count of Rowe,” the princess explained once Ashe had passed the initial shock. “I refuse to serve the Empire anymore. Brigid is being forced to send many taxes and supply troops to fight the people of the north. But I cannot agree with that! So, I wrote to Edelgard, telling her we are no longer friends. We are now seeking allies among the Professor’s old class and maybe the Professor herself.”

Ashe had told her that he hadn’t heard from Professor Byleth in five years. Sadly, he said, “Many wonder if she died in the sack of Garreg Mach.”

“That was my fear,” Petra grimaced. “But I have intelligence that she made an oath: that she would return to the monastery in five years.”

“Y-You remember, right?” Bernadetta had finally squeaked. “I did. When I brought it up to Petra, she said we should go, too. So, that’s why we’re here. We’re going to Magdred Way.”

Ashe had been surprised that Bernie dared leave her room back home to make such a long journey, even with Petra giving her a push. And he told her so.

Staring at the ground, Bernie explained her reasoning. 

“I-I can’t relax at home. Since Edelgard became the Emperor, my father’s been under house arrest. He’s at home. All. The. Time. I’d rather be at the monastery – far away from him. And my favourite sewing kit is still in there! And all my stuffed animals… I haven’t slept well in five years without them!”

It might have sounded like a weak motivation to leave home and travel to a crumbled ruin, but Ashe knew Bernadetta’s priorities had always been a little skewed. Those missing trinkets were Bernie’s world. And he understood missing possessions left to gather dust at the Academy. There were many belongings he, too, had been forced to abandon in his room when the evacuation began.

“I’m happy to escort you down the Magdred Way safely–” he began.

Petra shook her head. “I came for you, Ashe.” 

Her smile had been sweet and innocent, but the turn of phrase had made Ashe blush. “You are a knight of the Rowes, but… Will you come with us to the meeting at the Academy?”

“I want to…”

But if he were to tender his resignation to Lord Gwendal, it would undoubtedly raise eyebrows. There might be others who could report his actions to Imperial nobility or even the Emperor herself. If Edelgard suspected Ashe was defecting to the resistance movement east of Faerghus or Claude in Leicester, Castle Gaspard might burn.

“I want to go,” he continued. “But–“

“You have to go!” Bernie shouted from a safe distance. “If I can find the courage to go, you can too.”

“It’s not so much about courage,” Ashe replied. 

Though he didn’t see himself as especially brave, he had the least perilous journey of all the other Blue Lions who might be hoping to make that appointment on the millennium of Garreg Mach Monastery’s founding. “Count Rowe has publically sworn allegiance to the Emperor. If I suddenly leave for Garreg Mach of all places, word of it might reach Cornelia or Hubert.”

“I am understanding – um, no. I understand your concerns,” Petra accepted gravely. “But I have unhappy news: Hurbet knows that Count Rowe betrayed the Empire and is sending secret troops to help the father of Felix.”

Ashe’s blood had run cold. 

“But how…?”

“Hubert has spies everywhere!” Bernadetta squeaked from behind Petra’s legs.

“Agents of secrecy are everywhere in the Kingdom,” the Princess of Brigid revealed. “He will be taking action soon. Bernie overheard her mother speaking–“

“M-My-My mother has taken control of the judiciary in my father’s place,” Bernie appended. “She will punish Count Rowe. Hubert will take command of Arianrhod, and Lady Cornelia will take hostages from House Rowe. Lady Lenore and Lady Lynette will be taken, and all his bannerets will have to send a hostage each, i-i-including- including…”

“You, Ashe.”

Petra’s voice was uncharacteristically dark.

At that moment, Ashe was frightened for Hollis and Ivie. If they were taking prisoners from each house, one or both could be used to keep Ashe in line. Even if Dimitri had been to rise from the dead, he would fight him to save his brother and sister. 

He feared for Lenore and Lynette, too. In the years Ashe spent serving as a knight of House Rowe, both had always been good to him. 

Just as their father had been.

“I will go to Garreg Mach,” Ashe resolved at last. “I need to get my brother and sister. And warn Lord Gwendal of what I know.”

At twenty-two, gone were the days when Ashe had required a regent, so Sir Nera returned to Arianrhod to assist his nephew. Unfortunately, that meant getting word to Count Rowe in confidence was hard. So, he would need to go in person. Just as surely as Ashe would do anything to protect Hollis and Ivie, he assumed Lord Gwendal would do the same for Lenore and Lynette. 

“Go to Arianrhod?! But if you take too long, Hubert will catch you!” Bernie warned frantically.

“I can’t leave without telling Lenore and Lynette what’s happening,” he declared firmly. “Not if they’re in danger.”

“I agree!” Petra declared. “We will be going with you.”

“We will?” Bernadetta quibbled.

“I cannot ask you to do that,” Ashe replied. Poor Bernie had seemed guiltily relieved. “It would be dangerous for the former heir to House Varley and an escaped royal hostage to be caught in Arianrhod.” 

“Let me help you, Ashe!” Petra argued back, turning to Bernadetta. “You and I will go together to help your friends. And Bernie can stay with your brother and sister.”

The timid archer sulked but agreed. “I’m pretty scared about going to Arianrhod. So, looking after a couple of kids would be easy peasy. Probably. Maybe… Right?”

Realising Petra wouldn’t take no for an answer, Ashe agreed. Together, the three rode hard for Castle Gaspard. The whole time Ashe had worried that by taking the women off course, he was endangering them. Especially Petra, a foreign princess who had been taken to Adrestia as a prisoner. Travelling towards Garreg Mach for the ordained meeting was perilous enough without going out of her way to find him.

“I’m happy to see you again,” Ashe confessed to Petra once his home was in sight. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen a friendly face from the old days.”

Petra had just smiled. 

“I’m not sure how old the days are, but I am happy to see you too.”

As soon as they crossed the portcullis, Ashe ordered his personal battalion, the Gaspard Knights, to make ready to leave and send out messengers, telling the commoners to flee for the mountains. 

The sudden rush of activity drew Ivie’s attention from where she was practising her archery.

“What’s going on, Ashe?”

“Ivie! Go and pack a bag,” he commanded, firm in the face of his little sister’s bewilderment. “We’re leaving.”

“But–“

“We’ll talk about it once we’re out the door. Go and gather your things – tell Hollis to do the same.”

Ivie had studied the unusual pair who had followed Ashe home before slowly jogging inside to collect her things.

But Hollis had been disobedient.

“I’m not moving until you tell me where we’re going!” he snapped, giving Bernadetta such an evil eye that she almost crumpled to the ground. “That woman’s from the Empire – are they taking us as prisoners?!”

As the Maid of Varley snapped back that she wasn’t trying to take anyone, Ashe placed a hand on Hollis’s shoulder. Since he was eight minutes older than Ivie, Hollis had always considered himself the ‘second-in-command’ regarding their ‘sibling hierarchy’. He was also the more stubborn of the two – so Ashe decided to be frank.

“Marquis Vestra is taking Arianrhod from Count Rowe, and the Grand Duchess will be taking hostages from each family, including ours.” Hollis snorted that he wasn’t scared of Hubert or Cornelia, but Ashe had a trump card. “Please do as I say, not for my sake or yours, but Ivie. You know Lady Cornelia will take her. She’ll take the one that will hurt us the most.”

Hollis was close to relenting.

“So, what? You’re taking their word for it–” he pointed at Petra and Bernie. “How do we know this isn’t some trick to get us away from the Castle, only for that creep Hubert to capture us trying to run away?!”

“I’m no sneak!” Bernie squawked.

Funnily enough, it hadn’t even occurred to Ashe that Petra or Bernadetta might be lying. And though his brother gave him a micro-second pause, he was sure he could trust them.

“Brother of Ashe,” Petra spoke up. “I swear on Brigid’s safety that I am no friend of the Empire. We will be going to see friends at a secret meeting place.”

Hollis scowled. “And… Then what? What will we do, then?”

“I don’t know,” Ashe admitted. “But if I can see at least some of my friends, we can join together to help Lord Rodrigue. Or maybe we can travel to Leicester and join Claude.” Bernie muttered something about ‘preferring Deirdru because it’s warmer’, and Claude was ‘pretty cute’ as Ashe continued. “Maybe, we’ll even see my Professor again. If we do, she can help us decide.”

His siblings had only met Byleth once, very briefly, so much of what they knew of her was based on what Ashe had told them. Upon finally seeing the young Ubert-Gaspards again, they had spoken to her as though they had known her for years, much to Byleth’s later embarrassment. 

Eliciting Byleth’s name had convinced Hollis to start packing. With a severe glower, he told Petra and Bernadetta that if this were a trick, he would feed them to the one-eyed monster that lived in the Oghma Mountains.

With everyone prepared to go in the courtyard, Ashe had perched his siblings on the back of Grani, his horse, and saddled his wyvern, Tabitha. He told the knights to take Hollis, Ivie and Bernadetta down the Magdred Way towards Garreg Mach. Once they reached Medraut Village, an ecclesiastical settlement at the start of the mountain trail, they should wait there until he returned from Arianrhod.

“Why are you going there?!” Ivie had asked frantically.

“The Imperial army is closing in on House Rowe,” Ashe finally revealed to her. “Count Rowe tried to play both sides, and now he’s been found out, Hubert will be taking control of the stronghold. It’s too dangerous to send a letter, so I must warn Lord Gwendal. I must convince him to let Lenore and Lynette come with me.”

Yuri ruled Abyss, after all. He was their ‘brother’; he would keep them safe.

“I swear on Brigid’s pride that your brother will be safe,” Petra pledged. “We are allies now.”

Ashe then watched as his siblings travelled towards the Magdred Way with Bernie and prayed to the Goddess that they would see one another very soon. 

Ashe and Petra mounted Tabitha. From there, they flew like the wind for Arianrhod. Neither said a thing, knowing how time was of the essence. With each beat of his wyvern’s wing, Ashe’s heart pounded harder. He didn’t want to be away from his siblings any longer than he had to.

That was when they saw it. 

Alighting in the forest nearby the Silver Maiden, they observed those creepy steel dolls and Cornelia’s elite mages leading prisoners from the main gate.

“It seems she got here before Hubert,” Petra whispered sadly. “We won’t be able to warn your friends with such great numbers.”

As she said this, Ashe wondered if there might still be a way. He scanned the crowds of hostages, looking for Lynette’s familiar shock of tow hair; she always stood out in a group thanks to it.

Petra spun around like a lightning strike, throwing a dagger at a tree behind them.

A startled cry blared out.

“Petra, what’re you–!” Ashe squeaked.

“Intruder!” she hissed, grabbing her killing edge.

Ashe, too, pulled an arrow from his quiver and looked into the darkness. The evening light was unkind to his sight as his eyes fell on the figure lying on the ground, having ducked from Petra’s attack. He gasped. She had grown out her fringe, but he would know the red-haired woman anywhere.

“Annette!”

The tiny mage looked up, eyes wide with joy and surprise. “Ashe! Oh my gosh!”

Scurrying to her feet, she stumbled into his open arms for a hug.

“Annette, my apologies!” Petra gasped once the ladies were face to face. “I thought you were an enemy.”

“I did too!” Annette replied with a nervous giggle. “That’s why I was trying to sneak passed you. I’d gone into the woods to–Um, anyway, I got lost and thought you were Cornelia’s scouts. I’m so, so glad it’s you two, though.” And she hugged Ashe again. “I’m so relieved you’re here. Mercie, Fa–Sir Gilbert, and I all came to warn you about Cornelia; we thought it was too late!” She then turned to call quietly into the overgrowth. “Mercie! Mercie! Can you hear me? I found him. I found Ashe!”

With a crunch of foliage, two more figures emerged. Gilbert stepped into the clearing, holding Mercedes’s hand as she tried to step across a tall brush in her long skirt.

“Ashe!” the older woman panted in relief, once on solid ground. She, too, rushed forward to hug him. “Thank the Goddess, you’re okay. When we saw those awful dark mages had arrived at Arianrhod, well, we–“

“Feared the worst!” Annette finished for her.

Gilbert bowed rigidly.

“Lady Petra, I am surprised to see you here,” he began stiffly. “There was news in Fhirdiad from your guardian, Duke Gerth, that you had absconded. A small platoon was charged with searching for you.”

Petra imitated his bow.

“It is true,” she answered. “I escaped. Duke Gerth did not watch me closely, so I took the opportunity to leave. I cannot go back to Brigid as all the ports will be watching for me. I decided to go to Garreg Mach for the celebration meeting and ally with our old friends.”

“Garreg Mach…” Gilbert repeated.

“We’re going there, too,” Annette said, a tinge of excitement in her voice. “Mercie and I never forgot the promise.”

“Yes,” Mercedes nodded sadly. “We owe it to Dimitri and the Professor to make the meeting. To honour their memories.”

“Mercie! We don’t know the Professor is dead,” Annette scolded lightly. “Maybe she’s been hiding all this time as we have.”

“It would be wonderful to see her again,” Mercedes agreed. “And everyone else. Ingrid, Sylvain and Felix have been fighting against the Faerghus Dukedom all this time.”

Ashe had noticed the pink hue to Annette’ ‘s cheeks when Felix’s name was mentioned. “I heard Felix was injured, too. I hope… I’m sure he’s okay.”

“Perhaps if enough of us make it back to Garreg Mach, we can make plans on what to do next,” Ashe said, still thinking of the suggestions he had offered to his brother earlier. But then he looked over his shoulder, back at Arianrhod. 

“There’s nothing we can do to help them, is there?”

Gilbert shook his head gravely. “I’m afraid it’s too late. The Count is under house arrest. They have already taken Lady Lenore and Lady Lynette.”

Ashe’s heart stung. “I wasn’t fast enough.”

Petra laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“They were among the first taken. You would have been caught if you’d arrived any earlier,” Gilbert tried to assure him. “Tell me, have you moved your family to safety?”

“I–Well, I moved them. We evacuated Castle Gaspard first thing this morning. Hopefully, they’re well on their way to Medraut Village by now. Bernadetta von Varley is with them.”

“Bernie left the Empire, too?” Mercedes gasped.

“We travelled together,” Petra explained. “We were heading for Magdred Way.”

“Then that is where we will go,” the elderly knight decided. “There is nothing more we can do here.”

Ashe swallowed tears. Petra’s hand squeezed his shoulder, “I’m… I’m so sorry, Ashe.”

Instinctively, he took her hand in his. Her bare hand in his gloved one. Were he not so overwhelmed with guilt for not being able to help Lenore and Lynette, he might have been confounded to have held a princess’s hand.

He quickly let Petra go.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Though his heart remained heavy, Ashe cast one last look upon Arianrhod. The Silver Maiden. His second home over the previous five years. Even as they rode further and further away into the night, Ashe wondered whether there was something he could have done to save his friends. Rescue Lenore and Lynette, and maybe more people.

Yet it was a futile thought. 

Had Ashe remained or tried to rescue the Roche sisters… Well, Byleth wondered if he would have lived to see the return of his rightful king and the restoration of Faerghus. Nonetheless, his failure to save Lenore and Lynette before Cornelia was able to take them would weigh on his mind for a long time to come.

Not least once, he learned what had happened to them.

Byleth watched Ashe through the curtains as her handmaid nun, Pansy, helped her dress in her preferred dark-purple regalia. 

He was clearly tense, as though balancing a heavy load on his shoulders that he feared was about to topple him over. The sight made Byleth’s chest swell with concern. Back when she was the ‘agony aunt’ of the Officers Academy, students from across all three houses would come to her for advice or guidance. Even Edelgard and Claude, though they should have spoken to Manuela and Hanneman, respectively. Not that her former colleagues minded, chalking it up to ‘the kids’ seeing Byleth more as a peer mentor than an authoritative teacher.

She had always felt protective of the students, both under her charge and not. Still, she had a soft spot for Ashe. It was actually him who influenced her decision to teach the Blue Lions. She had decided very quickly she wouldn’t be leading the Black Eagles, so she was caught between the Lions and Deer. And Byleth not only empathised with Ashe’s background, his skill at picking chest locks had clinched the deal. Much to Claude’s chagrin, she admitted this to him later at the ball. “I can pick locks! Maybe not as quickly, but I can do it. I’d’ve picked any lock ya wanted, Teach,” he had sulked when she finally confessed that was the reason. “All you had to do was ask!” Remembering her lover’s boyish pout helped her smile as she pulled open the curtain.

“Apologies for the wait, Ashe.”

The lad looked up, smiling sheepishly. “I’m sorry to have caught you at a bad time.”

“Not at all. It’s a good time.”

Pansy observed the cauldron of water heating over the fire outside. “The water will be boiling now, Your Grace. Which tea leaves should I use?”

Byleth turned to Ashe. “Would you prefer mint or angelica?”

She knew they were his favourites.

“Oh, there’s no need to put yourself out for me!” Ashe squeaked. “Besides, aren’t you more partial to ‘Honeyed-Fruit’, Professor? Or the ‘Sweet-Apple’?”

The thought of those damned honeyed fruits and sweet apples made Byleth’s stomach churn. Even the insinuation that she might smell the dried leaves spurred revulsion.

“I’m off sweet teas at the moment,” she divulged earnestly. “A nice herbal infusion is just what I need.”

“Oh, well then, some angelica, if you have it – and really don’t mind?”

Byleth had every mix known to Fódlan – and certainly didn’t mind.

“Shall I prepare some scones and jams as well, Your Grace?” asked Pansy with a thin smile. 

Ugh, not jam! The Archbishop-Queen thought uneasily. “Whatever Lord Ashe prefers,” she said diplomatically. If Ashe wanted jam on his breakfast, she would cope; her seat was upwind of him, after all. “Bread or toast will suit me.”

Ashe perked up again. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

“You don’t need to–“

“It’s fine, really,” he insisted.

It was just like Ashe not to want to put anyone out.

Taking the seat opposite him, Byleth tried to make small talk. Anything to take her mind from the metallic, sour taste in her mouth. I hope to Sothis a stomach bug isn’t making its way around the camp.

“How did you sleep last night?” she began.

“Oh, um, fairly well, thank you. Cyril was on reconnaissance last night, so I had the tent to myself.”

Ashe and Cyril had been thick as thieves since the last days of the war. The young Almyran has always been the ‘baby’ of the army yet prided himself on not needing other people’s help. Ashe was one of the few exceptions, Lysithea being another.

“Have you had any interesting letters?” she asked.

“Um, one from my sister. One from Dedue. Oh, and one from–” but he stopped himself.

“From who?”

“Um, Lucy.”

Lucy. Lucretia von Arundel, Edelgard’s cousin. Byleth was sorry that she hadn’t had the time to ‘make friends’ with her husband’s hostage-cum-ward. After the war’s end, she had surrendered on sight to Dimitri when they finally cleared out the lower floors of the Imperial Palace. She had been hiding with the wounded, healing any Imperial soldiers who were able to stumble their way down there. Since she had been taken to Fhirdiad, Byleth had tried a few times to make the experience of being a glorified prisoner a little less daunting, but with the rebuilding of Garreg Mach Monastery, the Synod, and her diplomatic trip to Almyra, Byleth hadn’t had the time.

She smiled. “I’m glad you two made friends.”

“Y-Yes. She, Dedue and I share an interest in herbs, and Lucretia likes to mix medicines. Oh, and make candies. So, we actually write pretty often. I tell her about the different plants I’ve seen and just about… life.” There was a flash of sadness in his eyes. “She’s… She’s easy to talk to.”

“Hm, so she’s a budding herbalist?” Byleth confessed. Maybe she would like to see some plants in the greenhouse at Garreg Mach. 

Leaving that aside, she changed the topic. “And how do you feel about the upcoming battle?”

Ashe bit his lip. “Well, um, as always, I have every faith you will see us through it.” He then hastily added, chuckling, “And Claude–that is–His Royal Highness. He is the Master Tactician, after all.”

Byleth snorted.

“Don’t let him hear you say that.”

Claude’s whining about that nickname was still fresh in her mind.

“Hm,” Ashe mumbled, lowering his eyes. “Did you… Um, how did  you sleep last night?”

Byleth smiled weakly. Might as well be honest.

“I can’t say I did much.”

“I thought so. I understand His Royal Highness… He drugged your guard to show a gap in your defences.”

Her crest-stone heart hummed. Thankfully, her face did not betray her emotions.

“Don’t worry about that,” Byleth tried to reassure him. “Claude was just being Claude.”

‘Claude being Claude’ was an age-old excuse for most of the questionable interactions observed between them. Lumping all the blame onto her secret lover was a little harsh. Byleth was partly to blame for what happened to her poor Gatekeeper; she had guessed Claude’s ploy would involve one of his many homebrew-elixirs. But it was better than letting a question hang over last night, for people to wonder if there was more to it than politics…

“I have taken all His Royal Highness said to heart.”

“I see,” Ashe mumbled. “I understand it took most of the night, too.”

“No,” she quickly corrected. “We discussed the plan for the next march. He was there, so… Better then than later.”

Ashe’s head shot up. “I see. It’ll be soon, then?”

She nodded.

“As a matter of fact, you have a key role.”

“I do?”

“Yes. Do you recall our meeting yesterday where we suggested using a feint to lure out the mages?”

“Of course.”

“My late father’s mercenary company is stationed in Ernest Village. Their captain Aliprand has already agreed to help. However, we need to send a small platoon to treat them and relay the plan. I’m thinking of sending you and Leonie.”

“I see.” 

“Would you be willing to go?”

“I’ll go where you order me, Your Grace. But why me?”

“I wanted to send a scout, but Cyril might raise suspicions because he’s–“

“An Almyran,” Ashe finished for her, chuckling with understanding. “I suppose I am less remarkable in that regard…”

“We can talk about it more once Claude’s finalised his end of the plan,” Byleth concluded. “We’re here to speak of Lynette, aren’t we?” 

The young lord’s eyes glazed over as though he just remembered why he had come in the first place. 

“Of course,” he agreed.

Pansy brought over the teapot, its earthy scent soothing to Byleth’s belly and brain.

Immediately taking the handle, the archbishop declared she would “be Mother.”

“Very well, Your Grace. I’m just toasting the bread now. Once I’m done, I’ll begin my chores.”

“Thank you.” Byleth had given up trying to persuade her nuns to let her do her errands. “Leave the bedclothes, remember.”

Pansy bowed stiffly in acknowledgement before retreating.

Ashe watched her go with a kind eye. “She’s very hard working.”

“All the ‘Flower Sisters’ are,” Byleth chuckled.

The Holy Sisters: Pansy, Fern and Malva. They were not blood sisters but foundlings who had grown up in Garreg Mach Monastery. They had been Lady Rhea’s maidservants and caretakers for the war orphans taken in by the Church. Though Mercedes usually helped her dress and style her hair at home, Byleth had ‘inherited’ the ‘Flower Sisters’ services when Rhea retired to Zanado.

Byleth pushed the cup-and-saucer closer to Ashe.

“Have some tea.”

Ashe wrapped his hands around the cup. “Thank you.” 

Its fragrant tones seemed to spur him towards the matter at hand. “I suppose I’d better tell you what Nera had to say, should I?”

“If you’re ready?”

“I am. It was as you suspected. As Claude assumed. He wants me to marry Lynette.”

“I see.”

“Honestly, I can’t believe he would ask me of all people!” 

It wasn’t a surprise to Byleth. The old knight said he wished to speak with Ashe about “the future of House Rowe and how House Gaspard might ‘assist’.”  Ashe was the only one who hadn’t cottoned onto the implication at the time. The trouble was that the naive ‘Lord Ashe’ still had the heart and mind of a commoner, so he perceived himself to be leagues below marriageability for the new Countess. 

“Given your history with her, it makes sense.”

“Our history…” he repeated uncertainly.

Watching him take another long, plentiful drink of tea, Byleth deliberated other ways to eke out more details from him. 

“When in doubt, keep asking questions.” That’s what Claude always suggested.

“Did you know Lynette before the war?”

“A little. Before I was in service at Arianrhod, my brother Christophe used to take me there a lot. He would visit the Count and Lady Lenore while I used to play with Lynette and Yuri.”

“It’s weird to think of Yuri ‘playing’.”

Ashe chuckled wistfully. “Well, it was more Lynette and me, but he’d humour us. I… I didn’t go there very often after Christophe died. Then Yuri disappeared, so…”

“So you knew her best during your time at Arianrhod?”

“Exactly,” Ashe nodded, gritting his teeth. “And I abandoned her to these dark mages.”

No, not this again. Reflexively, Byleth sat forward, ready to protest. “There was nothing you could have done.”

Ashe closed his eyes.

“I should have tried to save her.”

She shook her head.

“You would have been captured, Ashe. You would have been imprisoned in Fhirdiad or forced to fight alongside Lord Gwendal in Ailell.”

Lynette would still have been in Cornelia’s clutches,  Byleth left unsaid. Lenore would still have died.

The day after the Kingdom Resistance retook Fhirdiad, the prison cells beneath the stronghold at the centre, ‘The Wolves’ Den’, had been investigated. What they had expected to find were the remaining political prisoners that the late Lady Cornelia had taken to assure the loyalties of the so-called Faerghus Dukedom. Weak and mistreated, perhaps, but alive.

Instead, they discovered a living nightmare.

Byleth would never forget the sight. The ‘remains’ had chiefly been corpses, each in various states of decomposition. Some had been left to rot, and others were preserved in large vats of strange liquid. A few peculiar pitchers contained only severed limbs; crest stones scavenged from the castle vaults embedded into the ossein. The bones’ shapes reminded Byleth of Hero’s Relics, as though Cornelia had been attempting to create miniature weapons from her victims’ skeletons. 

“Dear Sothis!” Hanneman had cried, pulling his handkerchief from his pocket. Evoking the Goddess’s name as a testament to his horror. “Never in my years of crest research have I seen such-such-such–oof!”

He turned from the sight to stifle a retch.

Dimitri, too, was stunned. 

“What, in the name of Ailell, was she trying to achieve with these…?” 

He hadn’t the words to describe the sight. 

The only way Byleth could continue was by looking into the far distance, trying not to examine the twisted experimental weapons in the crest-stone. They all tried to do this as though whatever they would find beyond this smithy of madness could only get better.

Behind the arms, legs, and spines stood larger containers with whole bodies. The people looked unsettlingly graceful as they floated in their glass urns.

Ingrid spotted someone she knew and screamed. 

“Oh, Goddess,” she repeated over and over. “Goddess, Goddess…” 

Sylvain grabbed Ingrid’s shoulders, also shaken.

“Let’s get out of here,” he whispered to her as they stumbled outside. 

Daring to look at the face of the occupant, Byleth saw a short, attractive girl with dark-blonde or light-brown hair and a crest stone embedded in the valley between her breasts. Only later, once all the bodies were removed and laid out, Byleth learned this woman had been Lenore Shae Roche.

“Dismantle every inch of this laboratory,” Dimitri bellowed, his voice echoing throughout the chamber. “Remove the crest stones and return them to the vaults! Try to reunite the limbs with their owners and bury every last victim! Layout those who can be identified, so their families can claim them. Let everyone see what Edelgard’s ‘friends’ do to their captives!”

Further down, the others stumbled across the living test subjects in the dark cells. One by one, they opened the doors to check the people inside. Most were close to death or had gone mad – children, teenagers and young adults of both influential families and run-of-the-mill Fhirdiadans. Eventually, it was Annette and Mercedes who found Lenore’s younger sister. By a turn of fortune, Lynette was one of the few to escape with her mind intact, though it was far from unscathed. The horror of her year in captivity had her screaming and begging  “not to be taken” when the two Blue Lions tried to approach her. She only calmed down when she saw Ashe – but even then seemed unsure. Always asking if it was “really him?” and making him swear “on Hollis and Ivie’s lives” that he wasn’t “one of them.”

Lynette had been too weak to walk, but Ashe shook with such emotion he hadn’t the strength to carry her. So, Dedue was the one to wrap her in a blanket and bring her out of that hell hole.

Hapi had had to stifle a sigh, ever the harbinger of doom.

“That look in her eyes… I’d know it anywhere. I’d bet B’s fancy gauntlets Cornelia did all sorts to her. We probably won’t know what until it’s too late.”

It made Byleth rethink Lord Gwendal’s death charge in the Valley of Torment; he likely went into that battle believing both his daughters were dead. All hope had been drained from him. Struggling with the lot life had dealt him, all he had left in the end was his knighthood and his liege.

That helplessness was something Byleth could understand.

Once they returned to Garreg Mach Monastery to regroup and prepare for the march to Fort Merceus, they brought Lynette. When asked if she wished to return to Arianrhod to recover, she had insisted on going with them instead.

Yuri had been struck dumb at the sight of her. “She used to be so childish and full of life,” he murmured. “But now…?”

In the light, the toil of Lynette’s captivity had been stark: she was pallid, emaciated and ghostly, made all the worse by her brittle, pale blonde hair and heavy blue eyes. Stepping into the daylight had been painful for her; it had been so long since she’d seen sunlight. Constance, noting this, had shown empathy rarely seen through her bravado and recommended she might feel more comfortable in Abyss. While Yuri was initially hesitant, he could not bring himself to let her go once she was in his arms. Together, they led her to Abyss; even the roughest individuals down there had pitied the girl enough to leave her be.

That was over two years ago now.

Lynette had recovered physically since then. Count Rowe was forced to abdicate his position, but Lynette was smart enough to know that Dimitri’s pity for how Cornelia had treated her would only go so far. She had thrown herself into administering the Rowe lands and demonstrating her usefulness to Dimitri as a banneret.

In her Great Uncle Nera’s mind, that meant getting married. Yuri predicted he would try to “hitch Nettles like a broodmare” about a year ago. 

“All Nera ever cared about is that damned crest of hers. That’s how he found me, why he brought me to Arianrhod. It wasn’t just to be the Count’s plaything — he wanted me to marry her. We have the same crest, after all.”

“The Crest of Aubin?! I thought you were the only one?”

“Nope, her too. They ran around saying it was the Crest of Cichol, with the Church’s approval, but there is no doubt. Goddess knows how either of us got it, or how Nera found me.”

“Hanneman hypothesised that crests could skip multiple generations. Perhaps you share an ancestor?”

“Maybe. Either way, House Rowe longed for a crest to call their own but never successfully cultivated one. When they found me, he was giddy. He ‘adopted’ me, made me his heir — and probably saw Nettles and me as a ‘breeding pair’, the bastard.”

Yuri’s frankness made Byleth cringe.

“I won’t let Nera rush her,” he growled. “He might be the elder of House Rowe, but I swore to protect her. Nettles need as much time as possible to recover. She deserves to be happy.”

“Maybe you should marry her?” Byleth had suggested, half-joking, half-serious. “You clearly care about each other, even after all these years.”

To that, Yuri had laughed. “I’d forgotten how oblivious you can be, friend. Real cute. It’s true. I love Nettles more than I ever expected to, just not in the manner beneficial for children. She’s… my baby sister. You get that, right?”

Byleth understood. She was an only child, but she understood. It stood to reason that Lynette felt the same.

“It was so strange,” Ashe said after a long pause. “Sir Nera kept mentioning the ‘storied history of House Rowe’. How Lonato and the Count had considered a match between my brother and Lenore, and the benefit Lynette’s crest brings to our families. But I… I told him I don’t really mind whether she has a crest or not.”

Byleth took a sip of tea before prompting further. “How did he respond to that?”

“He sort of… grimaced. Said he understood if I needed time to consider my answer and assured me that he didn’t expect a marriage to happen straight away.” He eyed Byleth carefully. “That was another favour he asked.”

“Oh?”

“Apparently, Lynette will enrol in the Officers Academy when it re-opens next year.”

Due to the ongoing rebuild, repairs and renovations being made to the monastery, the Officers Academy was still closed. The Great Tree Moon of 1189 would be its grand re-opening, and it would see its first set of students since Byleth assumed the position of the archbishop.

“Seteth hadn’t mentioned it,” she confessed. He oversaw the admissions process, not her, after all.

“Lynette had been due to enrol for 1181,” Ashe told her, holding the porcelain cup like a fragile bird. “But when Edelgard declared war, she obviously never got the chance.”

That made sense. Byleth knew those who had held places at the Academy before the war had been offered the chance to take up their spots again, seven years later but better than never. Some had moved on with their lives, but Lynette was still relatively young and undoubtedly wished to benefit from the Academy’s networking opportunities.

“What is the favour Nera requested?”

“That if we marry, it would be right after her graduation, in the Great Tree Moon, 1190.”

“That’s good!” Byleth said immediately. “You’ll have plenty of time to reacquaint yourself with Lynette,” a brief pause. “And make your decision.”

Ashe nodded, taking a small sip of his tea. Then, he gazed beyond the open awning to watch the people walk past – as though if he wished hard enough, he could be one of them instead of Lord Ashe of Gaspard.

He placed his cup down and wrang his hands.

“Am I a coward?”

Byleth felt the abrupt shift in mood, as bitter as the tea tasted.

“Coward, how?”

“A part of me just wants to say ‘no’ outright. Because I don’t know if I could face Lynette every day. Never stop feeling that Lenore would still be alive if I’d tried harder that day at Arianrhod.”

“You did all you could at the time.”

“It’s not just that!” Ashe decreed, voice cracking. “It’s… It’s moving on, too. I’m not sure I can. Every time I think about settling down and having a family with anybody, all I can think about is that day.” 

He sniffed. 

“How we lost her.”

It hurts for him even to say her name, Byleth thought sadly. 

Petra.

That day at Gronder Field was still as clear as glass in Byleth’s mind. She had sensed something was off about the Central Hill immediately. Dark Mages had been weaving among the trees below, and a suspiciously tiny number of Imperial troops were taking advantage of the high ground. It wasn’t apparent to all, but it was to Byleth. It was a trap.

She told Dimitri it was a trap, but the warnings fell on deaf ears. 

I should have given the command to Felix.

Felix hated taking charge of forces, but he was the only other person who could stand up to Dimitri. Though she respected Gilbert and Rodrigue, both struggled to argue with their prince, blinded by their duty. All Dimitri saw was Edelgard, watching the battle from the rally of the Adrestian centre. The summit was little more than an obstacle before reaching his ultimate goal of claiming her head. 

Had Byleth personally led the troops dispatched to attack the Imperial centre, she could have ensured that Dimitri didn’t go near that hill. 

Then, Petra might have lived. 

The guilt is mine, not yours, Ashe, she reflected glumly, trying to imagine what Sothis might have said to console her. How often have I turned back the hands of time only to lose people anyway?

For twenty years, Jeralt had been her whole world. He was never the most affectionate father, but he was the only person who loved her, and before she found her students and the Officers Academy, he was the single person she loved, too. When Sothis told her what happened was fate, her whole reality had been crushed beneath the shadowy heel of those enemies who mastered the wicked arts. 

She had felt as helpless as any other mortal. Losing someone was like forsaking part of her soul. Byleth felt it when her father died and the students she couldn’t save. And in that forgotten reality when she almost lost Claude, that moment still haunted her nightmares. At that moment, Byleth had thought her very heart had cracked.

She closed her eyes and shook her head.

It’ll do me no good thinking about this now.

“Petra wouldn’t want you to live the rest of your life consumed with guilt.”

“I can’t help how I feel!” Ashe cried. “I know it was foolish! I know it could never have been. That wasn’t appropriate – she was a princess and, well, who am I? But I cared for her and–“

She placed her hand on his.

“None of us chooses who we love,” remarked Byleth sagely. The tea in their cups was getting cold, so she refilled them from the pot. “There’s no set amount of time it takes to get over a loss,” she resumed. “It might never go.”

“True,” Ashe agreed sadly. “It was the same when my brother died. And Lonato. I think I would hate myself more for getting over it completely. Parents, friends, lovers — they all leave a handprint on our hearts.”

Byleth liked that expression. Though her own heart did not beat like an average human’s, it could whoosh like the ocean when a great feeling overcame her. Compassion. Fear. Love. So many handprints on her heart.

“Then,  listen to your heart.”

“Ha. I wish I could better understand what it’s saying.”

“Don’t we all?”

The conversation ceased as Pansy laid out the rack of toasted bread and pot of butter. Byleth asked her if she would like to take some to eat, but the nun tactfully declined before flitting off to complete her chores. 

Ashe waited until Byleth took a slice before helping himself.

“It might take some time to understand how you feel,” she stated, layering a thin butter spread. “Lynette has been through a lot, too. Maybe the best thing to do is to talk to her. You could help each other.”

Leaning back in her chair, Byleth stared at the canopy above their heads. “I’m not the best at talking about my feelings, but when I finally did, it was liberating.” She had been a bit tipsy, too, though she wouldn’t recommend that part to Ashe. “Perhaps, once you’re reacquainted with Lynette, you’ll feel comfortable telling her what happened at Gronder. As a friend, if not a wife.”

To that, Ashe chuckled wistfully. 

“Thank you, Professor. Honestly, if I marry Lynette, I want it to be because I’m in love with her.” 

Byleth’s pulse ached in her neck. “I think that’s your answer.”

But, with another sip of his tea, a heavy sigh followed. 

“Though, saying I want to ‘marry for love’ – isn’t that a selfish way of thinking?” Ashe suddenly appended. “I’m not Ashe, the orphaned son of restauranteurs, anymore. I’m ‘Lord of Gaspard’ now, and the nobility marries for alliances, don’t they? It’s their duty. They marry, and, well, love comes later. I am fond of Lynette, so, maybe…?” 

Byleth glowered. One moment, Ashe was dreaming of true love, but the next, he talked himself out of it by evoking noblesse oblige. ‘Marrying for duty’ alone was rubbish, to begin with. How many of their noble friends had married for convenience, really? Felix was not the marrying type, but he loved Annette. There was such a sweetness, openness and honesty to their union that Byleth envied. Ingrid and Sylvain had one of the most turbulent relationships she had ever witnessed; they bickered and rode each other around the bend. But that gave way to an immense passion, and ultimately, they couldn’t live without each other. And what about Hilda and Lorenz? On the surface, many couldn’t understand how the flighty socialite and the straight-laced noble didn’t drive each other to distraction. Yet they complemented one another, inspired each other to be their best and had one of the most healthy and functional relationships Byleth had ever seen. They all knew their hearts – not just that, they put them first – and they were all happy. Ingrid could have married Lorenz. Sylvain Annette and Hilda Felix, and all would have gained politically — but they would never have enjoyed the lives they had now.

“No, I do care for Lynette, and I think she does me. I’m sure that’s why Sir Nera–“

Something within Byleth snapped. That’s it! she thought. Placing her cup down, blood coursing wildly through her veins, an outburst ensued. 

“Bog, Sir Nera! Stop talking yourself out of a wise decision. This has nothing to do with anyone but you and Lynette.” 

“Professor–?”

“Don’t think you’re doing Lynette any favours by marrying her because you ‘care’ about her.”

“Um, well–“

“You’ll only make yourself unhappy in the long run.”

That was something she knew from personal experience. Looking at Ashe had been like seeing a mirror of her own life, her own flawed reasoning and poor choices. 

Byleth had married Dimitri because she cared for him, too. Dimitri’s proposal at the Goddess Tower had felt perfect with the rush of excitement following the war’s end and sitting on the edge of a new dawn. Because it was, she had been swept up in the moment. At the time, she believed her affection for him was enough. They were wed before the moon’s end, and once the ring was on her finger, it was too late for second thoughts. 

Byleth tugged at her ring finger awkwardly. 

The ring wasn’t there – she hadn’t worn it since starting this campaign. It was up in her chambers, back at Garreg Mach. The safest place for it, too; it had always been a little too big for her finger, and she had never dared to tell Dimitri so it could be altered.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love her husband at all, far from it. It just… wasn’t the right kind of love. Trouble was it had taken her too long to recognise it. Instead, Byleth had found it easier to blame her unbeating heart and difficulty in expressing her feelings for the dearth of desire inside her. 

Then, she had drowned out the doubt with similar excuses to the ones Ashe was using now. ‘I do love him. I do care for him,’ she would tell herself. ‘I just don’t feel things like other people do.’ 

Later, when it didn’t get better, she became pragmatic. ‘Our marriage has strengthened Fódlan. You can’t put a price on that.’ 

Until, at last, she fell back on that ‘ancient truth’ she always told herself, the one that always riled Claude up: 

‘Dimitri  needs me more than anyone.’ 

A part of Byleth wished she wanted and needed him in return, but the longer time went on, the harder it was to pretend her heart did not lie elsewhere. Claude had roused a love she didn’t know existed within her, and now it was fully awakened. She couldn’t ignore it; doing so was denying a part of herself. Byleth yearned for him. Ached for him. Longed for a world where she could speak with him, embrace him, kiss him, make love to him, and never have to fear what discovery might bring. In such a realm, they could lie in one another’s arms like they had last night indefinitely, speaking of important matters and trivial pursuits…

But that world didn’t exist; Claude was Almyra’s. Byleth was Archbishop and Dimitri’s queen. They were trapped in a prison of their own making.

Of my making, she told herself with finality. She had lived long enough to become a villain. Worse still, she was too far gone to care. It was too late for her. But it’s not for Ashe.

“You deserve to be happy,” Byleth advised at last. “As does Lynette.”

Blinking in befuddlement, Ashe suddenly burst out into nervous laughter. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so animated when not in battle, Professor.”

She looked away, not quite knowing how to respond. “I’m sorry if I startled you.”

“Not at all,” Ashe quickly replied, still snickering. “It’s nice to have someone in my corner. The way you spoke just now reminded me of my brother. He used to say things like that.”

“Christophe?”

“That’s right.”

Byleth couldn’t help but smile at the comparison.

“I meant what I said about Sir Nera, though,” she reiterated. “If nothing else, this upcoming mission will hopefully give you some breathing space to think. Not about anything Nera said, but how you want to approach your relationship with Lynette.”

“It’s probably quite rude of me to see that as a bright side, isn’t it?”

Byleth hid her smirk behind the rim of her teacup.

“I won’t tell anyone.”

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