Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Normally Byleth needs to exert a bit more effort when fighting, if only because he’s lessened his once-intense training to something more similar to light morning exercise, but considering they’d taken the Agarthans off-guard, he barely has to do more than swing his sword a few times for them to crumple at his feet. Behind him he can see Jeritza doing the same, the long black blade of his scythe gleaming and shining under the lantern lights with every swish, and Byleth finds himself pausing over a freshly-killed corpse, watching as Jeritza obliterates one half of the room.

Blood splatters onto his cheeks. Strands of pale blonde hair come loose from their ponytail, framing his face and brushing against his narrowed eyes. Byleth had heard some monastery staff tittering to one another about how Jeritza’s jawline is sharp enough to cut through parchment, and as he watches him fight now, he can’t help but understand exactly where they were coming from.

Then Jeritza turns to face him and hisses, “What are you doing,” at which point Byleth realizes he has been staring stupidly at his partner in the middle of what was supposed to be a fight but is now really just a slaughter.

He turns around, digs his sword into a groaning Agarthan splayed out on the floor, and decides that’s good enough for now — the only one left standing is, to his relief, the woman he had pointed out earlier. She’s pressed up against the wall, holding the account book behind her with one hand while her other is stretched out to prepare what is clearly a Mire spell, but Byleth is faster; he darts towards her and uses the handle of his sword to jab at her elbow, knocking her aim off and sending her spell slamming all the way across the room and against the opposite wall instead of his face.

Every Mire spell’s telltale, sizzling noise echoes faintly in the room. Byleth doesn’t need to turn around to see how the sludge must be burning a hole through the wall right now. He knocks the woman out with a clean hit to the back of her head before she can cast another spell, just in time for Jeritza to join him at his side, idly flicking blood off the blade of his scythe. “Done?”

Byleth nods. “She won’t be waking up soon. Let’s—”

He means to say something along the lines of let’s head further in or let’s look for their superiors now, but his throat suddenly closes up, something thick and wet escaping his mouth instead of words.

Long-dormant instinct wakes up and takes over. Byleth casts a sloppy Heal spell over his own throat before the mire gurgling in his mouth can swallow him from the inside out; Jeritza makes a distressed noise as he steadies him, two strong, large hands on his shoulders, but Byleth can’t even relax in his hold when he catches a blur of movement behind them, coming from the only other passageway in the room. “T-There,” he chokes out, voice already raspy.

Jeritza hardly even looks away from him before throwing his scythe like it weighs as much as a dagger. It soars through the air, and while it doesn’t chop off any of the Agarthans’ heads, it does catch on one person’s long cloak and pins them to the wall, the blade embedded deep enough in the stone that the whole base shakes and rumbles ominously.

“F-Fools!” the trapped Agarthan snaps, scrambling to rip his cloak out of the wall. There are only three of them in total, and the other two are already beginning to back away, more fear than anything flickering in their expressions. “Do something! We cannot let these Empire scum—”

Jeritza stalks over and wrenches his scythe out of the wall, leveling the bloodied blade under the talking Agarthan’s chin with nary a second between either action. The Agarthan abruptly stops speaking. “We only need one of you alive,” Jeritza says, his voice lower and darker than Byleth’s ever heard it before. “Choose wisely now. Every second you make me wait is another second I shall drag your deaths out.”

“Wait, Jeritza,” Byleth wheezes — it’s been a while he’s had to react that quickly, and his heart is still beating loud enough to echo in his ears. Only experienced dark mages can cast the Mire spell directly within their victim’s throat, but the rate at which it kills a person… Byleth shudders to think about it. They’d lost plenty of Imperial soldiers because of that magic. “Don’t get too close, they—”

He makes a grab for his sword, but he’s too slow — one of the other Agarthans fires off a Miasma spell that rapidly spreads throughout the enclosed space. Byleth curses and lifts his collar up, but the distraction had been enough; the Agarthans slip away from Jeritza’s scythe and make a break for the exit, their forms flickering and wavering every so often as if trying but failing to Warp out — likely a result of their own anti-Warping barriers backfiring on them, but they’re too far to catch up to now, especially with the poisonous mist beginning to settle all over both Byleth and Jeritza.

Byleth can practically feel the murderous aura emanating from Jeritza. “Those…”

“Calm down,” Byleth manages, but even those two words send the miasma in the air tickling the back of his throat, and he coughs closed-mouthed before any more of the poison can get in. Some proximity to Miasma magic isn’t life-threatening, but prolonged exposure like this can be deadly, and if they stay down here any longer, where barely any fresh air reaches… He casts the fleeing Agarthans a furious look. If only he hadn’t let his guard down so quickly—

Byleth pauses, blinks. For a moment it almost feels like the power of the Divine Pulse has returned to him, nestling comfortably in his hands, because time seems to slow down for a precious few seconds — and in that brief pocket of time, he sees the curl of a tree root right by the entrance to the passageway, directly in front of the Agarthans, its unusual size and shape distinct enough to be familiar. Jeritza, he signs, catching the other man’s attention as he points at the root.

Jeritza’s eyes widen in realization. His scythe arm twitches as if ready to fling it again, before abruptly stretching out his other arm instead. The Thunder spell he casts is so small, it would be laughable if they were in any other situation, but the tiny spark only has to dart out from Jeritza’s fingertips towards the underground tree’s roots.

It bypasses the three Agarthans with admirable speed and hits the root. For a moment, nothing happens.

Then the tree explodes.

One would think an exploding tree sounds like a far-fetched exaggeration, but Byleth cannot in good conscience describe the tree’s reaction as anything but an explosion. The small, innocuous root shoots out of the ground to wrap around the nearest Agarthan and only when Byleth comes closer does he see razor-sharp thorns have sprung out from the root, piercing the Agarthan’s skin and drawing blood from several different puncture wounds. As if that weren’t enough, the root coils around the Agarthan’s throat and squeezes, hard enough that the Fire spell in their hands sparks, flickers, and dies completely when another root comes out of nowhere to dig into one of their eyes.

It’s even more brutal than Byleth had been expecting, especially considering how Jeritza had spoken about the underground tree’s roots like the worst it would do was snap at someone’s fingers a few times, or let out vaguely poisonous sap, not… kill an adult man in under a minute. The other two Agarthans are startled out of their wits, which Byleth cannot blame them for — they curse and stumble out of the way, their colleague’s corpse hanging in the air by the tree root around their throat for another few seconds before the root slackens and retracts back to its original position, dropping the body to the ground with an unceremonious thump.

The distraction is more than enough. Byleth knocks out one of the Agarthans while Jeritza… slices the other one’s back open, which is a bit bloodier than Byleth would have preferred, but as long as it gets the job done. He doubles back to lift the woman from earlier up onto his back while Jeritza hauls the two higher-ups — one unconscious, one beginning to choke on his own blood — onto his shoulders. Follow, he signs, as best as he can while still keeping a grip on the people he’s carrying, and Byleth knows what he means, making sure to step where Jeritza steps and steering clear of the underground tree’s roots.

The uphill trek back is torturous, moreso with the miasma still circulating in their lungs and the now-present fear of aggravating the tree roots, but somehow they finally make it back out of the base; Byleth has never been more grateful for that first deep breath of fresh air, tinged with saltwater and forest soil. “The estate?” he coughs out, throat still itching.

Jeritza only nods, adjusting his grip on the two Agarthans. Byleth wishes he could help, but they both know switching now would just be a waste of time. There’s the faint sound of static in the back of Byleth’s head again, but no word from Linhardt nor Valentine yet, so the telepathic link must still be attempting communication for now — they trudge back to the estate first, Byleth doing his best not to feel strange about calling a ruined wreck he’d initially mistaken for a strangely-shaped rock an ‘estate.’

They dump the three Agarthans, the account book tucked inside one of their cloaks, in one of the corridors blocked halfway through by a large, thorny, poisonous plant — not quite as dangerous as the underground tree, Jeritza tells him, but harmful enough to scare the Agarthans into submission, if their weapons aren’t enough. The background static reaches an all-time high at around the same time, but thankfully not for too long, replaced almost immediately by Linhardt’s familiar voice. “Testing, testing… ah, hello, can you hear me?”

“Unfortunately,” Jeritza mutters.

“Horrible talking to you as always. How are things? You weren’t gone for long.”

They weren’t? Byleth sighs. Just getting out of that base felt like the longest years of his life, but Linhardt makes it sound like he hadn’t even had the time for a quick nap. “Well, we’ve cleared out the base, brought back three Agarthans to get information out of them. We can search the base again for anything else, but it’ll have to be later or tomorrow — it’s full of miasma right now.”

There is a long pause. Then, slowly, Linhardt asks, “Am I hearing right? You cleared the base out in that amount of time?”

Jeritza wipes some blood off his face, only succeeding in further smearing it across his skin. “Did we take too long after all? I must have grown rusty.”

“Rusty?” Linhardt wheezes. “You two are really… ugh, never mind. Give me a moment, then.” In the background, the sound of chair legs scraping against the floor echo faintly, followed by footsteps that quickly fade into nothing.

“Hmm. If he wanted to criticize our speed, he should come here and attempt this himself,” Jeritza says, apparently miffed. Byleth can’t be bothered to inform him about the clear misunderstanding between them, mostly because it’s more amusing than it probably should be.

One of the Agarthans chooses that moment to stir, and in the next instant there are two blades pointed at their throat, the cold steel of Byleth’s sword and Jeritza’s scythe pressed against their neck. They squeak in fright and scramble backwards, but fall still once the plant’s thorns brush against their cloak. “Wise choice,” Jeritza dryly says. In the darkness broken only by weak candlelight, his visage looks more sinister than Byleth is used to. “Any further and the poison would be swimming through your veins right now.”

“Y-You…” the Agarthan whispers. “You two… You’re with the Empire! I-I remember. During the battle of Shambhala, the amount of soldiers we lost to your blades…”

“Our reputation precedes us, then,” Byleth says. “Let’s make this quick. Tell us everything about yourselves and what you plan to do, or die. It’s a very simple and easy choice, don’t you think?”

The Agarthan glares up at him. Upon closer inspection, they’re one of the higher-ups, or at least one of the mages who had come from the other passageway and therefore hadn’t been caught up in their slaughter. “We’ve lasted this long. It will take far more than some pretty words and empty threats to get anything out of me!”

“Empty threats, you say…” Jeritza tilts his head to the side, stray hair falling over his face. He draws his scythe back, away from the Agarthan’s neck, and Byleth follows without complaint.

The Agarthan looks hopeful for all of one second before Jeritza’s arm moves.

“Byle?” Ciel’s voice, sleepy but recognizable, suddenly comes through. Byleth tenses in surprise — when had they gotten there? They can see through either Byleth’s or Jeritza’s eyes using the spell, can’t they? Byleth hurriedly averts his gaze from the sight in front of him, staring resolutely at some spot on the floor instead. “Uh… so noisy there… an’ so dark. Where are you? Who’s yelling in the background? Tell ‘em to shut up.”

They have definitely been spending too much time with Lysithea, Byleth reflects. “Hello, Ciel. We’re a little busy with… work right now, so it’s a bit noisy here, yes. What are you doing up so late anyway?”

“Heard Lin walkin’ down the hallway. He never does that, so I thought somethin’ happened.”

Linhardt never walking… sounds right. Byleth means to respond, but Jeritza’s low voice catches his attention. “Still not talking?” he’s murmuring, audible even over the Agarthan’s pained groans. “So I see it will take a bit more convincing to open your mouth. Do you see your friend over there? Flip them over for me. Is it too hard with only one arm left now?”

“What’s Jeri doin’? Oh, working,” Ciel thinks aloud. “Mmn… ‘s too dark to see through him, and it looks like he can’t hear me… Is he havin’ fun?”

“Jeritza, are you having fun?” Byleth asks.

Jeritza lifts his head up to look quizzically at Byleth. It doesn’t look like he even exerting an effort in holding the Agarthan’s face down, burying their nose and mouth inside the large gash wound he had inflicted on their colleague’s back earlier. “What on earth are you asking me right now.”

“He says he is,” Byleth tells Ciel. There is simply no good way to tell their six-year-old child that Jeritza is currently suffocating someone in their colleague’s blood and guts. “It’s late. You really should head back to sleep now, Ciel, we can talk again tomorrow morning.”

“But…” Byleth can almost hear the pout in their voice. “‘M not sleepy…”

“Maybe for now,” Byleth says, glancing behind him, making sure to move the candlelight further away in case Ciel is looking through his eyes: Jeritza lifts the Agarthan’s head up, gives them less than a second to gasp for breath, then shoves them back down into the gradually widening wound. He’d felt a bit ill the first time he watched Jeritza do this during interrogations, and while the sight had gradually grown more familiar over the years, witnessing it again now has him shuddering a little. Yes, he definitely prefers the domestic life… “But you’ll regret it in a few hours. What if you sleep right through morning training?”

Ciel is quiet at that, likely ruminating over the horrors of missing exercise for the first time since they’d started. Byleth chances another glance over his shoulder. The Agarthan is babbling away, though their words are too fast and garbled for Byleth to understand, while Jeritza stares boredly down at him before dropping his face back into the wound. “Fine, I guess,” Ciel mutters, sounding extremely displeased. “But still.”

“Still?”

“How much longer? ‘Til you come home?”

Byleth sighs. “Not much longer now, Ciel, I promise. We just have to clean things up a bit here, and then we’ll be back soon. We shouldn’t even have been gone long enough for you to miss us.”

“…Already miss you,” Ciel grumbles.

Before Byleth can answer — not that he’s sure of what he would have said, considering the aching pain in his chest at their words — he hears the sound of a door opening in the background, followed by two pairs of footsteps. “Ciel? What are you doing up?” Edelgard asks. She sounds torn between being sleepy or being awake, like she’s not awake at all but is forcing herself to feel it. “Go back to sleep now. Linhardt, do you mind?”

“What, tucking a child in bed? What do you think of me?”

“A parent, obviously.”

Linhardt is silent, though Byleth can see him running a hand down his face in exasperation. “Very well. Ciel, come along, you can talk to those two at a more reasonable hour.”

“What… I didn’t even get to talk to Jeri,” they sulk. “Bye, Byle. Bring back souvenirs,” they remind, before Linhardt presumably ushers them out of the room. Byleth manages a goodnight back, although he’s not sure they’d heard it, as the sound of the door clicking shut echoes in his head right after.

Edelgard sighs. Byleth can tell it’s her sighing because he’s heard her sigh the exact same way dozens of times throughout both wars, during council meetings and conversations alike. “Alright. Linhardt tells me you cleared the base out, and he’s normally not one to exaggerate, but either he’s trying to prank me first thing in the morning or you two are on another level entirely. What happened?”

Byleth coughs. Is it really that unbelievable that they’d swept the place up? There’d only been a handful of enemies there, after all, they usually took on over thrice that amount in battles during the war… “It’s as he said. One Agarthan cast a wide-range Miasma spell in it, so we’ll likely have to return tomorrow for closer investigation as it’s too dangerous now, but otherwise everything is clear…”

Byleth explains the situation as succinctly as he can, although he has to repeat himself several times because Jeritza, apparently having deduced that drowning in blood isn’t accomplishing much, has moved on to the Agarthan’s remaining limbs. “So there were at least twenty of them in there,” Edelgard muses aloud, once Byleth finishes. “The largest number we’ve seen so far, and you cleared them out without effort. It looks like peacetime hasn’t softened you two at all.”

“No, we only…” Byleth had decided to leave out the less relevant parts, like how one of the Agarthans had been killed by a tree, but now he’s wondering if he should attribute this mission’s success to the terrain. “Well, thank you,” he ends up saying.

“I’ll send someone over in the morning… well, in a few hours… to Warp the five of you back to the palace,” Edelgard says decisively. Her voice fades in and out and Byleth can hear the steady cadence of footsteps on wood, which must mean she’s pacing back and forth in thought. “Please just keep the three prisoners you have now incapacitated until we arrive… although it looks like Jeritza is doing a decent job at that already. Thank you, again,” she adds, softly. “I wish I didn’t have to drag you into these things, but…”

“Um. It’s no problem,” Byleth says, scratching his cheek. “We’ll wait here, then. You can track our location, right?”

Edelgard bids them goodnight after confirming some more information, then presumably rushes off to make arrangements instead of returning to sleep like Byleth suggests she do, which is far from the first time she’s done something similar. “Someone should come by in the morning,” Byleth says, walking back to where Jeritza is. “Do you… need help, by the way?”

“Hm? Oh. No, not really.” Jeritza lets go of the Agarthan in his grip; they drop bonelessly to the floor, apparently unconscious, their face drenched in their colleague’s blood. “The other one is probably a lost cause, regretfully enough. They’ve lost too much blood.”

“…I wonder why,” Byleth mumbles.

Edelgard hadn’t specified a time, but Byleth guesses someone will arrive here by sunrise, so they retreat slightly to settle at the entrance to the passageway, keeping a safe distance from the prisoners but not too far away that they wouldn’t be able to see them moving or acting suspiciously. The woman had woken up earlier but had refused to open her mouth or do anything aside from glare murderously at them, so Jeritza had decided to leave her alone as well until they get back to the palace. “This was all very tiring,” he mutters, sitting to lean back against the vine-wrapped wall behind him. “I miss our bed. Dearly.”

“Mm, me too.” Byleth rests his head on Jeritza’s shoulder. Not quite as soft as a pillow, but he is warm, which Byleth will just have to settle for. “It has been a while since I’ve seen you… interrogate. Did you get anything substantial out of them?”

Jeritza shakes his head. “They gave in and started babbling halfway through, but I would rather leave this in Hubert’s hands. I simply wore them down enough that breaking them again back at the palace will not take so much time. And also,” he adds, “to prevent them from waking up anytime soon.”

“Drowning in blood and guts is an experience I would not want to relive,” Byleth agrees, still feeling mildly ill. “I’ll take first watch. Rest for a little while.”

Jeritza is quiet, and in the darkness Byleth doesn’t think much of it, assuming he must already have closed his eyes. But then Jeritza shifts next to him and clears his throat, one hand dipping inside his coat pocket, and Byleth’s attention shoots up several levels. “Since we are… already here, there is something I should tell you.”

Byleth blinks. He trusts Jeritza, of course, but these specific words still have unease creeping up his spine anyway. “Yes…?”

“I…” Jeritza sighs, shakes his head. “I am not a good person.”

That had absolutely not been what Byleth had been expecting. “What? What are you—”

“You should know that by now,” Jeritza cuts in. Byleth wants to argue, if only because he has no idea where this conversation is going, but reluctantly decides to let Jeritza speak. “I am not a good person. I killed the entirety of House Bartels with my bare hands when I was young, and I would do it all over again if I were given a choice to return to the past. I do not regret doing what I felt was right for my sister at the time.” He pauses, then very carefully places his hand atop Byleth’s. “I have killed many more times since then. For as long as I am alive, I do not think that will change. But… if you are willing… I would still like to stay by your side. It is a selfish request, but to be together with you and Ciel for the rest of my days is the only thing I wish for from now on.”

It’s probably the most Jeritza has spoken in one go for as long as they’ve known each other. For a moment Byleth can only sit there, stunned and more than a bit bewildered by how sudden this is, and also unsure if this is a conversation they should be having in front of two Agarthans, but the serious look on Jeritza’s face eventually pushes a response out of him. “This is… very out of nowhere,” he manages. “Of course I want to stay with you, Jeritza, but… I thought this was clear?”

Now Jeritza just looks embarrassed. “I wanted to make sure.”

“We’ve lived together for how many years now?” Byleth frowns, leaning closer. “We’ve slept together? We have a child together?”

“Yes, okay, alright,” Jeritza mumbles, his face now beginning to tinge pink, “but I wanted to make sure. So your — your answer is yes, right? And you are certain about it?”

Byleth’s never quite seen Jeritza this nervous before, especially about something he had assumed was set in stone for them already. He’s a bit tempted to tease him about it, but decides to just smile and place his other hand atop Jeritza’s, idly tracing the lines of his knuckles with his thumb. “Yes,” he says, softly, feeling himself relax as well when he sees the uncertainty in Jeritza’s eyes vanish in that one word. “I have always been sure about you and I.”

Jeritza closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them again. “Alright,” he says, so quietly and tenderly that Byleth feels his heart do a stupid little twirl in his chest. With his other hand, he retrieves something from his coat pocket and presents it to Byleth, the object just barely visible in the darkness. “Then I should give you this.”

“This is…?” It’s the box he had taken from his mother’s room earlier today. Byleth doesn’t get the chance to ask what it is before Jeritza is opening it with a flick of his thumb, and Byleth peers closer for a better look.

His breath catches in his throat. Nestled in the velvet plush, a ring shimmers under the candlelight, its band gold and the small gem embedded within it a beautiful azure blue.

“You gave me your father’s ring, so here is my mother’s,” Jeritza says, his words slow and careful, keeping his eyes on Byleth’s face as if gauging his reaction. Unfortunately for him, Byleth can’t decide exactly how to react right now, if only because he had completely forgotten about the box until just now. “I do not expect you to wear it — her hands were likely smaller than yours — but I hope this can serve as proof of our promise together.”

When a few seconds pass and all Byleth can do is still remain sitting there, staring stock-still at the ring, Jeritza coughs and adds, “Please accept it.”

“Ah! Right, I…” Byleth takes the box in hand, unable to tear his gaze away from the ring. The color of the gem matches Jeritza’s eyes, and he wonders if his mother had the same pair of pale, sky-blue eyes as he does. “Thank you,” he whispers, taking the ring out to admire it. The low light offers little in way of visibility, but he can tell it’s definitely too small for him — not that he minds at all, obviously. “This is… I didn’t expect this at all.”

Jeritza leans back, looking endearingly pleased with himself now. “I did not expect to find this when we entered her room earlier either, but I see now it was a good choice. The last thing I want is to have left something like this hidden away in the dresser any longer.”

He stares down at the ring, watching as Byleth carefully returns it to the box and tucks it into his own pocket. “I… do not remember much about my childhood,” he murmurs, “but I do remember seeing that on her hands, before. I cannot fathom why she would have left it here when she took the rest of her belongings when she and Sister left.”

The dresser had been fairly empty when they looked inside it, Byleth remembers. “Perhaps she meant for you to find it all along,” he says, cautiously. “I mean… I wouldn’t know, of course, but… I can’t think of any other reason why she would leave it behind if not for you.” It certainly couldn’t have been meant for Count Bartels, after all.

Jeritza is quiet for a moment, before the corners of his lips quirk upwards in a small, tender little smile. “Maybe. I will never know, but it is… nice to think of it like that.”

“Did you have to accompany this with a grand speech, though? Now I feel inferior,” Byleth sighs. After their promise to exchange rings together, all he’d done was order a custom-made necklace chain from the local blacksmith for Jeritza to attach Father’s ring on, since it was too small for his hands — he hadn’t bothered to say anything particularly special, just a brief kiss and deliberately brushing his fingers against the back of Jeritza’s neck while fiddling with the necklace clasp. That had resulted in an… activity on the couch that Byleth is rather glad Ciel had been in school for. “I’ll have to make it up to you somehow.”

Jeritza shrugs. “Was it very grand? I do believe we are equal in terms of that. I quite liked how you gave me your ring, for one.”

“This is perhaps not something we should talk about in front of other people.”

“Why?” Jeritza shifts closer, the glint in his eyes now more suspicious than anything. “Are you shy?” A pause. “Do you not want to be seen by others?”

“Y-You…”

They spend the night switching shifts every hour or so, and Byleth nods off just as the first rays of light begin to creep in through the cracks in the walls and the holes in the roof. Linhardt had informed him earlier that Hubert and Lysithea were on their way to where they were and it should just take another half-hour, so Byleth is already dreaming about having a nice, long nap in one of the beds in the Imperial Palace when he feels the warmth beside him suddenly slip away.

He blinks blearily, brushing some hair out of his eyes. Voices… footsteps… have the Agarthans woken up, and are they trying to escape or attack? Jeritza must have gotten up to subdue them, then. Byleth stretches the soreness out of his neck and stands up to look, glad for the faint early sunshine seeping in the house and turning everything into shades of gold. Their candle had burnt down to the base a few hours ago…

And… Byleth rubs his eyes. That’s not Jeritza, is it. “What are you doing?”

The Death Knight doesn’t even look at him, entirely focused on keeping his scythe leveled under one of the Agarthans’ chin. “Who are they? Why are we here?”

“Those are Agarthans. We’re taking them back to the palace for interrogation. Don’t kill them,” Byleth explains, sighing when the Death Knight doesn’t move away from the two. The woman still isn’t moving nor talking, glaring at the ground like she’s been doing all night, while the Agarthan Jeritza had thrown around last night is still unconscious despite having a blade right by their throat. “Calm down and come back here. We’re in no danger.”

Unfortunately, the Agarthan chooses that moment to stir awake. It takes them a moment to regain their senses, but they yelp and jolt back the instant they register the cold steel against their neck. “What! W-Wait! I haven’t done anything, I j-just woke up, I—”

“Silence,” the Death Knight growls, pressing the blade even closer to the Agarthan’s throat. “I loathe noisy cowards like you the most.”

Byleth sighs again, already feeling a headache coming on. Does this really have to be the first thing he deals with in the morning? If he can just distract the Death Knight for another half-hour, or at least until Hubert and Lysithea arrive to take the Agarthans away, then Byleth can spar with the Death Knight here for as long as it takes to bring Jeritza back, but—“Wait, no,” he hisses, jumping to his feet when the Death Knight draws his scythe back, only to raise it above his head in a clear chopping motion—

Static crackles in the air. Byleth jolts, his still-sleepy mind automatically tensing for a Thunder spell, only to realize the sound is only in the back of his head. The Death Knight freezes in place, just before his scythe would have lopped the poor Agarthan’s head clean off, and takes several steps back. “Don’t panic,” Byleth hurries to tell him; the Death Knight had probably been anticipating thunder magic too. “It’s just a communication spell. It’s probably Edelgard or—”

“Hello? Jeri?” comes Ciel’s voice, because of course it looks like the universe is conspiring to do its absolute best at making Byleth feel like an idiot today.

The Death Knight is silent, staring down at the grass. His eyes are wide and unseeing, as if he’s trying to comprehend exactly what is going on here, and Byleth flounders for the right words to use. How exactly does one describe the telepathic link? A sort of spell that allows communication over a great distance? He opens his mouth to say just that, but then Ciel interrupts him before he can even speak: “Oh… still asleep?”

“You…” the Death Knight murmurs. To Byleth’s pleasant surprise, he sounds marginally less murderous than a few seconds ago, albeit likely because he’s now more perplexed than anything.

“Ah!” Ciel sounds delighted. “Jeri 2!”

How did they realize it was the Death Knight from one word alone? What a perceptive child, Byleth thinks fondly, before reining himself in — this probably isn’t the sort of thing he’s supposed to be proud of them for. “Ciel,” he says, quietly, “we’re a bit busy now — and it’s still too early for you to be awake, go back to sleep now. I promise we’ll be back at the palace soon—”

“But I haven’t seen Jeri 2 in a while,” Ciel says. “How’s he been? What’s he doing? Jeri 2, you there?”

Knowing how stubborn Ciel can get when they’re set on something, Byleth decides to stay out of this — the Death Knight had been… nice is certainly a word… to Ciel last time he had come around, and there isn’t much he can do to them when they’re several cities apart. The Agarthan who’d been a hair’s breadth from being beheaded looks bewildered at this string of events, but wisely doesn’t speak a word, apparently aware that drawing attention to themselves now will be the end of them.

The Death Knight still looks like this is a situation he can’t quite comprehend, but after giving the Agarthans a dirty look, steps away from them to come closer to Byleth… although ‘closer’ probably isn’t the right word. It looks more like he simply decided that Byleth was the lesser of two annoyances between him and the Agarthans. “So this is a long-distance communication spell of sorts. Magic has truly advanced over the past few years.”

“…Glad you agree,” Byleth weakly says.

“What’re you doing?” Ciel asks. They sound more awake than ever, despite the ridiculously early hour. “‘M hungry… ‘s a bit noisy outside ‘cause everyone’s tryin’ to be quiet while runnin’ around, so I haven’t gotten lots of sleep since a while ago… Lin and Vale are asleep beside me. Mm, I saw Hube and Lysi doing the… I think the Warp spell a while ago, you know, the one where they go real far an’ stuff. Jeri 2 is listening, right?”

Jeri 2 — ahem, the Death Knight only stands silently in place, his blank gaze fixed on the grass. Byleth almost opens his mouth to say something in his place, when unexpectedly enough the Death Knight mutters, “Yes.”

Byleth can imagine the pleased expression on Ciel’s face. “Did you eat anythin’ good there?”

The Death Knight doesn’t respond this time, and Byleth takes over for him. “We had some pheasant in Rusalka and some local specialties in Boramas. We were just talking about how we’d bring you here next time, Ciel, although hopefully it won’t be because of work or anything.”

“Really? I want that. Food…” A long sigh. “Oh. I think Lin’s wakin’ up, he’ll kick me out if he sees I’ve been here again… ‘m gonna go to the kitchen and cut a fish. You’re coming back today, right?”

“Once Hubert and Lysithea arrive, yes.”

“Okay.” Ciel sounds even more pleased. “Bye-bye, Byle, Jeri 2.” Then there’s the rapid th-thump of tiny footsteps as they presumably rush out of the room, followed by faint shuffling and shifting, likely Linhardt moving around in his blankets. Either he remains asleep or wakes up and falls back asleep, because he says nothing, and silence falls on them once more.

By now the faint sunlight from earlier has begun to grow brighter, enough that Byleth can see without needing to squint in the darkness. The two Agarthans haven’t moved or otherwise acted despite how obviously distracted they had been, to Byleth’s relief, though the one the Death Knight had terrorized is now staring fearfully at the corpse of their colleague lying beside them as if just seeing the rotting body now. The Death Knight remains still for a while longer, and Byleth takes a few cautious steps closer to him, making sure he moves where the Death Knight can see him, but says nothing else.

Finally the Death Knight speaks. “That… child has certainly grown noisier since I last saw them.”

Byleth allows himself an internal sigh of relief that the first words out of the Death Knight’s mouth aren’t, for once, an invitation to fight to the death. “They have, haven’t they? I imagine it’s because they’ve just grown more comfortable around other people, after living with us for a while.” He pauses there — the Death Knight doesn’t exactly live with them so much as he sleeps for several weeks in their house before suddenly appearing out of nowhere to wreak havoc for a few hours before falling asleep again — but Byleth decides against correcting himself.

The Death Knight shakes his head, then turns to face Byleth. Normally Jeritza’s pale blue eyes go a shade darker when in this persona, but… perhaps it’s the early morning sunlight, but Byleth thinks they look a little lighter than he’s grown to expect. “Why are we here?” he asks again. “Of all places, why are we here?”

Byleth swallows. The question isn’t “where are we” — despite the Bartels estate having been reduced to overgrown ruins, the Death Knight still recognizes it. “The Agarthans built a base by the cliff’s edge. We… decided to stay here for the time being while waiting for Hubert and Lysithea to help warp us back to the palace.”

The Death Knight turns away. “I see.”

Silence again. They can never have a regular conversation, can’t they. Byleth leans back against the wall and waits, for either the Death Knight or the Agarthans to do something, but both parties stay as still and un-troublesome as can be, which is more than a bit confusing; Byleth hadn’t exactly been hoping for trouble or anything, but this much peace is unnerving and honestly suspicious. Even when the Death Knight moves, all he does is place a hand on one of the walls, or bend down slightly to examine a plant growing near the floor.

“You understand,” the Death Knight suddenly says, “that this place is a mass graveyard?”

Byleth blinks. “What?”

“I slaughtered the entirety of Bartels and left no one behind to bury the bodies. Considering the state of this place as it is now, I doubt anyone bothered to come and give any of these people a funeral.” The Death Knight looks down at a patch of soil, and Byleth has a passing thought about having slept next to more than just one dead person last night. “The corpses were likely eaten away by insects and other animals. One would hardly need to dig too far underground to unearth those people’s bones.”

This is really only unsettling Byleth further, but corpses are nothing new to a mercenary like him, unfortunately enough. “I see,” is all he offers, not sure of what else to say here. I’m sorry doesn’t sound right, since neither Jeritza nor the Death Knight are particularly regretful about being a mass murderer almost two decades ago.

“That child…” The Death Knight trails off for a moment, as if contemplating his words, then speaks again. “They reminded me of… myself. From before. No, I suppose I cannot say myself… the man you know. Jeritza.”

“Ciel?”

“Yes.” The Death Knight scowls. “Shy. Weak. Incapable. Always needing someone to protect them, because they couldn’t do anything on their own. Dependent on others, disgustingly so.”

“That—” Byleth scowls right back, feeling his temper beginning to flare again. “They’re a child. Six years old.” Younger than you when… He doesn’t say that aloud, nor even continue that thought in his head. “It’s not their fault they need someone to rely on while they’re young.”

“Were you listening to me? I said reminded.”

Byleth pauses, more stunned than he’d like to admit. “Did… something change?”

The Death Knight’s voice sounds a little quieter than usual when he speaks again. “The people they depended on did not leave them alone.”

His words are somber, completely unlike how naturally aggressive the Death Knight usually is. Byleth opens his mouth, but closes it a second afterward — he’s not sure what he can say here, if there is anything for him to say. The Death Knight watches him for a moment, then continues. “It was not Mother’s fault, nor Sister’s. He stayed of his own volition as well, I remember that. But I was born entirely because they left, and I stayed alive because they did not return. After nearly ending the Bartels bloodline, the bloodlust something like me developed could not be quelled by mere animals. If the Emperor had not found him… Jeritza… he would have died from exhaustion, and I with him.”

He pauses, looks away. “At times I hear his thoughts. I cannot count how many times he had wished the Emperor had left us both behind to die in the wild, to get rid of the monster in him.”

“Je—” Byleth swallows the name down. “But that’s…”

“That was before he met you. That was before he met the child, too.” The Death Knight shrugs. Such a casual motion doesn’t fit them at all, and Byleth’s mildly surprised the Death Knight is even capable of making such an action, even if he knows logically that the Death Knight can do anything Jeritza can. “Since then I have never heard a wish like that again. Do you understand what I am telling you?”

Not really, Byleth wants to say, but that’s probably only because of the stabbing pain in his heart. Jeritza had spoken at length about either of them killing the other at some point, yes, but hearing something like this from the Death Knight, of all people… thinking about how Jeritza, still only a child back then, had wanted to die so badly… “What is it?”

The Death Knight levels him with a look as if trying to comprehend how someone of his level of intelligence has survived this long. Byleth’s inclined to agree. Finally, he speaks again. “Raise that child well.”

“…What—”

But the Death Knight has already turned around and strode out of the house, leaving Byleth in the dust mere seconds after saying something like that. Byleth stands there a little longer, blinking stupidly, before turning back to face the Agarthans. They still haven’t moved; the tortured Agarthan has passed out, likely from the shock of seeing their dead colleague, while the woman looks bored, like she had been watching a terribly-produced musical in a cheap opera. Byleth almost asks if she had heard what the Death Knight had said, if only so he can confirm he hadn’t been hallucinating, but thinks better of it and leans heavily back against the wall instead.

…What had just happened…? He should probably go out and chase the Death Knight down before he gets himself into some sort of trouble all the way in Boramas, something that has happened in the local village more than once, but it’s already taking everything in Byleth to just stay standing here. He takes a few deep breaths and decides to count down the seconds until Hubert and Lysithea arrive.

To his relief they arrive only another hour or so later — Hubert exchanges a few, curt words with the Agarthans before knocking them cold with some sort of sleep spell Byleth would not want to be on the receiving end of, while Lysithea squints out into the rest of the forest. “I thought I saw something running around out there earlier, and you’re telling me it was probably the Death Knight?” she huffs. “I ought to get in a spar with him, see how he likes being reminded of how I beat him into the ground last time.”

She says ‘last time’ like it hadn’t been almost ten years ago by now. Byleth sighs. “Please wait for us. I will… go out and… do my best.”

Byleth finds the Death Knight wandering aimlessly around the forest, often stopping to stare at a certain spot for no discernible reason. Byleth follows behind but keeps a safe distance from him — if he had been able to recognize the Bartels estate despite its current condition, after all, then he must recognize the rest of the city as well. He’s not sure how long he trails the Death Knight around the forest for, but at some point, when the sky has lightened up and the sun has climbed up from the horizon, Jeritza turns around to blink sleepily at Byleth. “What…”

“Good morning,” Byleth greets.

“Was I sleepwalking?” Jeritza mumbles. Then realization dawns on his face, and he lets out a long, heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. Did he cause any trouble again?”

“Surprisingly, no.” Byleth comes closer to him, brushes some dirt off his cheek, then takes Jeritza’s hand in his. “We must have left Lysithea bored to death by now. Come on.”

“Ah…” Jeritza looks around again, and Byleth does the same.

The forest is even more beautiful in the morning: sunlight sparkling off fresh dew, birdsong echoing everywhere, small animals scampering through the underbrush. Leaves rustle and sway above them in the gentle breeze, the shadows of the canopies they form dancing on the damp soil. If the Death Knight hadn’t killed Count Bartels and the rest of the people in here, a forest like this wouldn’t come to life as it is now, Byleth idly reflects… not that he is, of course, condoning mass murder, but he has to admit that Jeritza and the Death Knight obviously do not regret their actions for a reason.

Jeritza’s hand twitches in Byleth’s. “Do you think,” he says, softly, “that I… could have done things differently, back then?”

Byleth doesn’t answer — this question isn’t for him. The quiet stretches out, but it’s neither tense nor awkward, interspersed by the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves, and eventually Jeritza sighs again, the smallest of exhales. “No, never mind,” he murmurs. “Even if there were… If I had done anything differently, I would not have met you nor Ciel.”

A small price to pay for wiping a city off the map, Byleth supposes. “Let’s go home?”

Lysithea, arms crossed and scowl deep, is waiting for them at the estate’s entrance, as much as it can be called an entrance, and though she gives them a long-suffering sigh when they return, she says nothing as she prepares the Warp spell. Edelgard is pacing at the entrance hall of the palace when they arrive, and she jolts in evident surprise when she sees them. “You’re back! Thank you, Lysithea. Hubert returned just a few minutes ago as well, with the Agarthans. And, er, one dead body… is that something to be worried about?”

Jeritza shifts uncomfortably. “We may have taken… desperate measures.”

“Well, it’s fine,” Edelgard says, looking torn between confusion and resignation. “Two of them is already more than enough, after all. Ah, we can speak later if you’d like, I understand it’s still early in the morning and you must have had a long night — your usual room has been arranged. Ciel is dead asleep, as you might have expected,” she adds in an undertone. “Passed out in the kitchen when the chef told them to sit tight and wait for him to cut some fish up for them. Hopefully they’ll be awake enough for lunch, at least…”

Byleth itches to go see the supposed passed-out Ciel, but the exhaustion of the past several hours is finally catching up on him, and he and Jeritza stagger to their room to collapse bonelessly on the bed together. Soil and rock have nothing on the soft mattress and clean sheets, and Byleth forgets everything the instant he lays his head on the pillow and closes his eyes. They can leave everything else up to Hubert and the rest now — as far as Byleth is concerned, this nap is the most important thing in the world to him.

“Okay… so…” Luca frowns, his brows drawn together in clear confusion. “So the Nosferatu spell was… classified dark magic at first.” He waits for Lysithea to nod, then cautiously continues: “Because it absorbed the victim’s life force for the caster’s own usage. And that’s bad. But then… a modified version of it switched the roles, so that it would be like the caster… giving their life force to the victim?”

Even Lysithea looks relieved. “Correct. Finally.” She scrawls something on the notebook on her lap and gives the delighted-looking Luca a very professional pat on the shoulder. “Congratulations. You’ve proven you’re miles better at theory than at precise spell-casting. Take that as either a compliment or an insult, whichever you like.”

“Thank you,” Luca says cheerily, clearly having decided it was a compliment the instant Lysithea had opened her mouth. “Did I do well? I did, right?”

“Mm, yeah, yeah. Alright, you next.” Lysithea turns her critical gaze onto Ciel, before her eye twitches in irritation. “Hey, wake up! This is the third time you’ve fallen asleep now! I bet you regret staying up so late last night, don’t you?”

“Ugh…” Ciel’s head droops a little lower before they finally deign to sit up straighter, though not by a significant margin. “Lysi is too loud…”

“Too loud? If you don’t want me to burst your eardrums…”

“Now, now, it’s fine,” Bernadetta hurriedly interrupts, clearing her throat before Lysithea can get any more incensed. “Ciel works hard when they’re not tired! They answered everything correctly yesterday, didn’t they? Let’s all calm down… Ciel, do you want to nap a little first before we get back?”

Ciel sighs. “S’okay. Um… what’s the question?”

“What are you looking at?” Jeritza asks mildly.

Byleth draws back from the edge of the doorway, trying not to look too guilty about it. “Not much.” Lysithea and Bernadetta had likely noticed him peeking, but he couldn’t help stopping to watch when he happened to pass by and heard familiar voices from the room. Ciel has only ever asked them for help with swordsmanship and other weapon-related activities, never schoolwork, and the most Byleth has seen them study is whenever they’re deeply immersed in a book, so he has no idea where they stand, education-wise.

Jeritza makes a curious noise and peers inside, only allowing himself a few seconds before pulling away, looking thoughtful as he does so. “So they’re very smart, is that right,” he mutters to himself. Considering Byleth had just heard Ciel get the question wrong, he’s not sure how Jeritza had reached that conclusion, but he’s very much inclined to agree anyway.

“Shall we go?” Byleth asks, despite how he wants to stay and watch a little longer. “Hubert’s patience must be nearing its end after everything he’s probably had to do today.”

“Mm, let’s,” Jeritza agrees, with a similarly regretful air.

They navigate the palace’s winding halls and corridors until they finally descend the steep stone stairs down to the dungeons. This place is far from unfamiliar to Byleth, unfortunately enough — he can’t count the number of times he’d come down here, nor the number of hours he spent waiting in the corner for either Hubert or Jeritza to return from an interrogation session, covered in blood that isn’t theirs as the smell of unburied corpses from days past presses down on their lungs. Now…

Byleth wrinkles his nose. It still smells of blood, obviously, and there is no getting rid of the lingering stench of decay, but… despite the few lights on the walls, it’s cleaner, that much he can tell. So the palace staff scrubbed this place clean, it seems, and it hasn’t been in use much, if the thin layer of dust over where they walk is any indication. But deeper in he can hear faint, pained groans and what sounds vaguely like pages flipping. “Is it you two?” Hubert’s deep, slow voice echoes. “Hurry up. You took your time.”

“It was a good nap,” Jeritza says, like he’s stating a fact more than he’s trying to defend himself. They head further in the dungeons together, and Byleth does his best not to recoil when he sees the Agarthan sprawled out on the stone floor at Hubert’s feet. They don’t look much different from the last time Byleth had seen them, which must mean Jeritza had worn them down enough last night that interrogating them today hadn’t needed much effort at all…

Hubert only rolls his eyes, then holds up the account book. It looks more worn than Byleth remembers it being, but it had survived what was most likely the most exciting night of its life; he’s surprised it’s intact at all. “You did… a decent job at getting this back, at least. It covers their expenses, which is all I need to understand what they’ve been doing so far.”

“Let me see?” Byleth takes the account book, squints at the messy handwriting, and reads aloud, “Lunch. Dinner. Breakfast… lunch… dinner… um, this is all very…”

“Not that section,” an unfamiliar voice snaps.

Byleth’s hand shoots straight for the sword at his waist until Hubert gives him a curt shake of his head. Sitting in the shadows is the woman they’d noticed looking over this very account book, her eyes narrowed and her disheveled hair falling over her face. Unlike most Agarthans, she doesn’t look too touched by the drawbacks of dark magic yet, which might mean she’d only joined their ranks or started practicing it recently. “Oh, you’re the…”

She gives him a dirty look, then spits on the stone floor and looks sharply away. Unlike the Agarthan right next to her, she doesn’t look very… tortured. Most likely she had (wisely) cooperated with Hubert early on rather than try and struggle. “Che. How’d you not die from that Mire spell? I thought I had you then…”

“The Mire spell?” Jeritza steps forward, his earlier bored air melting completely under the sudden threatening aura he’s emanating. “That was you? Not the other Agarthans?”

Byleth’s a bit surprised too. He’d assumed the spell had been cast by the three Agarthans — two of them now dead, one of them likely about to be the same — after he’d knocked the woman out, but to think it had been her instead. Admirable how she had the time to cast a spell right before she’d gone unconscious, especially without either him nor Jeritza noticing. “Calm down, it doesn’t matter now,” he hurries to say, tugging Jeritza back before he can put his scythe to use. “Um, the finances…?”

Hubert retrieves the book and flips through it until he lands on a page filled with more than just food expenses. “Most of these are expenses on hiring the occasional scholar or mage for help with redeveloping their base, I imagine, and repairing the machines they used in their experiments. Futuristic technology,” he mutters, clicking his tongue, “paired with dark magic. Nothing new coming from them, certainly, but at least now we’ve confirmed it. This fool has admitted to what they were doing at Boramas as well.”

Jeritza frowns, finally breaking away from his glaring contest with the woman. “Kidnapping children for their experiments?”

“Precisely. The Luca boy was not an isolated case. We’ve already sent people to investigate the base, but…” Hubert massages his temples. “Some children had already died as a result of the experiments. Some died from being trapped underground with the Miasma spell. Either way, there were no survivors left down there.”

The silence that follows his words is heavy enough to be painful. Byleth looks down, fixing his gaze on a spot on the dirty stone floor. No survivors… he and Jeritza had spent hours waiting outside the base before actually following the passing Agarthans inside it. If they had just charged in right then and there, would they have been able to save anyone? It likely wouldn’t have gone as well as last night, when they had been able to catch almost everyone off-guard, but… would they at least have been able to save at least one innocent child?

Hubert closes the account book with a soft thump. “There is no use in dwelling on it,” he says. The sentence is something he has told them time and time again during both wars, whenever he would deliver news of casualties and other now long-dead victims they could have helped if they had done just one thing different, but when before his voice was hard and cold, now he just sounds resigned. “You did all you could.”

“That…” Byleth sighs and shakes his head. Perhaps it’s because he’s only grown softer since the wars ended, but thinking about how Luca, experimented on by the Agarthans, is now just a few floors above their heads and living a semi-normal life now… “What will you do now?”

“Wring the locations of the remaining Agarthan bases out of this one,” Hubert says, nudging the unconscious Agarthan on the floor with the tip of his boot, “and clear them out one by one before they can cause any more trouble. That should be all.”

“As for us?” Jeritza asks.

Hubert shakes his head. “Her Majesty was adamant that this be your last mission, at least for the foreseeable future, and I have no objections to that. We will only call for your help again if absolutely necessary, and I truly hope there will be no need for it. Speaking of, the compensation has been delivered to your address in Faerghus—”

“Compensation?” Byleth repeats, genuinely bewildered.

“—so do accept it once you return,” Hubert finishes, sighing. “Yes, compensation. Unlike the rest of us here, you are not directly affiliated with the Imperial Palace, and so this mission may well be equated to you working for us as mercenaries for hire. And mercenaries deserve compensation, do they not?”

Byleth glances up at Jeritza, somewhat relieved to see his own confusion mirrored in Jeritza’s gaze. “Well… since it has already been delivered, I suppose there is no reason to reject it,” Jeritza mutters, coughing in his fist. Sounding like it physically pains him to express any sort of goodwill towards Hubert, he grumbles, “We… appreciate… the generosity.”

“Why does it seem like you are expressing animosity instead?” Hubert asks dryly. Jeritza opens his mouth to retort with an equally poisonous remark, but Hubert cuts him off before he can start. “Forget it. Your business here is finished, unless you’d like to stay and chat with the prisoners. Collect your child and run back to your village already.”

With how long Byleth has known him, he’s aware this is Hubert’s way of telling them to go home safely. “Thank you, Hubert,” he says graciously, because it doesn’t look like Jeritza is going to, and they head out of the dungeon together. Being down in its stuffy darkness for even just a few short minutes already has Byleth missing the warmth and light of the rest of the palace, and he sighs as he stands in a sunbeam like one of the stray cats in their garden.

“So… no more missions for the foreseeable future,” Jeritza muses aloud. “I hope they will do fine without us then. I, for one, am not eager to engage in battle once more anytime soon.”

Byleth snorts. “If the you of the past had heard you say that, I imagine he would have rioted.”

“Let him. I have better things to do with my time,” Jeritza replies snootily. Those ‘better things’ are probably to read books and knit scarves for Ciel, Byleth privately thinks — not, of course, that he minds at all. He quite likes the knit hat Jeritza proudly presented him with last winter. “Shall we leave after… whenever Ciel’s tutoring sessions are finished? Hm, they still have regular school tomorrow… it should be fine if they miss a few days, yes?”

“Mm, alright.” Byleth stretches his arms in front of him. He wants nothing more than to take another nap, but he had nearly slept right through lunchtime earlier; if he sleeps now, he might only wake up the following morning. “I’ve grown rusty with my swordsmanship. Last night showed me as much. I’ll head to the training grounds first?”

It’s a clear invitation, at least for the two of them, but Jeritza only nods. “Then I shall be at the library if you need anything. Try not to overwork yourself.”

He’s already turning around and heading down the hall before Byleth can say anything else. He stares blankly at Jeritza’s retreating back, then lets a smile rest on his face. If the Jeritza of the past could see him now… If the Jeritza who had ran in the wilderness to escape from the bloodbath he left of Bartels, the Jeritza who wished so badly to die, could see him now, what would he think? What would he say?

…No, it doesn’t matter now. Byleth turns around to head towards the palace’s training grounds.

He goes through his usual exercises by himself for a while, spars with Ferdinand when he returns from what looks like a visit to Enbarr, then joins him and Linhardt for a cup of tea afterwards. Linhardt will be staying in the palace a little longer, it seems, to research more on all the interesting artifacts and machines they brought back from the Agarthans’ base. “And also because Valentine cannot get enough of the library here,” he sighs, taking a sip of his too-sweet-to-be-tea tea. “When he isn’t running around trying to get Luca to play with him, he’s holed up in there, probably trying to read every single book before we have to leave. It’s going to ruin his eyesight more than it’s already been.”

“I say, he very much takes after you, then,” Ferdinand says. In a slightly distressed tone, he asks Byleth, “I must ask, though, Professor… how ever did you raise Ciel to be so, mm, what is the word… self-sufficient? I thought just keeping them away from the kitchen was difficult enough, but Luca has shown me the error in my thinking. Children are lovely things, but also quite a handful when you are not prepared for them…”

“Self-sufficient…” Byleth tilts his head. Is Ciel really like that? It’s more likely they had grown accustomed to being on their own considering they hadn’t had any friends at Mercedes’ orphanage, and that hadn’t left them despite coming into Byleth and Jeritza’s care. “Maybe it’s just in their nature. All children are different, aren’t they?”

Linhardt and Ferdinand exchange a look, then simultaneously give him a doubtful gaze. “Perhaps Ciel takes after you and Jeritza as well, Professor,” Linhardt says. His students are never going to stop using that nickname, are they.

Ciel runs out of their study room during a break, and Byleth bumps into them on his way back from the showers. “Byle,” Ciel squeaks, immediately clinging to his arm. “Why didn’t you come save me from Lysi. I hate studying, I wanna sleep, I wanna eat fish all day… where’s Jeri? Or is it still Jeri 2?”

Byleth doesn’t think he’s ever going to get used to Jeri 2. “It’s Jeri. He’s in the library, I think. We can go there toge—”

Ciel’s eyes go wide as saucers. “Wait… no… I’m tired of readin’ too. ‘M hungry… can we go get a snack, please? No books, no books. I have to go back to readin’ again in ten minutes…”

Byleth indulges them and heads down to the kitchen — lunch had just been a few hours ago, and he can’t be bothered to trouble any of the chefs to make something, so he pokes around in the kitchen in an attempt to understand just what all these appliances are. He knows this mysterious mechanism is called a ‘stove,’ and that apparently it’s all the rage in well-off households across the continent, but he himself has no idea how to use it. Ciel watches blankly as he fiddles with the strange-looking knobs. He’d spotted one of the chefs doing this to start the Fire spell…

A ring of fire flares to life when he twists one of the knobs. If he jolts backwards and pulls out his sword before sheathing it again after a few seconds of nothing happening, that’s only for Ciel to know. “Do you know how to use these, Ciel?” he eventually asks. Ciel has been spending time in the kitchen because of all the fish-cutting they’ve been doing, so it’s only logical they have some idea of how these stoves work.

Ciel frowns, looking deep in thought. “Um… mm… I dunno. I think the fire does all the work. Um…”

There’s hardly any time left until Ciel’s break ends and they have to be dragged back for the rest of their studies, so Byleth gives up on making anything on the stove and digs through the kitchen cabinets until he finds the ingredients for sweet buns, which take marginally less time to put together than most other meals. Ciel munches on them in contentment, then narrows their eyes when Luca pokes his head in the kitchen doorway. “Ah, there you are, Ciel,” he says, after greeting Byleth a good-afternoon. “It’s time to head back. Lady Lysithea is waiting.”

“Ugh…” Ciel sinks their teeth into the sweet bun like a wild animal tearing at their prey. Luca must think something along the same lines, because he pales — is he intimidated by Ciel, despite the obvious difference in age? Byleth supposes Ciel, good with swords and knives, would paint a rather threatening image to Luca, who is apparently well-versed in spellwork but crumples in physical exercise… “Do I gotta?”

Luca clears his throat nervously. “Um, uh, well… L-Lady Lysithea will get mad…”

Ciel seems to contemplate that for a moment, then looks down at the plate of sweet buns on their lap. There are still four left, after Ciel had burned through two and Byleth had taken one for himself. “I’ll bring these,” they declare, lifting the plate up as they hop off the edge of the kitchen counter.

Luca looks distressed. “Is food allowed inside?”

“It’s sweet buns,” Ciel says, like that’s meant to be a logical argument. “Byle, wanna come?”

“What will I do there?” Byleth asks, even as he gets up and follows Ciel and Luca to their study room.

Ciel shrugs, finishing off the last of their sweet bun to better hold the plate with both hands. “Dunno. Watch? If you know the answer to a question, can you just tell me? ‘Cause Lysi likes long explanations and stuff, but… why do I gotta explain everything I think… it’s so tiring,” they sigh. “I didn’t get it at first when Lin says talking is tiring, but he’s so right. Talking’s so tiring. I dunno how people like Vale do it.”

“But you’ve grown more talkative since we first met, haven’t you?”

Ciel contemplates that for a while. They’re already standing outside the study room’s doors, with Luca having ducked inside ahead of them to sit neatly on one of the two chairs by a desk. “I guess,” Ciel mumbles. “Um… it’s a little easier. With you and Jeri.”

This conversation is suddenly miles more important than getting Ciel to their studies on time. “What do you mean?” Byleth asks, crouching down to straighten Ciel’s wrinkled coat. It’s not cold enough in the palace for them to be wearing something like this, but Byleth supposes temperature has never stopped Ciel before.

Ciel shrugs again, looking shyer this time. “Because… I want to tell you stuff. I guess. I-I don’t know.” They make a vague gesture with their hands before dropping their arms back down to their sides. “‘Cause… before… felt like no one was gonna listen. So there’s no point. In talkin’.”

‘Before…’ Byleth sighs. Ciel had never mentioned anything about their past from before they had been brought into Mercedes’ orphanage, and neither Byleth nor Jeritza had ever pushed them to tell them anything either. It had been a cause for concern at first, but apart from Ciel refusing to call them ‘Father’ or anything similar and simply using their (nick)names instead, there didn’t seem to be anything particularly worrying, so it had eventually been pushed to the back of Byleth’s mind. Maybe now is as good a time as ever to ask them about it? He’ll have to know what happened to them someday if he wants to better understand them too.

Ciel sighs, drawing Byleth’s attention back to them. “But… um… with Byle and Jeri, it feels like… you’ll always listen. Right?” They blink up at Byleth. “When my… When those people left,” they mumble, and Byleth can only assume they’re talking about their biological family, “I thought… I kept thinkin’ I should’ve left with ‘em.”

“Where did they go?” Byleth gently asks.

“Dunno. Far away.” Ciel stares down at the carpeted floor beneath their feet. “Where do people go after they die?”

The question stuns Byleth more than he wants to admit. To both his relief and disappointment, Bernadetta rounds the corner at the same time, making a small noise of surprise when she sees them standing in front of the doorway. “Hello, Professor! Right on time, Ciel!” she greets cheerily, before staring at the two of them and taking a cautious step back. “Oh, uh, er, am I interrupting something…?”

Byleth’s not sure exactly what to say now, considering it’s probably his fault the conversation had steered towards this direction, but thankfully Ciel shakes their head. “‘M okay,” they say, clearly talking to Bernadetta but giving Byleth a look as well. Is it their own way of reassuring Byleth he hadn’t done anything wrong? “Let’s talk again later, Byle. Bring Jeri too!”

“A-Ah, right,” Byleth manages. He clears his throat, then pats Ciel’s head and straightens back up to stand. “Later, then. Good luck in class, Ciel.”

Ciel makes a terrible little face as they let themselves be ushered into the study room.

With Hubert and Lysithea’s combined efforts, they can Warp Byleth, Jeritza, and Ciel as far as Remire Village, which is already close enough to home that pushing them to go any further would be cruel. The sensation is more dizzying than usual — which is just to say, the same dizziness that Byleth had once grown used to during the wars — but to their surprise, Ciel only wobbles unsteadily a little after the spell before feeling fine again.

“Oh. Luca did a lot of that,” they ‘explain,’ when Jeritza asks how they’re feeling. “Y’know… teleportin’ and stuff. I mean, the Warp spell. Same thing.” Ciel makes a face again. “Did you know all these spells had really long names before that no one uses now? But Lysi made us memorize ‘em all anyway? When am I ever gonna need t’ know about any of that?”

Jeritza stares down at them. “Er… wait… go back. Luca? Warp spell? Is he not your age?”

Ciel shrugs. “Yeah. Why?”

Byleth coughs. “It was accidental most of the time, wasn’t it? I think Edelgard mentioned something about it the other day, about him trying out a variety of spells.” And messing them up, he mentally adds. Plenty of magical power, but no idea how to put it to use… no wonder Lysithea’s teaching must seem hard to Ciel.

“Hmph…” Ciel crosses their arms. “Bet I could do it better than him.”

Leaving the village means the terrain is rocky and craggy due to the proximity to the Oghma Mountains. Ciel is undeterred, however — they rush around several times, observing every new thing with those big blue eyes of theirs as if staring at a peculiar-looking plant or flower could give them the answers to every one of their questions. When distracted like this, they don’t talk nearly as much, and most of the walk to Arundel territory is spent in comfortable silence until evening falls.

Sleeping out in the wilderness is nothing new for Byleth and Jeritza, obviously, but it might be Ciel’s first time — with them, at least, Byleth reminds himself. He hasn’t forgotten his brief conversation with them earlier, about their life before the orphanage, and he itches to bring it up again to see if they’re ready to speak about it. Thankfully they find a small streetside inn apparently specially built there for travelers who pass through Magdred Way, and they pay for a room with two beds despite Ciel’s unsubtle hints that they certainly wouldn’t mind sleeping outside near the woods. “Why not?” Ciel mumbles, giving up on any attempt at subtlety once the gold has passed hands. “You slept in a forest last night, right?”

“And you do not want to do the same,” Jeritza sighs. “A bed will always be the better option, unless incredibly tight on funds.” At the sullen look on Ciel’s face, Jeritza adds, “I promise it is hardly at all exciting as a life experience. You will be sleeping in the dirt and leaves and animal waste, and when you wake up the next morning you have five new insect bites scattered throughout your now-sore body. That is not something we would want to put you through.”

Ciel looks slightly pacified, but still tilts their head in thought. “Bugs are friends.”

“No.”

“Stick bug from before…”

“That wasn’t…” Jeritza sighs and seems to give up. “Let’s go to sleep.”

Ciel drops dead asleep on the bed after washing up, probably having tired themselves out from running around all day. Byleth tucks the blankets under their chin and sits at the edge of the other bed, already feeling drowsy when Jeritza comes out of the shower. “Thank you for leaving some hot water for me,” he grumbles, toweling off his hair. “Truly appreciate it.”

Byleth raises his hands up in a mock-defensive position. “I must remind you, I am not the one who spent several minutes in there.” Ciel had probably just been excited at the concept of a bathroom they haven’t been in before, strange as the sentence sounds. Every new thing is a novelty to them, no matter if the aforementioned new-thing is at all interesting to the average person. “Speaking of which, though, I… spoke to them a bit earlier.”

“Mm.” Jeritza sits down beside him, the bed dipping under his weight. “What about?”

“Their… life from before Mercedes’ orphanage.”

Jeritza visibly stills at that, and Byleth hurries to add, “It wasn’t much, really. Just… confirmation that their biological family died sometime during the war, and that they were left alone afterwards. Most of it is already what we’d previously assumed.” He chances a glance at Ciel, and though they shift under the sheets a little, they don’t wake up. “I doubt they’ve forgotten about it, but… hopefully when they feel up to speaking about it again, you’ll be there as well.”

“Of course,” Jeritza says. It should probably be a given by now that his answer comes lightning-quick, but Byleth feels a small smile tug at the corners of his lips anyway. He goes quiet, staring silently at Ciel’s sleeping form for a moment, before saying, “This morning… that had been him again, hadn’t it? The Death Knight.”

“Oh.” Byleth contemplates it for a moment, then nods. “I would have preferred it if you just believed you were sleepwalking…”

Jeritza snorts. “It was obvious. More importantly, this time was… different.” He pauses again, a thoughtful look on his face, before continuing slowly, as if thinking about his words as he speaks them. “I remember a bit more than usual. He spoke to you… and to Ciel, through the telepathy spell. Did he not?” At Byleth’s careful nod, he sighs and looks away. “I cannot remember the exact words. What happened?”

Byleth wracks his head for any relevant information — not of the brief conversation from this morning, but of the last time Ciel and the Death Knight had interacted. Jeritza knows about ‘Jeri 2,’ obviously, but does he remember how the Death Knight had spoken back when Ciel had felt down about being pushed around by the other students in school? “He… told me a bit about how he came to be, I suppose.”

Jeritza frowns. He doesn’t look particularly guarded like Byleth had been half-expecting, just a bit confused, as if he can’t fathom the concept of the Death Knight starting a civil conversation at all. Byleth can’t blame him. “You mean when I killed that man. And all the rest.”

Byleth rather prefers he had left that obvious bit unspoken. “Well… yes.”

“Is that it?” Jeritza looks even more confused now. “Bit of an old topic.”

There’s probably no point in working his way up to it. Byleth sighs and says, “He told me to raise Ciel well.”

There is a brief pause. Then, as if the words had only processed in Jeritza’s brain now, his brows shoot up to nearly disappear under his hairline. “Ciel?”

“There were no other children around for him to refer to, so…”

“But that is… unlike him. Coming out and not immediately trying to kill you had been difficult enough to get used to, but…” Jeritza sighs and looks away, his expression utterly bewildered. “Take care of Ciel… as if we would not have done that without his instruction. But I… do understand why he might have said that. Just a bit, mind,” he adds, turning sharply back to face Byleth again, as if Byleth might get the wrong idea about something. “I must admit I saw… a bit of myself, when we first met them.”

It’s the same thing the Death Knight had said. Somehow, Byleth does not find this the least bit surprising. “You did?”

Jeritza nods. “Quiet. Nervous. Lonely. The like. The Death Knight is… ironically enough, probably the person who understands myself the most in this world, and I him. He was born out of the need to protect my family, but gradually that was forgotten over the years as he let himself be consumed by bloodlust.” He sighs. “Ciel… must have reminded him of his original purpose. After some reminiscing on the past while we were at Bartels too, I imagine,” he dryly adds. “I am not the type to sleepwalk to such a specific spot.”

Byleth scratches his cheek. He has no idea what spot Jeritza is referring to, but it must have been important for both him and the Death Knight. Perhaps even now he remembers where he had left the corpses he created with his own hands before escaping the city-turned-forest. “I apologize. I did mean to tell you about it afterwards, but… er, we fell asleep.”

“No, it’s alright. I would have taken that nap over just about anything,” Jeritza easily says. “Speaking of sleeping, I would very much like that for ourselves right now.”

It takes them a little under a week to return to their village, traveling on foot sometimes and riding in carriages other times. At some point Jeritza finally gives in to letting them sleep in the wild, largely because they could find no inns between Magdred Way and Gaspard territory, and Ciel is excited enough that they even offer to help set up the tent. “Are you not worried in the least?” Jeritza asks, clearly distressed, in the middle of starting the fire.

Byleth just shrugs. “Isn’t it a learning experience for every child to camp out like this?”

“You… Just what sort of learning experiences did you have…”

Even after it is several minutes past their usual bedtime, Ciel sits wide awake, peering out of the tent flap to stare at just about everything around them — the trees, the plants, the fire Byleth tends to during first watch. Logically enough Byleth knows he should coax them to sleep before they end up an exhausted mess tomorrow morning, but instead he only turns around to fully face their curious gaze. “Do you know any constellations, Ciel?”

“Constellations… like, the star patterns?” Ciel frowns. “Luca does. He said Bernie taught him one time, but I only know the Fell Star.”

Now that is a name Byleth hasn’t heard in a while. He keeps his expression neutral as Ciel shuffles over to sit beside him on the log, the fire reflected in their electric-blue eyes. “Bernadetta didn’t teach you that, did she?”

Ciel shakes their head. “Green friend.”

That’s obviously not Linhardt, either, else they simply would have called him by (nick)name. Byleth allows himself a slow exhale — so, what, had Sothis decided they weren’t providing Ciel enough quality education and took matters into her own hands at some point? It sounds terribly like her, and for a moment that ache in Byleth’s chest twinges in pain, like a wound that had never fully healed after the war. “Could you point the Fell Star out for me, then?”

Ciel scans the night sky quietly, then points up without hesitation. “That one. It’s always the brightest no matter the season, right?”

“Yes. And always visible.” Despite being well aware it will do absolutely nothing, Byleth smooths down some ruffled strands of brown hair anyway, his hand lingering on the streaks of light brown mixed in them. The first time he had noticed them, he had assumed Ciel had been playing with flour or something, or that it had just been the specific way afternoon sunlight fell on their hair, but… it had clearly come to be after the first time they mentioned ‘green friend,’ hadn’t it? It feels so long ago now, before Ciel had even decided on a name for themselves, and before they could speak as much as they do now.

Byleth smiles as the ruffled hair he had just flattened springs back up again. If Ciel grows it out any longer than they already have, it would look more than a touch similar to Sothis’ hair. “I know a few constellations. Do you want me to show you?”

Ciel’s eyes widen, and they scramble up to make themselves comfortable in Byleth’s lap. “Okay!” Under their breath, they mutter, “‘M gonna show that Luca next time.”

Predictably enough, they fall asleep three constellations in, and Byleth is willing to bet they are hardly going to remember any of those three in the morning, but he finds that he doesn’t much care. The sky is clear of clouds, moonlight and starlight alike shining down on them, and despite how his legs are starting to go numb from Ciel’s weight, Byleth can’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else but here and now.

He hears fabric shuffle behind him, but doesn’t need to look to know it’s just Jeritza coming out from the tent. “I thought they’d be here,” he sighs, looking down at Ciel curled up against Byleth’s chest. “Go on back inside. First watch is done… although I would not have known if not from habit alone. Why did you not wake me?”

“Hmm. I’m comfortable,” Byleth says. Jeritza sits down beside him, staring idly up at the sky. “Did you overhear us?” he asks, smiling faintly when Jeritza turns to face him.

Jeritza is quiet for a long while, only staring wordlessly at Byleth’s face, and when the silence has been stretched long enough Byleth clears his throat and ventures, “What? Is something on my face?”

“No, I…” Jeritza pointedly does not look away. “I was thinking you smile more often now.”

“Did I… not before?”

Jeritza finally averts his gaze, choosing to stare at the flickering flames before them instead, and Byleth allows himself a moment to breathe. He’s used to Jeritza by now, obviously, but being subjected to such an intense stare is still a bit… “Not during the wars, no,” he says. Firelight dances in his eyes. “But ever since we came to live together, and we grew more… I suppose the word is comfortable… with each other, I… noticed it. I have been noticing it, for quite a while now.”

Byleth blinks, slowly. It doesn’t seem that important to him — is it not only natural to smile more often now that the fighting is over and they are safe and happy at home? “Well… as for me,” he says, shifting slightly to come closer to Jeritza, “I think you’ve certainly improved in the art of smiling.”

“What is that supposed to mean.”

“What? Do not tell me now you don’t remember when you smiled at some poor student who lent Ciel their umbrella one day after school and they ran away crying because they thought you were glaring at them.”

“I remember nothing of the sort,” Jeritza protests, though the faint red creeping up his neck gives him away. “And… anyway, if something like that did occur… which it did not… it is hardly my fault children cannot understand my facial expressions.”

His current glare is too endearing for Byleth not to lean over and kiss him. Jeritza makes a muffled noise of surprise, but reciprocates quickly enough afterwards; Byleth had meant for it to be brief and chaste, but then one of Jeritza’s hands comes up to cup his cheek, sword calluses rough and warm, and suddenly Byleth cannot think about anything else but right now, in this moment. He twists his upper body as best as he can to lean further into Jeritza’s lips, sighing in contentment when—

“…Ew…”

Byleth draws back right away, but Ciel is already staring at them with clear disdain on their face. The expression is so distinct from their usual mild complacence that Byleth can’t help a snort. “I’m sorry. Did we wake you up?”

“Unfortunately,” Ciel says.

“Your Hubert imitation is very good,” Jeritza commends.

Ciel brightens just like that. “Thanks. I worked hard.” Apparently, while regular academic teaching works fine with them, they still learn best from simply observing and copying other people. This means they end up learning an extremely wide variety of things that Byleth is fairly sure are not in the normal curriculum for six-year-olds, but he supposes that’s all part of collecting life experiences too, Hubert’s vocabulary and all. Byleth supposes he can’t complain either considering the faith magic Ciel learned from watching Mercedes had saved Jeritza’s life once.

Jeritza just sighs. “It is late, Ciel. If you stay up any longer, you are going to be dragging your feet the whole way tomorrow while we walk. Come in already and go back to sleep.”

“Mm…” Ciel doesn’t move, still nestled comfortably on Byleth’s lap, and they don’t look particularly pressured to return to the tent either. Finally, just as Jeritza seems ready to pick them up and zip them up inside their sleeping bag himself, Ciel opens their mouth again. “Before… I slept outside a lot before.”

That gives both Byleth and Jeritza pause. “Before Mercedes found you?” Byleth asks, speaking as slowly as possible.

Ciel nods. Their eyes are wide open, staring straight into the fire. “When those people left,” they mumble — Byleth can only assume they once again mean their biological family — “I… didn’t know where to go. The city was so big. So many people… so noisy. Even at night, it was so noisy. I… I couldn’t hear myself talk. When I opened my mouth… When I said something… I couldn’t hear it.” They swallow, folding their knees up to their chest to wrap their arms around themselves. “But I could hear everyone else… all the screams and shouts and… explosions, sometimes…”

They take a deep breath, exhale, shake their head. “I never saw stars like this,” Ciel murmurs. “The sky was always smoky.”

None of them speak for a long while. Byleth, with no idea as to what to do with a shaking child in his lap, very carefully sets his hand on Ciel’s head to stroke their hair — it takes a while, but eventually Ciel goes still again, no longer as tightly wound up as earlier. Even after that they all remain quiet, sitting gathered around the warm fire and watching it slowly die down.

Byleth’s not sure if it’s the late hour, his hair-stroking, or how Ciel must not be used to speaking about a topic as heavy as this, but eventually their breathing begins to even out, face half-pressed to his chest again. He doesn’t stop moving his hand, but he does quietly ask, “Sleepy? Do you want to go inside?”

Ciel shakes their head, flyaway strands of hair bouncing on their head. “Stay.” Their grip on Byleth’s shirt tightens, and for a very brief moment Byleth thinks he can see himself in that tiny fist, holding on tight to Father’s chest in those moments before he would go into battle. Ciel is still so small, as small as they were when they had first met, and Byleth thinks of what the Death Knight had said, how this child reminded him of himself and to raise them well.

“Alright.” Byleth wraps one arm around Ciel’s shoulders. “For as long as you need.”

Ciel falls asleep quickly enough after that, their breathing going deep and even, and though Byleth should really get up and carry them to their sleeping bag inside the tent before the blood circulation in his legs gets completely cut off, he stays seated and resigns himself to his fate. Jeritza is quiet still, staring contemplatively at Ciel’s face, before he shifts closer and stretches his arms out. “Let me for a while.”

“Thank you,” Byleth sighs, gently picking Ciel up to place them in Jeritza’s care for now. Jeritza settles them carefully on his lap, looking several parts confused, as if this is one life experience he still hasn’t gone through. The silence falls heavy on them again, and though Byleth knows he should say something about what had just happened, he can’t find the right words, nor does he even know what he should say at all.

Unexpectedly enough, it’s Jeritza who speaks first. “What they said…”

“It’s awful.”

“Yes. But it is also…” Jeritza looks away. “Also exceedingly… commonplace.”

Byleth stares at him. “Common?” He can’t disagree with that — who knows just how many children had become orphans because of the war, and how many more died because of it — but to put it that way is callous, even considering how they both value straightforwardness. “That’s a bit…”

“I can guarantee plenty of other children in Sister’s orphanage have experienced something similar before she took them in. Ciel’s story is likely no different from theirs.” Jeritza pauses, then takes a deep, shuddering breath. He places his hand atop Ciel’s head, and Byleth blinks, taken aback — Jeritza’s hand is trembling, not enough to wake Ciel but enough for Byleth to notice. “Commonplace. And yet, I…”

Oh. Byleth sighs again, trying to hide the fond exasperation in it. So that was just a roundabout way of saying he cares for Ciel, isn’t it? “I understand,” he says, moving closer to rest his head upon Jeritza’s shoulder. “But we are doing what we can now, are we not? Back then they hardly even spoke a word.”

Jeritza nods. He dips his head down slightly to press the lightest of kisses on the crown of Ciel’s head. “May I ask you something?”

“What is it?” Byleth murmurs, stifling a yawn.

“Is there… anything in the past you regret having done?”

Somehow, Byleth just knows this is a question he’s been asked before, by someone else if not Jeritza. He hums thoughtfully, mulling over what he could say. It would be difficult — and a lie, besides — if he said there wasn’t, because even just the first war had been rife with regrets for him. Over and over he had asked himself if he could not have convinced his former students to calm down and understand things from their perspective, or if he could have recruited them to the Empire’s side even earlier on. Others may say that enough time has passed for him to forget about them by now, but they had been people, too, barely any older than the children he still sometimes remembers them as — Byleth cannot even fathom the concept of forgetting them.

Is there a way they could have avoided a war? Could they have reformed Fódlan some other way? Could Sothis still be with him now? Could Rhea have been convinced to change her ways? Could Edelgard? Could all those countless children like Ciel have been saved, and could all those countless children still be living, laughing with their families now?

“Far too many,” Byleth eventually answers. “But they happened in the past for a reason. We are here now, Jeritza.” He reaches up to touch the ring resting between his collarbones, the blue gemstone winking at the firelight, and the cold steel under his fingers is more reassuring than he had expected it to be. “We can only ever be here.”

It falls quiet again, but less awkward and more comfortable. Byleth sighs, closing his eyes — he’d been growing steadily sleepier as the night progressed, fully attentive while Ciel had been speaking only to immediately return to exhaustion as soon as they fell asleep as well. He presses closer to Jeritza, inhaling his familiar scent. Tomorrow they’ll cross through Gaspard territory and hopefully reach Arianrhod by nightfall, which means they’ll also hopefully be able to sleep on a bed in an inn room rather than out in the wilderness once more… eat some decent food at a tavern…

Beside him Jeritza shifts, and Byleth stirs briefly awake, only to hum in contentment when Jeritza pulls him closer with one arm around his shoulders. “Yes,” he murmurs. “Here… and that is home, isn’t it?”

Byleth doesn’t answer — there’s no need to. Tomorrow and for the next handful of days they will travel again until they reach the village where their cottage rests, but right here, right now, he knows it — they are at home.

When the war against the Immaculate One ended, Byleth felt vaguely like he had lost his reason for living. Finding out Sothis’ heart had been implanted within him had been one thing, but at least that meant he now understood what he had to accomplish — once he had accomplished exactly that, though, he was left with a beating heart and no knowledge of what would come with it. The Sword of the Creator no longer listened to him either, and Jeritza had to forcefully wrench it out of his Crestless grasp before the Relic turned him into a Demonic Beast the same way it did with Miklan and Dedue.

“I don’t understand,” Byleth whispered, watching helplessly as Bernadetta, having been passing by and eager to help, carried the sword down into the Holy Mausoleum for safekeeping until someone figured out what to do with it. “I… What do I do now?”

Jeritza stared down at him, seemingly as expressionless as ever. But enough time had passed by then that Byleth liked to think he could understand Jeritza’s most enigmatic looks, and upon closer inspection he could sense some sort of emotion akin to fondness in his eyes. “You are not a fool, so do not try and convince me you are one. Did we not salvage the Seiros Sword from that dragon’s corpse?”

Only Jeritza could refer to the Immaculate One as ‘that dragon’ like Rhea had been nothing more than another Demonic Beast. Byleth sighed and muttered complaints under his breath the whole way, but he had to admit the Seiros Sword was not the worst replacement for his previous weapon.

Days turned into weeks. Reconstruction efforts had already begun in the areas of Fódlan most ravaged by the war, particularly Fhirdiad and other cities in Faerghus, and Byleth helped clear out the remaining ranks of Seiros knights that refused to surrender despite their leader’s death. He watched as Hubert worked himself to the bone, reading and writing reports until the ink stains on his fingers were indistinguishable from the scars dark magic left on his palms; he watched as Ferdinand began to take over governing some of the smaller areas too far for Edelgard to personally handle, often getting on his horse and riding all the way to the edges of the continent to hear out the people’s voices with his own ears.

“Do you wish to accompany us in the war against the Agarthans, my teacher?” Edelgard asked, when Byleth had more or less recovered from what he can only describe as the reboot of his heart. It was around a month after Rhea had fallen and Fódlan had been united under the Adrestian flag, and everyone was busier than ever in the monastery preparing for what to do next. “I will not force you, of course, nor will I fault you for declining—”

“Of course,” Byleth said, and that was that.

Other soldiers (students, Byleth may have said, once, but there were no students here any longer, only battle-hardened, war-torn children who had grown up too fast) had declined. Linhardt retired to a life of research in what he called ‘the countryside’ but could frankly be better described as ‘in the middle of nowhere,’ while Dorothea planned to use the compensation money from the war to travel to Brigid and see Petra again. Bernadetta and Marianne, while averse to any more fighting, opted to stay on as two more of Edelgard’s advisors.

And then there was Mercedes.

“Sister, I beg of you to rethink your decision,” Jeritza groaned, for what felt like the hundredth time. “It is not that I discourage you from pursuing your life’s passion, but must it be in one of the more populated villages in Faerghus? The Agarthans—”

“They are still running wild, yes,” Mercedes agreed. She didn’t look up from the property papers in her hand; she hardly seemed to be paying attention to them. “But you will be dealing with them, won’t you, Emile? And you as well of course, Byleth.”

“Er, well… I suppose,” Byleth allowed. Mercedes was one of the few in the Strike Force who no longer called him Professor, though she sometimes teased him with it. Considering many of them were a few years older than him now, it only felt right. “I must agree with Jeritza, though. We already know the Agarthans have intel on all of us, even if only our names and faces, and being here… it’s risky.”

Mercedes smiled, a small, sad thing. “It is, isn’t it? But it would be harder to take in children in need of a home when I am far away from cities and villages. And have you forgotten that I did more than just heal when we were in the war?”

Jeritza massaged his temple like a massive headache was coming on, but Byleth couldn’t disagree with Mercedes either. She excelled in healing, of course, but he had also seen how she could get when provoked; being on the other end of her Ragnarok spell was not something he was particularly aspiring to achieve. “Sister,” Jeritza sighed, heavily, but no other words left him, as if he had already given up without knowing it.

“There is nothing you can say that will change my mind, though I appreciate your concern,” Mercedes said, laughing softly. She turned to Byleth, apparently finished driving her brother to exhaustion, and spoke. “Byleth. I trust you and Emile will watch each other’s backs in this next war, won’t you?”

“What? Oh, um…” Byleth shrugged. “Well, yes, of — of course. We are in this together.”

Jeritza turned away silently, while Mercedes giggled. “Yes. You are.”

Compared to Claude, Dimitri, and the Immaculate One, the Agarthans were little match against the might of the Strike Force, however few they had grown; they were caught off guard by ancient dark magic spells more than once, but after they infiltrated the library in Shambhala and pored over the spellbooks, the fights grew easier (or less difficult) to bear. And always, Byleth found himself darting forward to intercept an attack meant for Jeritza, or being pushed to the side for Jeritza to shield him instead. They fought and fought and time and time again Byleth leaned against Jeritza just to feel the reassuring press of his back against his own.

It was a feeling he found impossible to put into words. When had their relationship developed into something like this, unspeakable and indescribable, unfamiliar yet… not entirely unpleasant? All Byleth truly knew was the stutter of his newly-beating heart when Jeritza bandaged his arm for him, the heat in his chest when either of them stepped too close to the other and all Byleth could see was the flutter of Jeritza’s pale lashes against the tops of his cheeks.

Unspeakable. Indescribable. Unfamiliar… and not just not unpleasant, but something more than that, something that made Byleth want to return to Jeritza’s side, over and over again, as many times as it took, as many times as he needed until he could perhaps understand this feeling growing between them.

In Shambhala, during one of their battles, one of many where they stood back-to-back against hordes of Agarthans, Jeritza spoke. “Once we exterminate the rats lurking below ground, and all of this madness is settled… Once that finally happens, all of this will long be forgotten. And we shall indulge in the finer things. Together.”

All Byleth could think of was that it was unlike him to initiate conversation during battle. But the thought of spending a future with Jeritza sounded nice, and it would give him days upon days on end to learn more about this man outside of fighting. “Yes,” Byleth said, turning to give him a small smile. “I look forward to it.”

“I am glad.” Jeritza struck down an Agarthan soldier foolish enough to come near, and blood splattered across the blade of his scythe. The other enemies kept their distance, forming a cautious circle around them rather than approaching recklessly. “You must understand, I… It is not so easy to make peace with my past,” Jeritza continued, lowering his weapon. Byleth blinked up at him in confusion. “I am not someone you can so easily spend time with. No matter what the demon inside me, the Death Knight, he will continue to eat away at me until I give in control to him. But when I am with you… you make me feel selfish enough to want to stay by your side, still.”

“I would not let you leave me, anyway,” Byleth argued, turning away from their enemies as well. He could hardly care about any of their incoming attacks now, when this conversation seemed miles more important at the moment. “Death Knight or not, I will be with you if you’d have me. You act as if I haven’t encountered him more than once.”

Jeritza stared down at him, something like surprise flickering across his gaze. It was so rare of him to express anything with that neutral mask of his that Byleth momentarily blanked out. “You… would stay by me, then, despite everything else I bring?”

“Always,” Byleth answered. He did not think; there was no need to.

A pause. Even their enemies, motionless in the corners of Byleth’s vision, seemed reluctant to come close and ruin the odd atmosphere between them. Then Jeritza turned away, another strange emotion crossing his face. “Byleth,” he said, and Byleth’s heart definitely did not jump up into his throat just then, “I think I may love you.”

Byleth blanked out. “You… do?”

“I am not one to mince my words, no.”

“Oh.” He mulled that over for a while. Emotions. He had only recently begun to truly understand them as a part of himself rather than just seeing them reflected on other people’s visages, and love was something he was still uncertain about. Was it love when he was sure he would follow Edelgard’s orders no matter how long he had to fight or how many lives he had to take? Was it love when he brought Hubert coffee in the dead of night and stayed with him in his office until dawn?

Was it love when everything about Jeritza once made him want to flee but now only made him want to draw closer and closer until they could walk side-by-side through the end of this war and onto the rest of their journey in this life?

“Yes,” Byleth said; then, at the confusion on Jeritza’s face, “I feel the same.”

(He would, of course, promptly misunderstand the entire conversation and live with Jeritza for nearly a year under the impression that they were just friends. It’s fine — he understands now, better than he would have if Jeritza had tried to explain it back then.)