"Lord Fraldarius has arrived, Margrave."

Sylvain's lips broke away from Felix's at the sound of the voice at the door. He groaned, flopping back on the bed.

Felix rolled his eyes, already standing up. Sylvain admired the view of his shirtless husband, wishing the moment wasn't so brief. "I don't know why you're surprised, he's always has impeccable timing."

"It's like a damn sixth sense," Sylvain growled. "Surely I ought to be allowed to love my husband, should I not?"

His partner shrugged. "You already know my father's opinion on that. More importantly, we shouldn't keep him waiting."

Sylvain began to button his shirt back up. "Fuck him. All he had to do was wait five more minutes."

Felix raised an eyebrow.

"Fine. Ten. Or more. I'm not all that picky."

"You want me to deal with him today?" Felix asked. "I could tell him you're busy."

Nothing said 'I love you' like Felix offering to deal with Rodrigue. "No, we can go together—"

"Margrave Gautier," the same guard spoke through the door again. "Lady Ingrid has just returned. She's come with passengers on her pegasus."

Sylvain froze.

"Go," Felix said, the slightest trace of hope slipping into his voice. "Leave my father to me."

Sylvain pressed a kiss to his lips before dashing from their bedroom, shirt misbuttoned and hair more of a mess than it usually was.

He didn't stop running until he reached the stables. They were empty except for Ingrid and her two companions.

Dedue, he didn't expect. The giant man was scarred and worse for wear, but looked as strong as ever despite that. He spared Sylvain a brief glance before looking back at the last member of their trio.

And sitting on the ground, emaciated and unconscious but very much alive, was Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, true ruler of Faerghus.

He broke the hug first.

"Bernie," Caspar murmured. "It's good to see you."

She smiled. It reminded him of academy days.

Bernadetta, or Countess Varley with her father's recent death, sat down in the chair she'd been in when he'd arrived. Caspar pulled up one for himself.

"You changed your hair," he observed.

She giggled. "I mean, did you see my hair before? It was all…everywhere. This style is a bit more, official?"

He laughed. "Guess the life of the Countess is suiting you?"

"Oh, I don't know about that," Bernadetta said. "It's a lot. But the Emperor seems content to leave me alone."

"Until now?" he asked.

"Until now," she answered, looking down.

Caspar rested his head in his hands. "No sense beating around the bush. What does she want?"

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Lady Edelgard has requested I come to aid you in the defense of Fort Merceus."

"That's it?"

"Unfortunately," she groaned, "no. Some of her associates will be coming soon. I have been given orders personally to oversee them and make sure they get what they require."

Caspar suppressed the fury that shook his hand. In a calm voice, so as not to startle Bernie, he said, "Those black clad people, yeah?"

Bernadetta nodded.

"Damn," Caspar said, looking down. "You know what they're doing here?"

She sighed. "Officially, no. Unofficially, I overheard Hubert say something about a chalice. Do you know anything about that?"

"No," he replied. "Edelgard's kept me out of all of their affairs ever since…" He waved a hand at his hair. "Not that I'm displeased at that. It was dad's idea—" Caspar stopped himself.

Bernadetta reached out and grabbed his hand. She smiled, weakly. "I know a thing or two about fathers, Caspar. You don't need to hide it."

He smiled. Despite all the unlikeliness, they'd turned out to be kindred spirits of a sort; a modicum of comfort in the hell that had become his life.

"They're arriving soon, I take it?"

"Day after tomorrow."

Caspar sighed. "Oh joy."

"Better than being on the front lines, I suppose," Bernadetta mused.

Caspar didn't know about that. At least out there, he'd just be killing whomever was in front of him, not managing the most renowned military base in Fódlan.

And certainly not breaking bread with Agarthans.

He found her in the training yard, well before the sun had risen.

Ferdinand stayed back, leaning against one of the stone columns around the Riegan training grounds. Claude allowed them to use it as much as they liked since he hardly had much time to make use of it.

But Ferdinand didn't know Leonie ever made use of it.

She worked through a warm-up kata, sword in hand. Even from as far back as he was, he could see the tremors wracking her body. Nevertheless, she persisted.

He admired that about her. How she didn't give up even now.

Leonie's body shifted into the last stance of her kata before falling to her knees, gasping for air.

Ferdinand was at her side an instant later, arm around her. "Do you know where you are?" he murmured. It wasn't the first time doing this.

She panted for several seconds before answering. "The Riegan estate."

He gave her a sideways hug and said nothing else. Minutes passed and Leonie calmed down, slowly, but surely.

"Thank you," she said, breaking the silence.

"Was it bad?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Not terrible. It was when Ladislava was advancing. I…snapped out before it got any further."

Ferdinand drew back, sitting on the ground next to her. "I didn't know you trained here. I only knew to look here because Claude said you might be here."

"He's the only one who knows. Well, now you I suppose." She sighed. "He asked you about his war plans too, didn't he?"

"I think he's cornering everyone about it. Are you…preparing?"

Leonie grunted and brushed her sweaty mess of hair back. "He'll need me. All of you will. I need to be ready."

"You don't have to," Ferdinand said. "Claude would be just as happy with you training recruits or managing his guard and protection."

She snorted. "It isn't about what he wants, it's about what I want. And I am fucking sick of being held back by these…memories." Leonie held out her hand flat in front of her, watching the subtle shakes burn through her. "I refuse to be the only not fighting when we march on the Empire."

"Then how can I help?" Ferdinand asked. "Could I be your sparring partner?"

That drew a smile from Leonie. "I think I'd like that. You're a lot like Claude, you know that?"

Ferdinand laughed. "Well, we do spend a lot of time together, I suppose."

"It's good," Leonie said, approving. "You've really become someone special, Ferdie. Sometimes I think you're more Deer than the rest of us."

"Oh." Ferdinand blushed. "I don't think that's altogether true."

"Careful, or I'll tell Mercedes when she gets back. No one can say no to her."

He laughed before growing more somber. "Have you talked to her about this? Like as a healer?"

Leonie finally got off her knees and sat down more comfortably. "Yeah, a little. She left for Ordelia soon after, though."

"Well, Hilda and Marianne are on their way here now. Perhaps Marianne might be able to help?" Ferdinand suggested. "I'll admit I don't know Marianne quite as well as I know you, but I think she'd be willing."

Leonie nodded. "Yeah, that's a good idea. Thanks, Ferdie."

He rolled his eyes. "Dorothea will be pleased to hear you still call me that in her absence."

"Someone's got to." Leonie chuckled. "Anyway, what did you come find me for? Claude need me?"

"Duty calls, for the both of us. He wants to talk to you about your refugee idea."

Leonie brightened. "Oh, excellent. Let's not keep him waiting then." She stood up.

"If keeping him waiting means he catches a break, maybe that's fine," Ferdinand mused as he got up.

"Keep dreaming, Ferdie."

"I appreciate you coming, Holst."

The Alliance's star general sat down across from Claude at his desk. No one else was present in his study except, of course, Ferdinand standing by the door, stalwart.

"It's not every day someone asks for help from me," Holst replied, good natured. His appearance was immaculate, as always, with not a hair out of place. Today's earrings were dangling rubies looped in gold—most definitely a Hilda creation. "After all, my realm of expertise doesn't lend itself well for every day conversation."

Claude chuckled. "Well, I'm afraid it is that expertise I've called you here for."

Holst's expression tightened, his lips tilting into a frown. "Do tell," was all he said.

He pushed aside everything on his desk—mainly sheets of paper with half-penned letters—and scrolled out a map of Fódlan. "I want you to explain to me how you would wage war against Adrestia."

Claude looked up at Holst, the man impassive, staring at the map. He finally met Claude's gaze, taking in the full measure of his words.

Then, "Is this hypothetical?"

Not a great start. Claude needed to get Holst on board. "To an extent. I'd rather get a sense of your answer before I say more."

Holst stood up, leaning over the desk much like Claude was. They mirrored each other, two influential men of Leicester.

"Then answer me this first. Have these five years of neutrality really been in the name of lessening violence or do you truly not give a damn?" Holst's words were hard and lingering. "Was this all just a guise to give credence to your proposals?"

Claude's eyes met his, steel meeting steel. "No. I will not stop, not rest, until Leicester's people are safe and if it is within my power, greater Fódlan is free of violence."

"Sounds like a certain Emperor's rhetoric," Holst observed.

"So it does," Claude shot back. "I think you'll find she and I are similar, to an extent. Both of us want peace, I simply want to use words before swords. And I fear the time of words is dwindling."

Holst held his gaze for a long time. "I see." It wasn't agreement or approval. He turned back to the map. "I'm sure your own advisors could have told you this, but war with Adrestia is impossible."

"I am not asking my advisors how they would fight the Empire," Claude said. "I am asking the most brilliant general this country has seen in centuries how he would wage that war."

"And my answer remains the same," Holst growled.

"Try me. Tell me what you would do."

"Fine," Holst said. "Let's give you the benefit of a doubt that we could actually unite the Riegan faction with the Gloucester faction. Let's pretend we have one army instead of disparate halves of this nation. Though, and let this be my first objection, this issue cripples us and defeats the purpose of speaking further."

Claude chuckled. "Noted. Continue."

Holst pressed a finger to the river between Leicester and Adrestia. "My first target would be the bridge of Myrddin. It's the biggest bridge and would be best for getting an army across and managing our supply routes from within Adrestia. Concurrently," his hand shift right on the map, "Ordelia must be dealt with. With their withdrawal from the Alliance, they make for a point that the Empire could retaliate from. By taking both at the same time, with the element of surprise, we could secure the border."

"With Ordelia falling," Claude spoke, "we could gain more recruits for this hypothetical army, bolstering our forces. My operatives in Ordelia tell me that discontent is widespread. The people remember what the Empire did to them."

Holst paused. "You've put thought into this," he realized. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"

A wry grin trailed across Claude's face. "Go on."

Holst blinked and turned back to the map. "With the border secured, then we'd launch into greater Adrestia. If the enemy is smart, they'll retreat their armies to Varley, Bergliez, and Aegir. If they're smarter still, they'll consolidate to one city and draw a fight out. We'll need to take one of them, likely two."

"Why two?"

"Honestly I'd want to take all three," Holst admitted. "One to bruise morale, two to eliminate substantial threat to our supply lines, and the third to crush any chance of being hassled as we advance to Enbarr. But that would take time."

"And if Aegir wasn't in the equation?" Claude proposed.

"Got a plan for it?" Holst asked.

His eyes flicked over to Ferdinand by the door. "Something like that. If it was just Bergliez and Varley?"

"Varley would be easy to crush, it's not a militant city. We take that city first, then advance to Bergliez. With their minister of war away, I'm confident we could take it, but it would take time. And that leads us to our main hurdle."

Holst looked up at Claude. "We don't have enough soldiers. These battles, when I say we would win, that isn't without casualties. The Empire isn't a pushover, their armies are the best trained in the land. No matter how far we make it, we will not have enough to meet their central army at Enbarr." Holst frowned. "You're smiling again."

Indeed he was. "Holst, let's just say I have a plan for that as well. What say you were to have an army double the size of Leicester's?"

"Where would you even get such a thing?" he asked.

"Holst, it's all hypothetical," Claude said with a hint of glee.

Holst glowered. "You should have been a showman, not a politician." He looked down again. "With that caveat, then we could push in. With all three cities taken care of, that takes us straight to Fort Merceus. Whether we take it or not doesn't matter for this hypothetical, because no matter what it would be a substantial amount of time. In which," he moved his attention up to Faerghus, "the Empire could finish subjugating their northern conquest. But for the sake of your hypothetical, let's pretend the loyalists hold out and are not subsequently defeated by the Empire's western army."

"Sylvain tells me they aren't faring well," Claude admitted.

"Anyone could tell that. They have Lord Arundel, Victor von Bergliez, and the Death Knight there. Three very capable generals. If we started to push into Adrestia, then, if we're lucky, one of those three will split off and come for us. If we're unlucky, two of them will. They'll circle back through Hevring to pincer us, smashing us like a wave against the rock that is Fort Merceus."

"And if we captured Merceus before they arrived?" Claude asked.

"Doubtful, but even still, no. Then the army takes ships from Hevring or Ochs to get to Enbarr. Fighting with the western army is inevitable. And even with this hypothetical Leicester army, we would lose that fight."

Holst sat down. "Claude, war with Adrestia, even with assuming your plan with Aegir works and you got a larger army, it's impossible. The Emperor made an intentional choice to annihilate the Kingdom first. And if the loyalists in Faerghus fell, then they'd sweep through Ailell right to Derdriu."

Claude nodded and stayed silent for a moment. "You're more confident than everyone else I've spoken with," he said. "Everyone else told me we'd see defeat at Bergliez and not even make it to Merceus."

The general crossed his arms. "And we very well could. Would, likely. This is not a scenario where we win. As a fellow lord of Leicester, I firmly suggest we sue for peace with Adrestia."

"Give up?" Claude raised an eyebrow.

"I had assumed it was your intention," Holst said. "Feign neutrality until the Kingdom falls, then broker peace. The Emperor would take it."

"She would," Claude allowed. "But it wouldn't be favorable to us."

Holst snorted. "I think we're long past the point of hoping for that. I had hope the Kingdom might turn things around too, but we've held onto our cards too long to do anything but fold."

"Holst, my friend, I think you're not considering the bigger picture here." Claude walked away from his desk and leaned against the wall.

"Oh, do enlighten me," Holst said. "I'm not infinitely patient."

"You had two objections to the plan. Well, two main ones. The first, uniting Leicester and getting a larger army. Let me reassure you, I have plans for these."

"Consider me reassured," he said, deadpan. "Quit talking in circles and say what you're thinking."

"What if I said our side had not one, but two competent generals? What if we had the backing of another nation in this war against the Empire?"

"The Kingdom?" Holst guessed. "Certainly their help would be a boon, but I would not exactly claim they have notable commanders up there, much less an army that isn't in tatters."

"No." Claude grinned. "Almyra."

Holst was silent.

Then, "You're insane."

"Gloucester has been making comments about the circumstances of my birth for half a decade, not altogether untrue," Claude said. "And I will let you in on the secret in good faith, because I trust you to keep this knowledge to yourself, Holst."

Claude performed a perfect Almyran court bow. "My name is Khalid. My mother is Tiana von Riegan, but my father is Javad Nojumyan Mirza, king of Almyra. In addition to support form the royal family, Nader the Undefeated has agreed to help us be rid of the Empire."

Holst's response wasn't what he expected.

The man laughed.

"I'll admit, laughter is surprising," he said, off-kilter.

Holst breathed, doing away with whatever humor he found in the situation. "Khalid, huh? When we see Nader, remind me to punch him in the stomach."

"What?" Claude asked.

"Oh, that expression is priceless on your face," Holst chuckled. "Claude, I've known Nader for years. We've fought on the border countless times. We've beaten each other plenty of times. His nickname is horseshit. As two commanders overseeing the same battlefield, you think we would never meet? Prisoner exchanges, armistices, be-it-what-it-may, Fódlan's Throat is our territory before it is either nation's. We've spoken many times.

Claude's eyes flashed. "Oh, that bastard. He told me he had connections with an Alliance general. It was how he got me over the border all those times. But he never said it was you and I never considered the 'defender of the east' could be them."

"It's something of a secret," Holst said. "At least away from the border. He and I have a mutual understanding of keeping our people safe. Minimizing casualties where we can and the like."

Claude crossed his arms. "So both of our countries' military geniuses know each other well?"

"As well as two men ordered to fight can," he explained. "Between Gloucester and radical branches of the royal family—your family, I suppose—we must fight. But we respect each other. Enough that when we speak about de-escalation, Nader commonly mentions a certain Prince Khalid who wants peace between our nations."

"Bastard," Claude grumbled. "Nader can't keep a secret even if you sewed his mouth shut."

Holst laughed. "He's a good man. Rough around the edges, but a good man."

"So you are in favor of ending the border war. We thought you were voting for the proposals these past years because Hilda convinced you to."

"So she's in on it too, huh?" Holst mused. "I work in war, Claude, but that doesn't make me a monster. What decisions save my soldiers' lives, those are ones I am willing to make. I dream of a day that I no longer have an occupation."

Some tension breathed out of Claude. "Then I think we're going to see eye to eye on a lot. Forgive me, I have always been apprehensive about the man I grew up hearing about as the menace of the Locket. I suppose I am guilty of judging you too early."

"I can't blame you for that," Holst said. "But I share the sentiment. Perhaps I thought wrongly about you as well."

Claude smiled.

Holst's expression hardened. "But don't think for a second this changes my opinion on your plan. Nor does it make me think this is the right course of action. I will not vote for this. Almyran support you may have, but that doesn't deliver you Gloucester's vote."

"Let's say I have you and my votes against Gloucester's. That leaves Albrecht and Edmund. To beat a dead horse, if I could sway one of them, might you consider supporting it?"

"Consider it, yes," Holst offered. "Assuming you give me an explanation about why bloodshed is the answer here. I will not support a tyrant who needlessly risks the lives of his people."

"You will have it," Claude said. "Forgive me if I make you wait on that. I have a few irons in the fire waiting that I must check before I can give you an accurate answer."

"And," Holst said, "you give me an answer to the objections I raised. Almyra alleviates one of them, but there were others."

"As soon as Ambassador Ignatz returns, I believe I can do just that."

Holst nodded. "I will hold you to that." He stood up, preparing to leave. "Oh, one more thing. I doubt you'll be able to sway Albrecht. I did a little digging, my intelligence says that Gloucester has something on him—specifically someone."

"His brother, I am aware," Claude said. "I've been looking into it when I can, but my resources are rather strapped as of late."

"Figures you already know." Holst snorted. "Consider this a gesture of good faith then, I'll have my people look into it further. You focus on refugees and what else you need to do."

Claude narrowed his eyes. "You have remarkable faith in me for not trusting me, Holst."

"I may not trust you yet, but I'd like to." Holst smiled genuinely. "You inspire devotion in people, Claude. Even if my sister didn't speak up for you, I'm not blind. Lorenz, Ferdinand, Leonie, the others you surround yourself with, I see them care." He glanced at Ferdinand, still guarding the door. "Bad people don't inspire that. I think you're devious, but your heart is in the right place."

"Thank you, Holst."

He grinned. "Don't thank me. Show me."

And with that, the general departed.

Claude sank into his chair, exhausted. But he looked at Ferdinand and grinned. "That went well."

Ferdinand chuckled. "I like him. He's very different than Adrestian nobles."

"And he didn't outright refuse," Claude said. "He's more aligned with our goals than I thought."

"His objections make sense, though," Ferdinand cautioned. "He's right that we need some answers for them."

"Once Catherine and Ignatz return, we'll know the last of what we're waiting on."

Ignatz snarled, seeing red. "Get away from her."

"Constance!" The hulking man stared in horror at the woman Ignatz had just shot. He looked up, furious. "You'll pay for that."

"I'll put the next one through your heart," Ignatz said, "if you don't get the fuck away from my friend."

"Woah!" the other person said. They held their arms up in surrender. "We're trying to help Catherine, not hurt her. This is all just a big misunderstanding."

"Speak for yourself, Yuri," the man said. He growled. "I'm gonna pummel this little shit."

"Try it," Ignatz said, voice unwavering.

"Balthus, stand down!" Yuri shouted. "Look, friend, I know White. I can heal Catherine. I can fix this."

Before Ignatz could say anything, Balthus interrupted. "Fuck that, Yuri. Heal Constance, not her. I'll distract this guy."

"I'm trying to save everyone—"

Ignatz fired, arrow streaking towards Balthus. But without the element of surprise, Balthus swept his Relic gauntlet up and deflected the arrow from Ignatz' longbow, recoiling from the force.

The gauntlets bled red as the distance closed between them. Ignatz drew another arrow and knocked it.

Balthus raised one of the massive claws to strike down. It struck air as Ignatz leaned back, out of danger, and fired.

The arrow missed its mark—Balthus' heart—but still ripped through his ribcage. Blood exploded from his back, the arrow flying almost entirely undeterred on its journey.

"Fuck!" Balthus screamed, dancing back. He covered the hole in his chest with a gauntlet, but raw fury kept him on his feet.

Ignatz tossed the bow aside and drew the iron sword strapped to his back. He crouched like Catherine had taught him, leaning into his leg that had the metal brace on it.

"Stop this!" Yuri shouted.

They didn't. Balthus removed his hand and jumped forward, throwing a haymaker.

It met blade as Ignatz' sword collided into the clawed grasp. Holding the gauntlet at bay, he swung his leg up and kicked Balthus, the brace colliding with the wounded side of the man's chest.

That proved to be too much for the man. He groaned in pain, falling over. Ignatz withdrew his blade, crouched on the ground and rested it at Balthus' throat. He stared at Yuri.

"You said you knew White," he panted. "Heal Catherine, let us go, and I don't kill him."

Yuri, white as a ghost, nodded. They retreated to Catherine, where his hands began making a soft glow as healing ensued. Catherine's eyes were locked on Ignatz'. They were unfocused, but approving.

He managed to revel in it for three seconds before a blast of magic collided with him.

"Hapi, no!" Byleth screamed.

The redhead ignored Byleth, staring at the green clad man as he started to get up from the attack. Barely controlled Dark lightning pooled in her hands as wisps of deathly black smoke trailed from her skin like a horror story's monster.

"Hapi, stand down!" Byleth shouted, grabbing her shoulder, eyes wildly darting between Yuri, Ignatz, two fallen Wolves and Hapi.

"No," she spat. The lightning leapt from her hands, lancing out and colliding with Ignatz. To her shock, her once student took the blow and stayed on his feet. He brandished a sword, holding it defensively as his eyes darted to Catherine next to Yuri.

"Hapi, that's an order!" Yuri shouted. "Stand down!"

"Hapi, you're close to snapping," Byleth breathed. "Stop this."

"You ain't my superior, Queen," the woman growled, her eyes boring into Constance's unmoving body.

"Fuck," Byleth growled, then acted. She pulled her fist back and smashed it into Hapi's temple. The woman yelped and stumbled back, arc of still-held lightning shooting wide as she lost control. Byleth cracked another fist against her head and Hapi fell to the ground, unmoving.

Ignatz lowered his sword. "Wait, Byleth?"

"Byleth!" Yuri shouted. "Tend to Balthus and Constance!"

She dropped the Sword of the Creator and rushed to Balthus, pressing a hand over his wound and casting White magic. Skin mended together beneath her fingers, a sharp pain hitting her in the side as the healing connection took its toll on her.

Yuri, having finished with Catherine, rushed to Constance and slid to the ground next to her, pressing their hands to her shoulder.

A horn blew in the distance.

"You didn't kill all the bandits?" Yuri asked, wildly trying to assess where it had come from.

"Shit, we missed some," Byleth swore. "We gotta get back to Abyss."

Yuri turned to Ignatz, who still stared at Byleth dumbfounded. "You, green, grab Catherine. Byleth, you grab Balthus. I got Constance. We need to move."

Ignatz didn't move for a moment until he locked eyes with Byleth. They held each other's gaze for a moment.

"Dammit," he swore, sheathing his sword and running to Catherine. And run he did, a brace on his leg taking away what limp he hadn't shaken.

Yuri threw Constance over his shoulder, her wound scabbed and healed over from his hasty healing. "Let's move!"

Author Notes: A chapter for you all before Returnal comes out and steals my interest. And of course, I am the type to see a game like Returnal with its timeloops and be all 'OOOOOOO I WONDER WHAT ETHICAL PROBLEMS THIS GAME POSES ABOUT TIME TRAVEL?' I blame my time travel movie ethics class in college for taking away my innocent pleasure of enjoying time travel related media. And, ya know, my being a goddamn nerd.

This chapter was written very out of order. It may not mesh up well because of that. I played fuckin' hopscotch with these scenes.

I am certainly no military strategist. But I did live with a history major who had a specialization in medieval warfare for a year and a half. We talked about this kind of stuff a lot so I'm banking some of it rubbed off on me and I wasn't talking out of my ass for this chapter.

I took some time to continue revising early chapters. I made it through chapter 19 on this push. Nothing major changes in these edits, just fixing mistakes that slipped by me and polishing some things.