She dreamed, again.
Her father's hand on her shoulder. It was a comfort to Byleth, one she'd taken for granted while he'd still be with her. That lopsided smile of his, the sandpaper laughter, the innumerable wrinkles: her father.
"I'm proud of you, sweetheart," he said, in her dreams, with a tear in his eye. "You've made this old father proud."
It was a good dream, the kind she'd wake up smiling from. Sad, yes, but the drifting of her mind was more pleasant than not. Though he was no longer here with her, she knew what he'd say.
And it was enough for her. Or at least, when it didn't go interrupted.
"You know," the woman's voice said, "I'm glad you don't run away from these things any longer."
Byleth sighed. "Shut up."
"I'm only trying to help, Byleth."
"And I refuse it. Get out of my head."
"You accepted it. You gave in. You chose this."
Byleth closed her eyes in the dreamscape and growled. "No. I've run away from responsibility before. I've accepted the things I did wrong. I know that this isn't my fault. I will not accept this, least of all from you."
"Child. You are trifling with things you do not understand."
"And I don't want to. I want you gone."
"You ask for the impossible. This stone is already in motion."
Byleth glared at her. "Then I'll not rest until I kill you."
Anger. "You don't have what it takes."
"I do," Byleth snarled. "And that's what scares you. Doesn't it, Rhea."
The Archbishop did not respond, and Byleth woke up.
The kid couldn't have been more than sixteen. Balthus was nearly double that in years.
"Forgive me," Brutus apologized, rising from his chair at the desk. It was a small room with the windows shuttered. An office more than a bedroom, despite the bed within. But the attention stealer of the room was its occupant: the Hevring boy with patches of facial hair that had barely begun to grow. He clung to adulthood as best he could, wearing clothes that made his shoulders look broader, stockier. His green hair was back in a bun, and he wore a practiced smile. "I haven't ever played host to anyone from the Alliance. Such duties were not mine before the war."
Because he'd been a child. Balthus felt a pool of dread in his stomach. He'd been the one to bring Leonie here, on promises that this was their way to liberate the city. Instead, they'd found a child. Someone no doubt picked as leader for lack of anyone of better lineage.
Dread turned to unease as he saw Carver, the soldier who had met them, by the door. Why go along with this? Why let a child lead when there were no doubt more capable minds?
Leonie, if she were bothered by this, didn't show it. She smiled and reached out a hand. "And I've never been an emissary before. But seems like the both of us are taking new roles today."
Brutus grinned and all the posturing of being an adult fell away for a moment. He shook her hand. "It's good to see allies. Come, sit."
Leonie took the seat opposite his, and Brutus followed suit. "We've come on two counts. One was to make contact with the Count, though we're realizing that's easier said than done. And the other…has to do with your brother."
Brutus didn't react as Leonie began to explain the truth of what had happened to Linhardt, just like she had to Lysithea. Balthus narrowed his eyes as Brutus continued to remain passive. That hardly seemed apt of a brother. Even tenuous as their relationship was, Balthus couldn't imagine staying stone faced in the wake of news about Trevor had he died.
He let Leonie worry about Brutus. Balthus had his own inquiry to make. He quietly walked to where they'd come from, to Carver.
Where Brutus was a boy, Carver had to be nearing his fortieth year. Grey was peaking through black, and tired eyes were even more of a tell. He glanced at Balthus, as if silently asking, "The hell do you want?"
Balthus leaned against the wall, next to him. "Tell me about your lord, here."
Carver narrowed his eyes. "Something the matter?"
He met them, holding the gaze without flinching. "No, just curious."
Clearly not believing him, Carver shook his head. "Not gonna just spill my guts to anyone who asks."
"Then spill them to a lord of the Alliance," Balthus said, crossing his arms. Relics at his sides were flashed, a reminder of what they could mean.
The man put that together as well. "Wait, you're…" His eyes darted to Leonie. "I thought she—"
"She's the talker," Balthus said, quietly. "I'm the muscle. But I know a thing or two about nobles. I'm Balthus von Albrecht. And I want to know why a child is leading a resistance movement."
Carver's eyes flicked to his lord, who was engrossed in conversation. "Find me later," he whispered. "Not here."
Satisfied, Balthus leaned away and went back to studying Brutus.
Moments after entering the Mittlefrank Opera House, a lady of the stage was guiding them to a sequestered room. Few words were spoken, but they clearly had been expected.
Said room turned out to be a storage closet for old props, set pieces, and whatever other manner of things could be tucked into crates. Petra took a seat on the ground while Lysithea sat upon one of the crates.
Hanneman made his appearance not long after they arrived. When he saw them, his face lit up. "Excellent, you found your way here."
Before Lysithea could speak, Petra said, "Do you know these people here well?"
Hanneman took his own seat, on the other side of the room from them. He shrugged off that grey coat of his, wearing one of his equally grey vests underneath. "Quite. I met many people here through Manuela, though now I'm a doner. I'm fond of the arts, particularly theater. And, admittedly, they are all too happy to let me stage meetings of my own here when discretion is needed."
Petra nodded, satisfied.
"So," he said, clapping his hands together. "Fill me in on what has happened."
Stories turned the pages of their histories as Lysithea went first, regaling Hanneman with the events of Derdriu, before and after. When her tale collided with Merceus, Petra jumped in to add her own. They both spoke until they arrived at the present, in Enbarr.
Hanneman took it all in, only speaking to bring up the occasional question. When they finished, he sighed. "Would that I could have been able to help you two. I will carry that regret with me."
"Are they still keeping you in the city?" Lysithea asked.
He nodded. "They don't follow me as much, given the coming battle. But I'm very much still a prisoner here."
"I am confused," Petra said. "I never heard what happened to you after Garreg Mach."
The older man nodded, understanding. "It's a story of an overly confident old fool. I came to Enbarr in hopes I could dissuade Edelgard as her former teacher. No sooner had I returned was I being put to work, for threat of death, on the Empire's war effort. Siege weapons, magical armaments, I blended them for Edelgard."
"Your death?" Petra asked.
"Yours," Hanneman admitted. "All of the Eagles. Edelgard threatened to harm you if I didn't comply. I…I know it was an empty threat—for she had need of you all. But…I suppose I am a weak old man."
Lysithea stood up and crossed to his side. She hugged him, and it brought a smile to his face.
"I am sorry," Petra said, bowing her head. "This tempest has claimed us all."
Hanneman nodded. "Indeed. But if there is one note of good to come, it allowed me to stay close to Lysithea. My dear, that brings me to the best news."
She blinked, intrigued.
Puffing out his chest, "I have a cure. Five years of secret toil and work, and I have done it!"
"A cure for what?" she asked, stupidly.
He smiled. "For you. For your condition."
"Are you…serious?" she gasped.
Hanneman nodded. "I was put to work on Agarthan experiments not too long ago. Disgusting work, but it did yield me some insight into how their fell enchantments work. I am confident I can break and extract your second Crest."
"Second?" Petra asked, confused.
Lysithea ignored her. "Break?"
"Our earlier experiments were trying to pull the Crest out of you as a whole. Akin to trying to fit a rock into a bottle." Hanneman waved his hands animatedly. "If you have an object that is too big, it simply cannot be pushed through. But! Break that object, and the shards will tumble out. Your Crest is of a similar principle. The magic of it is dense and large within you. But I can do it."
Lysithea wept, and hugged him anew. "Hanneman…you'll save my life."
He embraced her, proud of himself and of her. "We've done it. At long last."
She tore herself away, eagerly asking, "Can we do it here?"
"Unfortunately, no. I need my lab in the Institute." Hanneman turned to Petra. "Which brings me to a burgeoning plan. We need to get to my lab to save Lysithea's life. Then, your attention turns to Edelgard, does it not? Once we save Lysithea, I will help you with her."
Petra nodded, visibly enticed with the offer of her former professor's aid. "Fine. Though I need an explanation of all this."
Hanneman launched into a brief, though still long, summary. Lysithea's heart fluttered in her chest, beating faster than it ever had.
She would live. Live!
"What's your read on him?" Balthus asked, leaning on the open window. They'd been given a room to rest in after meeting Brutus.
Leonie sighed. "He certainly isn't fond of Linhardt. Wasn't. Brutus barely reacted when I told him about it."
"Could time have just muted the pain?" Balthus asked, clearly not believing his own words.
She shook her head. "Even then, there should be something. Instead, he just sat there."
Most of their discussion past that was ascertaining the nature of the city and what had befallen it. Child though he was, Brutus had a good grasp of what had transpired as of late.
"And you?" Leonie had noticed Balthus interrogating Carver.
"I'm to meet him sometime to talk," Balthus said, nodding. "Apparently there's more to this story about them letting a child lead them. Can't say I'm not intrigued."
"Likewise." She glanced out the window as the night sky's stars began to light up. "You were bothered by Brutus, weren't you?"
"Hm?"
"He didn't react to Linhardt at all." Leonie had a guess why, but she'd rather he tell it.
Balthus nodded, turning away from the budding constellations and to her instead. "Guess it just made me think about Trevor. How I had to leave when it felt like there was some progress there, finally. And how I worry if I die now, he'll turn out like Brutus."
She reached out a hand to brush against his in comfort. "I don't think you have to fear that. I met him, remember? If he didn't care, he'd have never treated you so distantly. He's hurt, and hurt takes time to heal."
Balthus smiled and clasped her hand, squeezing it. "Thank you," Balthus said. "I know you're right, but guess sometimes I need to hear it again."
"We'll get you back there before you know it. Said you wanted to try your hand at healing after all this, right?" Leonie smiled. "We'll get you settled in the Alliance for that."
He looked at her wistfully. "I'd like that."
She turned away, stretching. "We ought to bed down for the night."
"Hey, Leonie?"
She turned her head to see Balthus still staring at her with a soft smile, the kind that would have maidens blushing. "Yeah, Balthus?"
"Lorenz doesn't know what he missed with you," he murmured.
Leonie closed her eyes, but found it easy to maintain her smile. There was hurt there, but the comfort of those words did more than she expected. "Thanks, Balthus. I appreciate it."
"Tell me about Hubert," Jeritza asked, sitting down in a chair.
Edelgard was in her room, a place she seldom spent time in these days. Sleep was far from her thoughts, most of the time. Rest didn't come easily, so she did not seek it out. Simple logic.
Jeritza was a sight for sore eyes. He'd been gone in the north for so long, she'd nearly forgotten how comforting his presence was. It was nothing so romantic, perish the thought, but rather his competency. He bled confidence in his skills and after a life of being experimented on and manipulated, it made Edelgard feel safe to be near someone who could assuage those fears.
Hubert, for all his passion, was a snake. He worked in the dark, taking matters into his own hands. By his own admission, he'd told her that he worked independently of her, for the good of her reign. Whatever schemes he cooked up, if they endangered her dream for the sake of her life, she'd never know them. There was trust towards him, yes, but it reached an end far quicker than she'd like.
Lysithea…well, she'd really messed that one up herself. There was none to blame but herself there. It had started as fun, sure, but it'd grown into something unquantifiable. It was exciting, at first. Stolen kisses, late nights with joined hands, long discussions. There was hardly anything risqué going on—as was not Lysithea's desire—but it was intrinsic companionship, and perhaps love. Edelgard had stumbled into it, lacking the refined disposition she'd prided herself on. Unflappable, unbothered—until Lysithea. Then she was lost.
And made mistakes. Oh, how quickly the manipulated turned manipulator. She'd done things, said things, that bared no repeating. All for the sake of control.
And so Lysithea was sent away. Edelgard stopped seeing her own wife. A cruel kindness, but a kindness in her eyes. If Edelgard was poison for a good woman like Lysithea, let her stay far away. Let her confusion fester into hate if needs must, but let her at least stay herself.
Jeritza was different. There were no lies of how he was dangerous in all senses of the word, just like she was for Lysithea. He was devoted, but did question her when she went astray. Neither of them were saints, victims to factors beyond their control, but they kept each other in check.
There was kinship between them, after all. Both lost families and built one together. He was a brother to replace those she'd lost, as shallow as it was to say, and she the sister to replace his. A fucked up, unhealthy dynamic to be sure, but there was genuine care. Edelgard had destroyed those who tried to hurt him, and he would do the same for her. It was imperfectly beautiful, if nothing else.
"I gave him control of the city," Edelgard finally said, closing her eyes. "He would handle things while I dealt with Myson and saved Lorelei."
To save her hostage of a sister, it was a daunting task. One that had ended with Myson finding out her plan, and beating her within an inch of her life by Caspar's hand.
"He agreed to that?"
"No, I just didn't tell him what I needed more time for." Another lie, more manipulating. It was a ruler's lot, as she'd begun to realize too late. To change the world, to be the pillar of light for a people, one must be ready to lose what they hold dear.
All her Eagles had flown the nest. Linhardt, dead. Lysithea, sent away. Caspar, dead enough. Bernadetta, turned traitor. Petra, missing. Hanneman, her bridges burnt. Hubert remained, but to what end? Would he remain with her forever? The patterns didn't lie—he'd be forced to leave as well.
Eventually, one couldn't ignore the problem any longer: her. She was the commonality between all of them. It didn't take genius to piece it together, the source of this disease in the Eagles.
Her dream, that of the country breaking the Church's hold, was her only true companion most days. She'd sacrificed much for it, and would continue to do so. Even while the Agarthans played her like a fool, it was a dream worth fighting for. Let them have their wants, their desires, their grand-master-plans. She would be a bastion of hope for the people who had been trapped in this archaic system.
She continued, "He thinks I'm working on fixing myself. At least, I let him believe that." The monster within her, the perfect creation per Myson's words. He called her hegemon, and she felt sick.
Jeritza nodded. "I regret to say that the search for Macuil did not go well. We found him, but he was relentless in his anger. We fought, and I dealt the final blow." There was pain in his voice, the shaky tone of one who did something they did not want to.
She nodded, feeling one of the last few shreds of hope disappear. Indech had absconded, Aubin was mutilated, and now Macuil was dead. Aubin had told her that he'd need the blood of a true living Nabatean to fix her, and now there was naught left.
"Then I will die," Edelgard whispered.
Jeritza reached out and grabbed her hand. If life was merciful, he'd have something to say, but they each knew this monstrosity that had been given root within her was going to kill her.
She'd traded life for power. She'd traded morals for Agarthans. She'd made this bed, and now she would lie in it.
"Aubin might know more," he offered. "A way to dull the effects, for a time."
True enough. She'd go see the blind man the next time Myson was distracted. Perhaps he could work something out to help her live until the dream was realized.
It was a cold comfort, to know that the end was coming, that her dream was slipping away. The Alliance and Coalition were coming. Faerghus had been liberated with the Rowe betrayal. The rebels in Brigid had been gaining ground. What was left to hold onto?
Perhaps she ought to surrender. To save the lives of her people, if nothing else. It would mean giving up on the dream of a better Fódlan, but clinging to a corpse would not bring it back.
"Jeritza," she whispered. "What do we do now?"
He said nothing for a moment. "We've lost, haven't we?"
"Yes," she admitted as if it were as easy as that. Years of effort, of preparation, done. It was defeat. Fighting further was just a stage of grief.
"Then we kill Myson." Jeritza said, eyes burning. "If we are to accept that Fódlan goes to the Alliance, then let us at least rid this world of an evil."
And he had every right to hate the man. Hrym had been turned into a destitute testing ground by Aegir—an extension of Myson. Jeritza's father had been working with them. The justified anger was raw, even today.
Edelgard nodded. "Then we must plan."
"I have a proposition, as well," Jeritza said.
"I would hear it."
"We could parlay with the Alliance," Jeritza offered. "Go to them, tell them of our surrender. On the condition they help us rid the world of Myson and his deadlords."
It was a stupid plan, one that would no doubt end with her neck in the guillotine. But a foolish plan was better than naught, and Edelgard was far from concerned with her own life.
"Then we have much to do," she said with a voice of iron.
They older woman led them through city streets, often taking them on nonsensical paths that involved backtracking. When Ferdinand pressed her, she'd said, "Never know where they're patrolling." She'd refused to elaborate.
Constance and Hapi followed behind, exchanging hushed words he wasn't privy to. His curiosity was piqued, of course, but it wasn't his business.
"We're here," the woman murmured, looking up from the alley they were hidden in. Her eyes pointed to a three-story building, the largest in the area. "We've taken to using this to hiding as many people as possible. Those who are left, at least."
"And this Cleo is in there?" Ferdinand asked.
She nodded. "Aye. She'll especially want to meet you."
A possibility formed in his head, one he didn't want to allow himself to believe lest he was wrong. Turning to the other two, he asked, "Ready?"
Hapi nodded and Constance said, "As much as we can be."
"Then follow me." The woman led them quickly across the street, ushering them in through the door equally fast.
The first thing Ferdinand noticed were the stares. People lined the walls, in various states of rest. Families, children, every age. They glanced up with looks of interest, and sometimes fear. But when they saw the woman who had guided them, they relaxed.
"Lots of people," Hapi muttered.
"Like I said," the woman waved her hand to follow her, "we're hiding as many as possible here." They navigated the narrow paths between bodies, sleeping and awake. Up the stairs, the same situation awaited them, though noticeably less dense.
When he asked, the woman sighed, "Ground floor's easier to flee from if trouble arises. People have taken to placing quick escape over comfort. Can't blame them."
Nor could Ferdinand. When they got to the top floor, hardly any people populated it. She led the trio to a closed door and paused. Glancing at them, she chewed on words before not saying them. Instead, she knocked and asked, "Milady? Got someone you need to see."
"Enter," a light voice bade.
Stepping aside, the older woman nodded to Ferdinand. "Your show from here, now." Taking the cue, Ferdinand boldly strode into the room to see a woman who might be his sister.
A plainly clad woman sat in a chair next to a window, a journal on the desk with fresh ink. Ferdinand's eyes flicked with surprise as he looked at her. She was tall, though shorter than he. Her features were as sharp as a knife, though more from lack of food rather than genetics.
If he was surprised, then she was astounded. No sooner had he entered was she standing, her purple ponytail bobbing as she walked to him.
"Ferdinand von Aegir," she whispered, stopping him in the doorway. "Goddess, is it truly you?"
His confusion must have been apparent, because she relented, taking a step back. Ferdinand spoke, "Yes, it's me. Though I'll admit to not knowing you, unfortunately."
She chuckled, relief blossoming across her face. "Thank the Goddess. But you are quite right, I've abandoned my manners. I am Cleo—"
Her eyes slid to the other two women entering the room, gaze locking on Constance.
"—von Nuvelle," she whispered, voice caught in her throat.
"Cleo?" Constance sounded close to tears, a dam bursting forth of what could only have been the resolution of something anticipated. No more words were spared as they collided in a hug, holding each other desperately as tears flowed.
"Huh," a new woman's voice muttered. Ferdinand whirled around to find someone standing in the blind spot of the room, where the door obfuscated when open. "Von Aegir."
She blinked at him through glasses, as if studying him, taking him in. She bit her lip for the briefest moment. "So you're Ferdinand."
"You have me at a disadvantage, it seems," he murmured, taking in her face, a feminine mirror of his.
"Looks like you just met my mother, Cleo," she said, folding her arms. "I'm Murphy von Aegir. Your sister."
Author Notes: Just to confirm officially since some people have asked in the past, yes, Lysithea is ace in this story. She's grey-ace, specifically.
December 23 marks my anniversary of writing, which has saved my life in a lot of ways. I wouldn't be alive today if I hadn't started writing, and I've always updated/posted a story on this day each year. If my math is correct, this makes nine years of doing this. I'm entering my tenth year of writing and for the first time in a long time, thanks to a lot of you, I feel good about things and where I am with my art.
I also want to just say thank you, again, for all the support for this story. It's surreal to be looking to the end and knowing it's coming, and even more surreal to see readers commenting and following from the very beginning (and seeing people who are just picking up this story now!). I'm blessed with the best readers I could ask for, and hope you all enjoy what's to come for this finale.
If you'll indulge me, I'd love to hear if anyone has any particular scenes that are their favorites or just anything you like about this story.