Chapter Ten – Emotional Baggage

The week that remained of my time together with Dimitri and the other Blue Lions flew. And that absolutely terrified me.

It always stung a little whenever someone told me I was emotionless or stoic. I remembered how shocked Dimitri had been the first time I smiled at him, how he asked me to do it again because it was mesmerizing—a rare sight, a treat, something to be treasured. Truth be told, I never realized that I didn't wear my heart on my sleeve. It wasn't that I didn't feel emotions. I got angry and sad and happy like all humans. Showing those emotions, though, hadn't come naturally to me until I got to the Academy.

Sothis told me it was probably her fault. That she acted as a sort of mask over me, subduing my emotions and preventing them from peeking through to other people. And as my connection with her built and she awoke from her slumber within me, I regained control of that mask. I let other people in and showed them myself.

Even so, part of being a mercenary was the stoical aspect of it. One had to disassociate themselves from the job. Getting emotionally attached meant hesitation, which ultimately led to death. And I supposed… I carried that burden forward as a strategist. Despite how scared I was for my friends and family, I couldn't show it. It would only get in the way for everyone else.

I recalled what Dimitri once told me those many years ago when I was but his teacher. "When we first met, I thought of you as someone who felt no strong feelings about killing your enemies. I could never trust someone who kills without batting an eye. My heart won't allow it. But after speaking with you and getting to know you better, I can see you're not like that."

At yet another occasion, he informed me that I unnerved him. "You never smiled, and you never showed anger either. And yet, you didn't appear to be suppressing your emotions. They just… weren't there. At first, I thought perhaps you didn't care for us, but I soon concluded that wasn't the case at all. For the longest time I just couldn't tell what you were thinking. It was though you had no humanity whatsoever."

It all hurt. I had feelings. Hearing such harsh words, even when he followed them up with praise about how I was different, how I did have humanity, stung. Because no matter where I was—on the battlefield or spending time with my students—I felt everything everyone else did.

Yet I so readily left the impression on all I met that I felt nothing, even in battle. But I, too, felt guilt in killing innocents who got swept up in the immoral deeds of others. I just never had the luxury of questioning it as a mercenary, even less so during the war. It was only now as queen and archbishop that I realized I could help without lifting a blade, but only so much before I was left with no choice.

During my time as a mercenary, the others bestowed me with the nickname, the Ashen Demon. Everyone assumed the name came from my reputation as an unflinching killer. But the nickname actually came from two separate instances. The "demon" part was true, perhaps accurate even—I murdered my enemies without any hesitation: because I was young, because if I didn't, I would die. One of my fellow mercenaries, witnessing a particular tirade one night in which I almost single-handedly wiped out a group of bandits, referred to me as a demon, and it stuck with the group.

Yet the "ashen" part came from a rougher night. To be ashen meant to be pale, and in most cases, that paleness came from shock or fear. A village our band of mercenaries came across had been so brutally destroyed that it almost seemed impossible for humans to have caused such damage. When we found the fiends responsible for the damage, my lingering horror appeared plain on my face even as I cut them down. I was pale with fear of what these monsters could do. But had I been unable to put those emotions aside, I would have died.

Thus, together I was the Ashen Demon. Pale with horror yet demonic in my delivering of justice.

On the final day of training, I went to the training grounds to watch Dimitri and Annette practice. Felix sat next to me on the ledge surrounding the arena itself watching their work. For the most part, his role here had been relatively boring for him, he informed me. There was only one instance in which Annette cast a strong gust of wind magic at Dimitri instead of the tracking spell and knocked him back directly into Felix, which hadn't gone over well.

"How do you know if it works?" I asked Felix as we sat and watched Annette cast the dark spell over Dimitri. I saw no difference in him.

"We don't want the Agarthans to be able to notice that we placed a tracking spell on him, so there's nothing special about the spell except that it can only be noticed by Annette," Felix explained. "But it seems that she is unable to cast any other magic after that one without breaking the trace. They've been at it for days trying to strengthen the spell and make it last longer, but the longest she's been able to go is a day."

I frowned and watched Annette cast a second spell, just a quick burst of light from her fingers. She sighed and shook her head at Dimitri.

"That might not be long enough for them to get him to their base depending on where it is," I pointed out, even though I could have very well kept my mouth shut. I was sure they had all realized this by now. "And I hate to think so negatively, but if Annette is put in a position where she has no choice but to protect herself…"

"That's why I'll be there," Felix said. "To protect her."

I still didn't feel comfortable with this. The closer tomorrow got, the more my stomach felt queasy. I didn't want to be apart from Dimitri right now knowing the sort of danger he was putting himself into tomorrow, but I also couldn't bring myself to watch any more of this. I left the training grounds and heading to Seteth's office. Very rarely did I find him to be a comforting presence, but sometimes he made me feel optimistic.

"Your Grace." Seteth looked up from his work and raised his eyebrows. "You look upset."

"Do I?"

"You must be worried about tomorrow." He gestured to one of his armchairs, and I slumped down in it. Not very becoming of a queen. "Claude is unparalleled as a tactician. You must have faith that his plans will work. The goddess will watch over His Majesty."

"But I am the goddess." When Seteth crossed his arms, I added, "Essentially."

"And you are going to be watching over him, are you not?" Seteth asked.

Whenever anyone blessed me in anyway relating to the goddess, or really mentioned her at all in front of me, knowing what I did now, I always wanted to tell them that their prayers meant nothing. How could Sothis watch over anyone if she was merely a part of me? I couldn't do anything particularly special, save for turn back time approximately fifteen minutes, so how could I help anyone the way they expected a benevolent, omnipotent goddess to do?

What was I supposed to do? Claude wouldn't let me join the battle. I would be stuck at the monastery waiting to hear the news that my husband had been successfully taken prisoner, which—frankly—was a hard thing to look forward to.

So, was I going to be watching over Dimitri? Not in a way that really mattered. He would be too far away for me to protect if anything went wrong, too far away for me to help by turning back time. I tried to convince Claude that I needed to be there, even if just on the sidelines, but he wouldn't go for it. And I did not foresee telling him about my Divine Pulse would go over well. I would just be one more tool for him to use. Not even Dimitri knew about the Divine Pulse.

I could not fathom continuing this conversation, so I changed the subject. "How's Flayn?"

The look on Seteth's face was hard to pinpoint. His brows drew together with what I understood to be sadness, yet his eyes lit up the same way they always did when he spoke of his daughter. It must have been bittersweet for him to be separated from her.

"She is just fine. I was writing her a letter." He held up the piece of parchment that he had been working on when I came in. "But, you see, she met a boy, and I am trying to figure out how to tell her to steer clear of such trivial pursuits as love."

I usually told Seteth what he wanted to hear, which was why he came to respect me more than he had when we first met. "I think that is a hard thing for you to explain when she knows how deeply you loved your wife. And you could argue—look where that got you. Yet you hold onto your affections for her despite the pain of her death. I doubt you will be able to convince Flayn any differently."

He sighed, took the parchment, and crumpled it up. "You may be right. I do not wish to approve of this, especially when I have not met the young man, but I am unsure that I will be able to prevent it either."

"You've grown a lot," I said, and Seteth smiled.

"As have you, Your Grace. Now, allow me to rewrite this letter. You should speak with His Majesty before he leaves about your concerns, as well."

I nodded and left his office. I doubted there was a point in me speaking to Dimitri again about how I had a horrible feeling about all this. He had heard me say it a thousand times, so once more would be nothing new to him. Still, it would be wrong to let anything go unsaid before tomorrow.

Dimitri returned to my room late that night, well after I had already returned. I was lying in bed reading a book Ashe had recommended to me. "You're still awake, my beloved?"

I closed the book and set it on the windowsill. "I wanted to wait for you."

He peeled off his eyepatch, revealing his scarred eyelid forever closed from the damage. He began to undress, taking off the layers of armor and the clothes underneath. His face was not the only part of him that bore scars. His shoulder, his back, his arms, his legs. There was hardly a spot on him that did not paint a picture of all he had suffered. The scar on his shoulder was still the freshest at six years old, a final gift from Edelgard, so at least he hadn't injured himself further in these past several years.

"The Knights of Seiros have returned. Felix, Sylvain, Ashe, and Dedue have to share a room in the knights' quarters tonight. Annette and Ingrid as well, but they're taking it much better than the men." Dimitri, having finished undressing and pulled on a pair of pants, hopped up on the bed beside me.

"Ashe would never complain… nor would Dedue," I said. It bothered me that my mind immediately went back to the letter I had since burned.

Dimitri smiled and wrapped his arms around my sides, slipped under the covers and laying his head against the pillow. "No, but I thought it would be insulting to merely name Felix and Sylvain as culprits. Ashe is trying to keep the peace, and Dedue is already fast asleep, I'm sure."

I put my head on his chest since he commandeered the pillow and stroked the scar on his shoulder with my index finger. "Are you nervous for tomorrow?"

"Not more than you, if that is what you are implying. Everything will be fine." His kissed the top of my head and squeezed me more tightly against him. "Let us get some rest. It's going to be a big day."

I wasn't sure what I hoped for exactly. But I was left unsatisfied with his response and could not bring myself to sleep. Dimitri, though, managed to find a restful night's sleep. I was glad that if I could not sleep, at least he could, and at least he felt secure enough to fight off the demons in his mind before facing the real ones in battle.


Dimitri didn't kiss me goodbye when he took off from Garreg Mach to the village south of it. He brushed my hair out of my face and let his hand linger on my face, but he gave me nothing else. When I stood on my toes to kiss him, he turned his head at the last minute so that my lips pressed against his cheek instead.

I knew why, of course. Kissing me goodbye meant that this was real.

He had lied to me last night. He was more nervous than I was.

"You know, Teach, His Majesty seemed… a little cold," Claude commented a few hours after they left. We were standing in the marketplace, bartering with the merchants and handing over some weapons for refurbishment. The blacksmith always did much better on my sword than I ever could.

"He's concerned," I replied.

Claude put his hands on his hips. "Huh. You two really know how to read each other, don't you?"

"I guess."

He turned and began walking back into the monastery, and I could only manage to stay a moment longer to make sure the blacksmith could work on my sword before following him.

"You also seem to be able to read everyone," I commented as I caught up to him.

He continued walking in silence for a minute. I wasn't sure where he was bringing us as we crossed the halls, but I didn't want to be alone right now and would follow wherever he led.

Then, when I figured he had no response for me, he spoke again. "My ability to read everyone comes from the fact that I don't want others to have secrets. I can read them because I know all there is to know about them. But you have always been a tough nut for me to crack—your secrets aren't so much secrets as just a lack of knowledge. At least they were. Now…"

He brought me up the stairs to the second floor. The only place I could imagine he would bring me up here would be the library. But what was there?

"Now?" I wondered.

We walked past Seteth's office. He usually kept the door open, but it was closed now, meaning he didn't want to be disturbed. I was always an exception to that—as leader of the church, it was my special privilege to annoy him whenever I desired.

It was almost disappointing that he had adopted a more relaxed disposition since taking over the school.

"Now," Claude continued, turning the corner to confirm my suspicions. He was heading towards the library after all. "You seem to know that which you didn't before. Your age. Your connection to the goddess. Your green hair and green eyes. That part's not so different from Seteth and Flayn."

"I only know my age now because my father had it written in his diary. It hasn't mattered at all since I found out," I said.

"But it does matter. How old are you now?"

I had to think about it. Because it mattered so little to me, I had never gone out of my way to memorize exactly how old I was. But I knew I was born in the Horsebow moon of 1159. So… given that it was now 1191, that meant I was almost thirty-two. Most likely, anyway.

"Probably in my early thirties," I said. "Why?"

Claude snapped his fingers. "Because you don't look like you're in your early thirties. In fact, I'd say you don't much older than your early twenties at the oldest. Maybe… say, twenty-one? The age you were when you had your mysterious encounter that changed your appearance?"

He gestured for me to follow him over to one of the shelves farthest from the doorway. He pulled a book off the second shelf from the bottom and started leafing through it. I watched him skim, his eyes tracking back and forth, until he tapped a finger on the page he wanted and flipped the book for me to see. On the page, there was a subheading entitled, "Manakete," centered halfway down it with a single paragraph following.

"You know who else hasn't aged?" Claude asked, diverting my attention from the text back to him. "From the beginning of the war to the end, Flayn never seemed to get any older—and if she was as young as she appeared, her growth spurt should've hit and made her look much more mature after five years. And who else? Seteth, who should be… what, in his mid-forties by now? The man looks great if he is."

I didn't know what to say to any of this. I couldn't really tell if I looked any older—I saw myself in the mirror every day, and a gradual change like that isn't as noticeable as, say, the differences I saw in my students after five years, and even now after an additional six for some.

And I knew that Seteth and Flayn were actually the saints Cichol and Cethleann. They were children of the goddess, so it made sense that they had some sort of immortal tie to the world—or perhaps not immortal, but something close. They had been alive for a long time, that much was clear.

But me? I… wasn't. The only thing I knew for certain was that the goddess had forged her soul with mine, but that couldn't mean I inherited that part of her, right?

In any case, Claude didn't leave me much of an opening to form a rebuttal, anyway. "Rhea, too, except I haven't seen her in several years. Now, the four of you have some common traits: the hair, the eyes. I don't think this is a coincidence."

I took the book from him and looked back down at it. "Get to the point, Claude."

"I'm surprised Seteth didn't take this book from the library. But it's such a small section that maybe he didn't notice it. Go ahead and read it."

The Manakete is a race different from humans but which blends in amongst them. Although they are members of the dragon tribe, the Manakete takes their humanoid forms more often than their dragon form. Notable characteristics of the Manakete include prolonged lifespans, with both psychological and physical maturity occurring at a much slower rate than humans. Many have pointed ears, though this is a trait that has been lost over time from crossbreeding with humans.

"What, you think we're Manakete? I've never turned into a dragon," I assured him.

"You might not have, but I wonder if the others have. What if the dragons of old, like the Immaculate One, were actually Manakete?" Claude took the book back and slammed it shut. He restored its place on the shelf carefully, as if to leave no evidence behind that he had been researching this.

He ran a finger along its spine and then stood back up to face me. "There's just one flaw in my theory."

"Oh? What's that?"

"Your father."

I furrowed my brow. "Why?"

"You know when you first came to the monastery?" Claude asked. I nodded. It was hard to forget. "Alois and the other knights all made comments about how it seemed like Jeralt hadn't aged since he left the monastery. But it had been two decades since he'd been there. He should have aged a lot in twenty years."

"I always just thought they were being polite," I admittedly a little sheepishly, but I had to admit, Claude had my attention now.

"I don't think they were. I think he seriously did not age. And as I've been doing a little bit of digging around, I think there are several people in the church who we can say the same about," Claude continued. How long had he been partaking in this investigation of his? "Which is where the flaw in my theory is. None of these people bear any resemblance to you, Flayn, and Seteth."

"Unless we're the exception?" I offered.

Did I just admit that I agreed with him?

"I don't think you are. I think they are." He walked over to one of the library tables and sat down at it so that he was facing the doorway. He kept glancing that way, as if checking to make sure the door didn't pop open. "Do you remember when Flayn was taken?"

I nodded.

"I just assumed they wanted her for her Crest. Linhardt told me he had the same Crest as her—except that hers was major, and his was only minor. That's rare, so it seemed to make sense that the Death Knight and Edelgard and all those people wanted her for that. But what if they wanted her for something else?"

Would it be wrong of me to reveal the truth? That they wanted her for her blood, because it was rare? I had a feeling that would be exactly what Claude needed to piece it all together. But what sort of conclusion would that be? One that would help us, or one that would only get in the way on our road to peace?

And I would be betrayed Seteth's trust if I told. Could I live with that?

I elected to stay silent. Claude would come to his own conclusions either way, and I suspected he was already halfway there.

"In any case, none of this information will help us now," Claude said finally when I did not respond. "Manakete aren't immortal beings; they can still die. So, it's not like we can throw you into the thick of the fray to take all the damage."

"I appreciate that," I responded drily.

"Like I said, this is all just conjecture. But when I do find out the truth, you'll be one of the first to know, Teach. I'm sure the church has kept enough secrets from you. This doesn't seem like one they should have withheld."

Well, and if it was true, and I was aging more slowly now… didn't that mean that one day, I would be in a world without Dimitri? Without my children? Living with the cost of watching everyone I loved grow old and die around me, tortured by grief at their passing?

Seteth managed it. Flayn, too. The only death Rhea seemed to struggle with was that of her mother's. But I…

"Claude, do you—"

He held up a hand suddenly and looked at the door, eyes narrowed. Not a moment sooner, the doors burst open, and a knight in full armor stood panting between the frame.

"Your Grace!"

They shouldn't have been back so soon. Not after just a few hours.

No, it was not that I suppressed my emotions. It was not that I did not have them. It was not that I was a damn demon.

I stood up, and Claude rose next to me. "What is it?"

"They knew we were coming. They were already there, waiting for us. The troops were utterly annihilated, Your Grace."

Claude's hand went to my back, as if to make sure I remained standing. I took a step forward to get away from his touch and blinked once before responding, "And my husband?"

"Captured by the enemy, Your Grace."

The spell? Was the spell cast?

"And?"

"The entire vanguard was captured, Your Grace. Lady Dominic, Duke Fraldarius, Margrave Gautier, the king's personal knight… the whole lot of them, gone. It was over in a split second, ma'am. They left but a small fraction of our troop alive. Enough of us so that we could return and deliver a message to the archbishop."

Claude spoke before I could manage to find my voice. "And what is the message?"

The knight practically quaked in his armor. I could hear the rattling of his knees against the metal. It hurt my ears.

"That…" He hesitated, and for a moment, I thought he wouldn't be able to say it. But he seemed to pluck up the courage and nearly shouted at me, "That you should not have ignored their warning."


Author's Note: Um. Sorry. That is all I have to say about that.