Almost forgot about the part that Ashe is depressed due to events in his life. But pushes on with kindness and a smile on his face.
"It's the Ashen Demon and the White Rider!"
Alarms were raised as another underground base was infiltrated by those who live on the surface. Ever since Shambhala was destroyed, the rest of the Agarthans have been making sure that the remnants were not to be discovered. But here is death and it has come. The leader smiled wryly, "Ah, death and pestilence join hands in an unholy matrimony." There were only two of them but they had been successful in their recent conquests and raids. It has taken a great toll on the morale but the leader deemed it was time to turn the tides. "Let us use them," the gangly old man ordered and his minions clambered around the base.
"Hey, it's been quiet," said one of the guards guarding a hallway. "You think they're still there?"
"Dunno, man," the other had a skewed smile. He's a survivor of a prior raid and he'd seen how the Ashen Demon and the White Rider killed many of his friends and allies on their own, with just two of them. "I don't wanna know," his pulse quickened and he gripped his spear tighter. But he was forcefully removed from where he stood. He was a grunt; he had to do what he was told, without questions.
They haven't seen how merciless those two are! He shuddered as he neared the corner. All he had to do was peek. When I saw a gray and white shade in the distance, I made a run for it. The last thing I heard was that no one survived that stronghold. Just what are they? Finally, he mustered his courage and looked over the corner. There was no one. He kept his wariness about and stalked the hallway. Even further were just a bunch of corpses, looted to be exact. "There's no one here!" He made it to the entrance unscathed. He looked left, no sign of them. Right, still none. Slowly, the lad crept low a little further out, holding his breath as he waited for that arrow or magic spell, none. Quickly he ran back and reported.
"Death has left, eh? A fair warning." They were lucky. But they knew that self-same luck would eventually run out. But why did they suddenly leave? A strategy perhaps? "Search the nearby villages. Find the demoness and her spouse!"
He washed his face. His teeth chattered, not of the cold, but of fear of encountering the pair of demons and finally having his life forfeit again. His hands shook as he dipped them in the water. Not even the freezing liquid could make him shudder in the same way.
"Wow. You can't even keep still. Are they that terrifying?" asked his companion guard.
"I'm starting to think that this revenge thing isn't for me. Those two… massacred everyone from the base in Kleiman region, where I came from. I was so afraid! When I saw my buddy with an arrow sticking between his eyes, I ran away! As fast I could!" He was disgusted with himself. "But I thought, that wasn't right. What about the others? So I followed the trail of dead bodies… I swear I heard them laughing. They even danced!" Though he wasn't going to admit that the demons' dancing captivated him. They were graceful even though they were both fully armored; it showed their years of practice. "Then they spotted me and stopped."
"They let you live?"
He shook his head. "Just to let others know of their evil deeds!"
How the White Rider stepped in front of his mate, axe drawn, not even contemplating using the bow, because a grunt like him was not worthy of getting killed through it. The Ashen Demoness feigned fear behind her husband but the grinning demon faceplate of hers betrayed her. Fear paralyzed him. His limbs lost control, he dropped his lance and it clattered on the floor as his whole being realized that he's already dead.
"Leave."
He didn't expect his voice to be whimsical nor boyish. On closer inspection, the White Rider looked young, or what he could make of what the wretched man showed.
"I vouch for your safety. Stay, and she kills you."
Without a moment's notice, his companion slammed him against the wall, "So you led them here!"
"I swear, I didn't!"
"I'm going to kill you!"
His eyes strayed to the ceiling as his neck was slowly being crushed under the other man's grip. To think that he was going to die at the hands of his fellow Agarthan. Perhaps it would've been better if he had lunged at the Ashen Demoness and ended his life that day, it might have been less… disappointing. His eyes feel like they're about to pop out. And his nose felt full, about to burst off his face.
"If you promise never to fight again, forget about the Slitherers, then you are free to live whatever life you want," said the Demoness from behind her helm.
The White Rider chuckled.
He clawed at his attacker's arms. With the last ounce of his strength, he pushed the other's eyes into their sockets until he was let go. His lungs desperately sucked air in. Gasping and with neck in pain, he got up, away from everybody. Yet he got tackled to the floor and his body crashed against hard stone. He was flipped over, punched over and over. His lip broke, and he might have swallowed his own teeth, and his eye might never recover. He raised his hands to guard against the blows but it was no use.
'Maybe they were right…' His arms fell, as his strength left him. It was painful. At least getting shot between the eyes would kill you immediately, or getting pierced through the heart or decapitated. 'No more…' Everything stilled. The coldness of the floor ate him, becoming one with it.
Soft light set his soul astir. He awoke to unfamiliar surroundings. "I'm alive," he realized. Half of his vision drew a blank; a bandage over his eye. His body was leaden. Lying on bed felt like sleep paralysis, dread pressing against you. And yet, it was strangely comforting. He closed his eyes again.
"Will he live?"
"Oh, yes, quite. I saw him awake earlier."
The voices awoke him. An old man—the doctor—a woman and a man. The man looks familiar. He should. He wanted to call out but his throat hurts and his jaw could barely move. He pushed his voice through, "White… Rider."
"See? He lives!"
"That's good news!" the silver haired man rejoiced.
The woman placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, "I'm glad you survived. You were half-dead on the floor when I came upon you."
'Why are you kind?' The world faded to black.
"You lost some of your teeth; I'm afraid they're never growing back. And we couldn't heal your eye, it was too far gone." The mutterings of the doctor flew past his head as he gawked at the couple. They were the Ashen Demoness and the White Rider, Byleth and Ashe Ubert respectively, only a couple of enemies they, the Agarthans, ought to wipe off the face of Fódlan. And yet they saved him from his fellowmen, who was so engulfed in anger he was almost killed. His articulators are fully recovered yet he stifled all his words behind his lips.
The doctor left.
"How did you end up in there?" asked the woman. Right now she looked like a kind person. Yet the demon faceplate flashes in his mind. "And why did they hurt you?"
"Shut up!"
"Shut up, Ashen Demoness! You'll never get any information from me!" It is now his fourth dance with death. Would he survive, he wonders.
"So, you're a Slitherer…"
"You're not planning on killing him, are you?" asked the White Rider. Is he faking concern and kindness yet again?
The dastardly woman chuckled, "See that? You'll be the second Slitherer he saves from me."
To be at their mercy was an insult. "Just kill me!"
Yet the Ashen Demoness merely smiled at him. She is beautiful; no one would've known because of that dreaded mask of hers. No wonder the White Rider was enamored with her. "Today is a day of life," she said and did not press on, leaving him confused. "As we told another of your brethren, you're free to live another life. Only if you forget about the Slitherers."
"What other life is there!? On the surface!?"
"Nobody in this town knows what you are, except for being a wounded man rescued from a bandit camp. Why do you fight?"
"Why do you fight?" he returned the question.
"Because I want to stop the people who are using innocents in their heinous plans, torturing them, sacrificing them! Why can't the Agarthans stop scheming!?"
"Alright, that's far enough," soothed the other man. "You're tired. We should all rest and talk some other time, alright?"
Sorrow, helplessness, guilt, he was overcome with intense sadness of having failed his entire race. And yet, his sworn enemies saved him from his own. Twice. "Why did you save me the first time?"
Byleth was confused until everything clicked together. "So you were that man we let go. Well, I wouldn't fight an unarmed person. Neither will he," she pointed at her husband. "He's too chivalrous for that."
"But you killed everyone… in the base!" He had to spend a couple of days burying everyone.
"True, we killed everyone. Everyone who did not drop their weapons and ran."
Ashe had to interject and he showed his mate outside the room yet he lingered for a while. He turned, his kind green eyes boring holes, "I hope that your reason to fight is your own, and not some distant, vague person's hatred."
It was sunny out, if not a little to hot for a spring day. Well, it was almost summer. And he looked up to the sky, a moment's repose from the hard work of tilling the soil. He looked to his right, he saw the many seedling boxes he had set up not long ago. The seedlings have shot up and they're just about ready to be transferred to the fields. It was a beautiful day. A day he would not have lived to see had he charged the Ashen Demon and her White Rider. His neighbors waved hi at him as they passed. They, too, were cowards and traitors like him. Yet now they live peaceful lives in the small town that their sworn enemies have procured for them. All those days torn about abandoning the fight were now nothing but thoughts to laugh at.
He worked the soil until the sun was at the zenith. After his lunch was the same. Until a bright, straw haired boy passed by, he knew by laughter, and his small hands reached up to the tops of the stone wall and his snotty face peeked through, "Whachu doin?" His curious eyes swept over the small field after he got himself up over the wall.
"Tilling the soil, my lord," he answered as he raised the hoe. "Lord Jeralt, it is not safe to sit there," reminded he as he continued his work. Soon enough a familiar female voice echoes his words. She was still beautiful even though motherhood has given her a few fine lines and wrinkles. Her voice was stern and she did not pass the chance to teach her child of the consequences of being reckless.
Yet the husband was nowhere in sight. "Where might Sir Gaspard be?"
"Him? He's doting on the kids in the orphanage. You know him, can't seem to get enough of cute and adorable faces!" Byleth cleaned her son's face.
"Then why not more children with you?" he teased, causing the woman to laugh.
She beamed, toothy grin, "I am actually pregnant with my third child!" She happily stroked her stomach and her eldest child proclaimed he will have a baby sister. The three of them chatted, mostly about the Ashen Demoness' travels across the land. Then a silver haired man came upon them, with a similarly silver haired boy upon his shoulders. The White Rider happily greeted him, told him how happy he was that the crops are turning out great.
He stopped. His smile dropped. His inner voice whispering to him, coaxing him, attack them, for the glory of Agartha, it said.
"You're not looking well. I guess we'll get going and give you privacy." Then her family went on their merry way, waving goodbye at him with smiles on their faces. They were kind, courteous and mindful. Generous, giving them land and their lives. Most of all, protection from the wrath of the dreaded Imperial Minister Vestra.
Maybe all they told him was a lie. To get him to fight their stupid battle. The Fell Star, the Ashen Demon, maybe all of those weren't real. He gazed at the blue sky and smiled.
"Congratulations."
Ashe was puzzled to say the least. His wife was on the verge of fainting when they arrived at the second-next village (he was afraid that the nearest village would have been too obvious a hiding spot), and the doctor dares congratulate him? He sharply breathed in. "For what?"
"Your wife is pregnant."
"Preg…nant?"
"Yes, carrying your child," the doctor said proudly. But a few moments of thinking made him recoil and apologize. "Unless… it's not yours and…"
Ashe shook his head. "It's mine! I'm just surprised." The doctor guided him into the infirmary where Byleth was laid to sleep. Carefully, he sat on the edge of the bed so that he could observe her sleeping form. He thought back and began counting, as to make heads of the time the doctor had told him; she was two months in. Must be that time back in Gaspard, he thought. He removed his gauntlets and gloves so that he can gingerly hold Byleth's hand. It was terribly cold.
"Please take care that she is not too exhausted." The doctor eyed him, from head to toe. Covered in armor of highest quality yet showing dings and damage in many places. Not to mention that the wife came in in the same loadout of full battle gear. They had a hard time stripping her bare. "Judging by your appearance, you do battle more often than I would recommend for her. So please, let her take some time off the battlefield."
"Of course. Thank you, doctor."
Ashe tightly held onto her hand, hoping his heat would better it. There were a lot of things to consider for them if they were to settle down. First and foremost, he would have to send a message to his siblings that they were returning to Gaspard. To the steward as well, so that he could prepare their mansion for the baby. Then they would have to inform their friends of the wonderful news. Clothes, bottles, wraps, a lot of things spun in his head as he decided how to procure them at what price, at what quality, at what quantity. He smiled.
"Instead of worrying, I should be celebrating," he chuckled. Unbeknownst to him, Byleth was astir and had been awoken by his musings. "Oh, I'm sorry I woke you."
"You look worried."
"Of course I'd be! You nearly fainted!" Ashe huffed. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"I didn't know, I swear! I thought I was just missing it for a month. It happens!" And then she completely forgot about the business of telling him because they were touring the former Faerghus territories in search of small Slitherer hideouts to exterminate. Until the convenience of not having period was overcome by her sudden weakness and nausea was it only brought back to her memory to tell him, but they were in a Slitherer hideout, being the most inappropriate place to speak. She smiled brightly, hoping that he'd be back to his normal self.
"Alright, alright, I get it."
Silence. His hands gently rubbed hers and she answered with putting her other hand over his.
"I was thinking…" Byleth started. But she was afraid she'd get turned down the moment she said the words.
"Yes?" Ashe urged Byleth on.
She smiled. All these years, she forgets what kind of man she married. Then again, he's the type to hear her first, the whole thing—salutations, body and complimentary close—and then deny her if she's being unreasonable. But she'll never know until she tries, "Now that we're having a child, we would have to settle down, right?"
"You sound like you don't want to." He was sad. And disappointed. She heard it in his voice. Now Byleth feels bad asking such a thing. "I know you grew up moving around. I don't even know how Sir Jeralt managed to take care of a baby you." There was restrained giggle that made Ashe pause. He glared at Byleth who was giggling at him.
"It's the way you call my Dad. It's weird. He's your Dad, too, you know."
"Don't interrupt me," ordered Ashe with a smile as he playfully pinched Byleth's nose, then got back to topic, "Granted, he didn't get to be pregnant with you nor did he have to nurse you personally." He was thoughtful for a few moments. "I guess we could settle down a bit back in Gaspard. For a few years until we can move around again."
"I like the sound of that," Byleth smiled. The couple then shared a chaste kiss, in celebration of their first child. "You have to work on calling my Dad Dad."
Ashe chuckled. "It's weird! How am I supposed to practice?"
The two laughed from one topic to another. Times like these barely came to them as they did charitable deeds all over Fódlan, aside from the mindless murder of Agarthans. Only the nurse visiting for Byleth's food was the only reminder they had.
The husband stood to get back to their horses tethered outside. He got rations and water for himself, and while rummaging, remembered some thoughts best left alone. It was a flash of darkness in his mind.
'Would I make a good father? Would I be enough?' He questioned himself. 'I might fail. No, I'm going to fail!' Suddenly, his left hand clamped down on his right, both shaking. His subconscious mind tipping him off, to stop his thoughts right there. The man continued on for his search for the damned ration. He needed to get back to Byleth, to see that sunny smile she learned from everyone else. To chase the clouds away. 'Why did she even choose me? Wait. I'm the one who keeps on sticking to her.'
"Sir?" A nurses voice shocks him out of his thoughts. "Your wife needs you."
'Needs me? I doubt it. She's more than capable.' Doubt after doubt came into his mind, raining from the inky black clouds that formed overhead. "She does, does she?" Nevertheless, he followed her back into the infirmary's ward with items in hand. He saw Byleth eating, obviously not impressed with the food. The moment he sat back on his place at the bedside, she whispered, "You spoiled me when it comes to food."
Ashe forced himself to speak, "Why is that?"
"Because everything you make is just… heavenly," she asked for the smoked meat in his possession, opting for it rather than the food served. She giggled. "Maybe because I love you too much."
"You do?" His features were forlorn. It was the validation he needed and yet it rang hollow in his ears.
"I do. I love you. Always. Forever, Ashe. I hope you feel the same." Byleth was silent for a second as she chewed on her food. "I was thinking, while you were out, we've been living my life up till now."
Ashe stared at her blankly.
"Why don't we settle back in Gaspard, so you can work on your legacy?"
"What? Why?"
"Edelgard did say you can rule over Gaspard if you want. Heck, the governor still governs in your name." Yet her husband was silent. Uncharacteristically so. "Ever since we took on this adventure, it seems you've focused your everything in pleasing all my whims yet I never heard a peep about yours. What do you want, Ashe?"
The man grunted. "It's not like my rule would be better than the governor's. Let's just leave it to somebody who actually knows how to do it." His green eyes were stuck on the floorboards. It was like that since he returned from outside. It was like a shadow hung over him. Like he was back to his teenage days, right after Lonato embarked on that suicide mission against the church.
Byleth smiled. The two of them have many scars, some physical, some intangible. They come and go as they please, and when they do come, they always throw a shroud over their eyes, darkened and gloomy. "You're tired of all of this. Aren't you?"
He didn't speak. Yet he remained motionless.
Her hands moved to touch his knee, "I'd still be with you tomorrow. I'd still be pregnant tomorrow. You'd still be with me tomorrow. Whatever worries you, let's talk about it tomorrow."
Finally, Ashe turned his eyes to her. He felt cheated. Because she knows that all their regrets can be summed up to delaying things for later, and bringing up the 'Let's talk about it later' card shakes him like no other. His lips were a taut line until he spoke against his wishes, "Let's talk about it now. I'm just… there's this..." he clamped his mouth shut. A lot of things ran in his mind, each trying to have his full attention. "It's like a passing wind, you know. A passing dark cloud. And it just… I didn't mean to think about it. Now it's festering in my mind."
Byleth coaxed him further, nodding.
"Suddenly, a lot of things came back, along with the worry of whether I'd be a good father or not."
"You'll make a good father, we both know it."
"But what if I—"
"What if—"
"I—"
He felt her cold hand on his knee. Those hands are calloused. Those deft fingers he loves to entangle with his. Their happy memories flash in his mind, euphoria, slowly covering and driving away what depressing thoughts that have taken over his faculties at the moment. The thoughts willed away, yet the bitterness remains.
The next morning he woke up, with her by his side. And the next, and the day after that.
