Eamon von Ochs,

Forgive the sudden letter. It has been quite some time since we've seen each other. I've been remiss with keeping up with you. My father has always spoken highly of you and, I suspect, has always hoped I would grow up to wed your daughter.

But it is your daughter I write on behalf of. I'm certain the Church has already sent correspondence of some sort to you. Yes, your daughter lives. I have seen and spoken with her myself. Allow me to offer congratulations. While I have no children of my own yet, I could wager a guess that a child is the most important thing to a parent.

I do not write to tell you what you already know. Yes, your daughter is alive, but I hesitate to say well. I do not write to dampen your spirits or ruin the good news, but she did not recognize me. Me, the person who would one day be her ruling neighbor. The person she danced with at events, who spent time with her as a child.

Your daughter is not as she was, Baron. In fact, I have noticed other strange circumstances around the monastery. Strange men around, a knight clad in armor earning him the moniker Death Knight, and even the strange actions of Empire soldiers in the area.

I will not pretend to tell you what to do. You know full well what is best for you and your daughter. But I found sleep come to me slower as of late as I ruminated on this.

I fear there is something brewing here. Be on your guard. I pray that I am wrong, but I am not unintelligent. A degree of caution would not go amiss.

Linhardt von Hevring

"You are having transference?" Petra asked as Dorothea left the Deer classroom.

Dorothea nodded. "Yes, but I fail to see how this will help." She looked around for a moment for anyone who would be eavesdropping.

Petra stood closer to her, the same thought on her mind. "I am with agreement. But I fear the Empire means to fight Brigid. I am not wanting to be fighting my friend Dorothea when the time comes."

"Oh, Pet," she said, wrapping the younger woman in a hug. "You're sweet, but that won't stop me. You're my friend. I'll fight on your side if need be."

"I am appreciating that, Dorothea. But that is not your fight. It is my grandfather and I who will be fighting the Empire. And…"

"And?" prompted Dorothea.

"If it is not against Brigid, then war is coming to Fódlan." Petra bit her lip. "Leicester is being safer with their neutrality."

It occurred to Dorothea, that in her quest to find a spouse that would care and provide for her, she'd failed to consider the Brigid princess. Maybe that had been an oversight on her part.

They walked across the grounds, the colder winds had them standing closer together. Each day brought them close to the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, the biggest event in the academic year. And she'd just transferred to a new class.

It was impulsive. Reckless. Petty. Perhaps not in that order.

Edelgard's…lack of interest had frustrated her. Though it wasn't as if Adrestia particularly welcomed a couple of two women. Was Dorothea judging her too hard?

No, she thought. Edelgard, whatever she was, was not weak willed. She'd take what she wanted.

Like Lysithea, a voice whispered in her mind.

Maybe the Deer would be a better fit. No more lazy Linhardt, hovering Hubert, or perfect Petra.

Perfect? Ugh, Dorothea had to stop falling for every pretty girl who cast a glance to her. If the rumors called her a slut, then she had to be mindful of who she bat her eyelashes at. Or maybe it just meant she had to find some victims to electrocute. That'd shut them up…

She shook her head. Leicester. She'd just chained herself to the Deer. As a commoner, the house she graduated in meant far more. Nobles had families to go back to. Her? If she attempted to find work in the Empire, they'd question why she'd left the Eagles.

"Dorothea? Are you having deep thoughts?" Petra asked.

"Just contemplating the entire fate of my future based on the choice I just made," Dorothea murmured. "How about you? How are you going to get out of this?"

They stepped into the greenhouse. The gardener inside cast them a smile and continued her work. They were otherwise alone.

"If war breaks out, I will be having to go back home. My grandfather is having the same information I do. He is smart, he will be preparing."

"And if Edelgard doesn't let you go?"

"She won't, so I will be having to sneak away. With war already coming, I am not thinking she will have anything to threaten."

Dorothea frowned. "What about your friends?"

Petra gave her a sad look. "My only friend is just having transferred to a new class."

"What about Caspar? Linhardt? Bernie?" Dorothea protested, flushing inwardly. Petra thought that highly of her?

"They are being nice, but I am thinking it is you who understand me, Dorothea." Petra crouched down by one of the flowers, brushing a finger down one of the petals. "This is from Brigid," she whispered. Was that longing in her voice? A longing for home, for some sense of familiarity amidst a strange country with strange customs and strange people.

Dorothea didn't know her flowers, despite getting so many after shows. It looked like a lily? Maybe? She couldn't say. "I hope you get to see those flowers again soon, Petra."

"Fódlan is nice," she said with melancholy. "But Brigid is home. I miss it."

Dorothea didn't know what to say to that. Home wasn't a concept she was intimately familiar with. And she'd been just starting to think Garreg Mach might be something like that.

Then she set down a mantle of feathers for a crown of antlers.

You'd do anything a pretty girl told you, she scolded herself. Dorothea wanted to protest that, but could she? It wasn't that radical an idea.

"War or not, we'll get you home," Dorothea said.

Petra smiled. "This is why I am being friends with you, Dorothea."

She blushed.

"Here you go," Raphael said, handing the coins over to the postman. The man in question gave them a quick count and smiled, offering confidence that the letter would be delivered as soon as possible.

And who was Raphael writing to? Maya, of course. He'd been so busy with training lately that he hadn't been able to write her. It had taken a rather strongly worded letter from his dearest sister to give him kick in the butt to finally write her.

It warmed his heart, though. His sister was worried about him, just as he was of her. Family was important to Raphael and he would protect Maya to the end of his days. She'd protest, but it was the best he could give. He lacked a head for numbers and business, but brawn? Oh, that he had all too much of.

Raphael strolled through the market inside the monastery gates. Vendors hawked at him, but he passed them by. Why buy food when he could eat for free at the dining hall? Though, now that he thought about it, that cinnamon scent from one stall certainly caught his attention. Duscur cuisine, no doubt.

But before his stomach could change his direction, he saw his professor and Shamir at a stall, talking animatedly.

"Heya, professor!" he greeted. "And hey, Shamir! What brings you two here?"

Shamir turned around and Raphael's eyes widened. Somehow he'd missed what she held, a longbow that measured taller than her. Shamir wasn't particularly short either. Eternal Flames, it was probably even taller than him. "Oh boy, that's a heck of a bow."

Byleth was handing coin over to the merchant, attempting some last minute haggling. She chimed in, "It's an Adrestian Longbow. I ordered it for Ignatz."

Shamir continued. "It was one of the few things we feared about Fódlan in Dagda. A bow that was rumored to shoot further than a league." She chuckled. "Horseshit, but this bow can punch through armor at five hundred paces away. Maybe longer."

Raphael whistled. "The professor taught us about those. You have to draw them with your shoulder, right?'

The mercenary knight nodded with approval. "That's why I'm going to teach Ignatz with it. Since he's in no condition to fight on front lines, we're figuring we can teach him to fight from the back where danger is minimal."

Raphael's smile was anything but small. "So he can fight in the Battle of the Eagle and Lion?"

Byleth turned a sour face away from the shopkeep with red hair, who from the looks of it had fleeced her. "Not quite. That's not exactly a training bow. Anyone Ignatz would hit with it in the mock battle would be killed for sure."

"Ah," Raphael chuckled. "Well, don't want that. Still, it's too bad he can't participate."

Shamir offered a slight smile. "Give the kid some credit. He's learning quickly. I'll have him ready to fight soon. The fact that he's learned so much in just, what, two months? No, three," she corrected herself. "I think we have a master archer in the making with him. Give me another month and I'll have him back at your side."

"That's great!" Raphael cheered. "Shamir, thank you."

She blinked. "Not that I won't take a compliment, but care to elaborate?"

Raphael reached forward and hugged her, saying, "You helped him in more ways than I could. Me, his best friend! I didn't know how to put a smile back on his face and you did that."

It was at that moment that he realized how stiff Shamir had gone in his arms. He let go.

Shamir stepped up to him, recovering. "No hugs. Come to the training yard in twenty minutes, I'm gonna teach you what happens when you hug me."

"Uh…" he turned his head towards his professor.

She was laughing. "Raphael, don't look at me. Shamir's your teacher too."

The archer scowled. "I appreciate the words. But not hugging me. I am a Knight of Seiros, not some teddy bear."

Raphael dug his own grave further. "But hugs are great! How else do you show appreciation for someone?"

"By not killing them."

"But isn't a hug way better? The tighter you squeeze, the more you care."

"I'm going to make you run so many laps."

"Here, let me show you just how good a hug is—"

"Raphael!"

Byleth laughed hysterically and Raphael hid his own smile as Shamir punched him in the gut as he approached.

His teacher could really do with smiling more. When she laughed like that, she reminded him of Maya.

"Here's far enough," Jeralt murmured.

Both he and Byleth dismounted by the stream. In silence, they got their fishing equipment out and baited their hooks. Dipping their bare feet in the cool water, they waited for their catch.

Trees blew slowly in the fall winds. Autumn was soon to be over, and Byleth suspected this to be one of the last few days that could be considered warm.

"Rhea try anything while I was gone?" he asked her.

Byleth shook her head.

Jeralt sighed with relief. "I guess I owe you that explanation now, right?"

"I mean, I'd prefer to know why the most powerful woman in Fódlan is so interested in me," she said, giving her father a look.

"Brat." He chuckled. "Well, it's not something I have all the answers to. But I have suspicions. You see, your mother, she passed while giving birth to you."

Byleth said nothing. Her father rarely talked about Sitri. Emotions weren't her forte, but she knew her father's best. And the melancholy that came over him with her name, it wasn't something she liked to disturb, like a pond at sunrise.

"Rhea was the only one present when she gave birth. She told me she tried her best to save Sitri, but could only save you. I'll admit, I believe her. Rhea is many things, but I don't think she'd let a friend die. Sitri was a friend, or at least a favored acquaintance.

"I took you to see a healer, someone who owed me a favor. Had him look you over to make sure you were okay. Call it a suspicion, maybe paranoia. Or both. Anyway, he said you were fine, but you had no heartbeat."

Byleth nodded slowly. A memory resurfaced from her childhood.

She lay on her father's chest as he was dozing. When she'd heard his heartbeat, she'd woken him up in a fright, afraid his chest would burst. He'd laughed and explained that she was different, that she had no heartbeat. That she was the abnormality. And then he'd made her swear not to speak of it to anyone. And she'd held that promise, as she would anything her father told her.

"I paid closer attention to things after that," Jeralt said, drawing his line out of the water and rebaiting it. He was no gifted fisherman. "Rhea was very intent on spending time with you. At first I thought it some sort of comfort to her for missing Sitri. I couldn't blame that." His jaw set into a firm line. "But the way she looked at you…it scared me. I'd seen her look at people like that, that possessive gaze. I didn't like it.

"And then there's the fact you never cried. You didn't laugh, smile, cry, scream, anything. I'd never heard of a baby doing that. That's when I knew there was something different about you."

"What did you do?" she asked quietly.

He bared his teeth in uncharacteristic smugness. "I fooled Rhea. I'm still a bit proud of it. A fire broke out and I stole you away. She thought you'd died in that fire and I left out of grief."

She shivered at the word 'fire'. "Then my dreams, the ones where I'm on fire?"

Jeralt looked down at the ground, a pained look on his face. "I…I had to grab you out of the fire when it broke out. I didn't think you'd remember it, but you did. I'm sorry, kiddo. Those nightmares are my fault."

Byleth reached an arm around her father and hugged him. "I don't blame you. You did what you had to do."

She distracted herself with rebaiting her hook while her father composed himself. He didn't like to bare his emotions and Byleth knew he liked it even less when someone pointed it out, even her. A minute later and he ruffled her hair.

"You're the best daughter a father could ask for, By," he said gruffly.

"I better be, cuz you're stuck with me," she said.

He laughed. "You've got your mother's sense of humor. I think she used that same line on me." He sobered, smile fading. "Byleth, I don't know more than that. Rhea…I fear she did something to you while you were being born. I've tried to poke around and find out, but I'm not sure where to look. Aelfric, I heard you met him, has told me he'd find out. I trust him more than most people here. But as far as Rhea goes, be wary of her."

"What if we're overthinking this?" Byleth asked, meeting her father's gaze.

He shrugged. "Were I a praying man, I'd pray to the Goddess for that. But I'm just a mercenary who has seen more of the world than most. In my experience, if someone seems like they're hiding something, they usually are."

"I'll keep an eye on her. If she tries anything, I'll let you know," she said.

Jeralt nodded approvingly. "Good girl. She's the only one you need to watch out for, I think. The Knights are all good people. And Seteth is a good father too, I may not find him the best conversation companion, but he's a good man."

"Seteth is a father?" Byleth cocked her head.

"Ah, shit. Um, yeah, that's supposed to be a secret. I don't know why they're posing as brother and sister, but Flayn is his daughter. Do me a favor and don't mention that. I only know because I knew him back when I was here with Sitri." He trailed off for a moment, as if putting a puzzle together in his mind. "And he looks just the same as then…"

Byleth's rod went taught. She jumped up and yanked, setting the hook. The pole nearly shot out of her hands.

"It's a big one!" she yelled.

Jeralt cast his aside and grabbed onto Byleth's fishing rod with her. "C'mon, kiddo, let's show this thing who's boss!"

They hauled in an embarrassingly small fish for how much trouble they'd had with it. But when cooking it up that night, it almost made taste better.

Claude had arrived to find Teach sleeping at her desk.

The Battle of the Eagle and Lion was almost upon them. In a mere week, he'd thrash Dimitri and Edelgard and show them just how much they ought to fear the Deer.

Not that he'd ever say that to anyone. He had an appearance to keep. But still, Claude knew he'd enjoy beating the both of them.

Granted, though, that required them to win.

It wasn't that Claude wasn't confident. After all, they'd just gotten Dorothea, an impressive caster and charismatic beacon on the field. Their firepower wasn't lacking, not at all. Neither was their coordination. And their training wasn't anything lax, either.

Why wasn't he confident?

Simple, they'd lost their first battle and they were Leicester, the inherent underdogs of Fódlan.

He'd checked the records of past mock battles. There last time the Deer had claimed a win was when Holst had led the house. The Deer rarely won, who was to say this time would be different?

Well, he did. That is, if his teacher would wake up so they could continue to strategize.

Claude moved closer to tap her shoulder, but stopped. Something made him pause, something akin to a realization. Maybe it was the last drips of sunlight pouring through the window or the messy hair of hers tucked into a ponytail. Maybe it was how even when asleep, her hand was resting on the knife at her belt. Or maybe it was just the curve of her jaw.

Claude realized, not for the first time if he was being perfectly honest, just how beautiful his professor was.

Oh, it wasn't a beauty that belonged to a fragile princess or some noblewoman tucked away in a castle and silks and frills. No, it was a rugged, natural beauty. A kind he remembered fondly from Almyra.

His father had fallen in love with his mother because she was a great warrior. She was beautiful, sure, but it was the sheer prowess she had that drew him to her. Claude didn't think himself that focused on battle. But the vulnerable expression on her face, that drew him in.

And that wasn't to say she wasn't gorgeous when she was in the middle of battle. Claude would never admit it, but he'd spent more than a little time looking at her back when she was training. She wore that damnably small top that showed off her shoulders, toned beyond definition with muscle.

Really, Riegan? The voice in his head was exasperated. Shoulders?

His wandering eyes had liked what they'd seen. He'd gone to the training grounds to watch Byleth train several times. Often he had a reason to. And sometimes it was just ogle her.

Every part of Byleth was a killing machine. Yet she wasn't without softness, vulnerability. She tried so hard to be everything for their class. No one could be that, but try she did.

Claude saw how much she pushed herself. Everyone in the class did. But as their leader, he spent the most time with her. Planning training schedules, routines, battle exercises, chores, they did it all together.

One day, he'd asked, "You put a lot of effort into all this, don't you?"

With a breathy voice, clear distracted, she said, "You all deserve it."

He didn't think she'd really noticed what she'd said, but Claude had fallen in love in that moment.

Love? Don't be absurd, he told himself. He'd known the woman for all of seven months and change. Claude didn't believe any of that 'love at first sight' garbage. A world where one could take a single look at someone and fall for them, that was a myth. The world where someone took one glance at him and saw hatred, now that was reality.

Still, there was something he felt for his professor. Friendship? Something more? Or just lust? He didn't know.

"You've been staring for a while. Something to say?"

Claude swallowed. Byleth was looking at him with a cocked brow, very much not asleep. "Just wondering whether to wake you or not," he decided to say.

"Uh huh," she said, clearly not convinced. But she didn't pursue it, instead launching right into their plans.

He tried to pay attention, but each time they met he felt it harder to listen to her words. Her voice was a siren song, something lulling him out of his senses.

Not that any of it mattered, the practical half of him said. Teach was involved with Mercedes.

It was hardly a secret, at least to someone who paid attention. They spent significant time with each other, even Mercedes sneaking out of Byleth's room and vice versa. He had a brain, he could connect the dots.

And so Claude von Riegan bit his tongue. After all, it was probably just a childish affection. Something he'd grow out of.

Gloved hands turned the doorknob slowly. He winced as the hinges of the door squeaked. For a moment, paranoia told him to run, to flee, to get out of the enemy's den.

But no one came. He slithered into the room, palming a small flame in his hand. As if he held a candle, the room's darkness shied away.

He knew the layout well. Bookshelves lined the walls and a stout desk sat in the middle of the room. Papers were scattered about its top. He scoffed.

Captain Jeralt certainly wasn't neat.

With light in hand, he scanned the books on the shelf. Most were droll titles. The fact that they were titled at all meant they weren't what he sought. What he wanted was far more personal, something Jeralt wouldn't keep out in the open.

A thin volume was wedged in between two larger tomes. With a lithe hand, he drew it out and flipped it open. The man's lips curled into a smile as he paged through.

He never thought Jeralt the man to keep a diary, it went against what a lot of people said about him. Such a stoic man keeping record of his thoughts.

"A child who doesn't cry. No heartbeat," he whispered to himself as he read. So that witch had done it. That complicated things.

But that meant the Progenitor God wasn't so dead as thought to be. That could be potentially useful. He'd have to confer with his associates.

He closed the book and returned it to its spot. With a breath of eldritch words, his disguise reaffixed itself to his face.

Pressing an ear against the door, he listened. Silence.

He opened and exited, looking both ways. Still no one.

A sigh escaped his lungs. Undetected.

He'd have to leave the monastery for a while to confer with Thales. Sothis could prove problematic for their plans.

Myson sneered as he left the building and stepped into the moonlight. Everything would go to plan. He would ensure it.

Byleth left the faculty tent to find that sunset had come and gone. The fields of Gronder were alight with the moon's glow. The whole area had been monopolized by the Church in their annual pilgrimage south for the mock battle.

Three distinct camps were set up, one for each house. They were lower on the hill than the Church leadership's encampment. The Archbishop had come herself, an odd occurrence judging from Seteth's paranoia at having Rhea out in the open.

But none of that was her concern. She, Manuela, and Hanneman had finished their discussions for the night. At midday, the battle would commence. Sleep was on her mind now.

But naturally, her fawns had different plans.

When she arrived at the Leicester camp, she passed students who bid her greetings. Many were from the lower classes, relegated to battalions instead of her individual attention. She tried her best to instruct the lesser Deer, but there were far too many to shape like her elite class. Still, Byleth was pleased with their progress.

As for her crème de la crème, they all sat around a fire making conversation.

She stood back, listening.

"I saw a man get hit with wyvern droppings once." Claude.

"You tell that story right now, mister." Dorothea.

A chorus of other voices chimed in. Claude began.

"It was actually during a Wyvern Moon, so the whole migration was going on. One of my tutors was taking me to go see them. I think his name was Nardel? Sounds right. Anyway, it was a day off from learning for me so I was so excited. I was asking so many questions. 'How far do they go?' or 'What's the fastest a wyvern can fly?' That kind of stuff.

"So he's not paying super close attention to his surroundings, but I am. I'm staring at the sky at all these majestic creatures, and I see a shape growing bigger."

"Oh no." Hilda.

"Yup. I think it's a wyvern diving, like Nardel is just telling me they can do, so I jump out of the way. Nardel sees me do so and steps closer to me to find out what's up. Then…" He paused for emphasis. "Splat."

"That is the single most disgusting thing I've ever heard," scoffed Lorenz.

"And the funniest," Leonie giggled.

Claude bowed as he sat on the log that lined one side of the fire. "I called him 'shitface' whenever I was annoyed with him."

"Creative," mocked Hilda.

"I was like, eight, cut me some slack!"

A smile curled at Byleth's mouth.

"Byleth!"

She blinked, seeing Mercedes waving. Leave it to Mercie discover her.

"Come sit with us, Teach!"

Byleth scratched the back of her head. "You're all having fun, you don't want your teacher to intrude."

"Poppycock," Lorenz said.

"You're one of us too." Ignatz.

"I don't mind." Marianne.

Claude shifted over to make room for her. "Seems like the crowd has spoken, Teach. You've got no choice. Come tell stupid stories with us."

Her class cheered as she took the offered spot.

Leonie leaned forward. "We've heard about Claude's wyvern shit story, Dorothea slapping the kinky noble in public, Ignatz' one and only theft, Hilda making Holst carry her around like a horse. You got a story to add?"

Byleth bit her lip. "I don't know if it's as funny as yours, but I once punched Trevor von Albrecht in the face."

Dorothea grinned widely. "Say more right now."

"Albrecht? As in the Leicester house?" Lorenz asked.

"The same," she answered.

Byleth took a moment to look around at her class. Leonie and Lorenz sat closer than she'd have ever expected them at the beginning of the year. Hilda was playing with Marianne's hair while the shy girl sat straighter than ever before and with a smile. Raphael played armrest for Ignatz who sat with them despite not participating in upcoming battle. Claude smiled a smile that reached his eyes. Dorothea had lost the apprehensive tension she'd had, looking like she sat amongst friends instead of strangers. And Mercedes had a small smile, just for her.

They were completely different from the first day she met all of them.

You are too, you know that?

Byleth found herself agreeing.

"So, we had this job in Albrecht, that tiny territory north of Edmund. There were these pirates we were dealing with that were easily taken care of. But on the way back, we got hassled by debt collectors, apparently looking for one of the Albrechts…"

They traded stories over the fire, staying up irresponsibly late on the eve of battle. Their mouths all ached from smiling so much, lungs heaving for breath when Lorenz regaled them with the time he disrupted a Roundtable meeting by falling asleep under the table as a child.

The fire was warm, but that had nothing to do with the warmth they each felt. That came from the makeshift family that sat around the flames. From newest member to oldest, it was camaraderie.

Byleth was content.

Author Notes: I also want to address the paralogue chapters in relation to this fic. I don't intend on taking dedicated time for each, that'd just be far too long. And, to be frank, some are pointless. However, some will make their way into this narrative either by means of happening off screen and being referenced or by conflicts entering the narrative directly later. For example, the Deer will tangle with Acheron at some point as I find that plotline (and how Lorenz reacts to it) interesting. And conversely, Hilda's paralogue is boring to me and will not be addressed. Not to say that we won't substitute that with some Holst/Hilda action since I was robbed of getting to see best boy Holst in the game.

Editing Notes:
4/14/2021: Corrected many grammatical mistakes.
7/30/2021: Minor grammar adjustments.