Claude,

The Archbishop wouldn't want me to tell you this, but I have a lead. Rumor has it someone saw Monica leave the monastery that night of the ball. Temper your expectations, but I'm optimistic about this one.

In return, I ask you look out for Vajra-Mushti. The Relic is invaluable to Church and retrieving it is of paramount importance. I know your motivations are revenge, and I shan't chastise you for that. I just ask you recognize that a Relic falling into the wrong hands is not good for anyone.

And, in a more selfish vein, should you bring Monica to justice, I trust you can remember to mention who gave you this information. A bit of glory would do a lot for my ambitions within the Church. Here we can help each other out. I, of course, would never forget a favor done for me.

Let me know if you're in need of anything to prepare. I'll be in touch soon about this lead.

Aelfric

Marianne folded her hands to stop her from scratching her arm. Said arm had her sleeve rolled up on display for Hilda to see in her room.

Hilda said nothing as she reached forward and brushed feather-light fingers across the scars that ran down her arm. Marianne shivered at the touch.

The hand shrank back. Hilda looked her in the eyes, afraid. Afraid for her. "Did you…?"

Marianne had to commend Hilda's bravery for asking that. But that was just one of many things that drew her to Hilda.

"No, it wasn't me," she whispered quietly. Quietly, but not weakly. No, Marianne had found something of a resolve. It was young, like a sapling, but it weathered the storms all the same. The old Marianne would balk at talking about this with anyone. This Marianne could manage it with Hilda.

"I never knew his name," she said. "He was always cloaked when visiting the Edmund estate. Except his hands, he took off his gloves to draw my blood. I always called him Pale Hands." She shivered and Hilda's arms were wrapped around her in a second. "He took my blood for experiments, I think."

"And your adoptive father was okay with this?" Hilda asked, rage kept at bay but all too there with a tremble.

Marianne laughed. Actually laughed. Oh, now that was a good joke. "Hilda, he did so at behest of the Margrave's orders. I…have this Crest." She bit her lip, not ready for the unvarnished truth. "It's rare, something not many people know about. The Margrave had this man running tests on me. He'd draw my blood and fill it in vials."

"Marianne, you don't need to tell me all of this," Hilda said, grabbing her hands. "This is hard for you, I can see it."

Marianne shook her head. "I need to say it. I was my adoptive father's research subject. My childhood was not like other children's."

It was a weight off her chest, a weight she'd carried for years. To finally be able to say it to someone, even if that someone was just one person. She'd said it, it was real. It was terrifying.

"I'll kill him," Hilda seethed. She squeezed Marianne's hand tightly, painfully.

"Hilda," Marianne said softly, brushing a hand against Hilda's cheek. "It's the past, killing him wouldn't undo any of it."

"It'd be revenge," Hilda said, grabbing Marianne's hand at her cheek. "It'd be justice."

"Hilda," Marianne repeated. "I don't want those things. I just want to be with you."

"What do you mean?" Hilda asked, shyness creeping in, a side only Marianne could bring out.

Marianne pecked her on the lips. "Take me to Goneril after this year, would you? I'd…" She took a deep breath. "All I'd like is to be somewhere safe with someone I love."

Arms wrapped her in a hug and Hilda said, "Yes." She pulled her in tighter. "Yes. Yes. Yes, yes, yes."

Marianne giggled. "Why, it seems Lady Goneril is pleased."

Hilda tackled her into the bed. "You have pleased the Lady Goneril! Now you shall have your reward of cuddles."

Tension had fled from Marianne's body, an ease and exhaustion coming over her at once. She felt more at peace than she had for a long time.

Behind Hilda's smile, there was anger, an anger pointed at Alister von Edmund. She silently swore to protect Marianne from him.

No matter the cost.

"I wondered if I'd find you here."

Claude blinked, folding the letter in his hands shut. Seeing who it was, he smiled. "Hey, Teach. What brings you up here?"

There was an unasked question that didn't go answered. Why was he up there to begin with?

"I was looking for you," she said, walking up and leaning over the side of the tower, looking down. "You've been avoiding me."

Ouch, though she was right. "Just wanted to give you space. With how people have been swarming you, I thought they might be overwhelming you. The ball was only a few weeks ago." Your father's death, he didn't say.

She nodded. "Considerate of you. But I have a question for you."

He walked up and joined her. "Oh? I thought the student was supposed to ask the questions?"

She didn't answer. "Why hide it?"

"It?" he asked, knowing full well what she meant.

"Your land of birth. It's Almyra, is it not?" She looked at him, her gaze daring him to lie.

He smiled softly. "Yes, I suppose it is."

Byleth turned away. "I wouldn't have judged you for it. I don't judge you for it, rather. I just want to know why keep it a secret?"

"That," he said, "is a long story. And you deserve it sometime, but I haven't the heart to tell it right now. Too much loss in it. But the short version is, the people of Fódlan dislike my heritage just as much as the people of Alymra dislike it. My mother, she was from Fódlan and my father of Almyra."

She nodded, thinking. "Was the story about your uncle true?"

"Yes," he simply said.

"Okay," she replied.

Wind wicked past them as they said nothing, looking out across the monastery. She didn't know what to say and he had too much to say.

Instead, he said, "You'd have liked where I grew up. Not the palace, the countryside. There was a field of flowers so large, you could walk an hour and only smell pollen in any direction."

"It sounds nice," she said.

Oh, nice didn't begin to describe what it was like to ride a juvenile wyvern across a field of flowers, a beast so full of energy it tired the rider out far quicker than the other way around. Tishtar loved flowers, especially eating them.

"It was," he just said.

"Will you go back?"

In hindsight, he should have expected that question. Perhaps it was the one that brought her up here in the first place. For all that his heart beat quicker when she was around, he wasn't fool enough to think she didn't value their friendship. They were important to each other, even if not in the way he dreamed. Friends, a word that used to be as foreign on his tongue as he was in Fódlan.

"Perhaps," he said. "Perhaps I'll go back to show you that field of flowers. Or the palace, or the city I grew up in. Or perhaps when my work here is done."

He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "Byleth, I know it is selfish to ask this, especially as you recover from such a wound, but I have a dream. A dream where children who grow up with different skin colors become friends. A dream where a man of two places can be of two places, not forced to choose one or be an outsider. This world is cruel, Byleth. I've seen my fair share and more. I don't want more children to have to ask their mothers why their friends kicked them to the curb and kept kicking.

"People should be judged by their hearts, by who they are. Fódlan…I want to bring it together with the rest of the world. I want to soothe wounds, not inflict them. I want…ha, I suppose I want a lot. But my father once told me that it wasn't selfish to want a better world."

A hand touched his shoulder. He looked to her, not having realized he'd been focused on the horizon. She was inches from him, far closer than she'd ever been.

"What do you need from me?" she asked, only it wasn't a question. A question would have diluted the conviction in her eyes, the love, the care. It was a promise, a vow offered in the eyes of the Goddess, on her tower where she deemed the whims and wants of mortals folly or not.

You, he didn't say. "Your help," he said. "I am better suited than many to actually make change due to my lineage, but Derdriu was not built by one. You, the Deer, everyone else, I need all the help I can get."

Byleth nodded. "You'll have me, from this day forth."

He smiled wider than he ever had before, until it froze with what she did next.

Byleth drew the ceremonial sword from his belt, and knelt. She bowed her head and set the sword point first to the ground, holding the handle firmly. She was the picture of a knight pledging loyalty.

"Claude von Riegan," she said, "I swear I will help you in any way that I can to realize your dream."

Claude dropped to his knees. "Byleth, what are you doing?"

She looked up at him with an uncharacteristic smirk. "Your dream, I can't do something for it. I'm a soldier, a mercenary, a tactician even. None of those help smooth prejudice. But I sure can stop a knife at your back."

He blinked.

"My father is gone," she said, emotion finally cracking through the almost manic grin. "I've nothing to keep me at Garreg Mach. The people I've come to care for, they'll be in the Alliance in two months. I'll stay at your side, Claude, and do my best to protect you."

Claude rested a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it. "Byleth, are you sure?"

"Yes." That same conviction was back.

He nodded. "I would be honored if you would serve at my side."

"Someone has to keep you out of trouble," she said, standing.

Claude's mouth quirked to a grin. "If a whole year of your teaching hasn't fixed that, then I'm starting to doubt there's a chance of fixing that."

The woman he loved flipped her hair over her shoulder with a grin. "Good thing I'm stubborn."

Ferdinand,

Asking to send the Astral Knights to Garreg Mach is foolhardy at best and a declaration of war at worst.

I do not know what it is you hope to accomplish, but I have sent a small contingent on their way to Garreg Mach, small enough not to rouse suspicion. They shall also double as your escort home once the year ends.

I expect an explanation of this once you return home, as well as why some of my spies have reportedly been doing work for you between their tasks.

Duke Ambrose von Aegir

"I won't say I didn't see this coming," Lorenz admitted. "Though frankly I expected it sooner."

Ignatz looked down into his teacup. "I…I wasn't sure how to say it."

Lorenz leaned forward, taking a subtle glance around for eavesdroppers, but no one else sat under the gazebo on the cold day. Claude really was rubbing off on him. "My father," he began, "is not a good man. I learned that when I was only ten. My nursemaid had fallen on hard times. She'd served loyally for well over a decade, before I was even born. I spent far more time with her than I did my own mother.

"She had fallen on hard times, yes. Money was tight as a result of a trade war between Gloucester and Riegan. She was on the verge of losing her house with a family to support. My father has more money than you can imagine. So she begged him for aid in any form."

"He refused?" Ignatz guessed.

"Worse, he threw her out. Something about how the integrity of house Gloucester would be marred by taking in beggars and employing those who did not reflect the best of the Alliance." Lorenz sighed. "I never saw her after that and it took me many years to understand what that said about my father."

Ignatz said nothing.

"So no, hearing that my father likely employed soldiers to control monsters to terrorize merchants, that does not surprise me." He sighed again. "It is a dark day when evil and malice no longer surprise you about someone. I think that is the day you ought to give up any hope for them."

"Do you hope that he can be redeemed?" Ignatz asked. Not as if he believed that, but he was curious what his friend thought.

Lorenz nodded. "Does not any child wish to think well of their parents? My father…a time ago, I think he might have been a decent man. Time has wizened that memory, alas. Perhaps it is best to give up hope."

Ignatz took a sip of his tea. "Well, when you're the Count I bet you'll be far better to your citizens."

"Or will I end up like my father?" he mused. "Am I damned to become him as I am damned to carry his blood?" Lorenz shook his head. "Forgive me, we've strayed from topic. Thank you for telling me about what you found out there. I'll bring it to the Roundtable myself."

"Will that make an enemy out of your father?"

"Most assuredly. Then again, he's been quite irate that I stopped spying on Claude. I believe the company I keep signed away the relationship we could have had."

"I…I know that even with what he did, what he's done, I know the Deer wouldn't think less of you if you didn't want to go against your father," Ignatz said.

Lorenz smiled. "Please, I've found family here. I've no need for an old fool like him."

Dimitri wiped the sweat from his face with a towel. The dusting kept the southerners out of the training yard, but a man from the north would need more that to keep him inside.

Plus it saved him being ogled by other students when going without a shirt. The attention was embarrassing at best and distracting at worst.

Though, he thought idly as he went through his next repetition of his kata, if it were Ingrid watching then perhaps he wouldn't mind.

But it wasn't Ingrid who clapped behind him, startling him into a stumble.

"Good form, prince," Claude chuckled. "A few marks off for losing focus."

Dimitri shook his head. "Hello to you too, Claude."

"I need your help," Claude said, dropping the smile and turning serious.

His eyes widened. "You're never so direct. What is it?"

The heir to the Alliance sighed and held out a leaf of paper he'd been holding. A letter. Dimitri took it and unfolded it.

Claude,

My lead was right. She's in the Sealed Forest.

"She?" asked Dimitri.

"Monica," Claude spat. "Look, I'm trusting you to not go running to Rhea about this. Or Seteth. But we need more help than just the Deer. We have no idea what we're up against."

"Slow down," Dimitri said, handing the letter back. "What is it you're asking of me?"

"I need your help killing her." Gone was the serious look on Claude's face, replaced by a snarl so uncharacteristic of him Dimitri was reminded that in Faerghus, they didn't call Claude the Schemer. They called him the Deceiver.

"Revenge?" he asked softly. "For the professor?"

"Yes," Claude said, "but for all of us as well. An attack on Byleth is one on us all. I need the Lions to back us up, we don't know what we're walking in to."

A younger Dimitri might have jumped at it immediately for the thought of revenge. And part of him still wanted to, the ugly side that seemed to rear its head more and more as of late.

And he nodded, not for that part of him, but for the sympathetic side that saw a friend in need. "I'll help, though I cannot promise anyone else to assist."

Claude chuckled. "Good thing Sylvain and Felix have already agreed and Mercedes is talking to Annette now. I was hoping you'd convince the others."

Dimitri couldn't help the smile that crept on his face. "Been busy, I see."

Claude looked away, abashed. "I don't like withholding this information from Byleth, but…" He sighed. "She'll want to charge in as soon as she knows. And this is a trap, obviously, we need to be prepared."

"So you drag my Lions into it?" Dimitri asked, not accusatory.

"There's an adage about friends," Claude said. "One friend falls into a hole and needs help and asks his friend to help him out. The second friend jumps in. The first asks, 'Why did you jump down here? Now we're both stuck here.' And the second replies, 'No, now we're here together.'"

Dimitri held out a hand. "I know we aren't close, Claude, but as heirs to bordering lands, I think this is a good moment to deepen that friendship."

Claude grasped his hand tightly. "Dimitri, you beat me to the punchline. How did you know this is what I wanted to say?"

He laughed. "Because as much as you might try to deny it, you are a good man."

"It takes one to know one." Claude took his hand back and shivered. "Now, unlike you, this cold is far too harsh to be out in. Let's go find the rest of your Lions."

Him? A good man? Dimitri doubted that. But he wouldn't lie, the compliment made him smile. "Let's go, you have a house to commandeer."

"Why, Dimitri, I have entirely no idea what you mean!"

He found her outside his room.

Fate of the Goddess, Claude would have said were he a believer. But he wasn't, so coincidence was the mistress that set Petra outside his door as he went to look for her.

"Funny, I was meaning to ask you something," he said, inviting her in with a wave of his hand.

She didn't smile. "I am wanting to ask you something too, Claude."

Claude nodded, the jovial smile running off his face like wet paint. "Well, you or me first?"

"You," she said, still not meeting his eyes.

The natural curiosity in him ate away inside, begging him to find out what troubled her. Instead, he said, "I was hoping to ask you to help bring Jeralt's murderer to justice. We've found where she's hiding."

Petra gasped. "You are finding Monica? Are you sure?"

"Yes. I have it on authority from a good source. I haven't told Byleth yet, I want to gather the party I mean to bring," he said. "You're the last one to ask. Will you help us?"

"Yes," she nodded. "Your house has been kind to me. I would be liking to repay the favor."

"Excellent," he said. "Now, what was it you wanted from me?"

Petra was silent, eyes locked with the floor.

Claude waited.

Finally, she said, "How does your country work? After this year, will you be taking power?"

"Well, some, I suppose," Claude said, surprised. "I'm heir apparent already, but after this year I'll take part in the Roundtable officially. My grandfather isn't long for this world either, so I expect to become Duke before long."

"We are sharing that," Petra murmured. "I have received notice from home. My grandfather, he is falling ill."

"My condolences, Petra," Claude said, frowning. Lying through his teeth, he said, "As someone who has a sickly relative, I know the feeling."

She laughed without mirth. "Yes, it is why I am coming to you instead of Dimitri." Petra met his eyes. "Claude, I am not thinking my grandfather will last long. And when he passes, I am in the Empire's custody. They will control Brigid."

"And your people love you," he said, connecting the dots. "They won't disobey anything the Empire says for your safety. You'll rule in exile."

"And Brigid becomes less of a vassal state and more the Empire," Petra said sadly. "We are maintaining some freedom now, but without my grandfather it will be lost. I am coming to you because of this."

His eyes widened, seeing what she was getting at.

She chuckled, this time with some humor. "You are clever, Claude. Yes, I wish to make an alliance with the Alliance. The Empire is preparing for war against Brigid. I am not knowing if my grandfather's sickness is their plan or simply ill luck. But I cannot be fighting them without help." The proud woman bowed her head. "I wish to free Brigid from any control, Claude. I do not wish to deceive you of my intentions. But I am recognizing that Brigid cannot fight an Empire by itself, not without exposing ourselves to Dagda."

Petra looked at him again, coming up from the bow. "Claude, I would be liking to pledge fealty to you in return for protection from the Empire. My ancestors, they used to placate war with Dagda and Adrestia by making alliances with the other. I am wishing to put my trust in someone better and a country with better people."

"War?" he asked. "Are you sure?"

"Our spies are seeing the preparation," she said miserably. "Many people will die."

Claude stepped forward, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I may not be Duke Riegan yet, but I accept, Petra. I don't have power to make a pact in front of nobles yet, but you have my word as a friend."

She smiled, tension easing away. "I am preferring that, actually. Bowing, kneeling, these Fódlan things are strange to me. But I understand words between friends."

"After we kill Monica, I'll work with my friends back home to get you out of the Empire's grasp," Claude promised. "At least with war, we can safely get you out of Enbarr without worry on consequence. On that, you have my word."

"Then when are we going to find Monica?" Petra asked.

Claude smirked. "Today. Hope you're quick to prepare."

While Claude was speaking to Byleth about Monica, Mercedes steeled herself.

Whoever Monica worked with, her brother was among them. She might see him there.

She'd put it from her mind for so long since Remire. Jeritza, the Death Knight. Oh, she'd figured out Jeritza was Emile, that hadn't been difficult. He was her family. Emile might have been almost entirely unknown to her, but he looked like his father.

But the Death Knight? That was something she hadn't foreseen. Had he recognized her? Had he attacked their group knowing she was among them?

Would he have killed her?

Many had asked what she prayed for and she always told them about her selfless desires. They had such high opinions of her, when in reality what she prayed for the most, above all else, was to meet her brother again. Little did they know that the holy Mercedes von Martritz was just as selfish as them.

She hadn't told anyone, not even Byleth, about Jeritza. Mercedes had thought about it, even found the words to do so. But then Jeralt was killed.

Byleth had changed. There was an unhinged quality to her, a recklessness. And her drinking, she'd gone back to carrying her flask.

Mercedes admittedly was pleased that her lover wasn't losing herself to it like she used to, but with how bad it'd been before, Mercedes was worried.

It wasn't something she'd been able to bring up, just like Jeritza. The latter was unimportant in the wake of Jeralt's death and the former…she just didn't know.

Byleth pretended she was fine, an exterior no one believe but everyone bought into for her sake. But Mercedes, she worried about the upcoming battle, about how Byleth would react to seeing Monica. How did she put the sense of dread into words, the fear she might lose someone so important to her?

So when Dorothea asked her why seemed to be lost in her thoughts, Mercedes couldn't help but say the first thing that popped into her head.

"I'm worried."

Dorothea had taken the seat beside her on the stone steps up to the dining hall as they waited for Claude and Byleth, expecting the latter to wish to leave immediately.

"What's wrong?"

How did she say it all? How did she communicate a lifetime of desire to meet her brother and nearly a year's worth of being with someone she cared deeply for and the fear of that slipping away?

How did she say that all to someone who had become her closest friend aside from Annette?

"A lot," is what she ended up saying with a light chuckle.

Dorothea put an arm around her and Mercedes leaned in to it, welcome warmth in the cold.

"Well," Dorothea said uncertainly. "If you like, I'll listen to it. All of it."

"It's a long story. Several long stories, I think," Mercedes said.

Her friend laughed. "I do love a good story, Mercie."

And in that singular warm moment as the two of them sat in the cold, Mercedes decided she trusted Dorothea implicitly.

"Well, I have a brother I've never met…"

Byleth's horse was at the front of the pack, followed by the rest of the Deer and Lions. Prey and predator rode together to the Sealed Forest.

Claude slowed his horse to match pace with Lorenz'. The scion of Gloucester turned his head to him, curious.

"The Ordelia vote," Claude called out over the wind as the forest began to approach on the horizon. "Has your father mentioned it to you?"

"Briefly," Lorenz answered in kind. "Trevor von Albrecht isn't the worst pick, the Alliance is strapped for talent not at the Roundtable already."

Claude laughed. "Damn, I was hoping he'd have shared some plan. I'll admit Albrecht isn't a bad choice, but Judith would be a good person in our corner."

Lorenz' gave him a look. "Our corner?"

"Yeah, what's wrong?"

"Forgive me, it's nothing," Lorenz tried to dismiss.

Claude shook his head. "Lorenz, you're my friend. If you have doubts about what I say, say something, I want to hear it."

"It's foolish," he admitted. "I worry this alliance of ours will fade after this academy year ends."

The howl of laughter drew glances from the rest of the party. Claude caught his breath before replying. "You're a smart man, Lorenz, and an idiot. This isn't an alliance, this is friendship. I don't like you for what you offer me, I like you because you're a good man, if pompous."

"Ah," Lorenz said, embarrassed.

"He's speaking for all of us!" Hilda hollered from the other side of the party.

"Including the pompous part!" Sylvain shouted, drawing laughter from both houses.

Lorenz looked down, embarrassed, but not displeased. Claude kept his horse by his for a few minutes before Lorenz finally spoke.

"Thank you, Claude."

He just smiled.

Too late, she wondered if it had been a trap.

The Sword of the Creator deflected Monica's—Kronya's—dagger. The orange haired woman danced back, licking her lips as her attention never left Byleth.

They stood in the middle of four stone pillars, a battle raging around them but not touching them. Dread had settled in when Kronya had ordered off her soldiers, wanting to fight Byleth herself. Something was wrong, something she should have seen were she not focused on breaking the woman's neck.

Byleth lashed out with her sword, slicing air as Kronya leaned back. "So feisty!" she called out with a grin. "Guess killing daddy made you angry, huh? That makes me the lucky one for having no one like that!" With the last word she dashed forward, quicker than Byleth could react, and drove the pommel of her dagger into Byleth's chest.

She stumbled back, keeping her balance as Kronya danced away again. Growling, Byleth squeezed the sword and the boney Relic shifted to its whip form. "Good," she snarled. "There'll be no one to mourn you when I kill you."

The smile evaporated from Kronya as her eyes narrowed. She flipped the dagger in her hand and crouched low.

Byleth lashed out, the whip streaking red just shy of Kronya's head as her opponent rolled forward. Her dagger lanced out, catching Byleth's leg.

"Fuck!" Byleth swore, leaping back out of Kronya's follow-up.

She said nothing, no taunts, just a predatory smile. Kronya circled her, as if herding her to stay on their stone battlefield.

The whip collapsed back into a sword and Byleth grabbed the dagger at her side. She threw it at Kronya, easy enough to block.

Kronya did so, the blades meeting with a sharp metal ring. Byleth closed the distance, keeping low as she swung with the Relic.

The minx danced back again, though this time Byleth squeezed the blade. The Sword of the Creator shifted again and Byleth kept the momentum of her previous swing by spinning, lashing the whip against Kronya.

It connected. Red electricity burned Kronya's skin as she gasped in pain. She stumbled, making her first mistake.

It was one Byleth wouldn't let go. As quick as it had shifted, the Sword of the Creator was back to its blade, in time for the assault she laid into Kronya.

She blocked the first strike, but the power behind the blow made her stumble again. The second hit came too fast, glancing off Kronya's ribs. One hand lowered instinctively to the side to touch the wound, and the third strike smashed into her with the flat of the blade, finally knocking her off balance.

Kronya gasped as she hit the stone. Byleth raised her blade and swung it down, biting into Kronya's shoulder.

/The woman looked up at Byleth and hissed, "That all you got, bitch?"

Byleth's eyes were dark. "No."

In a fluid motion, she dragged the sword to the left and severed Kronya's head from her neck. The corpse collapsed while the head splat against the ground and rolled, her final shock frozen in rigor mortis.

Darkness began to collect around her, as if it were emanating from Kronya's body. Byleth looked around wildly.

No!

Sothis' scream resonated through her, knowing something she didn't. Byleth turned heel to run. She stumbled and fell as she put weight on the wounded leg.

The darkness grew to an amorphous cloud and swallowed her.

Author Notes: Despite it being a truly dreadful year that has seen some of the worst moments in recent memory, there were some motes of light. For me, this project is one of them, for getting to tell you all this silly little story. I encourage you all those find those moments in your 2020 and remember them.

See you in the new year!

Editing Notes:
5/6/2021: Minor grammatical adjustments.
8/27/2021: Finally went back an fixed a minor wording error.
9/6/2021: Minor grammatical adjustments.