Family is…important. I know that, though I've never had much. My parents died when I was very young. Most of my life, I was raised by my grandfather. Raised—that's not quite right. His servants raised me. I love my grandfather, but he is a busy man. Was, I suppose.

I did not expect to find people to fill that void when I came to this country.

"Move your feet!" Catherine barked. "Faster, faster!"

Petra found herself on her back before she could act. "Ow," she grumbled.

Catherine laughed, holding a hand out to her. "You almost had it that time! That move gets everyone, even Shamir."

"I am no longer doubting your name, Thunder Catherine," Petra said, taking her hand. "I do not think there is anyone on Brigid who is having your speed."

Catherine blushed, scratching her head. "Eh, I doubt that. I'm not all that special. Lady Rhea's just a good motivation for me. I have to be perfect, for her."

"I have misspoken," Petra said with a smile. "There is no one on Brigid, because I am being here."

That drew a howl of laughter from Catherine. In the distance, the monastery's bell rang, echoing to the training yard.

"Shit, that time already?" Catherine muttered. "We better go, don't want to keep those two waiting."

"I do not think that Ignatz is capable of impatience," Petra offered.

"Yeah, well, Shamir is," Catherine chuckled. "Love that woman, but damn does she have a temper. One mention of Lady Rhea and she loses it."

Catherine, Petra decided, needed to do something about how oblivious she was. She'd try asking Ignatz if he had an idea.

The woman in question slung an arm around Petra and grinned slyly. "So, Petra. I saw you making eyes at Ignatz at the Ball. There something going on there?"

She flushed red. "Catherine, I do not know what you mean."

"Hmm," Catherine playfully hummed. "So you don't remember that part where you kissed him on the cheek?"

Petra got, if possible, redder. "Catherine!"

"Sounds like an admission of guilt to me," Catherine cackled. "I don't know anything about loving a man, but he's a good catch."

"I have not caught anything!" Petra protested. "Ignatz and I are having friendship between us, that is it!"

"Look, I'm just saying," Catherine said, clearly not believing her, "that if you ever have any questions about love, you come to me, alright?"

"Yes, mother," Petra said, sarcastically.

"Sarcasm?" Catherine gasped. "My daughter is rebelling against me!"

Petra rolled her eyes. "Come, Catherine. We are late as it is."

Catherine and Shamir were both so rough around the edges, two people I would never expect to become friends with, much less what we became. I went from never having a mother to having two. Two knights that could barely take care of themselves becoming my caretakers.

I think we were all outsiders. We fit together well. Shamir was like me, far from home. Though she did not consider it home, she missed parts. Catherine, away from the noble life she grew up in. While being a knight seemed like her calling, I cannot imagine it was easy to become a commoner.

And Ignatz…well, Ignatz was different too.

"You're late," Shamir grumbled.

"Aw, I missed you too," Catherine said, roping her into a half hug from the side, conscious of being in the dining hall.

"Quit it, you'll make me fuck it up," Shamir protested, wiggling out of her grasp and turning back to the stove. "This is the hard part."

Petra stood next to Ignatz, closer than was proper. "Shamir, how can we be helping?"

"By keeping Catherine under control," she deadpanned. "Ignatz and I already did everything. Just needs time to cook now."

"Good job," Petra said, to Ignatz.

He blushed. "I didn't do much, it was all Shamir."

Petra's hand awkwardly intertwined with his, boldness bleeding through. It was a small enough gesture that it would go unnoticed. Well, not by Catherine, who gave Petra 'I told you so' eyes.

Shamir wasn't paying attention. "He helped with everything except the seasoning. You Fódlani don't know anything about how to correctly season something."

Petra squeezed Ignatz' hand. "See, you are helping!"

Ignatz shrugged, but looked pleased with the attention. "I suppose I helped some."

Outside of the little world they occupied together, Catherine attempted to sneak a taste of the glaze Shamir went to put on the slab of meat. Noticing, Shamir smacked Catherine in the stomach, which coming from a knight such as herself, sent Catherine stumbling.

"Hey, Shamir, be nice!" Ignatz said, Catherine's gasp of pain bringing him back to the present.

"Eh, don't worry, Ig," Catherine chuckled. "With these rock-hard abs of mine, there's no way Shamir could hurt me."

"You wanna bet?" Shamir growled, lifting the pan she held over the stove menacingly.

"Someday they will be killing each other," Petra whispered to Ignatz.

"Someday?" he grinned. "I think today."

"You're all insufferable," Shamir said, turning away from the three of them back to the stove.

"That's Shamir for saying 'I love you,'" Catherine explained.

"Enough," Shamir said. "It's ready."

Ignatz rounded out our little family. I'm not sure if the other three thought of it like I did, but to me, they were family.

He was special. Never have I seen someone so determined to stand with those he cared for, no matter the cost. His injury would have sent most people away from the battlefield—and with good reason. I did not expect him to recover so.

But when I visited him in the infirmary, there was something about him. A sureness that he would be back with his comrades before long. It was such powerful resolve; I think I noticed it even then. That's what drew me to him, to someone who would not back down.

Opposites attract, after all.

She lay on the table, strapped down around her waist, arms, and legs. Petra had been like this for days, a new method for Hubert to try and break her.

Blood had dried all around her bicep—Hubert's canvas of choice yesterday. He'd not even deigned to wipe the blood away or bandage her wound. So here she lay like a dejected child's toy, set aside until its need arose.

In the dark room, only her thoughts provided distraction. Memories of Brigid, of Catherine and Shamir, and Ignatz, kept her afloat.

She cried, frequently. Were they safe? Were they alive?

Spirits, she hoped with all her heart. Fantasies played through her mind of breaking out, killing Hubert, and returning to them; her family.

But reality was a cold mistress. Hubert wasn't one to make mistakes, so there were no opportunities to chance freedom.

Any ship in a storm is prone to sinking, and every time Hubert stepped into that room, Petra felt that breaking point get a little closer.

If only she were strong like him, she thought. Strong like Catherine, or Shamir. But no, here she was, paying for playing the fool. Edelgard had convinced her to return for meetings about Brigid's vassalage.

Poor lies, she could see in hindsight. But then she'd been under the assumption that war was coming to Brigid, not to all of Fódlan.

The door opened and Hubert entered. He didn't look happy.

She closed her eyes, not even fighting what was to come.

I don't think I'm the girl I was, anymore. Petra Macneary would have fought, would have died, for what she believed in. I'm more of a husk, a shell of what she was. Spirits, for so long, I just wanted it to be over. Let one of my former friends kill me, if only to save them from me. It'd be a gift, freeing me from Hubert's clutches.

Then Shamir and I reunited. Things were better for a little, then. I felt like maybe there was a place in this world for me, a future for me.

But like all things, she left. I was alone, again.

"I see," Lysithea murmured, looking through the fire's light at her. The forest clearing was quiet except for their conversation. "I'm sorry. If I had known what he was doing to you back then, I would have stopped it."

"Doesn't matter much now," Petra shrugged. She scratched at the scars on her arm.

"No, it doesn't," Lysithea whispered. In a stronger voice, she continued, "But I will make amends. I didn't stop Edelgard from any of this. My inaction is not forgivable."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Petra said, shrugging.

Lysithea's eyes flared with anger, but it subsided quickly. "I guess I still seem like one of them, to you."

"I've learned not to get used to good things, they always seem to leave," Petra said. "You seem earnest about this. I want to believe it. But I fear that if I do, it'll disappear on me again."

Lysithea said nothing.

"Maybe when we get to Enbarr, you'll go back to Edelgard," Petra mused. "Maybe you'll look the other way for your wife again and I'll pay the price. My fate's always been determined by the whims of others."

"I will not abandon you," Lysithea promised.

"It's okay, wouldn't be the first time," Petra said. "She's your wife. I don't think I'd blame you all that much. Family's important."

"I mean it, Petra," Lysithea said. "I will not forsake you."

"Trust is earned, Lysithea," Petra said, drawing into herself more. "Words are nice, but actions matter. You've said you've changed and are against Edelgard, but I don't really have much more than your word to take."

Lysithea fell silent.

"I hope you've changed," Petra continued. "But the Lysithea I knew was always cozied up to Edelgard's side."

"I have changed, Petra. I promise you."

Petra looked at her, no emotion in her expression, and said, "Neat."

I usually have nightmares. But when I have good dreams, I see them. If I'm lucky, a fantasy plays out where I took Claude's offer and joined the Deer. Consequences be damned, I join anyway. I usually forget it's a dream by the end, spending the days with people who could have—should have—been my friends.

It is odd to miss something you've never had.

But there's some resolve building in me, a drive to fight I haven't felt in years. It's small, a kindling with potential. Maybe I do have some similarity to Ignatz. I love him, still. Though I'm sure he's moved on and I'm just a memory.

This world is cruel. The powerful wreak havoc on the powerless. Edelgard doesn't see that. Using her power to start a war, it is tearing countless people apart. I am one of many. Maybe that's why I need to fight. I have to fight, for the sake of those who can't. For the sake of those who loved me. Maybe one day, I'll deserve how they felt about me.

For the first time in years, I think maybe I can be deserving.

Author Notes: Finally found a spot for this intermezzo after sitting on the idea for twenty chapters. We probably won't see these two for a little while, since there's so much happening with the main group. Like fuck, there's so many characters there. I have some ideas to mitigate that, so bear with me while we have 20 main characters in one place, with 4 auxiliary characters too.

Editing Notes:
2/15/2022: Minor grammatical adjustments.