Fire Emblem Drabbles Chapter 3

A Fire Emblem Fanfiction

By Hoenn Master

A.N.: I must say it's a bit strange not seeing any reviews. Though not entirely surprising. For those who followed and gave this story a favorite, thank you.

Onwards!

7. Feed

Mercedes smiled kindly as she stepped into the large mess hall of Garreg Mach. The year-end off-season had arrived, comprised of current students returning home and new students arriving early for the dormitories, or else reserving their places. This left the mess hall, predictably, empty, save for some guards enjoying a meal, or the odd student who had yet to leave. As was her preference, Mercedes quickly took a position behind the counter and pulled on an apron, smiling to the aging cook as she set to work preparing a truly massive cauldron of soup. Anyone who was not aware of the new tradition might have looked on curiously.

Since Archbishop Byleth's appointment two years prior, his wife had taken it upon herself to manage much of the charitable arm of the Central Church; while it was as much of a bureaucracy as it had ever been, it nevertheless was distributing more money than it had been in the last ten years, and the people were far happier.

Mercedes hummed happily as she added a spice to the soup Dedue had given her for just such an occasion; a plant from the first harvest in one of the newly revitalized fields of Duscar. The scent rising from the pot was most excellent by this point, though the guards simply smiled in their helmets as students looked at one another in confusion.

That was when the first few beggars came. At first, the students seemed in shock when the haggard and weary-looking old couple came in. They wrinkled their noses a bit when a smelly man walked in, and weren't sure what to feel with the exhausted young man with three children equally tired all but crawled into the door, and more besides.

Nevertheless, the staff all greeted every person who came in with a kind word, and a basin to wash some of the grime away while Mercedes herself served helpings of her soup to the horde of people. While all of the students were familiar with Mercedes' desire to help the destitute after the war, and several had tagged along with her giving alms and bread and on occasion soup when the chill set in. It was less known that she, for one week in the year, opened the mess hall for the local poor to enjoy a meal, warm themselves, and clean up somewhat.

Byleth, for his part, took pleasure at the joy Mercedes took in bringing charity to the forgotten and marginalized of society. She was veritable angel of mercy in the wake of troubled times. Annette's nickname for her was most apt, indeed, and he was more than happy to use the church's resources to help Mercedes fulfill her lifelong desire.

His observation made, Byleth strode into the room wearing plain clothes and began to help Mercedes with her task; he might be one of the most powerful people on the continent, but he would never allow himself to forget his roots. The couple smiled at the satisfied and relieved smiles of those around them.

8. Article

Byleth observed the sword before him intently. Stronger than any metal he was familiar with and lighter, but still with enough heft to it to end lives. By all accounts, it was balanced well, sung like a war maiden when drawn, and deeply, irreconcilably, unequivocally, wrong. The material felt off. So too did the way Rhea had reacted when the crest stones and relics were nearly stolen. There was more to this ancient article of the greater artifact collection than met the eye, and it disturbed Byleth immensely. He felt connected to the weapon. Holding it, using it, feeling it, all felt more natural than his own personal weapons he'd trained with since childhood. It was unnatural.

Contrary to popular belief amongst some staff members, he was very much capable of emotion and feeling. Showing such was altogether more difficult. Too much and people avoided the individual. Too little landed him where he was on the current social rung. Near the bottom one, namely. Regardless, he thumbed the edge of the blade resting on his desk, expertly touching the material of the blade in such a way to avoid injury, but also retain enough pressure to truly understand the sharpness and precision in play.

He sighed deeply and looked to the window of his office. Another late night. With a shake of his head, he turned back to the blade. The hole within the blade itself seemed to have once contained something. Most likely a Crest Stone, if he had to guess. With a careful bit of concentration, the blade almost hissed and fell to pieces, revealing the many links of the blade. They almost resembled vertebrae, if he looked closely. Byleth, the Ashen Demon, shuddered internally. Such weapons were not natural, and their power beyond the likes of regular mortals. Small wonder Crests were so valued.

He sighed and released his influence over the blade, causing it to magically fuse back into a cohesive whole once again. A blade which was broken, yet whole; separate, yet one. An intriguing prospect of apparent contradictions. It seemed he and the blade indeed were meant for one another; neither truly complete, yet neither were truly broken, either. Byleth held a hand to his unbeating heart. A pulse, but no heartbeat: whole in exterior, but hollow and devoid of life. Perhaps one day he would understand what it is like to have a heartbeat. To feel the rush of battle, and the gentle lurch in one's chest when one lays eyes on their lover.

Byleth shook his head. Such thoughts of lovers and family did him little good. They always tended to stray towards Mercedes, and that way lay a caltrop-laden field of bad thoughts. If his parents' gravestones were any indication, she was older than him, but even still, he refused to leverage his position of authority in such a way. Perhaps in the future, but certainly not mere months away from graduation.

But the thoughts continued to interrupt his examination of the Blade of the Creator, and at length, Byleth rubbed his face furiously to rid himself of the pleasant notion of asking Mercedes to have a picnic with him in the fields at some point. Sothis watched on, mildly amused at Byleth's unusual behavior. "You'll hurt your eyes if you're not careful."

Byleth let out a single quiet bark of laughter. "That would be far from the worst thing that's happened this year."

Sothis simply sighed and shook her head. "Appropriate or not, Byleth, you can't deny that you're an unusual case. I'm still a little shocked you are doing as well as you are as a professor."

Byleth sighed and nodded slowly. "It is… Irregular. In truth, I much rather would be a student. It was the far simpler and more appropriate choice. Perhaps I could have been given a promotion after I actually was a known entity, but not before. Lady Rhea's actions continue to baffle me, even now. Why do I have this sword? Why am I, a random mercenary, allowed to hold something so precious? And why is it whenever I have this sword in her presence, she seems connected with the blade?"

Sothis simply shrugged as she floated behind him, examining the blade for herself. "I… Am unsure, but I can sense something from this blade. Something deeply rooted. Something important, but whenever I begin to think of it… It just slips away, like grabbing at smoke."

With a sigh, Byleth sheathed his new sword and hung it on the weapon rack he kept near his bed. This whole situation was a mess. His father, dead, killed by some kind of organization bent on the destruction of the stability of the continent, the killer still on the loose while he had to play mind games with Rhea who flatly refused to give him an explanation as to why everything seemed to be happening. Seteth was hardly better, though he at least seemed genuine in his ignorance. Dimitri's mental health was beginning to concern Byleth as well. A precarious situation that was a couple of bad days away from homicide if not for the Blue Lions and the various students who had since transferred into his house. He was falling for Mercedes, who hardly seemed a student in his eyes due to both her age and her wisdom, which did little to assuage his internal guilt. And finally, he was certain now that Edelgard was hiding something big. The collaboration between her and that Monica girl had been suspect from the start. With a sickening realization, Byleth had a feeling that Edelgard was a far more dangerous entity than anyone seemed to realize. The only solace remaining now was the notion that he was simply paranoid in his late-night exhaustion.

He blew out the last candle keeping his room alight, got into his bed, and did his best not to wonder if he were right as his consciousness drifted into the realm of dreams and fantasies.

9. Dawn

The weary caravan slowly trundled along; the army matched on, exhausted, but ecstatic of the recent developments. The evening previous had been nothing short of another day in a week of massive celebrations, all in the wake of the final battle of the five year long struggle the continent had been groaning under. Edelgard lay dead and buried, the shadow cult behind her which was discovered in some paperwork in her desk being hunted by the Church, and the people rejoicing at the prospect of peace once again.

Byleth sighed as he watched the trees roll by, remembering fondly the morning he had walked this very trail with Dimitri, Edelgard, and Claude. How different, and yet similar, things had been. He turned briefly to make sure the other occupants of the carriage were still asleep; they were. The wagon was transporting the stable wounded who had yet to recover from the incredibly potent dark magic from the practitioners from Those Who Slither in the Dark. Felix, chest tightly bound from a powerful blow, twitched as the carriage hit a pebble, but did not stir. Annette had been tending to him all night, but fell asleep some time ago, and was slumped over a crate holding bottles of vulnerary, snoring quietly. In a surprising bout of social contact, Bernadetta fretted over Ferdinand, the young man having leaped in front of one of Edelgard's blasts of magic for her, and was recovering as slowly as Felix. For all her lack of social participation, none would dare to say anything of her presence in the cart.

Byleth looked down at his own arm, bandaged and stiff; he'd only just managed to avoid taking the full brunt of the commander of the mages, Myson, but running him through had been so satisfying, much to his own surprise. He was one of the few enemies he'd actually felt anything about killing, quite possibly because his organization had killed Jeralt, and also caused the suffering of Duscar. Byleth turned and looked out the corner of his eye to check up on Mercedes. While she hadn't suffered any significant wounds in the battle thanks to her uncanny ability to sense when evil magic was about to strike, she nevertheless remained to help those who were not so skilled, and more than one member of the army owed her their lives.

Byleth smiled as he watched the golden-haired healer sleep peacefully, a book open on her lap as she dozed. Her hand lay to her side, right next to his own, unblemished hand. With ease born of a desire to finally allow himself to express in some small way what had been growing inside of him since he had awoken after his five year coma, he lightly took hold of Mercedes' hand, enveloping the small, yet incredibly strong hand in his own. It was a warmth he had not dared to cultivate beyond brief tastes on occasion since his reunion with Mercedes, but he could relish it now. The war was over, and he had every intention of asking her to marry him. His mother's ring lay heavy in his pocket. He knew what he would do.

But in the moment, he simply enjoyed the closeness as he looked out the front opening of the wagon. There, in a clearing, the first vestiges of the sun's rising could be made out through the trees. Dawn had come to Fódlan, and he had every intention of this being the first of many peaceful sunrises with his dear friends.