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casvonriegan · 2 months

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Je te laisserai de mots.

CHAPTER 1

Warnings: Major Character Death Fandom: Fire Emblem Warriors: Three Hopes/Fire Emblem Three Houses Pairing: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra Characters: Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir, Edelgard von Hresvelg, Ladislava

War is raging across Fódlan, and the Empire must make a choice. Taking risks gets results, but of course, the consequences are not always worth it. In a mission gone wrong, one of the Empire's most esteemed generals pays the ultimate price in order to protect the ones they love.

And I leave you these words, my dearest Hubert...

Ladislava entered the room. Her clothes were torn and stained beyond recognition, blood and dirt caked deep into the fabrics. Bruises and scrapes covered every inch of exposed skin, and she walked with a lameness in her gait. She cleared her throat to get the attention of the two others in the room, unable to keep the despair from seeping into her face.

“Lady Edelgard. Lord Vestra.”

Edelgard looked up from where the two were scouring over some battle plans, her face immediately falling.

“Ladislava?” Edelgard abruptly stood from her seat. Hubert regarded her with his usual cold demeanor, his face devoid of any and all emotion, perfectly crafted to hide the swell of anxiety and unease he felt inside.

“We did not expect you back so soon. What has happened?” he asked cooly. But the fear bubbled beneath the surface, threatening to rear its ugly head and break through. Any breath, any sound could be the one to give him away. His skin prickled with discomfort, for too much, too much was out of his control.

Ladislava remained silent for just a moment too long. Edelgard continued in her stead, her voice laced with desperation.

“What of Ferdinand's forces? Have they returned? Why is he not with you?!”

Ladislava’s shoulders slumped, her composure crumbling.

“Your Majesty, I… must regretfully inform you that our reinforcements arrived… too late.”

Edelgard choked on a breath. “What do you mean ?”

…What?

Too late…?

Hubert's heart felt like it had come to a complete stop. He grunted in discomfort, but it was quiet enough that neither of the others in the room paid him any mind. There was no other tell that could yet give him away. He was still protected behind his unfeeling, unthinking mask.

“I am so dreadfully sorry, Your Majesty,” Ladislava continued, voice shaking. “Upon arrival we were already overwhelmed by Riegan’s forces. Ferdinand and his battalion were completely bested. It was all we could do to get ourselves back alive.”

Hubert trembled where he stood. He tightened his grip on the battle plans he’d brought to Edelgard for review.

“My own battalion suffered major losses. It was clearly Claude’s intention to entrap us in Alliance territory from the beginning. He and Lord Gloucester must have planned for this to happen exactly as it did.”

Edelgard cursed, falling back into her seat. “I should have sent another general with him… Damnit , I never should have let him go alone!”

“Please, Your Majesty. This is not your fault. It is mine. I could not move quickly enough. It was my duty to put a stop to this, and I failed.”

Edelgard was silent, quiet tears falling from her eyes onto the papers strewn across her desk. Hubert stood unmoving next to her, barely breathing. He stared into the nothingness of the ground, fearing that any attempt to speak, to move, to breathe would result in him completely falling apart.

“Ferdinand,” Edelgard choked out finally. “He's… he's…?”

“I’m afraid so, Your Majesty…” Ladislava said solemnly.

“How can you be sure?” Edelgard demanded, slamming a fist down on her desk, the words thick with desperation.

“I watched as Claude himself delivered the finishing blow to General Aegir. I… I tried your Majesty. I moved as quickly as I could, but I… I was too late…”

Too late.

Reinforcements were called as soon as they'd received word from their stronghold against Gloucester territory that the Lord had retracted his allegiance. How did they not make it in time. How had Claude managed to pull together such forces in such a small amount of time?

...Ferdinand…and his battalion…bested…

His battalion? Sure. They'd been hand-picked by the man himself, but perhaps they were not as skilled as Hubert remembered. Surely even if none of the battalion made it, Ferdinand was absolutely skilled enough to best Riegan and make it out alive.

…

But the Ferdinand he knew would never abandon his men, would he?

His mind was at war with itself, Hubert realized. Trying, in vain, to match sense and logic with desires and desperation. To look at all the facts that had been presented to him and promptly cast them aside, instead opting to believe what he so badly wanted to be the truth and make up evidence to support it.

Ferdinand… you fool. How could you do this…?

Hubert brought a shaking hand to his chest, willing his damned lungs to take in air. He couldn't breathe. But no, he was breathing too much, too quickly, too shallow. The oxygen couldn't make it to his brain. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think .

“Ladislava, you are dismissed. Please inform the others. And, please see to it that no one comes looking for us for a while.”

“Consider it done, your Majesty.”

…

“Hubert?” Edelgard asked softly. The man hadn’t moved an inch since he’d asked Ladislava why she was here.

Finishing blow… General Aegir…

Hubert choked on a sob and his body finally gave in. He fell to his knees, the paperwork he’d been desperately clinging to falling from his grasp and fluttering across the floor in front of him. His heartbeat thumped in his ears. He couldn’t hear anything else. He didn’t want to hear anything else. Damn it all , he'd heard more than enough.

Lies. It all had to be lies. Hubert could not stand the words otherwise. Ladislava was simply mistaken. There was no way that Ferdinand von Aegir fell to the likes of Claude von Riegan. The notion was laughable. Asinine. And this was no time for jokes, damnit, they were in the middle of a war!

“...ubert…!”

Claude was a devious schemer and a brilliant tactician, this much praise was due. But Ferdinand could never, would never fall to the likes of him. Ferdinand was a brilliant fighter, his quick wit and sound decision-making saving them on multiple occasions. His prowess on the battlefield was truly unmatched. Even the Empire’s most skilled fighters couldn’t best him in their training. Ferdinand himself had felled general after general of high standing in both the Kingdom and the Alliance.

“...Hubert!...”

…

It was Edelgard’s voice. Somewhere out there, trying to reach him. He wanted to grab for it, to latch on to it and never let it go. What he should have done when Ferdinand insisted that he and his battalion take the initiative to begin marching through Gloucester territory.

“Do you not trust me, Hubert?” Ferdinand had demanded, sporting his typical half-pout whenever Hubert had tried to talk him out of charging forward into enemy lines. Hubert had to give him credit, though, he was particularly motivated to get moving on this mission.

“You need to use that head of yours to think sometimes, Aegir ,” Hubert had scolded. “You’re a general; your topmost priority needs to be the survival of yourself and your troops.”

“I will be in Gloucester territory, Hubert. They’ve sworn fealty, and will undoubtedly send reinforcements should we require them.”

Edelgard had agreed then. “He’s our best chance to actually make some headway into Alliance territory while they’re still reeling from the split with Gloucester and Phlegethon territory. We have to trust him, Hubert.”

“Then let us send additional Empire forces,” Hubert had countered, his tone almost desperate. “One battalion won't be enough to counter Riegan’s army should the worst come to pass.”

“So that's it then, you don't trust me!” Ferdinand accused. “You don't think I can handle this!”

“Ferdinand quit spouting nonsense, you know damn well you're one of the only people in this world that I do trust,” Hubert bit back. “It is Riegan that I wouldn't trust half as far as I could throw him.”

Slight color had dusted Ferdinand’s cheeks. “Well, to be fair Hubert, you could probably throw him quite far.”

“Ferdinand, this is truly no time for your dreadful jokes.”

Edelgard stepped in then, resting a reassuring hand on Hubert's shoulder. “We cannot afford to part with more forces right now, Hubert, we are already spread so thin. We have to trust in what few allies we’ve made. It is the only choice we have.”

Hubert had finally sighed in resignation, dread weighing heavy in his heart. “Yes, Your Majesty.” He turned and walked away, having nothing else positive to say on the matter.

Ferdinand offered apologies to Lady Edelgard before running after him.

“Hubert, don't you think that this is a little ridiculous, even for you?”

Hubert had bit his tongue and kept walking. Ferdinand groaned in frustration, running to catch up to him.

“Hubert, for the Goddess' sake, will you slow down and talk to me?”

“I doubt I have anything to say that you wish to hear, Ferdinand,” Hubert bit back.

“Then will you at least stop and hear me?”

Hubert stopped abruptly, Ferdinand nearly tripping over himself so he didn't collide into him. Ferdinand had muttered something under his breath as he regained his composure, moving so that he and Hubert were face-to-face.

“Look, I know you don't trust Claude. And to be truthful Hubert, neither do I. And I'm sure Lady Edelgard has her own reservations. But this is war, and sometimes we need to take risks.”

Hubert crossed his arms. Since when was Ferdinand the sensible one, leaving him to be the dramatic? He despised the way their roles had been reversed. “Risks that involve one of our most skilled generals practically throwing himself to the wolves?”

“Hubert, please,” Ferdinand had truly begged, his pleading gaze holding Hubert firmly in place in front of him. “I need you to trust me more than you distrust Claude.”

Hubert took a deep breath. “Ferdinand, of course I trust you. You know damn well you're the only one I think capable of pulling this off other than Lady Edelgard or myself.”

Ferdinand had smiled then. “My men are skilled fighters. Even in the case we do cross blades with Claude’s forces, I know that we can hold our own. Especially considering we've got you on the back swing.” Ferdinand gave Hubert a playful nudge. Had anyone else dared touch him, they'd be reduced to atoms. But, seeing as it was Ferdinand, Hubert could only fight the smile that threatened to make its way to the surface. In vain, of course. Ferdinand beamed brighter when he saw the small smile tugging at Hubert’s lips.

“This is going to work, Hubert, I promise.”

Hubert shook his head. “No, I need you to promise me something else.”

Ferdinand tilted his head in question. Hubert took Ferdinand's hands into his own, the latter blushing from the gesture and from Hubert's intense gaze.

“You must promise to return to us. Unscathed if you can, but you absolutely must return to us. To me.”

Hubert hadn’t entirely meant to include the last part, but he dared not take it back. Ferdinand was astounded by Hubert's serious demeanor, paired with such blatant, genuine concern for his well-being. Usually Hubert's care came in the form of snide comments and back-handed compliments. This was… uncharacteristic.

Ferdinand would be lying if he said it didn't unnerve him. But, steeling his resolve, he gave Hubert’s hands a comforting squeeze.

“There is nothing in this world that could stop me from returning to the Empire. Rest assured, Hubert, this isn't the last you'll see of me.”

“Hubert, please, look at me.”

He looked up. But he could not see. His vision was completely clouded, as though they’d been shrouded in the densest fog.

“You were right. I should have listened to you," Edelgard began, voice quivering. "Oh, Hubert, I am so sorry.”

He felt the warmth of Lady Edelgard’s embrace around him, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. He hugged her back, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He could not remember the last time he'd broken down like this in front of her. He could not remember the last time he'd broken down like this period.

Edelgard continued whispering desperate apologies to him as they both cried.

Eventually the tears stopped and they sat there, their quiet, ragged breaths the only sounds in the room. They were oddly grounding, in a way.

“Hubert,” Edelgard asked softly, her voice hoarse.

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

He was shocked with the clarity of his own voice despite having just sobbed harder than he had in decades.

“Can you ever forgive me?”

Hubert’s head fell, the smallest hint of a chuckle on his lips. “Oh, Lady Edelgard, there is nothing to forgive.”

“It is my fault-”

Hubert immediately stopped her. “You made the call that you believed was best for the Empire. You mustn't begin to doubt yourself now. Ferdinand surely didn't. And neither do I.”

Hubert looked up, and his heart cracked at the sight of her. Her eyes were red and wet with fresh tears. He hadn’t seen her this broken since… since she'd come back from Those Who Slither in the Dark all those years ago.

He failed to protect her then. He must protect her now.

“Hubert…”

“Lady Edelgard, you have spent your whole life fighting for what is right. You inspire all of us to fight with everything we have, to see your vision come to pass. Ferdinand was surely honored to fall fighting for a better future for the people of Fódlan. He would not resent you for this.”

“But what about you, Hubert?” Edelgard asked desperately. “I didn't listen to your concerns, and now, the one you held most dear, he’s…”

Without thinking, Hubert took Edelgard’s face into his hands.

“My Lady, there is not a thing in the world you could do that would make me resent you. He… Ferdinand is not the only one I hold most dear.”

Edelgard visibly melted in relief, falling back into Hubert's arms as fresh cries tore their way from her lips. Hubert held her tight.

“His death will not be in vain. We will continue to fight for the Empire. For Fódlan.”

#cas writes #ao3 linked in Chapter 1 text!#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem warriors three hopes #fe3h #few3h #ferdinand von aegir #hubert von vestra #ferdibert #edelgard von hresvelg #ladislava #based on events of golden wildfire/golden deer route few3h

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all-pacas · 11 months

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life's a beach!

I started this fic ages ago, just after 3 Hopes was released and I was all about Claude's hot girl summer, and then I never finished it? But I still really liked it? So whatever, I don't know if I can ever come up with a proper ending but it's still 2k of pretty good so

By the time the Federation army returned, blistered and exhausted, to camp, Shez and the Ashen Demon had already become fast friends. Well: Shez was chatting away at the Demon’s right, and the other woman did not seem entirely disinterested.

Lindhart had been in the Federation Army longer than even Holst. Lindhart also liked to use his technical status of Prisoner of War to get out of tiring, sweaty battles, particularly messy situations like Empire generals going rogue and attacking Federation forces despite us having a very clear treaty about that sort of thing. Still, it was impossible to go for more than a week around here without listening to Shez bragging about how she was totally gonna defeat the Ashen Demon someday.

“Are you friends now?” he asks as the women stroll by, the Ashen Demon following her father, Shez and for some reason Alois like ducklings in tow.

“Of course!” Shez says proudly, slapping her palm to her chest.

The Ashen Demon’s expression does not change.

“I thought you were going to kill her. Dramatically. Theatrically.” Not that Lindhart wants that, you understand. But Shez says that sort of thing a lot.

“Nah, I’m over it,” Shez says cheerfully.

The Ashen Demon’s expression does not change.

Claude, a manic gleam in his eyes, materializes out of nowhere. “Lindhart! Just the man I wanted to see. You’re going to help me write a strongly worded letter to Edelgard.”

“Alas, I am merely a prisoner of war and—“

Claude hooks him around the neck with an elbow, and Lindhart doesn’t resist. What a mess. Claude pauses. Stands with his bait hooked and runs his free hand through his hair in the off-chance that will help.

“I trust you found your new contract in order?” he asks Jeralt with reasonable formality.

Jeralt tries not to smile. He’d had a six-month contract with the Empire and knew their new boss was half a kid herself, but never had occasion to meet her Imperial Majesty. But this kid is in charge of Leicester? Goddess above, Byleth’s got at least a couple years on him, and Jeralt still thinks of her as half a baby. Claude has the sleepy-looking fellow in a headlock, just brushed his hair back, and already has a cowlick again. Saints. “Terms were fine,” he says calmly. “Generous, even.”

“Well, I know better than to let an opportunity pass me by, and after the troubles your men have given us these past months…” The kid’s gaze falls on Byleth, observing quietly.

“I mean, trouble is putting it strongly,” Shez interjects. “I could have taken her. They didn’t give us trouble. At most, a little —“ she falters, looking for a word.

“Trouble?” Byleth suggests.

“My neck hurts,” the man in a headlock complains.

“You guys buddies now?” Claude asks, gesturing at the women who had, to the best of his and the camp’s knowledge, been sworn, fated, and dramatic foes until two days ago.

“‘Course!” says Shez, slapping her chest with her palm.

Claude sends a diplomatic party south with a letter expressing dismay that Edelgard would allow one of her generals to invade and attack her most recent and trusted ally. He details, politely, the damage Fleche had caused (minimal), and the worries sprung anew in his breast (insignificant) that Edelgard was not taking this alliance seriously, that she would condone such a traitorous act (unsurprising), and that recently two Imperial armies had been lost in Federation lands through no fault of Claude’s own and he hopes she remembers this fact (threat).

He has Lorenz read the letter before it goes, testing to see if Lorenz will mention the obvious: if he cannot resist, Edelgard certainly will not. Then Claude asks Judith. Then Holst. Even considering Nader, drumming his fingers against the meeting-hall table while watching Holst read the documents — not that Nader will give a shit, he knows that, but…

He’d asked Marianne to prepare Fleche’s body and armor for transport home; he’d needed it handled by someone he trusts. She’s helping load the wagon when he finds her, rearranging some goods and bullion they’d promised Edelgard weeks ago.

Makes polite small talk. Helps Marianne with the lighter goods. Fleche is being held in a box iced with magic, to preserve her for the journey, and Claude finally comes up with an excuse to see her. A kid, still in pigtails, her hair carefully cleaned and brushed.

After a while, he leaves again.

Jeralt had told Byleth to look around camp and get to know their new company, and so she had, taking note of the number of mounted soldiers and Pegasi (lower than typical), mages (average), wyvern (high), and archers (very high). Each lord of the Alliance, great and small, had sent at least a few men. Riegan, Goneril, and Gloucester more. Many were mercenaries, which was typical for the Alliance, who could pay for men more easily than field them. Defenses were adequate, supplies and pay were good.

Jeralt frowns when she reports back. He had meant the other kind of get to know.

Byleth makes another circuit of the camp.

Lindhart returns to the camp a few weeks later with a chest full of books and a letter from the Emperor, both of which Claude immediately requisition for himself.

“I thought you weren’t coming back?” Hilda asks, catching Lindhart in the mess a little later. “Wasn’t the whole point of Claude sending you back to the Empire you getting to go home and not keep loitering around camp with us?”

“Why would I want to do that?” Lindhart asks, puzzled, reading one of the books he’d taken before Claude could get his hands on it. “Edelgard would just send me to fight on the front lines. As a prisoner of war, I can sleep all day.”

“Well, now you’re just tempting fate,” His Royal Highness, Claude, Duke of Riegan, first of his fake name, additional titles to be figured out at a later date, says, plopping himself down on the bench opposite Lindhart and Hilda. “Front line medics are in high demand, and I’m quite touched by this display of loyalty to the Federation. What’re you reading?”

“Kings should be open handed and generous with their belongings,” Lindhart says, not looking up from his stolen book.

“Is everything cool with the Empire?” Hilda asks, concerned: she hasn’t heard anything in the hours that Lindhart has been back, and camp gossip has been getting wild lately: half of the army thinks the alliance with the Empire is just a lie to keep them from invading again, and the other half thinks the same thing except for the lie part.

Holst calls it pragmatism: the Federation is still plenty mad at Edelgard for starting the war in the first place, but they’d smacked her on the nose and played the bigger man in offering terms. Baltie says it’s all a trick, and that Claude didn’t wipe out two Imperial armies and generals accidentally. Marianne, meanwhile, thinks it’s all a hopeful sign, recent Fleche debacle aside: peace and alliances are a good thing. Hilda, who once saw Claude enact petty revenge on Lorenz six months after the fact, figures all the gossip is probably true.

“Forgive and forget,” Claude says lightly, taking a bite of a pear. “We don’t mention Edelgard sanctioned an attempt on my most-important life in violation of our treaty, and in return we get to invade the Kingdom.”

“Uh, usually, when you say in return, you get something nice back, not a brand new war.”

“Who says destroying the Central Church isn’t a reward? Certainly not her Imperial Highness.”

On Claude’s orders, the army packs up and heads to the North Sea to await some mysterious fleet of ships.

“When I heard beach, I had something else in mind,” Shez grumbles: the shoreline is rocky, beach pebbled, and the ocean itself is reliably freezing. She kicks a couple of rocks to illustrate her point.

“Yeah, this is…” Leonie sighs. Not that she doesn’t have more important things to do than sit on a sunny beach and swim, you understand. Even still. She shivers, as a cold wind picks up.

“I think it’s pretty,” Byleth announces, having previously announced that she prefers her given name to The Ashen Demon, or that girl with no facial expressions; she’s not that bad, I promise. Ever since the women had gone with Jeralt and Alois to Leonie’s village for a couple of days, they’d been thick as thief-hunting mercenaries, and recently Byleth had been experimenting with having and expressing opinions.

“It’s super pretty!” Leonie hastens to reassure her. “In a sort of bleak, end of the world kind of way.” She looks out at the water. She’s never actually seen the ocean before, and it’s a little bit of a let down: you can see land off in the distance, and the waves are small and choppy. She knows they’re in small bay, that this isn’t what the whole ocean looks like. Still.

“I guess we could try to go swimming,” Shez says doubtfully. “It’d probably make for great endurance training.”

“You three crack me up,” Hilda says cheerfully, crunching up to the forlorn with a parasol and beach towel slung over her arm.

“Hildaaaa, we wanna go to the fun ocean!” Shez whines, making grabby hands. “Take us to the fun ocean, please?”

Holst announces that it’ll be a week or so before the mysterious secret transport ships arrive to pick them up, and that they’re all officially on light duties until then. They’re kind of in the middle of nowhere, which puts a damper on the free vacation, but Ignatz at least is excited. Once tents are set up and ditches dug, he changes out of his armor and extracts his pencils and sketchbook to do some sketches: he’s always loved the vast, barren landscape of the sea and rocky shore. Like he’s on another world, in a different time.

He takes a leisurely walk through the scrub grass and over boulders the size of castles before he reaches the ocean itself, walking along the shore and looking out at the water. He hears voices: women chatting, and Raphael’s distinctive boom. Sees them a minute later and almost turns back around, blushing, but Hilda spots Ignatz first and summons him over instead.

They’re sunbathing on cloaks and in small-clothes — Leonie in shorts and chemise, Shez in almost nothing, Raphael a gleaming mountain of muscle. Hilda is under a parasol, in a frilly swim-suit, sipping a fruity drink.

That the day is cloudy goes without saying. “It’s not bad,” Leonie says doubtfully. “All these rocks underneath make it kind of like some kind of massage.”

“Next time, we’ll ask Claude to invade somewhere warmer,” Hilda jokes.

Ignatz sketches a posing Hilda, praying Holst won’t happen along them. Byleth is taking a nap. She snores.

Bernadetta is located in an old drying shed and brought, protesting, to Claude’s tent. By this point, most of the camp had long since forgotten she was another of the Federation’s prisoners of war, although Marianne chances a wave as Bernadetta and Holst pass.

Claude is much smaller than Holst, which makes him a bit less frightening. But it’s apples and pears. Dragons and wyverns. Death by fire or by drowning. He says hello and Bernadetta squeaks.

“Sure,” he says.

They’ve been camped in and around a fishing village for a week now, and Claude’s tent is twice the size of the others, as befits his status. The inside is bare but for a pile of crates and a bed. Both are piled with books. She spots his relic, Failnaught, leaning against the cot.

“Did you know your father has been named the new Archbishop of the Church?” Claude asks. He passes her a sealed letter and an opened one. She recognizes her father’s handwriting on the first. “Edelgard is asking for your return. I told her she could have Lindhart as well.”

Bernadetta wants to read the letters just as much as she wants to go swimming in the North Sea, fight in another battle, go home, stay here, talk to Claude, or talk to her father. Which is all to say, she doesn’t. Her hands are shaking.

Claude is waiting for her to say something. Anything, really. He has more than half a mind to keep her, if only because bargaining chips seldom come stronger than the Empire’s preferred Archbishop’s daughter. But he’s willing to hear her out. Unlike Linhardt, Bernadetta hasn’t exactly made herself at home in the Federation. If she truly wants to return home… favors owed can be almost as good as prisoners.

She says nothing. Just stares wide-eyed at her feet.

“Okay. Well. You’re welcome to wait out the war in peace,” he says. “I’ve spoken with Margrave Edmund and he will take custody of you —“

There is a knock on the canvas of Claude’s tent. Bernadetta watches him spring up. “Come in!”

It’s Holst. And Shez. “Ships ahoy!” Shez says. Her hair is in a very messy ponytail, and the backs of her arms and neck are red with the imprint of beach rocks.

She walks Bernadetta back to her drying shed. The ships are distant, but visible in the bay, and the camp has sprung into sudden life of packing and shouted commands. The first few smaller boats have landed, bearing banners of green and gold.

“Um,” says Bernadetta. “What banners are those?”

One of Shez’s particular skills is being able to identify any house’s banners at fifty paces. Particularly while drunk and yelling in the mess hall on a leave day. “Almyra’s,” she says.

The banners show a bowman on horseback. A few are crowned. “Oh,” Bernadetta says.

She really doesn’t want to be the first one to say it.

“It is definitely not weird!” Shez says, which isn’t any better.

“N- no! Not at all!”

Claude does not eat in the mess that evening. He skips dinner entirely. They’re leaving at first light, the camp a flurry of activity. Judith looks everywhere she can think of; asks Shez; Holst; his friends, but there’s no sign of him.

“Are you searching for something?” The Ashen Demon asks her, as Judith prepares to embark on her third lap around the camp.

“The sorry kid calling himself king around here,” she says.

Byleth points off inland, away from the camp and ships.

“I thought you were looking for a lost item,” she confides as they walk together. Byleth pats a satchel she has slung across her body. “There are many lost items around camp.”

Judith notices her facial expression does not change once as she says this.

“How do you know where the boy went off to?” She asks.

“I saw him leave,” Byleth says. “I asked him if this bracelet was his. Is it yours?”

“Never seen it before in my life.”

After crossing a few fields gone fallow, they enter a small stand of trees. Claude is peppering an aspen with arrows. He sees the women from a long way off and thinks briefly of running.

“Faster ways to chop it down, kid,” Judith says. Claude hadn’t drawn any sort of target on the trunk, nor was he aiming at any spot in particular. She sees a second tree he’d been using as an earlier target. “You’re wasting good arrows.”

Claude’s fingers are stiff and bleeding, his arm aching. His cheek is red and raw.

“Can’t a man sulk in peace?” he asks, going back to his bushel of arrows.

“Care to tell me how you got the Almyran royal fleet to play ferry?”

“Take a guess,” he says, his voice stiff. He shakes out his hand, his smile unmoving.

Byleth peers at the aspen, and he peers at her, and Judith watches him, her mouth tight. She doesn’t approve. She’s mad. What else is new? Who approves of anything he does?

I have so many gods damned secrets, he wants to yell. Sometimes he wants to. Just say them all, let it all go at once. Burn everything down. Ruin his own life. King Claude, what a joke, but worse in Almyra. Everything he does, someone dies, someone looks at him like that, with disappointment, with distrust.

The Ashen Demon turns to look at him, her eyes dark and guileless. “These are some nice shots,” she says.

He laughs.

#fe3h fanfic #girl shez and girl byleth as it should be #i was so dubious of shez but i love this dumb gay idiot #no pairings just golden deer being stupid #takes place about halfway thru the golden wildfire route

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