Now it wasn't as if Manuela was unaccustomed to unannounced late-night visits; Whether it turned out to be her latest suitor, or just some unfortunate soul whose battle wounds had reopened, it was wont to happen often enough.

But even so, she couldn't help but feel a tiny bit indignant at the relentless, callous rapping at the entrance to her quarters, you'd think that whoever stood outside it had long nursed some inordinate grudge against wooden doors. To be fair, they had started out with two succinct knocks and only proceeded to drum up a storm when there was no immediate answer.

"Alright! Alright! I'm coming dear, but I must implore you that you give me a moment to get dressed! Unless you'd like for me to meet you in my nightclothes of course~"

That was a bit of a white lie, as it were not per se her nightclothes that needed to be got rid off, but a rather crumpled, regular gown that she had fallen asleep in.

Either way, her answer seemed to satisfy the source of the insistent knocks at least long enough for her to make it to the door.

Though she didn't have particularly specific expectations of what she expected to find on the other side, she figured that it would be a single person, at most perhaps with a roommate brought along for moral support or, if things were dire, to help them stand.

Instead, she was met with a small commotion: Her gaze immediately fell on her colleague Hanneman, who judging by the long, gray morning robe he was wearing, appeared to have been likewise roused from his sleep. Next to him, she found Hubert of all people, hissing something about the need for utmost secrecy. Even by his standards, his expression seemed somber. A few steps behind was Byleth, with the Sword of the Creator strapped to their back, their face unreadable as usual, but their shoulders not without a certain tension to them, if she dare say so.

Within split-seconds, the squeaking of the old door-hinges brought all of their eyes to the former songstress now that she finally stood before them, and before she had the chance to speak, Hubert took it upon himself to enlighten her about his reasons to disturb her sorely-needed beauty sleep:

"Professor Manuela," he began, under the assumption that this curt acknowledgment sufficed as a greeting. "Do make haste. Her Majesty has need of your services."

Manuela was certainly willing to render her services to whomever might be needing them, from the Adrestian emperor herself to the smallest peasant child, but it would really have helped if the serious young man could have been moved to provide her with further explications as to what exactly would be required of her – instead, he lost no time in herding them towards the former students' lodgings where, out of simple convenience, most of the Black Eagle Strike Force had been quartered in their old dorm rooms from five years before. The Emperor herself had been no exception, arguing that she was, after all, going to war for the cause of equality, and most certainly not going to make use the archbishops' old rooms, for all that some might have deemed their larger size more suitable to a ruler; They had been left untouched, collecting dust like a monument of warning, or a likeness of the vacant throne up in the heavens – Not a reasoning that Manuela herself would have wholly agreed with, but by and large she could at least agree that it would not have been right for any earthly ruler to lay claim to those chambers; If nothing else, it certainly spoke to the emperor's intention to truly break the yoke of unjust rule instead of merely seizing the reins for herself.

All the more reason for Manuela to wish that someone would finally fill her in on the details concerning the nature of this urgent situation, but it was hard to get in very many words since Hubert seemed much too preoccupied with continuing whatever serious discussion he'd been carrying on with Hanneman, and just from the snippets that she could pick up, it was hard to discern what precisely they were referring to.

Though the elder researcher was supplying theoretical speculation, the undercurrent of worry in his voice was impossible to miss: "Well obviously, the side effects haven't been as grave as in Miss Lysithea's case; if they were, Her Majesty would hardly be capable of walking about in heavy armor all the time. But if it were something to do with that..."

"...then we must prepare for the worst." surmised Hubert, his lips pressed into a thin, unhappy line.

As they made their way to the nearest stairwell, Manuela turned to Byleth, figuring that they would be her safest bet for procuring any straight answers:

"Just what is the matter, dear? Did something happen to Edelgard?"

"She's not feeling well.", Byleth supplied, their voice calm but dead serious.

"Oh my! And right before we meant to depart to march on Faerghus, too..."

In a brisk stride, Hubert leads the way. He marshals his former teachers to his Lady's room, but insists that they are not to go in there without his supervision. Merely a routine precaution, or so he assures them. There isn't even a trace of the half-smirks that go with his usual casual threats; though he remains remarkably composed, the two senior teachers can't help but note that he's distinctly on-edge.

Byleth is left to guard the door and deal with anyone who shows up to ask questions, a wise choice no doubt, but Manuela can't help but feel for them a little at the prospect of their having to wait outside for the answers; They must be so very concerned.

But even so they stand at attention with nary a twitch on their stoic face until the other three emerge from inside – what gives the former mercenary away is the one swift step they take towards the door once it opens, their forward glance eager to endure whatever news needs to be contended with.

"Professor Hanneman?"

"Well well" the scholar begins in his usual, measured way of speaking, "I'm afraid this doesn't quite fall into my area of expertise..."

"Come on Hanneman!" Manuela bristles. "You're gonna freak them all out when you say it that way!" She turns so as to address both Byleth and Hubert, who has exited beside her. "There's no need to worry yourselves ragged, it's quite alright. As perfectly ordinary a predicament as I've ever seen one."

"Meaning what?"

"She's got the flu, Hubert. Simple as that. There's no need for funeral arrangements just yet."

Well. So much for that.

Though the young minister had maintained an admirable composure thus far, his sigh of relief caught him unawares and slipped out before he could do much about it.

He would have inquired further but gratingly enough, Byleth beat him to it: "Then she'll be alright?"

"Most likely." Manuela mused with half a shrug. "I'd keep an eye on her temperature and make sure she drinks enough water, but apart from that I see no reason why she shouldn't be back on her feet in a couple of days. A week, at most..."

"I see..." Hubert responded, the gears in his head already grinding away to adjust to this new knowledge of the situation. "If it's just that, then going too far trying to conceal it might just generate rumors worse than the truth… We may have to delay our departure, however."

"In any case it would be better to wait and see if anyone else caught it..." mused Hanneman. "We can't have this spreading through the entire camp, much less contend with an outbreak en route to Fhirdiad."

"It's not often that I agree with you, but this once, you're right. From what I heard, most of northern Faerghus is awfully cold, too. Not exactly the best weather to deal with being sick…

Well then, I'll head over to the greenhouse and see if I can cook up something for her fever. If you want to be on the safe side, I can touch her up with a bit of healing magic as well, that should at least alleviate the immediate symptoms..."

Soon after she had departed, Hanneman excused himself as well; Hubert, however, remained by the doorway, listening for the sound of their steps to trail off in the distance. Once he was sure that they could safely speak in confidence, he fixated Byleth with his pale, glinting eyes.

"To be honest, I'm not too worried about further attacks from the Church or the Kingdom at this point. What concerns me is that word of this might make its way to the regent. He would welcome just about any excuse to take power…

He and his ilk have always considered Her Majesty to be little more than their plaything, and I believe if it came down to it, Lady Edelgard would sooner slit her own throat than find herself at his mercy again – It is crucial that you understand that."

At this point, Byleth had known Hubert long enough to sense that the thought troubled him greatly.

"It won't come to that."

"Probably not. Still. We should probably limit contact with the outside world for the moment, lest some of the merchants get wind and blabber to the enemy."

He didn't bother to specify if he meant enemies within or without the empire's own ranks; They were, as it seems, beset by enemies from all around, with only this encampment as a faint glimmering oasis, and even here, there was no excluding the possibilities of spies – the best they could do was to delay any tattlers until their tales would arrive too late to be of value.

"We might call it a quarantine." Byleth determined after about a second of subtly creasing their brow. "No need to say exactly who's affected. That seems like the most prudent course of action either way..."

Grasping their reasoning, Hubert nodded at once. "I concur."

He bowed low. "I shall take my leave of you then. I will explain the situation to the others."

"Not me?"

"Indeed, Professor. In fact, if it's agreeable to you, I would have you stay by Her Majesty's side at all times. Just to be sure."

"...Alright." Byleth conceded, "But make sure to talk to Ferdinand before you do anything else."

Though not extremely thrilled at the prospect, the former mercenary was surprisingly sure that the young man before him understood the wisdom of such a request. Out of their number, the Aegir heir was probably the best at working a crowd, barring Byleth themselves, and his relentlessly optimistic can-do attitude should serve to prevent any further dips to morale insofar as they could be avoided.

No doubt that he'd only be all too eager to fill in for Edelgard in her absence, as if to prove that he could taken on the burdens of leadership as well as she.

Once again, the professor couldn't help but contemplate how far they had come – back when they'd first come to take charge of the Black Eagles, the Imperial students had been as disorderly quirky bunch half of whom lacked any serious aspirations, and while Ferdinand and Hubert had never been too lacking in that matter, it would have been hard to envision them trusting each other without question or even so much as appreciating each other's particular skills and qualities back when Byleth first arrived at the monastery. Indeed, for someone who was often said to have an uncanny gift for winning other people's trust, Byleth themselves had taken quite a bit to break through Hubert's initial suspicion of them. From what they knew now, even Edelgard herself was fully expecting her beloved teacher to turn against them, for all of her subtle and not-so-subtle attempts to sway them to her side; Unlike her faithful co-conspirator, she had responded to that perceived inevitability with more wistfulness than cautious suspicion, though there was something quite heartbreaking about her earnestly shocked expression when Byleth had actually taken her side over Rhea's.

Neither she nor Hubert had remotely expected any kind of fealty - Such were the sort of lives they had lived, marked as they were, too, by their early experiences with the bitter taste of betrayal.

Now, all these years later, their one-time professor had found themselves an indispensable fixture of their inner circle, perhaps, the first truly reliable ally that the two of them had ever been able to secure for their cause. If need be, it could have been the three of them against the world – but in no small part due to the former mercenary's contributions, it had never quite come to that.

Against all odds, they had ended up coming back here with the rest of their class at their side.

Even the likes of the so-called Ashen Demon couldn't be wholly unfazed by this – not too long ago, it would have been wholly unthinkable for Hubert to leave someone once affiliated with the enemy to tend to his lady in his place while he went to take care of business.

But even if the monarch in question were indeed afflicted by nothing more than some perfectly ordinary human weakness, that still merited at least perfectly ordinary human levels of concern, and thus, Byleth did not wait to look before carefully opening the door just the slightest bit.

"Can I come in?"

"My teacher, is that you? ...Yes, by all means, do come in!"

All in all Byleth could hardly fault Hubert for overreacting. Her Majesty really did look worse for the wear. Who would have thought that some pesky little virus might prove harder to conquer than both Church lands and Alliance territories?

They found her squarely in bed, in a generous silken black flower-patterned nightgown a few sizes too big, chosen such that it bared some of her upper back and shoulders but allowed no guess at anything below, covering everything down to her ankles much like the opaque stockings she used to wear at the academy. Most of her arms were concealed beneath long sleeves, likely for reasons a lot more grim than simple modesty.

Instead of her usual elaborate updo, she sports a long, single braid, comfortable enough to sleep with but likely to spare her the trouble of disentangling the strands every morning.

Without her armor, cape and otherwise imposing regalia, one would inevitably find themselves reminded that she was actually rather short and lithe of stature, particularly when she was buried amid ornate pillows and a thick, fluffy duvet.

Her face was notably flushed, her voice, a little hoarse when she beckoned her visitor to come nearer.

At this point, Byleth chose to set their weapon down on the floor and to seat themselves next to her at the edge of the bed – not that they much doubted that they could have picked it up fast enough in the unlikely case that they should be beset by actual assassins, but for the most part, they simply realized that Her Majesty currently needed a companion more than she needed a bodyguard.

She smiles weakly as they draw near, with a distant echo of the same disbelief she'd shown time and time again since they sided with her all those years before in the holy tomb, and wearily, she tells them what she's told them ever since, time and time again in many countless ways:

"Thank you for being here."

…

Byleth isn't sure if they could even catch the flu in their current state of divine empowerment, but even if they'd known for a fact that the answer is yes, they would not have been dissuaded from remaining by Her Majesty's side – Somebody needs to.

Hubert comes in to check on them a couple of times, and though he was loath to say it out lout, the professor figured that he must be pretty grateful for their assistance; He likely had enough work on his hands as it was.

Apart from him, visitors are sparse that first day, not that there would have been much of a point in stopping by – The emperor is very much out of commission.

At first she'd had some ambitions of at least getting through some paperwork right here, even if she must be confined to bed, but in the end, even the light reading she had scheduled in case her initial plans were to fall through proved much too strenuous.

Her head ached, and so did everything else – before long, she was forced to concede that she would definitely not be concentrating anytime today.

Even when Manuela stopped by to drop off a mug with a bitter herbal drought and a pitcher full of water, it took the young ruler some notable effort to sit up.

"Sorry to trouble you at a time like this," she spoke, calm and collected as always yet noticeably drained, as she took the concoction from Manuela's hands into her own, pale fingers. "I can't believe that I'm holding everybody up at a time like this."

Manuela would hear nothing of it: "Nonsense! Just focus on getting well for now. I daresay that this is the best contribution you can make to the war effort at this moment."

And though she wasn't quite at peace with that notion, she was, ultimately a reasonable person, and very much knew her limits: "I suppose you're right. As things are, it can't be helped… Thank you for your help, Manuela."

It was not like the emperor had much choice in the matter:

She passed most of the day in a state of liminal misery, too sore to find much sleep, but too fatigued for anything that would have passed for wakeful activity.

Whenever she did actually manage to nod off for a bit, she'd awake soon after with a dry feeling in her mouth, having been forced to breathe through it as her nose and related passageways were hopelessly blocked, but every time she woke, she'd find Byleth still close at hand, thumbing through some of the reports left on her desk so that they might appraise them in her stead.

When she first came to, her earliest conscious thought was the realization that the few vestiges of light falling in through the window arches were the last traces of the westering sun.

The whole day seemed to have passed her by without a warning, all the time she could have spent preparing, training, working, shortening this conflict by any length of time, just, pop, gone!

Not that she had any illusions that she would have been much help if she had forced herself out of bed, but, sometime during this day, she was certain that Ferdinand, Hubert and the others must have held the days' war meeting, and she had not been there to address any eventualities – It's not like she didn't trust Hubert to pick up on anything that might have been important, but even the most trivial sort of detail could be the first warning sign of a looming trap – there was so much that had been staked on the distant promise of a better tomorrow, so many sacrifices that would be rendered meaningless if they were to fail now without accomplishing anything but leaving the world worse that they had found it – After every battle, she would personally go out to put flowers on the freshest batch of graves, and the weight of their names would rest upon her like the pressure at the bottom of an ocean.

This was too important – She couldn't afford to be holed up in here.

She couldn't stand to be holed up at all. She felt the walls, keenly, and the frustration that resulted – for she was perfectly that running into the courtyard in her night-robe was definitely not an acceptable option that would lead to any sort of constructive outcome. She really did know that – she knew that she'd just have to endure this. It wasn't as if she hadn't already lived through much worse.

Even so, being unable to do anything was… hard to accept.

It was easier, however, when she wasn't telling that to herself in an empty room.

Looking up, she was met with the blank gaze of Byleth, who had of course already taken note of her errant stirrings. "Feeling better?"

"...Not really, to be honest..." Then, with a delay that in itself spoke volumes about the truth to the young ruler's words, a thought struck her, by itself, a fairly logical implication of the dimming light outside.

"Have you been here this whole time?" It was more of a scolding or mildly embarassed tone than a completely surprised one, so Byleth chose to count this as a private victory.

"You don't need to, you know… You could just post some guards outside the door – you'll need to do that anyways, unless you mean to stay awake until I have recovered..."

"Who says I don't?"

That, at least, scored a weary smile from the virus-stricken ruler.

Before she could decided to take that quip too too seriously however, Byleth decided to explain their actual plans: "I already have Petra and Caspar taking turns with keeping watch in the hallway."

"It's not the security arrangements that I'm concerned about… my teacher, surely you must be bored out of your mind!" she intoned with a wan tinge of that subtle, playful quality that few but her professor had come to see with any regularity.

"Not particularly."

"...If you insist on staying, then surely there must be something you can do to pass the time."

She reached out an arm for one of the pile of books that had been gathering dust on her nightstand. Truth be told, she hadn't touched any of them for a while – the war had left her with little opportunity. "I was meaning to read these, but I can't seem to keep my eyes focused for more than a paragraph… You might as well borrow one of them. I must admit I'm a little curious as to what you would think of this one. Perhaps we could discuss it together some other time That is, if you're interested – If seen you at the library many times. Do you enjoy reading?"

Byleth certainly knew that Edelgard enjoyed it – soon after their arrival, they had made it their project to learn the likes, dislikes, interests and preferences of pretty much all of their students – at the time, it was simply a matter of doing their allotted tasks to the best of their ability, much like they had maintained their equipment and kept up with their training in their days as a mercenary, though in time, knowing so much about each and every one of them had made it easy to grow fond of their charges, many of whom they would doubtlessly be forced to face when they finally marched on Fhirdiad.

But that was a weighty question for another day – for now, the former teacher was faced with a rather simpler one which, by comparison, should have been far easier to answer, or so one would think.

"I haven't really thought about that.", Byleth responded, and it was not even a concession, but a simple, laconic statement. "I had to brush up on my general knowledge since I was supposed to teach you and others." As ever so often, Edelgard of all people could very much tell that it wasn't a deflection, but an unadorned if unlikely truth.

"What was it you used to do in your spare time before you came to Garreg Mach?"

"Nothing in particular."

"Is that so?"

There isn't really a need for that question, she knows it to be true.

Though she had known them for quite some time now, the individual beside her never seemed to run out of mysteries, many of which they didn't even recognize as mysteries that others would be baffled by. The emperor couldn't say for certain whether she felt faint amusement or a sort of deep, yet distant sadness. "Then I don't suppose that your unparalleled strategic acumen is due to the complete focus you have dedicated to your work as a mercenary?"

"I don't really know. I guess I just never had much of an opportunity…", Byleth concluded, with little of the wistfulness that some might have taken such a statement to imply. "Father and I traveled all over the land, and all we'd take with us were our weapons, our money and what we needed to survive… I rarely ever thought much further than the next days' battle, and we never stayed in one place for too long… now that I think of it, he must have been concerned that Rhea would find us if we ever did… "

Though she loathes the thought, the rational parts of her find themselves wondering how much of this really is due to her companion's unusual upbringing, going from battlefield to battlefield and never much concerning themselves with many of their society's more nonsensical features as it might be the case for everyone in a more logical world – and can't help but consider if it had anything to do with whatever it was that the archbishop had done with them as a child.

She's forced to ask such questions about herself often, down to the most innocuous things – the day she heard Linhardt casually mention that according to some eminent scholar, people with crests were more likely to prefer sugary snacks, her appetite had been thoroughly soured for the remainder of the week.

Once upon a time, there was a helpless, inconsequential girl who had been powerless to understand or change what was going around about her, tossed about by the winds of fate like a little wooden boat in the deep dark waves of an ocean, hopelessly incapable of changing her own course. She'd been unremarkable in every way, and yet she could never have deserved such a miserable end.

In her place, something else had awoken, something sublime and unnatural with the might of a god-shattering star fallen from the heavens. In the end, the only thing that hadn't changed was her name. Her father had still at times used her old childhood nickname up until his death, but it had never quite felt right anymore.

She supposed that the only person who could have quelled those doubts was a man whom she was intending to cut down in but a few weeks time, for she doubted that he would leave her any other option.

Sure, there was Hubert, who had known her from before and seemed to think of that incident only with wrath on behalf of her suffering and scathing disgust at the treason involved, but it was precisely because he knew her better than anyone else that he spoke of her true strength like a man who had once been shown something eternal in a vision of rapture.

For the longest time, she thought she already knew what their answers would be; She had pictured them, phrased as diametric opposites and yet underpinned by the exact same truth.

She'd wondered often what she might be like if she'd always been as she was now, without even the echo of having been properly alive to leave her with its imprint, but here before was a dear, treasured person whom she could never see as warped, even if they were kin of their enemies. Whatever happened to them clearly took place before they formed coherent thought, so they would never have known anything else. As far as Byleth was concerned, they were neither sublime nor unnatural: They were simply themselves.

And having known them, Edelgard had found herself beginning to think that maybe the same could be true for her too. The person she had been – the people they might have been in some other, better world – were never coming back.

But as for the person she was now?

There might be hope for her yet.

Ever since Byleth had returned to them after all those long, long years, she had been beginning to think that there might come a day where she would be spoken to with tenderness and affection once again rather than just beheld in both terror and awe.

So it was not only on behalf of her own pain and discomfort that she somehow found their hand, and not just for her own sake that she squeezed it tight. If she could, she would have sworn to Byleth on the bones of her dead brothers and sisters that she would save at least them, but she knew well that she could make no such guarantees – She couldn't guess what might happen to them after that cruel beast was slain. She couldn't promise them that she and the others would find them a hobby even if they both were to live.

So instead, she did what she'd always done, and remained steadfast on her forward course:

"Surely, your father must have been trying to protect you from her… I'm sure of it! Soon, once we've defeated her, no one else will ever have to run from her tyranny ever again…

Never again."

"Never again."

...

But whatever her ambitions or even hopes for the future, the emperor would certainly not be slaying any dragons any time soon.

Soon after the professor had accepted the thick, heavy novel out of her hands, she carefully placed herself back onto her pillows, ostensibly coming to regret many particular motions.

By the looks of it, her headache had yet to abate.

Soon after, she curled onto her side, facing away from her companion, but making no move to put further distance between their form and her back.

Though she trusted them with her life, it could not be comfortable for her to be seen in such a state – it was just as Hubert said; The Lady loathed the experience of being powerless and at the mercy of forces beyond her control above almost anything else, even if those forces merely amounted to the most mundane inconveniences of the human body.

No doubt this must be hard for her, which of course just left the former mercenary all the more stubbornly determined not to leave her side anytime soon – in the meantime, they supposed that they might as well peruse the book that been handed to them, since they had little else to do, and no reason not to.

At their side, Edelgard eventually managed to drift off to the sound of rustling pages. She could not rest deeply, her attempts at sleep interrupted by uneasy turns and the occasional distressed moan or murmur, but it was much closer to the real thing than she had come before.