A/N: Written for ashglory in Round 1 of the Minigame flash exchange.

Imperial Year 1190, Garland Moon

The united continent of Fodlan was not yet at peace. The Adrestian Empire's banner hadn't openly marked a battlefield since Fhirdiad had finally fallen and Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg, last of her line, was expected to wield words more often than weapons these days. But the war had never been against the people anyway, even if they'd been the ones to bleed for it.

Ideology could only be killed with patience. It was a skill that Edelgard had never had much opportunity to cultivate, too keenly aware of the time limit that had governed her whole life. She would have gladly traded places with Hubert given the choice. Her discomfort was the smallest of the prices she had been asked to pay for her revolution—she knew that and she didn't resent being given the opportunity to see her dream through to the end, but a part of her craved the simplicity of an enemy she could strike down. That Those Who Slither in the Dark could now be counted as such was still a novel pleasure.

Now able to dedicate his full attention to the matter, Hubert had set an efficient standard for himself and the siege on Shamballa had led to a swift and brutal culling. It didn't entirely make up for the disaster that had been Arianrhod, but it meant something to recover some kind of victory from the loss. Still, their kind had had centuries to seed themselves throughout Fodlan and weeding out the remnants would not be the work of mere years. Not when they could be anywhere. Could be anyone.

Byleth was studying the map with a familiar kind of focus, finger tracing over the route they'd marked out with meticulous care. Edelgard didn't need to indulge in the same level of scrutiny; she had already memorized every turn. "Are you sure you don't want to take a larger force with you?"

Byleth glanced up, easing away from the table as Edelgard approached her. "I can move faster if we limit our numbers. I want to assess the situation as soon as I can. The reports are"—Byleth paused, brow furrowing—"troubling."

Edelgard took Byleth's hand in hers, ink-stained and calloused, and lifted it so that she could brush her lips over the knuckles. "My teacher," she said, pouring as much reverence into the title as it warranted—more weight than Goddess or King or even Emperor, even now. "Be careful."

Byleth's answering smile was slight, but it lit up her eyes. "Of course." She shifted her fingers and squeezed, a gentle pressure that Edelgard could feel through her gloves. And then she tugged, sending Edelgard stumbling into her arms where their lips could meet and the fluttering of Byleth's eyelashes on her cheek could steal away the darkness of her thoughts, her worries suddenly small and unimportant. "Try not to work too hard while I'm gone, El."

Imperial Year 1180, Great Tree Moon

The dagger was a comforting, familiar presence in her hand. Hiring Kostas had been a mistake, that much was clear, but the situation wasn't beyond mending. If anything, this last desperate charge was a boon, a neat way to tie up the loose ends and allay any suspicions.

She hadn't counted on the mercenary.

Her vision was obscured by a dark coat, followed by a meaty sound, a gasp, and the smell of blood. Edelgard felt her gut lurch, sharp and hot, fingers suddenly nerveless around her unused weapon. It had been a stupid move, she could have handled herself, but still. She hadn't meant for this to happen. She hadn't—

The air was crisp and charged with static, stinging in her throat, raising the fine hairs along her arms, sending shivers rushing down her spine. When she looked, there stood the mercenary, easing smoothly out of a defensive position. Kostas was lying several feet away, cleanly disarmed.

Edelgard swallowed and reached for an explanation for her shaken composure. She found none.

Imperial Year 1180, Verdant Rain Moon

She didn't feel it again until Miklan. Until the Lance of Ruin brought new meaning to its name.

The horror of the transformation had brought them all to a standstill, clustered together like the children they were meant to be, pale and silent. Even Hubert, ready at her side, seemed thrown, eyes widening just enough to be telling. Edelgard's own mind was a mess of jumbled thoughts, spinning faster than she could grab them. At the center of it all, sick realization that surely they would know how to use this, must have known about the possibility all along. And if they did, then she would have to learn how, if there was to be any hope—

The Black Beast was fast when it moved, lumbering forward with a shriek that sounded just enough like Miklan's voice for bile to rise in her throat. Her armour was too heavy; she would be too slow.

She was sure that she felt the weight of a great foot, pressing down on her, but then there was only the static chill of the air and a flare of light as the Sword of the Creator struck at the beast's hide. It screeched again, turning to face its attacker.

Byleth stood at the ready, the slightest edge of anger seeping into her usually placid expression. "Get everyone who's injured to the back; Linhardt needs cover to treat them. Gilbert, Ferdinand, with me—we're breaking through that shield."

Imperial Year 1190, Blue Sea Moon

Edelgard stood vigil by the window and tried not to feel small in the large, empty room. The oak desk was a looming presence at her back, a nagging reminder of incomplete paperwork and unsigned legislation. Normally she wouldn't let it pile up like this—she found satisfaction in the concrete proof of her efforts effecting change and even joy when she had the opportunity to ratify formal trade agreements with merchants from Almyra or Brigid, or add her approval to Ferdinand's proposals for the education system. Occasionally she had to mediate a noble's bid to reclaim forfeited land or agree to intervene in a border dispute, but it would be worth it to one day see such squabbles become irrelevant. They might not have understood the situation yet, but they would.

But lately distraction had weighed upon her shoulders and insistently turned her head. She had placed her office where she'd have the clearest view of the road and now that view felt like the only thing that mattered. "Two more days," she said under her breath. It felt like prayer, though she couldn't remember having ever done such a thing. Two more days and she would tell someone of her concerns. Two more days and she would have fair cause for those concerns in the first place.

She closed her eyes and studied the turns in the road emblazoned in the dark behind her eyelids.

Imperial Year 1180, Ethereal Moon

The chill shuddered through her like a bad omen and it was that, more than anything, that sent her footsteps thundering recklessly over the rain-slick ground. She told herself to be prepared for anything. She was woefully unprepared for the sight that waited for her in the ruins of the chapel.

The grass and stonework were eerily empty of evidence of the battle they'd just fought. There was nothing to distract from the lonely image of two figures lying soaked in the grass. Byleth was a small, dark shape curled over a horrifyingly familiar body. Even as Edelgard drew nearer, the smallness didn't seem to dissipate and she couldn't find the words to make it happen. So, she drew up short and still and silent; an unintentional voyeur to a moment she felt sure that she hadn't been meant to see.

Try again, she thought, without understanding why. Why don't you try again? The ground was crumbling underneath her, a desperate sort of guilt clawing at her insides. Everything was ruined. Byleth would never, never stand with her now, not if she knew. She would recover from this, she was too strong not to, but she and Edelgard would never walk the same path again. She wondered if that had been the intention.

Almost as if in a dream, she reached for the sword at her waist, already feeling the way the impact would jar her arm as it clashed against the Sword of the Creator. It wasn't a fight, not a real one. But it was goodbye, it was the end, it was—

She blinked, the rain picking up and striking harshly at her upturned face. Her hands rested limp and empty at her sides, her axe a reassuring weight on her back. What had she been thinking about?

"Help me carry him," Byleth said, voice wavering alarmingly but face as unreadable as stone. Edelgard hadn't even seen her stand up.

"Of course," she said and rushed to her teacher—her friend's aid. She could do no less.

Imperial Year 1181, Great Tree Moon

Edelgard's knees struck the stairs of the throne room hard, her hands barely reaching out in time to catch her before she could fall the rest of the way. The last time she had been in Enbarr seemed so long ago, another lifetime. It had been her coronation, a sad sort of victory. This should have been much the same, but it was much more bitter. She'd had someone at her side at that time. Now even Hubert had given her the dignity of a private mourning period.

Her gauntlets creaked as her hands forced them into fists, grief and regret filling her throat to the point that she could barely breathe around it. This wasn't how it was meant to happen. "I wanted to walk with you." The words punched their way out of her before she'd even conceived of them, words from somewhere else, spoken by someone else.

There was the sharp whistle of a blade cutting through the air and Edelgard startled, slipping a short way down the stairs as she turned to face the threat. There was no one there, no sound but the gasping of her own breath to fill the empty space.

Imperial Year 1190, Blue Sea Moon

Byleth returned before the sun set on the second day. It was not the joyous reunion she'd been anticipating. Her return had been delayed while she sourced and purchased a team of sturdy new horses. She'd needed them to help cart the bodies home.

Dark hollows underscored her eyes as she sat in the chair Edelgard had insisted on, waiting for the debrief she hadn't allowed Edelgard to delay. Her left arm lay awkward and limp across her lap but already looked much better for the judicious use of a healing stave. "There were demonic beasts," she said, throat clicking wetly. "More than the reports had suggested. More than we had the numbers for."

Edelgard gave up the thin veneer of propriety and stood, rounding the desk so that she could cradle Byleth's face against her stomach. Byleth didn't seem to need further prompting, turning her head to burrow closer, good hand rising to clutch at the heavy fabric of her skirts—seeking a comfort that Edelgard was only too desperate to give. "It wasn't your fault."

"I was their commander."

"There was nothing you could have done."

"No, there wasn't." A traitorous part of Edelgard wondered if that was the problem. Her hand tightened, tangling in Byleth's hair to the point it must have stung. Byleth said nothing and only shifted her arms so that they wrapped tightly around Edelgard's waist in turn. They didn't move for a long while.

Imperial Year 1186, Guardian Moon

Byleth grabbed her arm, hurrying her behind a building as another volley of arrows rained down over the streets. She was breathing hard, tiring like all of them, but her sword arm was steady and her eyes were alight and alive, assessing the battlefield even as they waited out the storm. "Claude will bargain, if we can get to him."

"Are you sure?" Edelgard tried to temper the uncertainty in her own voice. She'd had similar suspicions, but they had sounded too much like hope to fully believe in.

"If it's you or I, absolutely." Byleth struck out, swift and unhesitating, stopping a warrior before they'd even finished rounding the wall. "He had to know we had the numbers to take the city, even with his reinforcements. He wouldn't let himself be backed into a corner like this if he didn't have another plan."

Edelgard's grip tightened on Aymr. "Then we get to him."

"We get to him," Byleth agreed, "before anyone else does."

Edelgard bellowed as she cut her way through the battlefield, drawing on the axe's power to keep her in a state of furious momentum. Even so, she felt strangely calm. Everything rested on this moment, but she never doubted that she'd make it. Every enemy that stood to stall her would be miraculously otherwise engaged between one blink and the next. No one else moved on Claude even when he should have been a priority target for any soldier with loyalty to the Empire. For once, failure felt like a distant, surreal concept.

The air crackled with electric cold and she fought on.

Imperial Year 1186, Great Tree Moon

"To the fires of eternity with you…El…"

Aymr swung true even as her breath caught on the name, clogging her throat with some burning, indescribable thing. She had thought there had been no one left to call her that; to hear it now, from a man beyond her power to save, felt like a cruel, twisted joke.

Byleth was a silent figure at her back, offering neither reassurance nor condemnation—and that was somehow worse than any judgement could have been. The hands that held her weapon suddenly felt huge and monstrous, grotesquely elongated in a way that sent her grip fumbling. The air grated through her throat with an artificial warble, her back heavy with an awful, living weight. Take it back, she thought, but the air stayed spring-warm. Take it back take it back take it back—

"Your Majesty?" Hubert's hand hovered without touching her shoulder. Byleth's concerned face hovered in her periphery; her eyes were hard and determined and made no space for the regret that Edelgard had nearly allowed herself to drown in.

"Rhea." She straightened. Her voice was even and she let herself draw strength from it. It wasn't over. Not yet. "She is our enemy, but I must admit that she plays her card magnificently."

Imperial Year 1190, Verdant Moon

"You can't do it anymore, can you?"

Faint surprise widened Byleth's eyes, rounded her mouth into a small 'O'. She blinked as comprehension set in, but she didn't ask Edelgard what she had meant. "No. I haven't been able to since Fhirdiad." Since Rhea. Since they'd spurned the light of the Goddess and struck the last of her children down with the weapons historians had called divine gifts. It made sense that they had run out of blessings after that.

"Do you"—Edelgard's voice faltered, almost backing away from the question with uncharacteristic squeamishness. It wouldn't matter if she didn't like the answer; there was no changing it now. The future was already being written. She cleared her throat. "Do you ever regret giving it up for…for this?"

Byleth knocked her head back against the stone of the wall, seeming to genuinely consider the question. Edelgard had always appreciated that about her; whatever she said, you could always be sure that she meant it. "I had never had a heartbeat," Byleth said at last. It was Edelgard's turn to freeze in surprise, not sure if she was more caught off guard by the bizarre information or the apparent non-sequitur. "Not until that night, in your arms. That's what I traded it for." Byleth sucked in a sharp breath, eyes closing briefly. Then she turned to her and smiled. "Whatever else there could have been, that's what I chose."

Edelgard swallowed and ignored the stinging in her eyes. "I'm glad."

Byleth laughed, soft and gently teasing, before bumping their foreheads together. Her smile remained but her eyes were tempered by a sad, knowing kindness. "Me too. I'm glad I could walk this path with you, El."