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linilou-von-hevring · 1 year ago

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Mind and Heart - Heart

First | AO3

Please, Sothis, let this be the right choice.

Calloused fingers curl over the tactician’s hand.

Please, Sothis, let this not be a mistake.

Silence engulfs the conference room as Byleth walks out of it alongside Claude. There is no plausible scenario where she chooses both leaders, no matter how much she wishes she could have. No matter how much she wishes she could have continued watching Claude and Edelgard grow, watch them take their places as the respective leaders of the Alliance and of the Empire, watch them come together over a shared goal, she knows such a fantasy is impossible. They don’t share a goal. At least, not anymore, not in the fine print of their desires. Until now, everything had worked in their favor. Until now, the war had opposed them to a common enemy. This had been a two-sided war. Now, it splits into three camps.

The walk through the monastery halls is eerily quiet. Neither Claude nor Byleth dare say a word; there is no reason to test the monastery ghosts. There is no reason to draw attention to them as they thread the shadows, avoiding the gaze of every passing soldier. A single sound, a single out-of-place movement, that could be enough to send them both tumbling, the floor caving in under their heavy steps.

Please, Sothis, let this not be the end.

“Teach?”

The voice startles Byleth, but the squeeze of her hand brings her back to her senses. Claude is there, right by her side, his fingers still tangled with hers. He’s looking at her with his green eyes, eyes that remind Byleth of pastures and the few idyl days she had had in her youth. She didn’t enjoy them enough; she realizes this too late. She didn’t enjoy the peaceful days until they were taken from her. She didn’t enjoy them enough until she was plunged into the midst of a war with no winner, even once it would finally come to an end. Everything had been ripped from her hands before she could enjoy them, but not this time. She won’t let this bit of joy and comfort be taken from her as well.

The sun shines brightly outside the north court. It blinds her, but Byleth won’t let a little sunshine stop her. She marches forth, marches with conviction, refusing to give in to the gloom that had started to build in the back of her mind. She marches forth to her chambers, her fingers tightening around Claude’s as he follows without questions.

“We need to gather our things and leave before Edelgard sends someone after us.”

Claude gives her a curt nod, but he makes no move to free himself from her grip. He makes no attempt to leave her side, to rush to his own room to gather his stuff. He doesn’t change anything, nothing but his speed as he falls into step with Byleth. He simply follows, follows her lead as he always has. And for this, Byleth is grateful. She isn’t sure what she would have done had she been left to her own devices.

The professor’s room is tidy, as always. The bed looks untouched; the shelves are lined with books and papers. The only place that seems lived in is the desk, a mess of papers covering the wooden surface, notebooks and quills left lying around. It stands out in the small room, as if it belonged in some place else. The mess, Byleth realizes, it’s the only thing that shows that she has spent any time in this room. The rest, it’s as neat as the first time she had stepped into the small room that would soon become her home. Become her hell.

Byleth makes her way to her desk, rummaging through the papers. She doesn’t need the multitude of battle plans – she’d need an army to execute them. She doesn’t need the scribbled notes on everyone’s strengths and weaknesses – she’d memorized what she really needs, anyway. All she needs are a few memories. All she needs are a few things to keep her from forgetting the past. All she needs are the few remains of happy days, days without doom looming overhead.

Letters collect between the professor’s fingers. They come from everyone that has impacted Byleth’s life in some way or another – supply lists from her father, flirtations from Sylvain, invitations to tea from Ferdinand, idle monastery gossip from Hilda. Innocence plagues the letters, an innocence that pangs against Byleth’s chest. Those days, those school days with all the students, those days spent roaming the monastery in ignorant bliss of the future, they seem so far away now. It feels like a lifetime separates her from those days she wishes she had enjoyed just a little more.

A notebook rests against the tactician’s palm, a notebook that once belonged to her father. It’s one of the few things that remains of him. Even the memories feel like they’re fading away. But this notebook, it contains so many memories that haunt Byleth’s dreams. She can still perfectly picture the scene, the way Jeralt would be hunched over the little table in the rooms they would rent, scribbling away in his journal. She remembers the way he would hold his quill, the way he would use his pinky to guide the ink rather than his index. She remembers all the times he had caught her sneaking out of bed, hoping to get a few more minutes to look out the window and up at the stars, counting them until she’d fall asleep on the windowsill. She even remembers the strength of his hands as he would scoop her up, whispering his adoration for his child before gently placing her back into her bed. Now, those memories are all Byleth has left of her family. It’s all she has left of her own innocence.

A ring. It glistens as it rolls across the desk. A ring. The silver against the dark wood of the desk. A ring. Jeralt’s ring. A ring he had gifted Byleth’s mother. A ring he had gifted her. A ring she’s supposed to gift back to the person she loves.

It’s only ever happened once, the world suddenly going blurry. Byleth can feel the dampness of her cheeks, but she doesn’t dare touch her face. The confirmation of such a reaction is too much for her to bear. Jeralt had been the only person for whom she had ever shed a tear. He is once again the reason she feels the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Teach?”

Byleth turns as Claude slowly rises from her bed. He must have made himself comfortable there, waiting for her to finish packing what she deemed important for their adventure into the unknown. But now, his usual mischievous grin doesn’t shine across his face. Worry stains every trait of his, from the look in his eyes to the way his hand extends towards her. And under the touch of his fingers to her arm, Byleth crashes. She crashes against his chest as arms wrap around her shoulders, holding her upright. Tears: The Ashen Demon’s greatest weakness.

Byleth can’t think of a single time she’s ever sobbed like this, clinging onto Claude’s cravat. She can’t remember the last time she’s ever felt so many things at once; perhaps she never has. Legends say that goddesses don’t feel human emotions, that they’re heartless creatures that gaze from above. The world of mortals is their painting, filled with splatters of cries and rage and tenderness, everything a goddess wishes she could feel but has done nothing but create in the other. Goddesses are numb until they become human with a beating heart. They are devoid of all until they’re overflowing with feelings, feelings they’ve never experienced before.

Byleth feels it all: fear, desperation, grief. All those feelings she had watched pain the faces of others, she suddenly feels them surge within her core. She feels the emotions crashing against her chest, beating against her ribs, trying desperately to break through. She feels everything. Everything feels lost. Everything but Claude, Claude who holds her tightly, his nose buried in her hair as he hushes her.

The moment is quiet, peaceful even, if it weren’t for the looming threat outside the chamber door. It could have been so good had it not been for the war raging on outside the window.

“I’m scared.”

It’s barely a whisper, muffled by the many folds and layers of Claude’s attire. The words barely leave Byleth’s lips, but Claude hears them. He hears her silent cry. He hears her; he always does. He hears her and holds her tighter, the only comfort he knows. It’s not the first time Byleth has found solace against Claude’s chest.

“It’ll be okay, Teach. We’ll make it okay.”

There’s no promise, but Byleth believes him. How could he promise everything will turn out the way they dream of? Such a promise is setting oneself up for failure. So he doesn’t promise, but he does promise that he will try. He doesn’t say it, but the kiss at the top of Byleth’s head is enough of a promise for her to believe in their strength. It’s enough to keep her there, pressed against him, searching for a fleeting moment to add to her collection of memories. It’s enough for her to trust his every word, trust his affection, trust that they are strong enough as long as they’re together. He isn’t a liar, or so Byleth hopes.

Claude’s touch lingers, the weight of his nose against Byleth’s hair. His breathing is steady, as are his hands. This, this could have been their every day had it not been for the wretched war. He could have been more than just a general of an army. He could have been more than just one of her most trusted allies. He could have been more than just her Little Fawn, a boy turned a man before her eyes. Her Little Fawn…

Please, Sothis, let this not be the last time.

“Claude?”

Green meets green for the first time in what feels like forever. Green is drawn to green as naturally as deer are drawn to meadows; it’s instinctive. Green finds green, a treasure one searches for their whole life. Green finds green, just as it should.

“What is it, Te—?”

“Don’t.”

Byleth turns away from Claude, making her way back to her desk. This isn’t the time to be sentimental, but she can’t help it. She can’t help the pang in her chest, but this time it’s different. It’s not the feeling of loss that fills her with dread; it’s something completely different. It’s the way he says Teach, a nickname that started a lifetime ago. It’s a name she normally likes, but right now, she can’t bear hearing it. It’s not the name she wants. It’s not the name she wants to hear.

She knows his eyes are still on her, probably trying to figure out her next move. She knows that his green eyes are following her every move, following the curve of her arm as she pushes the papers aside. She knows he’s watching as she curls her fingers around her prize. She knows he’s watching, but when she turns back to him, puzzlement coats the green of his eyes. He hasn’t figured her out, not yet. And yet, he still complies as she outstretches her empty hand towards him. He complies just as she had back in the conference room, placing his hand in hers. They’re alone in this; they only have each other to trust.

Claude doesn’t say a word as Byleth curls his fingers over themselves. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes have always been the window to his soul. He stares at his closed hand, at the smaller hands enveloping his. And when she pulls her hands back, confusion pulls at every one of Claude’s beautiful traits. Confusion, then something new. Something she’s never seen on him. Confusion followed by the unknown as he opens his hand.

“For when the war is over.”

Emotions play all over Claude’s face: surprise, confusion, and a cast of expressions Byleth is unfamiliar with. Emotions pull at every one of his features, leaving a trail of beauty for Byleth to memorize. This, this is how she wants their future to be. She wants to see every expression cross Claude’s face, and she wants to know them all. She wants to know the names of every little thing he’s feeling. She wants to know everything that makes him, him. She wants that window to his soul to be as clear as day to her, not foggy with lies and schemes.

“Byleth…”

There’s a softness in Claude’s green eyes, a softness Byleth’s never seen before. There’s a softness in his voice, a softness that Byleth’s never heard before. There’s a softness in the moment that envelops them, a softness Byleth wants to cling to. And when Claude takes her hand in his, a pang echoes in her chest once more.

“Byleth, I can’t possibly accept this. Not now.”

“Claude, I—”

“But please,” his eyes find hers once more, eyes filled with beauty and adoration, “please allow me to hold on to it until the end of this war. Allow me to hold on to it until I can ask for your hand in marriage during a time for peace. Allow me to love you in silence until our futures are ensured, one where we can lead a world of tranquillity. Let me love you in silence until I can proudly say that I’m the reigning king of Almyra, when I’ll have proven myself worthy of being remembered as a man of myths. Let me love you then, when all our fears will not coat our proposals. So Byleth, my friend, my love, let me love you in silence until then.”

Silence. Silence had always been one of Byleth’s sharpest skills. Silence, until now, had it not been one of her greatest flaws as well? Had Claude not tried to coax more words out of her over the years, always searching for more information about her? Silence, it had always been one of the Ashen Demon’s deadliest skills, be it for better or for worse. Silence; Byleth could deal with that for now.

Please, Sothis, let this war soon come to an end.

Warmth spreads through Byleth as she lifts herself up just enough to lay a kiss on Claude’s lips. Warmth spreads through her, right through where she must have had a heart. Warmth spreads through her as he returns the kiss, pulling her closer. Warmth spreads through her, leaving a trail of sparks under her skin, under every fleeting touch of Claude’s.

Silence. This would be their silent love. Stolen kisses in the dark as they remain on the run, escaping from Imperial Soldiers. Stolen glances as they fight for a brighter tomorrow. Their love would be silent, but still, the yearning stays. The yearning for peace and for each other. The yearning for sunny days. They yearned for the day when war won’t rage on outside their windows, and they know that day will come. Together, they will end this thing. A new dawn is coming for Fódlan.

“Let’s end this war then, Little Hart.”

“Whenever you’re ready, Teach.”

#Not me writing a pick your own adventure type of fic depending on who you wanna marry like in the game #Because yes I did. I really did #so here's the claudeleth one <3 #claude von riegan #khalid von riegan #claude #byleth eisner #f!byleth #f!byleth eisner #byleth #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #claudeleth #lils writes #fe16

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linilou-von-hevring · 1 year ago

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Mind and Heart - Mind

First | AO3

“I’m sorry.”

Claude gives the professor a curt nod before walking away, but there is clearly disappointment in those green eyes Byleth has only ever seen laughing. It leaves a pang of pain in the tactician’s chest, but she can’t linger on the feeling. She can’t linger on it as she makes her way next to the emperor, who is looking at her with her hopeful violet eyes.

Please, Sothis, let this not be a mistake.

“My teacher,” Edelgard’s voice is soft, softer than Byleth’s ever heard it. “I was so worried that you were going to walk away from me.”

Byleth shakes her head, a small smile forming at the corners of her mouth. She could never leave Edelgard. She could never do that, even if she had wished she could have kept both Claude and Edelgard at her side. But the split was bound to happen sooner or later, Byleth knew that. She knew it from the very first moment she had walked into the conference room and saw them both leaning over the same map. The peace between the Alliance’s leader and the Adrestian emperor had lasted longer than most had expected it to. The peace had lasted until now, and now, Byleth has had to make a choice.

Please, Sothis, don’t make me regret this.

Silence reigns in the large room and it feels like ghost are circling the ceilings. No one dares say another word, afraid of disturbing the spirits that linger. Who knows what this division will mean. Will Claude leave with those who follow his orders? Will he leave alone, slipping through the monastery gates in the middle of the night? No one knows, and no one will know until it happens. Until then, it’s but a guessing game, a collection of speculations and potential plans that will follow. Until then, Byleth is left there, left with her hand on Edelgard’s shoulder and her smile in sight.

“Professor.” There’s a pause, one that draws in Byleth’s attention. “Professor, you do know that I also don’t enjoy losing our soldiers, right? You don’t… You don’t agree with Claude on that, do you?”

Byleth shakes her head. Of course, she doesn’t agree with Claude on that point. Of course, she knows Edelgard is also sensitive to the loss of troops. Byleth isn’t blind; she’s seen the shaken look on Edelgard’s face every time someone reports the loss of yet another ally, or worse yet, of a general. Byleth knows losing people is more than just losing players on a chest board for Edelgard. She saw the fear in her eyes when Lysithea and Annette had walked in, dried blood staining the palms, dried tears staining their cheeks. Byleth had seen the distress in those violet eyes when Lysithea had opened her mouth, static noise coming out of it. “Hilda, we couldn’t save her. She’s gone, Edelgard. Claude knows already.” Byleth had seen it all: the hard exterior, the calm condolences, the dismissal. She saw everything that was expected from the leader of a revolution, but she had also seen the break, the tears, the loss. Hilda wasn’t just some pawn to Edelgard; she was a new sister, another family member that Edelgard had lost to war.

“You don’t think that I have made a mistake, do you?”

“I do not, no.”

This is enough to reassure Edelgard. A content smile hangs on her lips as she stares ahead, violet eyes fixated on the nothingness before them. She seems lost, possessed almost, by whatever it is that lingers in this room full of ruins.

“I do what I have to do, you know. I know it’s not easy seeing our friends fall in battle, but I have to keep a brave face. I can’t go around pulling my hair out and losing sleep over the fallen. I can’t be like Claude, Claude who is far too sentimental about the troops. I can’t go around with tears in my eyes. If I fall to such sentimentality, then what of the troops? If they see their emperor sniffling in her sleep, or worse yet, crying over the revolution she started, how will they ever believe in me? How will they ever trust that I am strong enough to protect them and offer them a world where there is no disparity based on birth status? There is no way I can convince them to keep following me in this hopeless cause if I succumb to my feelings the way Claude has. I can’t let anger and frustration dictate my mind the way Claude does. Feelings, as much as I want to show them, they hinder my cause and I can’t have that. I can’t, Byleth. I can’t do that to everyone.”

Her eyes betray her words as she turns to Byleth. Eyes that are usually covered in an icy gaze now glimmer from the tears over their piercing color. Disheveled platinum blond locks frame her face, making her seem almost delicate, much like a violet emerging from the snow. And as Byleth’s hand touches her face, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, the hard exterior falls. It falls as Edelgard lets her body fall into the arms of her professor, of her friend, of the only person who truly understands her. She lets herself be held as she sniffles like a child.

“I can’t keep doing this.” It is barely a whisper, muffled against the thick cotton of Byleth’s coat. “I can’t keep up this façade. I don’t think…” Her knees buckle under the pressure, the weight of Edelgard’s body warm against Byleth’s. “I don’t think I can do it anymore.”

The sobs dampen the emperor’s cheeks as she lifts her head, her eyes finding Byleth’s. She looks helpless in this state. There’s no consoling her; how does one convince someone that all these deaths are not in vain and that the advancement of a cause is more important than the endless losses that come with it? All Byleth can do it hold Edelgard and pray, pray to the goddess that dwells within her.

Please, Sothis, let this war not be in vain.

“Everything I do—!” A sob chokes the words. Hot tears stream down her cheeks. “That fool, he’s forgotten every lesson I’ve taught him! He thinks that, because I don’t cry with the troops, their deaths don’t keep me up at night! He thinks I don’t see their ghosts circling my head as I send out more ordered, blaming me for their early graves! He, like every other person on the battlefield, thinks that I’m heartless enough to disregard the fact that the blood we spill never dries! He knows nothing of loss! He knows nothing of war!”

The cry pierces through Byleth’s chest, choking her just as the sobs choke Edelgard. Her knees bend under the weight of the emperor, both women finding themselves on the cold, hard ground. Everything seems so much more imposing from this angle. Everything seems so much more intimidating from this angle. Everything seems so much bigger from this angle; or maybe it’s that they, themselves, are smaller, curled up into themselves.

Edelgard’s skirts bunch around her hips as she curls up into herself, tossing her crown aside. The metal clatters against the tiles as her hair finally falls free, leaving her in a state of vulnerability. She looks like a child, sniffling to herself. She looks like a girl haunted by the memories. She looks like a woman who has lost everything that had once been hers.

Tears fall, staining the stone beneath her. Sobs echo against icy walls until they find themselves caught in the warmth of cottons and arms. Byleth never has been the best at comforting and understanding the ocean of emotions that could crash against one’s chest, but she does know that sobs muffled by her shoulder are better than those that haunt the halls. She knows of all the times Edelgard has crashed like this, curled into herself on the floor of her room. She knows of all the tears that have stained the hardwood floors of her dormitory, tears that fall throughout the long, lonely nights. Byleth knows that tears stain Edelgard’s cheeks, that they leave her eyes as red as the banners the Strike Force put up, but she also knows that those tears dry quickly under the harsh sunlight and by the embers of late-night fires. Edelgard’s tears might not water the grass, but they drown her soul, a tear shed for every fallen being she has ever cared for. She has shed her tears behind closed doors, tears for her loved ones, tears for those she failed to protect.

“He doesn’t know what it’s like to see death first thing in the morning of your life. He doesn’t know what it’s like to lose everyone who had ever meant something to you. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be an orphan, a sister to graves. He doesn’t know any of that. All he knows is the comfort of silks, the embrace of a mother waiting for him, and a father proud of his son. All he knows is the life of a promising son, not the life of a disgraced daughter!”

The cry is piercing, a scream for the world to hear. It’s a shout for the entire monastery to hear, the monastery of stone walls that echoes the words back at her. It’s a plea for help, help for the girl who had to grow up too quickly, the child that never got to be just that. She never got what every child deserved. She never for days of leisure and peace. She never got to run through fields of flowers and unkept greens. Edelgard never got what even Byleth had.

Byleth had never been the best at comforting; she was the child of Jeralt, after all. All she had ever known was her father’s laughter whenever she seemed upset, reminding her to cheer up. All she had ever known was the comfort of alcohol, or so that had always been what she had observed amongst the groups of mercenaries she moved in and out of with her father. But here, now, with Edelgard pressed against her shoulder, fingers digging in the thick cottons of her coat, she knew that no shot of alcohol would console the woman. What she needs is something Byleth is unfamiliar with, but willing to try. What she needs is the warmth of a hug as Byleth pulls Edelgard closer, arms wrapping around the shaking shoulders of the Adrestian emperor, nose finding a home against silky platinum locks.

“El…”

The sniffles slowly come to a halt, the emperor lifting her head from the professor’s shoulder. The tears still trickle down her cheeks, but the sadness no longer dulls her eyes. There’s a new dimension to them, a new inquiry the reflects in her pearly tears. There’s something new in her eyes. Surprise? Disbelief? Byleth couldn’t say; she’s never been good at reading the expression off of other’s faces.

“You… you called me El.”

The smile is small, but it is sweet. It’s rare to see Edelgard smile, but it’s a sight Byleth can get used to. She would like to, if Edelgard allowed it of her. And as she wipes the tears away from the delicate porcelain skin of the emperor, Byleth can see herself in the presence of Edelgard’s smile on the daily. There have been little gratifications as rewarding as pulling a smile from the icy leader of an army. There has been little that has left Byleth as breathless as this moment, Edelgard pushing her hair behind her ear and smiling so unguardedly at her.

“You remembered. You remembered from all that time ago.”

How could Byleth forget? The confession that had come with the name had stuck with Byleth, a confession that had allowed the blossom of feelings in the tactician’s chest, in place of a heart. But never did Byleth think that just a name could pull such a smile from Edelgard. Edelgard, much like Byleth, has always been best known for her stoic expression, an emperor looking down at her chess board. Edelgard, much like Byleth, has never been one that can be spotted openly smiling. She isn’t Hubert with his snare.

The confession plays in Byleth’s mind, the confession and the hurried steps that followed. Maybe it wasn’t a confession. Maybe it had been the start of a confession. Maybe it had been a start that had come to a halt because of Byleth’s lack of transparency. Maybe it could have been a confession, a proper one, but fear had struck Edelgard’s heart – El’s heart – from Byleth’s lack of reaction. Maybe she should have smiled like Edelgard was smiling now, soft and shy. Maybe a smile is all it takes to assure a new future.

The smile fades from Edelgard’s lips as Byleth rummages through her pockets. She knows it’s there, somewhere. She never leaves without it; it’s the only remaining memory of her father in her possession. She had made him the silent promise to follow in his footsteps, to love someone as much as he had loved her mother, and to gift that person with her mother’s ring. She had promised him, her last promise to him. She had promised Jeralt, and Byleth is not about to break that promise, not when she’s finally faced with such a certainty.

“My Tea—”

“Wait.”

Greenery meets violets, but only for a split second. It’s a brief meeting, but it’s enough for Edelgard to give Byleth a curt nod, a silent understanding that she is not to interrupt the frantic search. Perhaps she also understands that being a teacher is not what Byleth wants, not at this moment. Or maybe Edelgard doesn’t catch that subtility in Byleth’s interruption. It doesn’t matter; as long as the title doesn’t leave Edelgard’s lips, Byleth doesn’t need to acknowledge it. She isn’t a teacher. She’s not Edelgard’s professor. Not right now, at least.

Byleth can feel the cool of metal against her fingers, a feeling she’s been searching for since the beginning. She’s found her prize, fingers curling around it before it could once more get lost between the layers of her coat. She’s sure now, as she holds her prize and Edelgard’s curious gaze. Byleth is sure of the future, a future she’s ready to carve with the blade of her sword. This is her future, and no one can stop her from grasping it. Nothing can stand between her and her ideals, her future, their future.

“For you, El.”

Edelgard’s eyes sparkle as Byleth presents her open hands. Purples and pinks play against the violet of Edelgard’s eyes, colors that only make her even more beautiful, if that’s even possible. She’s beautiful, her face framed by her loose locks, wide eyes and a hesitant hand hovering over Byleth’s. She’s the most beautiful woman Byleth’s ever seen; no one could rival her, no one in Byleth’s eyes at least. And when Edelgard’s hand finally rests against Byleth’s, her slender fingers curling over the ring that’s been presented to her, Byleth feels it. She feels the pang in her chest, the blooming feelings she had once ignored. She’s sure of this. Nothing could make this wrong.

“Byleth… Do you really mean…?”

A curt nod, that’s all that’s needed for Edelgard to throw herself at Byleth, her arms circling around the professor’s neck. It’s all Edelgard needs to finally let her walls crumble, truly breaking them down, and allowing herself a moment of indulgence. And she’s beautiful. She’s beautiful with her smile and her tears in her eyes, tears that sparkle unlike her earlier sobs. She’s happy, or so Byleth hopes.

“Oh, Byleth, my dearest friend, how happy this makes me.” She sits up, her eyes finding Byleth’s, eyes filled with adoration and determination. “You must know that I feared I had made a mistake when I asked you to call me El. I had almost let slip my growing feelings for you, feelings I had feared would not be appropriate nor reciprocated. I had feared so long that you would leave me, leave me with a shattered heart, but here, now, you show me that my fears were in vain. You have always shown me that together, we can make anything happen. Together, we are at our strongest. And together, that is how I want it to be. Forever. So please, Byleth, allow me to love you. Let me love you as you love me. Let me love you as an equal partner, as the only person I need. For if the entirety of Fódlan burned down, as long as you stand by my side, nothing else matters. I will continue fighting alongside you, your hand on my heart. I will continue fighting until nothing is left of me, because for you, anything is possible.”

Love, a fiery passion Byleth had never known herself capable of. But as Edelgard speaks, as Edelgard vows eternity to her, she knows that this is what Jeralt had spoken about. This, this is love. Nothing but this could be love. And nothing can be as powerful as this love, a love that blossoms like violets in snow, against all odds. This has to be love, a force that will keep Byleth fighting until the end of Edelgard’s revolution.

Love, no wonder everyone sang so favorably of it. What else could compare to this, this moment that has brought Byleth into Edelgard’s arms, her lips against the soft platinum hair? What else could compare to this moment, a moment that can last a lifetime? What else could compare to the words that leave her lips, words that make the world fade away? Nothing. Nothing can compare to this growing feeling. Nothing can compare to love.

“I love you, El. Now and forever.”

#Aaaannnnddd here's for my edelgard lovers!#She deserves all the love <3 #byleth eisner #f!byleth eisner #f!byleth #byleth #edelgard #edelgard von hresvelg #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #fe16 #lils writes

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