Chapter Text
Byleth was no stranger to nightmares, or at least, she thinks she wasn’t—she doesn’t remember what she’s dreamed of in the past, let alone what bad dreams would rob her of the little sleep she afforded herself while traveling in between jobs.
After settling down in Remire, nightmares were the furthest things from her mind, not when it was filled with the comforts of fishing and baking for a living during the day, and spending many of her evenings reading or relaxing in the meadow with Edelgard.
So why was she in the middle of a battleground instead of her bed at Dorothea’s inn? Looking about, ignoring the din of battle cries and the shrill of metal blades, Byleth assumed it to be just another fight with bandits she’s handled in the past.
But then she noticed how the ground underfoot was wet and muddy from the heavy rainfall, and noticed how the sword in her hand wasn’t the same one she’s used before retiring it since living in Remire. It was newer with the edges missing the usual notches and dents of combat. She looked up from the blade just in time to see a familiar clomping of hooves and a blur of brown and silver. The armored horse and its rider weaved through the fray with powerful ease with the rider jabbing his lance with masterful poise.
Then everything clicked into a heartstopping realization. She knew who the rider was, and she knew exactly where she was. Or rather, when she was.
“Papa?” she whimpered after the rider and felt her feet carry her through the all too familiar scene. Her father eliminated enemy after enemy, blocking and striking in a deadly rhythm that only he could hear. This memory had been so locked so far away in the recesses of her mind and for so long, it was a wonder how she was able to recall it with such clarity.
And thus, she knew what would happen next, or at least, what she’s believed to have happened next. In the real world, she wasn’t there to see him die. She was only focused on getting the job done, unaware that her father was dying only a few yards away from where she was laying waste to her enemies. By the time she had realized what had happened, it was too late to save him.
But in the dream, she watched it all. She watched helplessly as the arrow, from an archer unknown, lodged itself deep into Jeralt’s chest. He fell from his horse with a pained groan, crashing to the muddied earth in a heap. Then it all went quiet. No more shouts for blood, or screams of agony. Even the rain stopped. It was just her and her father.
On shaking legs, Byleth closed the distance between them until she was looking down at Jeralt. Despite it being a dream, her chest felt heavy and unbearably tight.
The deep scar that marred his face was the first thing she saw, but the rest of his features were either blurred or unrecognizable. She panicked. What did he look like? It hasn’t been that long, has it? She has to remember. She focused on his features as hard as she could and slowly his blond beard flecked with gray returned, the warmth of his brown eyes stared into her blue ones, and his signature haircut with the single braid was as choppy as ever.
“Sorry, kid. Looks like—” Jeralt coughed. “Looks like I have to leave you now.”
His deep voice reverberated through her skull. Did he always sound like that? Was she forgetting how her father’s voice was too?
She couldn’t say anything. All she could do was to kneel down beside him and take his hand into hers. They were cold. Like she was holding snow.
Through his sharp wince, he smiled up at her. “You’re happier now aren’t you, kid. Found yourself a nice place to settle down?”
She didn’t question how he would know that. Instead, she wanted to tell him all about Remire, about Dorothea and Alois and Mercedes and the stories they’ve shared with her. She wanted to tell him about all the fish she caught at the lake and how he would love to see it and how she’s learned to bake sweet things that’d probably make his teeth rot, but saghert and cream was the best of them all. More than anything, she wanted to tell him about Edelgard and how full her heart feels whenever she’s around her. She wanted to tell him about her and ask if this is what he felt when her mother was alive, if this was what he meant when he said that he wanted a quiet life with her. But words never truly work in dreams, especially not in the way she wanted them to.
In the end, she only nodded mutely.
Jeralt relaxed, his expression far less pained and more... at peace. “That’s good,” he breathed. “I wish I could’ve given you that life sooner. But I’m glad you found it yourself.”
Her grip on his hand tightened as she felt his grow slack. There was a burning haze behind her eyes, blurring her vision, but she blinked through them lest she waste a single second not memorizing her father’s features. She didn’t want to forget a single detail.
The tightness in her chest made it harder and harder to breathe. It felt like she was about to just burst at the seams.
But then a rumbling grew inside her. And slowly the tightness loosened its grip on her. Distantly, she remembers having felt this before, though she couldn’t place what it reminded her of. As the rumbling continued, the dream began to fray and her mind regained consciousness.
“I’m proud of you...” Jeralt’s voice fell faint. “Take care of yourself now, okay?”
As his eyes drifted closed, Byleth’s eyes snapped open and a gasp escaped her lips. Slowly and blearily, she registered the ceiling of her room, the stiff mattress beneath her, and the thin beams of the rising sun peaking through the curtains. Even more clearly, though, was the rumble still present in her chest. Not only that, despite the sheets haphazardly strewn tangled around her legs, she felt warm.
With every inhale she took, she felt a soft tuft brush beneath her chin. Only then did her sleep-addled brain finally realize who was resting on her chest and why the steady rumbling had felt so familiar
Edelgard must’ve come in through the window for her usual morning visit. Even though winter had its icy grip on the land, Edelgard still made a point to visit and so Byleth kept the window unlatched for the shapeshifter to crawl inside and escape the cold. While she had mentioned that Edelgard could probably just come in through the front door, she was accused of not appreciating the dramatics.
With a soft smile, Byleth raised a hand and carefully petted Edelgard’s head, threading her fingers through the soft scruff of her neck as the remnants of the dream still lingered behind her eyes. The cat raised her head at the touch, blinking at Byleth with glowing violet eyes before curling deeper into her neck and purring louder. With a wry chuckle, Byleth continued to smooth the length of Edelgard’s back, giving her an occasional scratch behind the ears until the remains of the dream receded and she sighed heavily through her nose.
Some time later, Edelgard slinked off of Byleth’s chest and plonked onto the wood floor where she transformed into her human form. Instead of climbing back into bed, she knelt down at the bedside and took Byleth’s hand in hers.
“Are you alright?” Edelgard whispered as she rubbed her thumb over the woman’s knuckles.
Byleth nodded. “Thanks to you.”
Edelgard hummed sadly, “I’ve never seen you have nightmares. Do you want to talk about it?”
In all honesty, she wanted to pull Edelgard onto the bed and not have to say anything at all—just burrow into the woman’s uncanny warmth and dream pleasant dreams knowing that Edelgard would be there when she woke up. But the sight of those violet irises so laced with worry gave her pause.
She bit the corner of her bottom lip and let her eyes drift up towards the ceiling for a moment before she pushed herself to sit up properly. “I... I dreamt of the last time I saw my father.” While she described the rest of her dream, Edelgard listened intently and gave her hand a light squeeze whenever she stopped to collect her thoughts.
Finally, Byleth finished and the two fell into silence filled with only the sound of the winter winds buffeting against the window.
“I remember you’ve mentioned your father once before. When we first met, if I’m correct,” Edelgard said, unsure of what else to say.
“I never had much reason to before, I guess.” Byleth curled her fingers into the sheets. “I don’t talk about him enough, I think I’m starting to forget things about him. Would he really be proud of me for being happy but at the same time I’ve been letting myself forget him?”
Edelgard moved to sit on the bed and brought her hand up to stroke Byleth’s cheek. “We can’t help how fickle memories become over time, Byleth. But I’ve learned that it’s how the person makes you feel that remains with you no matter how much time has passed.”
The woman considered the sentiment, but Edelgard could see that it wasn’t enough. She can understand the anxiety that comes with forgetting someone so important. The lingering regret in her lover’s heart made her own ache in turn. From the moment she saw Byleth tossing and turning in her sleep, her face screwed with an invisible pain, she wanted nothing more than to take it all away and cast it into the abyss, never to be seen again. Alas, that wasn’t in her power...
But she had another idea.
“Byleth, do you have any spare pieces of paper?” she asked, keeping her voice quiet and gentle.
The question caught Byleth off guard, but she thought about it regardless. “I think so. They’d be in my travel pack if I did. Why?”
Instead of answering, Edelgard made her way over to the hearth where the wood from last night’s fire laid blackened and charred. After a few moments of perusing, she picked out a piece of charcoal that had the sharpest point before going over to Byleth’s travel bag where she managed to find a decent sized paper scrap left over from a shopping list. Byleth’s messy but still legible scrawl took up half the front of the page, leaving the back completely blank.
“May I use this?” Edelgard asked, holding up the paper for her to see.
“Go ahead. What are you doing with it though?”
“Well, my specialty mostly lies in landscapes, but I’ve sketched portraits in the past. I think now is as good a time as any to try again.” Edelgard pulled up a chair from the corner of the room and sat herself down once more at the bedside, angling herself in a way that would allow Byleth to watch as she worked.
Byleth’s eyes widened. “Edelgard, you really don’t have to—”
“Perhaps, but I want to,” she interjected and readied the charcoal in her fingers. “To the best of your recollection, what was his general head shape?”
The woman swallowed thickly, digging for a memory of her father when she had a good look at his face. She was always looking up at him given how tall he was compared to her. He would often tease that she inherited her mother’s height through and through.
“His head was long, I guess. Kinda square because of his jaw. He had a beard too—wait is that going too fast?”
Edelgard had been sketching as she spoke and looked up from her work, giving her a reassuring smile. “Not at all. Let the description flow, I’ll ask for repeats when I need them.”
With a shaky exhale, Byleth dug for more memories and recited any and all details she could glean from them. From his scarred face from battles even he doesn’t remember, his broad shoulders that reminded her of a bear when she was younger, the hard set of his jaw that was like a wound trap whenever he conducted business, the way he would loosen it whenever they had moments of reprieve, or how the first time she ever saw him smile was when she asked about her mother. That small, wistful smile that seemed to smooth the weariness and battleworn features from his face.
Occasionally, Byleth would glance over and correct a detail or two, to which Edelgard took in stride. At some point, though, she ran out of memories to tell and only the sound of charcoal scratching over paper filled the lull. That left Byleth with the freshly unearthed fragments of time and stew in the nostalgia that they brought along with them.
“Finished,” Edelgard announced with a satisfied exhale. Her fingers were blackened from the charcoal but she hardly seemed to mind as she held the drawing out for Byleth to take.
Even at a side glance, Byleth knew that the sketch was perfect, making her heart leap to her throat in an instant. Had the subject been anyone else, she would quip to Edelgard that she can draw portraits beautifully and that she should give herself more credit. But beholding the drawing that bore her father’s likeness right down to the stray beard whisker, she couldn’t muster a single word.
Yet the details alone weren’t what truly rendered the former mercenary speechless. No—it was the expression that Edelgard chose to give Jeralt: the small, wistful smile he so scarcely wore, but it was her favorite smile of his. Now it was immortalized in the drawing.
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes.
“What do you think?” Edelgard asked, wringing her hands nervously.
She didn’t answer. She simply set the picture aside and reached over to pull Edelgard from her chair and onto the bed. The shapeshifter squeaked in surprise and instinctively wrapped her arms around Byleth.
“Thank you,” Byleth said, her voice muffled from her spot in the junction between Edelgard’s neck and shoulder.
She chuckled and carded her fingers through Byleth’s hair. “You’re very welcome.”
The two shifted together until they were laying in a familiar and warm embrace.
“I wish you two could meet,” Byleth mused into Edelgard’s silken brown locks.
“Do you think he would have liked me?” Edelgard couldn’t help but ask, to which Byleth nodded.
“I think he would’ve, yes. He’d say that you made him look too soft in the drawing,” she laughed. Then paused. “What would you say to him?”
Edelgard hummed thoughtfully, but the answer was obvious. She buried her face deeper into the crook of Byleth’s neck as she said, “I would thank him.”
Byleth furrowed her brows. “Thank him? For what?”
“For you,” came the simple answer.
“O-oh.” So simple, and yet it sent Byleth’s heart into a frenzy. It echoed through her body where it met Edelgard’s ear where it was pressed into her collarbone. It'd be easy to make another teasing remark, but she was more than content to melt into the sound as it brought a wide smile onto her lips.