A Lost Ballroom of Gold: A Fire Emblem Three Houses Masquerade Rarepair Zine

Dorothea was asked to the ball six separate times; thrice by guards, twice by Ferdinand, and
once by Mercedes. Turning down the guards was easy, she knew they only wanted to attend the
ball with her for her looks, perhaps her voice. Rejecting Ferdinand was a bit harder. She loved him
dearly as a friend, and the thought of hurting his feelings made her wince; but she knew his eyes
were truly for Hubert, and that with her off the table, maybe he would figure that out. Mercedes
was the hardest to turn down. Goddess, she was pretty like the summer sky. She was kind, caring,
and they would have looked wonderful together at the Ball. Dorothea had other plans herself,
however. Mercedes could have any beautiful woman at the Monastery-- Constance, she thought,
perhaps-- but Dorothea wanted Garreg Mach’s most elusive bachelor.

At the mention of that phrase most people would think she meant Claude? Sylvain? No,
an extrovert is far too simple to ensnare. Dorothea wanted Felix. He wasn’t the biggest or the
strongest, but to her, he was incredibly intriguing. His eyes could pierce darkness and his way
with a sword was mesmerizing. After catching him in action on the battlefield a few months ago,
Dorothea found the future Duke irresistible. She started trailing him subconsciously at first. She
would linger in the Dining Hall at first, waiting to eat until he arrived, then leaving right after he
left. She found herself wanting to train much more often than required just to see him around,
swinging his sword at a dummy, or occasionally his friends. After that she really started planning.
She would get up early to catch him training alone in the mornings, tearing apart straw over
misdirected anger at Dimitri. She would be there, listening to him mutter under his breath every
single morning. She hoped that her presence there would be enough to gain his attention, but it
wasn’t. He wasn’t the wisest. She sat closer to him in the dining hall, occasionally stashing
a rose or tulip onto his tray. Eventually, he caught on. And at first, he wasn’t happy about it either.
One evening at the training grounds, Felix snapped.

“Why are you trailing me? It’s annoying.”

“Whatever could you mean?” Dorothea cooed. “I’m here to train, just like you.”

“You’ve been practicing the same simple enchantment for the last 30 minutes.” Felix sheathed
his shield and gestured toward Dorothea’s practice dummy. He was right, of course, she had lazily
lit the poor figure on fire a few dozen times now, but she would never admit it. “I know you’re more
powerful than that, I’ve seen you fight. If you’re just here to fuck around than you’d might as well
just go home.” Felix turned around and unsheathed his sword again, ready to continue training.

“Hey!” Dorothea called, displeased with Felix’s response. “Are you calling me lazy?” Men
had never spoken to Dorothea like that. She hated it, but she couldn’t help but to respect his
dedication. She had seen what training with Felix did for some of her peers, and she supposed this
attitude is what made him such an effective partner.

“No,” he said, slashing a cut into his dummy with a two-handed strike. “A lazy person wouldn’t
spend weeks trying to get my attention. I’m calling you a liar.” His sword stuck straight through the
dummy, humming with electricity. She found it scary, and endlessly attractive. Dorothea gulped.

“So I’ve been following you a little bit--”

“I fucking knew it.” he grumbled.

“But only!” Dorothea cut back in, “Because I really wanted to get closer to you. I think you’re uh… cool.”

“Me?” Felix laughed. Dorothea felt like it should have made her angry, but it made her sad
instead. Did he really think so little of himself? “I’m just a soldier here.” he said with a shrug. He
paused then, slowly releasing the hilt of his sword, which was still stuck in the dummy. “Wait, are
you the one who’s been leaving me flowers?”

Dorothea nodded, hoping he would catch it out of the corner of his eye. She sensed that he did.
Maybe she just hoped. She couldn’t tell.

“I’ve been blaming it on Sylvain for a while now, I thought it had been a prank, I apologize.”

“Oh, it’s fine.” She was blushing now, as bright red as her finest dress. “They were meant to be
anonymous, but you should know that Sylvain does not have such superior taste in flowers as I do.
I’ve been hand-picking those from the greenhouse.”

Felix laughed, finally turning towards her again. “You can hang out here if you want, just back
up because I want to get some range practice in before I head back.”

“Actually,” Dorothea took a few steps towards Felix, “I was hoping to ask you something
tonight.” Felix raised an eyebrow at her. She cleared her throat and continued. “The Masquerade
Ball is coming up, and I was hoping you’d be my date.”

The two students stared at each other in awkward silence for a few moments more than
Dorothea would have liked. Felix spoke eventually, with much less edge than usual.

“Well I wasn’t planning on going.”

“But?”

“But,” he let out a deep breath. “I suppose that if you could help me work on some magic skills,
I could take the night off.”

Dorothea’s lopsided expression turned slowly into a smile.

“Do you have a suit?”

“For family business, yeah.”

“But do you have one you like?”

“No,” Felix snickered, “Absolutely not. It’s awful, I’ll--” Felix looks up at the sun, setting low in
the sky to give way to night time. “I’ll pack up for tonight and show you.” Felix took his training
dummy by the shoulder and started to drag it back to storage. Dorothea scurried back to collect
hers, trying to keep her composure and appear casual. As worried as she was, she knew that Felix
was probably too oblivious to notice any slip-ups.

“Hey,” she tapped Felix lightly as she swung her training dummy into its cubby. “Do you
wanna get some tea first?”

Felix looked at her with piqued curiosity.

“Sure.”



A Proper Courtship

Ingrid softly sighed as she looked around the ballroom. Dozens of couples waltzed around the
dance floor, each pair magically gliding past each other without so much as a bumped elbow. As
A minor noble’s daughter, there were many perks to her family’s status: there weren’t as many
functions she had to attend, her father allowed her free reign to hunt and ride on their lands in the
attire of her choice, and society’s expectations for her were low.

Unfortunately, that was only when Fódlan’s was out of season. Now that the balls had finally
started, her father had packed her off and sent her to the capital. The season really just meant
‘husband hunting’, as her friend Dorothea had put it. While Ingrid understood the importance of
climbing up the social ladder, of marrying a more powerful family in order to help her own, she
hated it with every fiber of her being.

It also didn’t help that she was terrible at courtship. She had two left feet, walked in a masculine
fashion, and the only good thing about her was that if she kept quiet, she could perhaps pass for a
gentle lady. Rubbing her arm, she tried not to glare. Ingrid couldn’t scare away everyone, after all.

“Careful, your face might freeze like that,” a man to her right teased.

“What—” Ingrid snapped, cutting herself off when she realized her childhood friend stood
next to her. “Sylvain!”

The redhead grinned mischievously. “That’s the name, don’t wear it out!” Hands in his
jacket pockets, he leaned forward to take her all in. Suddenly, she felt self-conscious in her
pale green ball gown.

“What?” she asked, resisting the urge to tug on her long hair nervously.

With a wolfish grin, he whistled. “Wow, Ingrid, you look gorgeous. How’d they get you in that?”

Immediately, she wanted to elbow him. His flirting came to him as easily as breathing; she
should have expected that by now. Still, her ears warmed at the compliment. “Sylvain, please tell
me you haven’t said that to every woman in the room. I can’t save you if you’re attacked later.”

“Don’t worry, the idiot hasn’t talked to anyone yet,” Felix cut in.

Ingrid blinked, surprised. Leaning forward, she found her other childhood friend on Sylvain’s
other side. The two were dressed in similar suits, with small differences such as tie colours and
buttons matching their families’ crests and coat of arms.

It was odd. The season had started a few weeks ago, and while she’d only attended a few
events since, she’d seen and heard Sylvain flitting about them. Felix, on the other hand, she’d
barely heard a word about and she’d almost thought he’d stayed behind in his estate. “Felix? I
thought you didn’t like balls.”

“I don’t,” he replied flatly. His posture was stiff as he looked around the ballroom, his perpetual
scowl scaring away anyone who’d come near.

Well, if Ingrid didn’t find a partner tonight, she could blame Felix for it at least.

“Why do you two always gang up on me?” Sylvain pouted, his cheeks puffing slightly. He’d
always had a childish streak. It was cute at times like these, when she wasn’t cleaning up after him.
“Felix, you think she’s pretty too, right?”

Felix made a strangled sound before directing his glare at Sylvain. Despite her best efforts,
Ingrid still felt a pang of pain; she’d long known that the extent of his affections was a bare
tolerance. Anything more was pushing him. Before he could say something she couldn’t unhear,
she stepped on Sylvain’s foot. “Don’t drag Felix into your jokes.”

Felix looked at her, his expression unreadable.

“I wasn’t, but fine, fine, I give.” Sylvain sighed, his handsome features twisting into a frown.
“Anyways, been here long, Ingrid?”

“Not really.” She rubbed her wrist, remembering the journey over. “My carriage’s wheel needed
to be fixed, so I arrived late. I could have just ridden here instead, with the time it took.”

“That sounds just like you.” Sylvain laughed. Leaning closer, he waggled his brows, already
over his sulking. “So you haven’t danced with anyone yet?”

“No,” Ingrid replied slowly, stiffening. There was something inherently untrustworthy when
Sylvain asked that many questions in a row. Even more so when her response caused him to sigh
with relief and Felix to visibly relax.

Whenever the both of them agreed to something, there was trouble brewing. She’d never
understood how Sylvain managed to drag her, Felix, or even the king’s son, Dimitri, into any of his
nefarious plots, but then again, she’d never met anyone with a silver tongue like his. He’d even
charmed her grandmother!

“Why are you asking?” she asked, stepping out slightly so she could glare at both of them.

“Nothing, nothing!” Sylvain walked closer, blocking Felix from her view. Felix had always been
the worse liar. “Can’t a friend ask questions anymore?”

“Not when the friend is you.” She pursed her lips, trying to read his expression.

“Am I really that untrustworthy?” His smile didn’t drop a notch, his eyes crinkling with
amusement. Without waiting for her to respond, he held out a hand. “Well, since you haven’t had a
chance yet, could I claim your first dance?”

“Huh?” That wasn’t the response she’d expected. Flabbergasted, she stared at his hand. “Me?”

“Who else?” he winked playfully.

“But…but…” Incredulous, Ingrid spluttered as she tried to make sense of it all. She couldn’t tell
if this was one of Sylvain’s japes, or if he was earnest. And even if he were earnest, this wasn’t one
of their family functions; the dances here were for a singular purpose for them.

“Let’s get in before the song starts.” He gently grabbed her hand before she could reply and
quickly guided her to the dance floor. When she hadn’t been paying attention, the last waltz had
ended and a new one had started. Couples swapped on the floor, pairs exchanging partners as they
tried to find a suitable spouse.

And now, in the midst of it all, she stood with Sylvain. His arm hooked around her waist,
pulling her almost flush against him. His other hand slipping into her right, cupping it carefully.
Her skin burned from the impropriety of it all, but this was the waltz. They were supposed to be
this close. Sylvain’s breath was supposed to warm her ear, his long hair was supposed to mingle
with hers if she turned her head just so, and no one would think this was shocking.

Unless they realized it was Ingrid he was dancing with, and not one of his many, many dancing
partners. God, she hoped no one recognized her, she couldn’t handle the gossip after.

“Shall we?” he asked, cocking his head slightly, green eyes bright with merriment.

It was impossible to resist those eyes. Gingerly, she rested her hand on his shoulder and
nodded, not trusting her voice. Luckily, the music started immediately after and they slowly glided
through the ballroom in time with everyone else. Ingrid had never been a good dancer—she could
handle the movements just fine, but she lacked the grace to make them look good. Sylvian never
had that problem and in his arms, she felt comfortable with the moves for once. It was like she’d
finally learned to read or solved a difficult problem.

“Having fun?” Sylvain asked quietly.

She hadn’t realized she was smiling. “Yeah. I didn’t realize dancing could be so” Fun. “Easy.”

“That’s because you always overthink things.” He chuckled, his eyes sparkling. “You and Felix
are both the stiffest dancers I’ve ever seen.”

“Well, sorry for that,” she huffed. “Why don’t you dance with someone more graceful next round?”

“Hey, I didn’t say it was a bad thing!” Sylvain protested, dipping her slightly before pulling her
back. “I find it cute.”

Ingrid fixed him with a flat stare. “Cute.”

“Yes, very cute.” Sylvain chuckled. “Your expression is so serious when you try to dance,
and Felix’s is so determined to beat his partner. It’s like you’re both fighting a war. There’s just
something really cute about how terrible you both are.”

“I’m not trying to be cute,” she grumbled automatically, though her mind was awhirl from
what he’d just said. She’d had her suspicions over the years, but this was the second time he’d
brought up Felix. Maybe she hadn’t been imagining things after all.

“Which makes it all the cuter.” Sylvain grinned as he squeezed her hand. “Man, I’m glad you
finally debuted. The seasons were too long last year. I really missed you.”

If he hadn’t taken the lead, Ingrid would have frozen in place. Sylvain was a consummate
flirt, something that was easy to forget in the face of how goofy he was. These lines just rolled
off his tongue naturally. They didn’t mean anything. He’d said them to dozens of girls, some
she’d had to console after.

Her skin heated up anyways.

“Sylvain.” She frowned, looking up at him. “I know you act like this to every girl you meet, but
you shouldn’t be telling people you have no intention of courting that they are cute or that you
miss them or well, flirt with them.”

He didn’t look the least bit contrite or chastened as he locked eyes with her. “What makes you
think I have no intention?”

The implication wasn’t lost to her. Incredulous, she studied his face once more, looking for
some sign that this was another jest of his, that this was out of pity or something akin. “Sylvain,
you’re supposed to take this seriously,” she hissed, lowering her voice.

“I am taking this very seriously,” he replied. For once, there was none of his charm in his voice,
none of his light-hearted teasing. His green eyes bore into hers and she swallowed. The music
stopped. Before she could get her bearings, he leaned close, his lips brushing her ear and sending a
shiver down her spine. “I meant every word.”

Then he stepped away, bowing slightly, his usual teasing smile in place as he headed to the
side of the room. She could only stare at his back, her blush spreading down her neck. How was she
supposed to take that? React to that?

Someone behind her coughed, and Ingrid realized she was still on the dance floor. The next
song would start soon. “Sorry,” she mumbled, turning around. “I—”

Her apology caught in her throat as she found Felix stiffly standing behind her, his hand out.
“Next dance is mine.”

Felix looked utterly uncomfortable about the whole thing and Ingrid bit back a sigh. “I can
guess why Sylvain did it, but you don’t have to copy him. I don’t need your pity too.”

He snorted. “Like I would do this out of pity.”

Well, she couldn’t deny he had a point there. Ingrid couldn’t remember the last time anyone
had forced Felix to do something he didn’t want to. Even his father had a hard time reigning
him. Puzzled, she bit her lip. “Then why are you here? You don’t like dancing. You don’t like the
attention. You can barely tolerate me. What do you get out of this?”

He looked at her, his expression unreadable. “The dance is about to start.”

“That isn’t an answer,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes as she took his hand. However infuriating
he was, dancing with him was still better than dancing with yet another unknown suitor.

Felix’s hands were surprisingly gently as he slipped into position, his right hand featherlight as it
settled on her waist. His other hand clasped hers delicately, like she was china and easily breakable.

“You can hold on a little tighter. You know I don’t bruise that easily.” Ingrid clicked her
teeth disapprovingly, resting her left hand on his shoulder as she stepped closer. “We can’t
dance if I’m that far.”

He didn’t say anything, not even his usual scoff, as his fingers dug into her side a little firmer.
When she peeked up, she found his ears a soft pink, jaw clenched. Normally she’d think of it as
his usual annoyed look, but now she reconsidered. Felix seemed more embarrassed than irritated.
Ingrid giggled softly. Even when they were kids, he’d always strived for perfection; it must bother
him that in this one arena he couldn’t quite reach it.

“Why are you laughing?” he asked as he took the lead.

“Nothing,” she lied, hiding her smile. Knowing how he’d take it, it was better not to say
anything at all.

He harrumphed but didn’t press. This dance wasn’t quite as easy as her last. Felix was steady,
for sure, and mostly smooth, but he lacked that innate grace that Sylvain had. Then again, she
wasn’t much better herself, and she felt at ease as she kept up with him. They were equally
uncomfortable on the dance floor, and there was something oddly reassuring about that.

From the corner of her eye, she studied him. Standing under the bright candelabras, he cut
a dashing figure. A classical handsome, with his well-cut jaw and stern expression. Sylvain had
always been the preferred one, but she’d still heard ladies tittering for Felix, not realizing just how
sharp a tongue he had.

Or how carefully he hid his soft spots. Like this dance. Ingrid scanned the wall as they danced,
trying to find their misguided friend. “I’m sure Sylvain pushed you into this, but thanks anyways.”

“Sylvain didn’t push me.”

His response was blunt, to the point, and Ingrid tore her eyes back to him, flabbergasted. “Huh?”

Felix’s eyes were dark, burning, as they met hers. She’d seen this gaze directed at Sylvain
before, but now that it was on her, she was surprised by the intensity. “Why do you think I can
barely tolerate you?”

“I…” It was a little hard to think and she studied his shoulder. “I’ve known you for years.
After Glenn—”

At the mention of his dead brother, of her ex-fiancé, his grip tightened. Even now, he hardened
when Glenn’s name was brought up. “That was years ago.”

Oddly enough, his voice was tempered for once. She’d expected his usual harsh outburst, but
today he had reigned in his emotions enough for them to actually talk. “It was also a rejection,”
she replied carefully. “Not just of the engagement, but of me.”

Ingrid hadn’t expected him to take on his brother’s engagement after; he had always chafed
against his father’s expectations. But he had been unnecessarily cruel when he had. With time and
distance, she could see it for what it was: a boy in pain lashing out. Yet they had never properly
talked about it and it was ironic that out here, as they swayed and spun in time with a dozen
strangers, that they were having the most honest conversation they’d had in years.

“We haven’t been the same since then,” she added, lowering her eyes.

Felix fell silent and she wondered if he hadn’t noticed the gap between them. Sylvain had
always filled it; ever since he’d pulled her out of her depression, dragged Felix out of his rage, he’d
always done that. They’d had a handful of times when it’d been just the two of them after, and it
had always been an awkward dance of figuring out where they stood with one another.

Letting go of his shoulder, she twirled once before he pulled her back into his arms. Quietly, he
muttered, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

She had to strain to hear his response; he wouldn’t repeat this, she knew. It was as close to an
apology as Felix could get, and something in her unclenched. Clearing her throat, she offered a
lopsided smile. “It’s fine. Like you said, it was years ago.”

“Anything else?” he asked, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with her.

It took her a moment to remember what he was talking about. “Well, there’s…”

Ingrid frowned, parsing through her memories. What else was there? Felix had a sharp
tongue, it was true, and they’d gotten into more than a few fights over it, but that was the case
with everyone. While he had never sought her company, it was almost impossible to imagine him
asking for anyone either.

And even when she’d barged in, uninvited, he had never turned her away either. Even at his
grumpiest, he’d listen to her rant about Sylvain and his pilfering ways.

“You…” She bit her cheek, trying to figure out why she’d felt that way. Grasping for straws,
Ingrid mumbled, “You’re softer with Sylvain.”

Felix snorted. “You’re the same.”

Ingrid couldn’t deny that. “Then…” She had nothing else. Had she spent years misreading
their interactions, all because she couldn’t let go of the past? Embarrassed, she stared at his
shoulder. “I was wrong.”

She expected a smirk, an insult, anything but the soft chuckle he gave. Surprised, she looked
up at him only to find his usual exasperated expression was more fond than annoyed. Felix
brought them to a halt, bowing slightly as he let go of her hand.

As he left her not only with more questions, but the strangest sensation in the pit of her stomach.

“Fe—” Before she could take a step forward, broad shoulders blocked her sight and Ingrid
looked up to find Sylvain grinning at her once more.

“Can I have the next dance?”

For all her intelligence, Ingrid knew she could be dense on some matters. However, after
swapping between her friends yet again, even she could figure out what their plans were. Or,
at least what part of their plans were—their conversations left her confused and flushed in
ways she couldn’t understand.

Still, that could possibly be chalked up to the fact that she had done four dances in a row. For
a woman that hated her heels, that was four too many. It was time to end this game. The second
the song ended, Ingrid grabbed Felix’s hand before he could disappear. Pivoting immediately, she
found a surprised Sylvain already waiting in the wings.

“We’re going to talk,” she ground out, snatching his hand as well. The nobles would titter about
this, no doubt. It was highly improper to act the way she did, but she was tired of the questions,
the confusion, and, most importantly, the dancing.

They’re almost too compliant as she drags them to a secluded balcony. Ingrid had never known
Felix to agree to anything in his life. All but shoving them out into the cool, night air, she hastily
loosened the curtains on the doors before closing them behind her. It was the most privacy they
could get, unless she forced them further into the gardens.

Sylvain and Felix stood in the middle of the balcony, watching her expectantly. There was
a single candelabra outside, giving just enough light that she could make out their expressions.
Sylvain’s looked apprehensive, while Felix’s was more bored. Her heels clacked against the marble as
she approached them, coming to a stop just in front of the two. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Felix snorted. “Told you we couldn’t keep it from her.”

“I know, I know.” Sylvain sighed, running a hand through his fiery mane. “I thought we’d have
a little longer.”

Triumphant at this admission, she crossed her arms. “I knew it. Is this some sort of game.”

“Game?” Sylvain laughed, shaking his head. “No, no, we’re just keeping the others from
dancing with you.”

That wasn’t a response she’d expected. Or, well, maybe from Sylvain, but not Felix as well.
Confused, she glanced from one to the other. “What? Why?”

Felix regarded her coolly. “Why do you think?”

She didn’t really have an answer to that. Turning it over in her mind, she hazarded a guess.
“You remembered how I complained about my father? I’m grateful, truly, but—”

The words died in her throat when Felix frowned, shooting her a derisive look. She’d
guessed wrong. Even Sylvain sighed, pinching his nose. “How are you so sharp in everything
else, but get this wrong?”

“Are you calling me an idiot?” Ingrid retorted hotly, flushing. She had known these two for
years now, how was she having such a hard time reading them tonight?

Felix shrugged. “You are one,” he stated simply.

“Your denseness is adorable,” Sylvain smoothened over, grinning as he wrapped an arm around
Felix’s shoulder. “But it makes things a lot harder than it has to be.”

“What? Dense?” Ingrid gaped, not sure how she’d ended up here. She was supposed to be the
one lecturing them, not vice versa. What was she even being attacked for? Irate, she pointed at
them. “I know about you two.”

This stopped their laughter in its tracks. Sylvain’s eyes grew wide, his expression almost
comical as he managed an incoherent, “Huh?”

Even Felix looked shocked. It was a major victory. Ingrid savoured it for a second before she
realized exactly what she’d admitted. Immediately, she covered her mouth, but it was too late. The
cat was out of the bag. The air grew tense and she wondered if it was too late to step back into the
ball and pretend that none of this ever happened. “I…”

“You knew?” Sylvain finally asked, regaining control of his mouth.

“Since when?” Felix was as straight to the point as ever.

Ingrid rubbed her arm, looking away, past the railing and out onto the barely lit gardens.
It was strange, she had suspected this for years, but somehow their admission made her heart
ache a little. Maybe it was the lies or the loneliness or—she didn’t know. It just hurt. Quietly,
she explained, “It’s hard to miss the way you two look at each other sometimes. Or, you know,
the way your hands linger.”

She blushed as she spoke; it felt even more inappropriate to talk about than it had been to witness.

Amazed, Sylvain stared at her. “And you noticed that?”

“That’s because I—” Watch you. Fortunately, what little brain power she had left was working
right now and she cut herself off before she could embarrass herself further. If she even finished
that sentence, she knew how Sylvain would look at her, and then how he’d ask questions she didn’t
know the answer of. Clearing her throat, she finished lamely, “We’re close, that’s probably why. I’m
sure no one else has noticed.”

“Who cares?” Felix grumbled, hands in his pocket.

Their parents, for one, high society, for another. While the nobles were willing to
overlook discrete dalliances, anything too obvious would result in blacklisting. And with
Sylvain’s penchant to flirt publicly and Felix’s inability to read any room, it was amazing
they’d made it through life as it was.

For tonight, at least, they’d spent all that time dancing with her and not angering their
peers. Whether it was out of pity (and her heart twisted again at the thought) or friendship, they’d
spent the last few hours keeping suitors off her hands. It was the most fun she’d had at a ball, even
if it had also been the most perplexing.

It was only fair she returned the favour. Clasping her hands in front of her, she offered, “I can
keep the balcony empty for you two.”

“Huh?” Once more, a befuddled Sylvain stared at her.

“What are you talking about?” Felix asked, his brow furrowed.

It was strange, knocking them both for a loop a second time, and it threw her off balance too.
Resisting the urge to rub her neck, she gestured at the empty space around them. “It’s a nice night,
and there’s plenty of room here. I know you can’t dance inside, but the music still reaches here.”

“Ohhh.” Sylvain’s expression brightened, catching on. He whistled appreciatively. “Nice eye, Ingrid.”

“What are you going on about—”

Before Felix could finish his sentence, Sylvain wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him
close. “Mmm, yeah, I’ve wanted to do this for a while.”

“You’re an idiot,” Felix huffed, but he didn’t pull away.

Her heart tinged again, an inextricable pain. What did she want? It wasn’t this. They were her
friends, she should be happy for them, but she didn’t want this. Not trusting herself, she turned
around “I’ll keep an eye for a few songs. They won’t miss you for that long.”

Luckily, her voice remained strong. Maybe later she could figure out how to smile in front of them.

Before she could open the door, Felix growled, “Where are you going?”

That was the only warning she got before Sylvain’s soft hand wrapped around her wrist,
halting her in place, before Felix’s hand splayed against the door from behind her, pressing on it
hard as he kept it shut. Ingrid gave an undignified squeak when she realized she was penned in
between the two of them and the doors.

Every one of Annette’s and Dorothea’s raunchy novels ran through her mind. It was the most
inappropriate time for that to happen and did nothing to help her calm her racing heart as she
slowly turned to the pair of them. Her cheeks burned a dark red but Ingrid tried to keep her voice
as even as possible as she asked, “What are you doing?”

“Stopping you,” Felix scoffed, still towering over her.

“I can see that.” Ingrid glared at him. “I mean…” She tried to tug her hand out of Sylvain’s vise-
like grip, but he merely grinned, not letting go. “I’m trying to give you some privacy.”

Sylvain chuckled. “That’s why I called you dense.”

“Huh?”

You got us wrong. Or not entirely right?” He shrugged carelessly as he leaned forward, tucking
a stray hair behind her ear. “How could you see how we looked at each other, but miss how we’ve
looked at you?”

“Me?” She swallowed. Certain she was misunderstanding, she glanced at Felix, waiting for him to
deny it all in his usual blunt manner. “Felix?”

“Don’t make me repeat him,” he glowered, his ears a bright pink.

“Wait…then…” Ingrid’s eyes flickered from Sylvain to Felix and back again as she put together
everything that happened tonight. “The dancing…”

“Well, you deserve a proper courtship,” Sylvain explained, his hand now cupping her jaw. Tenderly,
his thumb brushed her cheek. “And we couldn’t let anyone else snatch you up.”

Felix lowered his hand from the door, his fingers now threading through her long hair. Even
without saying a word, she got the message loud and clear.

It didn’t make sense, really. Even hearing their words, she couldn’t believe. But Ingrid had seen the
way they’d look at each other, when they thought no one was looking. Something soft and hungry
and more powerful than the sun.

It was how they were looking at her now.

“Really?” she asked, not fighting her blush as it spread down her neck and up her ears. Her
voice came out softer than she’d intended, shyer.

If they noticed, they didn’t say anything. Sylvain leaned forward, pressing a kiss against the
corner of her lip. “Really,” he answered, and she shivered as his breath warmed her skin.

“Like we’d do this for any other reason,” Felix grumbled, his finger brushing her ear, sending a jolt
of electricity through her.

Ingrid wasn’t sure what she’d tell her father. Or the nobles. Or anyone, really.

But that was a tomorrow problem. The door was still closed behind her, the curtains drawn, and
the night air cool on her hot skin. For now, all she wanted was a moment to just feel it all, this joy
that threatened to burst her heart.



A Minor Misunderstanding

“So, are we agreed?” Dedue asked, his eyes fixed firmly on the stream of guests entering the
ballroom. Each one wore a lavish outfit, and all disguised their face with a mask. There were
some still identifiable and many who couldn’t hide if they tried (and plenty who didn’t wish to),
but it still set him on edge.

Next to him, Felix wore a raven mask. Even without looking at him, Dedue knew he, too,
surveyed the crowd. “Of course,” Felix said. At the same moment, their twin gazes found Dimitri.
Try as he might, the King couldn’t hide who he was - he was too tall, his shoulders too broad, and
his hair shone in the candlelight. “We watch him.”

Dimitri’s head turned towards them, and Dedue watched as his shoulders shook with mirth.
Of course; he’d told them both (or at least, he imagined Felix had received the same lecture)
that they were meant to enjoy themselves at the ball. The war was five years in the past now,
and that was a cause for celebration, not caution.

Dimitri told Dedue that he would be fine without any extra attention from the pair of them.
Neither agreed. “We do,” Dedue replied, and then he moved off to the other side of the room. It
was better to have more than one vantage point, and he could trust Felix to stay on task.

In truth, it wasn’t difficult to stay focused on Dimitri - he glowed a little like a beacon in the
low light of the ballroom, and his height tended to put him at least a little above the general level
of the crowd. He danced with everyone who asked, and most of the time Dedue knew who it was.
When he didn’t, he’d meet Felix’s eyes across the room and one of them would skirt around the
edges of the tables so they could reconvene.

“The one with the owl mask is Annette,” Felix confirmed. “I spoke to her earlier.”

“The mouse mask was Flayn, I believe.” Felix paused for a moment at Dedue’s words, then nodded.
“The others were nobles I recognised. The Kleiman third daughter, and the son of Bergliez’s governor.”

“No, the one in the feathered mask wasn’t the governor’s son,” Felix said, and while Dedue
could not see his frown, he could hear it. “I thought it was, but then he accosted me for a dance;
he’s wearing the wyvern mask.”

“I see,” Dedue replied. “I thought...” The governors of the Empire’s territories lacked the kind
of resources that many of the old nobles of Faerghus had. The short young man who danced with
Dimitri wore inexpensive - though not shabby - finery, so he’d assumed.

“So we don’t know who that was.” Felix’s hand rose to cup his chin, his voice thoughtful.
“Oh- there he is again.”

Dedue watched as the young man, whoever he was, approached Dimitri for a second dance. From
a distance, he watched as the man bowed, dipping to kiss Dimitri’s knuckles. Dimitri, without more
than a moment of hesitation, offered him a hand and moved towards the dance floor once more.

He watched, eyes slightly narrowed, as they whirled around the floor together. Whoever this
was, he did not know his way around a ballroom - his movements were slightly disjointed, and he
stumbled over Dimitri’s feet more than once. Dimitri, in turn, was a fantastic dancer and had been
for as long as Dedue had known him. He practically carried the man along as they danced.

When the song came to a close, Felix stepped forwards in the hope of intercepting the man to
find who he was. Yet, as soon as the final notes faded into the bubble of the crowd’s conversation,
Dimitri offered the man a hand once more. And then again.

“Who is this?” Felix asked, suspicion leaking into every note of his voice. They watched as
Dimitri danced with the stranger again, his posture light and easy. It was completely unlike
watching him dance with the Kleiman woman.

“I don’t know.” Dedue watched carefully as Dimitri bowed to his mysterious dance partner and
they finally parted ways. “I will ask Dimitri. You try and talk to our other friend there.”

Felix nodded, setting off through the crowd immediately. Dedue, in turn, set his sights on Dimitri.

The man smiled when he approached; Dedue couldn’t see it, but he could hear it the moment
he opened his mouth to speak. “Dedue! I haven’t seen you dance yet.”

Dedue pulled a face, though he knew Dimitri couldn’t see it. “I will dance later,” he conceded.
Hopefully he would get the chance to, if he could just work out who this person was. “But I wished
to ask you something first.”

“Of course,” Dimitri said. “Is something the matter?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Dedue admitted. “You have been dancing with someone whose
identity I could not pinpoint. A few times, in fact. I was... concerned.”

“Dedue.” The disappointment in Dimitri’s voice was palpable, but Dedue didn’t feel too bad. He
was just looking out for him, whether Dimitri wanted it or not. “Are you saying you’re concerned
about the man I danced with four times tonight?”

Dedue nodded, expecting Dimitri’s reaction to be one of even greater disappointment. Instead,
he tipped back his head in laughter. “Oh, there’s no need to worry about that!” he said. “I can
assure you, there is absolutely no cause for concern. Please, go back to enjoying the ball. You do
not need to worry on my account.”

Despite his words, Dedue couldn’t help but worry. While the man’s steps on the dance floor
were far less than graceful, his movements through the crowd were anything but. He caught sight
of the man moving through a throng of people, subtly pursued by Felix. The mysterious masked
figure held the poise of a fighter, and that only worried him more.

When he fed back the results of his conversation with Dimitri to Felix, Dedue didn’t have to be
able to see Felix’s brows to know the exact angle they were furrowed at. “We should just confront
him,” he suggested. “He keeps dancing with Dimitri, and he has plenty of other people he should
probably dance with tonight. There must be some motive.”

They weren’t meant to carry weapons at events like this one - not after Felix’s most recent
national incident. But Dedue knew he still carried a knife, and his hand twitched concerningly
close to where he concealed it. “I do not think that would be a good idea,” he said. “We will have to
try something else.”

Felix shifted uneasily. “What do you mean, something else?” he asked. His tone was wary, and
perhaps rightfully so, because there was only one other thing Dedue could think to do.

He bowed to Felix, ignoring the returning startled noise, and smiled. “Duke Fraldarius,” he
said, “may I have this dance?”

Felix gritted his teeth. “Are you-” Dedue nodded. “Fine. Fucking- fine, okay, yes. I’ll dance, but
if you’re leading you better get us close enough to hear them.”

“Of course,” Dedue replied, watching with mild amusement as Felix dipped into his own abrupt
bow. He was absolutely hopeless at this; worse than Dedue, perhaps.

He took Felix’s hand in his and led him to the dance floor, starting their dance with slow, even
steps that took him far away from Felix’s feet. Felix had a certain grace, yes, but that didn’t mean
he liked what they were doing here. Dedue didn’t know if he entirely trusted him not to step on his
toes once or twice out of pure spite.

He made a solid attempt to get closer to Dimitri, who was dancing with the same individual
once again. It was difficult, with all the bodies moving around them, but Dimitri was tall and so was
Dedue; it was easy to spot the former in a crowd, and easy for the latter to cut a path towards him.

The only problem was that, when he got close enough to potentially overhear the words being
spoken, they were...

“The hawk went after the herbs after that,” a familiar voice said, but Dedue still couldn’t
pinpoint who it was. “And then the owl- well, it was pretty funny, actually! She had no idea that
the hawk enjoyed the singing, and thought he merely came to make her his prey.”

Dimitri let out a peal of laughter. Dimitri, who often found it so difficult to enjoy himself at
events like these. Even if Dedue couldn’t work out who he was talking to, beyond the fact that it
was someone he knew, he was glad that Dimitri was enjoying himself.

It was just a shame that he couldn’t work out what they were saying - they were speaking in
some kind of code, which either meant that they knew that they were being listened to, or they
were talking about something dangerous. Dedue hoped it was the former, but feared the latter
enough to try and keep himself and Felix close to the couple’s steps.

But the dance ended soon enough, and Dimitri and the mysterious not-stranger swept away.
Completely out of ideas and only just managing to restrain Felix from threatening a stabbing,
Dedue kept his eyes firmly on the stranger or Dimitri at all points for the rest of the evening. The
ball felt very, very long when trying to track both of their movements.

Dedue knew that Dimitri had asked him to enjoy the ball, but it was difficult when he couldn’t
identify who they were dealing with here. He was never, ever going to let that council of nobles
approve a masquerade ball again - he’d get Felix to use his veto if he had to. It wasn’t worth the stress.

It only got worse when, just as the ball was starting to wind down, Dimitri and the stranger
vanished entirely. They were there one moment, chatting over a drink, but then a group of dancers
moved in front of him, and in the moment Dedue couldn’t see, they disappeared.

Felix materialised at his side almost instantly. “I’m going to go find them,” he said. “They
definitely went outside, and there are only a few exits. But no one will be out there, which means-”

Dedue thought of Dimitri’s laugh, his dismissal of Dedue’s fears, and all the dances he’d shared
with the masked figure. He made a decision. “It means that they want some privacy,” he said.

Felix made a disappointed noise. “You’re saying to leave them? While he gets exactly the
privacy that would let him stab Dimitri?”

“Lower your voice,” Dedue said, glancing around for a moment. No one seemed to be listening,
but they couldn’t be too careful. “Dimitri is perfectly capable of protecting himself, and if we were
to interrupt them... we could be interrupting a private moment.”

Felix huffed. He tucked a strand of hair, coming loose from his elaborate hairstyle for the night,
behind his ear; he was embarrassed. “If he gets injured, it’s on you,” he grumbled.

“Agreed,” Dedue said, a small smile sneaking onto his face. He was confident it wouldn’t be
the case, and then he’d have another tale to tell everyone about Felix’s antics. “Perhaps we should
enjoy what remains of the evening.”

Felix threw back his head and laughed. “If you insist,” he said, “then how about another dance?”

Most of the guests had filtered out by the time a now unmasked Dimitri reappeared, his hair
a little ruffled. He caught Dedue’s gaze almost immediately, a soft smile forming on his lips.
Moments later, his mysteriously familiar companion appeared, and Dedue knew that perhaps Felix
wouldn’t be the only one getting teased in the future for today’s misunderstandings.

Emerging from behind Dimitri was Ashe, the evening’s suit a little rumpled and his mask held
daintily in one hand. Despite how cold it was outside, his face was flushed, and Dedue knew his
instinct to leave them was right.



Somewhere Safe

This is a terrible idea. Bernadetta has known from the start that she is simply not cut out for
this. She wasn’t in the past, isn’t now and probably won’t ever be.

The White Heron Cup was enough. She remembers the fear she had when hiding away in
her room all too well, terrified that Byleth was going to ask her if she wanted to participate in
the Cup on the Black Eagles’ behalf. Not once, in her entire life, has she particularly enjoyed
any event like this. Even if she became more isolated after the treatment by her father, she
has always simply been introverted, much preferring to hide away with some nice literature or
sewing rather than attend a social event.

But even with the relief of not being chosen as the representative for the White Heron Cup,
Bernadetta still has to face another challenge: the Ethereal Moon Ball held in the same month.
If it was up to her, she wouldn’t attend at all. But all of her friends have encouraged her to do so,
including Edelgard and the professor, and she didn’t want to let them down.

But you’re just as embarrassing being here, Bernie!

She has no idea who even decided to change the idea of this ball to a masquerade. Apparently,
some students started gushing about living out a fairytale-like ball, and somehow, the idea was
popular enough to become reality. On one hand, Bernadetta welcomes the change; hiding her face
definitely has a number of benefits. But this also means she might not be able to recognise those
she knows, not to mention how it is embarrassing in general for her.

Which she knows makes little sense. All around her are students in their evening attire, masks
upon smiling faces, so she is far from the only person here engaging in the masquerade theme. Her
anxiety simply does not listen to that kind of reasoning.

Her self-deprecating thoughts continue to run rampant as she stands to one side in the hall,
arms wrapped around her stomach in an attempt to feel smaller. It’s not exactly helping. And even
if it did, perhaps looking small isn’t exactly what she wants in a place like this. Doing so would
almost feel as though she’s about to be crushed by all the people crowding the room, dancing
together and laughing and chatting, because they unlike her are normal, and they—

“Um, hello there?”

“Eek!” Bernadetta visibly jumps, her eyes landing on a student with brown hair and an emerald
green mask. She opens her mouth, closes again, before she asks, “W-why are you talking to me?
Did I do something?”

“What? No, not at all!” The person waves their hands in front of them. “I just—I think you’re
really cute, and I was wondering if you wanted to maybe dance with me?”

“Dance … Dance with you?”

“Yeah! That’d be great, but no pressure.”

No pressure? Bernadetta already feels anxiety pressing down on her chest, and she finds
herself shaking her head, throat closed up with her attempt to get words out. “I-I …”

“Like I said, you really don’t have to if you don’t—”

“I’m sorry!” she interrupts, pushing past the person and hurrying away. Not that this helps at
all when she is heading directly into the crowds, where she is surrounded by even more voices,
faces, people moving about and bumping into her and—

Her instincts to flee when in a panic grant her the ability to dive beneath a table, concealed by
a cloth hanging to the floor. There isn’t any change in the voices around her. Hopefully, for once,
she can be lucky, and no one noticed her hiding away.

“Great, Bernie,” she mumbles to herself, bringing her knees close to her body. “Just great. You
could have said no normally, left and gone back to your room. Instead, you hid under here.”

It’s nicer down here, of course; the noise around her doesn’t bother her in the same way, when
she’s not being seen and others aren’t about to approach her. But still … Why has she bothered
to do this when she could have tried to leave? Although she would have hated the necessary
conversation she’d have if someone stopped her to ask where she is going.

In reality, she could probably say she is ill, or even simply tired, and keep on walking. But
Bernadetta isn’t the type of person to lie. Useless, useless, useless, she thinks, tears welling in her
eyes as her forehead rests against her knees.

She’s always been terrible at this. Being good at social gatherings like these, at dancing and
charming others and being that perfect noble girl, is exactly what would have made her a great
daughter. Her father might love her if she was good at this. But she isn’t. Far from it.

One time, she burst into tears and ran away when a boy asked her to dance. One time, she spilt
food down herself, and her father was furious that she stained the dress her mother picked out for
her. Another time, she twisted her ankle in the heels she wore, and another …

Simply put, she has never been great at something that should be normal for nobles. And even
though she thought she was gaining confidence at the monastery—which she would still, despite
all her insecurities, say that she is—it seems as though she’s not quite there yet, to be better at
something like this in particular.

Stupid Bernie. Stupid, stupid—

Light shines on her as the tablecloth is lifted, and she lets out a shriek, hiding her face. Before
she has time to speak to her intruder, she hears someone say, “Sorry! But try to keep it down; you
came here to hide, right?”

“Sylvain?” She lifts her head, lowering her hands down from it and watching as Sylvain
slides beneath the table with her. Since he’s much taller than she is, he has a much more
difficult time settling down, but he somehow manages it. He holds a finger to his lips; a
crimson mask is worn over his eyes.

“Be quiet,” he says. “I think I’m the only one who heard you come under here.”

A welcoming shadow is cast over the pair when Sylvain lets go of the table cloth. It’s definitely
amusing to look at him, trying to keep his legs folded without taking up too much room (and
certainly doing so a great deal)—luckily, Bernadetta is curled up tightly, her own legs brought right
up to her, meaning Sylvain can afford to squeeze in too.

“Hopefully,” she answers. “Um, please don’t tell anyone I’m here.”

Sylvain shakes his head. “That’d just be awful of me. Do you find the ball overwhelming?”

Bernadetta hums, shrinking a little more into herself. “There are just … so many people here.
Too many. And I’ve never been good at things like this in general.”

“While that’s completely fine, it’s a shame that a girl as cute as you isn’t out there dancing.”

This causes Bernadetta to blink, her eyes averting up to Sylvain. He’s smiling normally,
no winks or anything, but … Is that flirting? Does she want it to be? All Sylvain has done to
Bernadetta herself is compliment her writing. Eventually, once Bernadetta managed to get over
her initial embarrassment, she has been able to talk to Sylvain about literature.

She has never been a target for potential flirting. And she’s not sure if she can handle that or
not. “P-please don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

It’s a genuine question, he too now began to blink, a little concern in his eyes. Perhaps he truly hadn’t
meant to flirt; it might have only been a compliment. “Um, I meant flirting. Please don’t do that.”

“Ah, I’m sorry, Bernadetta. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Sylvain scratches the
back of his head. “I sort of say stuff like that without thinking, sometimes.”

“No, it’s okay, I just … I’m not used to it.” Certainly not enough for her to understand why Sylvain’s
words bother her a little. Perhaps there is a part of her who wants to feel as though she is worth flirting
with. She’s not sure, which is another reason why she must be so annoying to deal with.

“I’m surprised, since you’re really sweet. Even if I’m a bit shy. So if you really don’t want to
attend the ball, why don’t you just leave?”

“It’s … a bit complicated, I guess.” She rests her chin on her knees, meeting Sylvain’s eyes for a
moment before dropping her gaze again. “I don’t want to be stopped along the way and asked why
I’m leaving so early. I mean, I already feel like I’m annoying everyone enough as it is.” The words
continuously fall out of her mouth, slowly slipping into an anxious spiral. “Everyone has already
had to convince me to attend, and I’m already a burden on them with how stupid I’ve been over
this, and—”

“Hey, now,” Sylvain interrupts gently. “You’re not a burden just because you struggle with
events like these. We all have our weaknesses, right?”

“But—but I’m a noble! I’ve had to attend balls like these countless times, and I should be used
to it by now.” Her forehead leans against her knees, and she curses herself mentally for how she can
feel her eyes sting again. “But look at me, hiding under a table. I’m nothing like how I should be.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Sylvain shuffle, as though leaning closer to her as he
pays attention. “That’s not true, you know. Sure, nobles are expected to be good at stuff like this,
but those are just expectations. It doesn’t matter if you don’t fit in with them. I mean, look at my
other friends. Dimitri is going to be a king, but he hates dancing.”

“Really?” Bernadetta raises her head in shock. “But he looks like he’s doing fine.”

“Only because he had to get dancing lessons from Ingrid and me,” says Sylvain, shaking his
head in amusement. “I did it at first, before we realised that he had to learn how to lead others,
and I was the one leading him. So Ingrid tried, and … well, we got somewhere eventually.”

Bernadetta laughs lightly. “That’s pretty funny, I have to admit. What about Felix, didn’t he help?”

“Oh Goddess, definitely not. It’s not as though Felix is a bad dancer, he’s just not a social
person. Things like this make him anxious, too.”

“Really?” Her eyes widen. “But he’s so … scary!”

“He seems scary,” Sylvain corrects her, grinning. “But he’s got a soft side, too. And he doesn’t
do well in social situations like these. He’s already run off to polish swords after way, way too
much socialising.”

She laughs again. A little brighter this time, feeling a weight leave her chest. “That’s actually
really reassuring. I’m glad it’s not just me, and he always seems so cool that I’d have never
guessed.” Now that she is calmer, her mind goes back over what Sylvain says, and she realises
something. “Um … Before, you said ‘other’ friends.”

“Yeah? What about that?”

“That means you also see me as … you know.”

Her words drift off, but Sylvain catches on to what she is trying to say quickly. His smile grows.
“You’re my friend too, aren’t you?”

Bernadetta blinks once, twice. It’s difficult for her to fathom being friends with someone far
cooler than she is. Eventually, however, a small smile grows on her face, and she brings her knees
even closer to herself. “I’m your … friend.”

It’s strange. She is filled with a joy she wasn’t quite expecting to experience today of all days.
In theory, she and Sylvain are exactly what one would imagine when describing friends. They get
along, share similar interests, and have talked about them as well. Perhaps she has never thought
that this means she is special in some way—Sylvain, after all, is a gregarious person in general. He
could have simply been friendly.

To know he sees them as friends as well warms her heart completely. On the flipside, however,
there is a part of her that is mildly disappointed, and she has no clue at all as to why.

Either way, Sylvain has completely turned this night around for her. Her heart has finally
settled somewhat, even when she notices all the voices surrounding this table, and though she’s
still anxious over what will happen she leaves, she is far calmer than before.

Sylvain soon has a solution for this problem, too. “I have a plan to get you out of here, by the
way,” he says. “To be honest, my legs are dead as hell, and I can’t stay under this table as long as
you. Plus, I can tell you really don’t want to be here.”

Bernadetta hums, shaking her head. “I mean, sitting here with you is better. But we
definitely can’t stay forever.”

“Exactly. So, I’m going to go get started on my plan. Come out of here in five minutes, okay?”

“Um, okay. And where should I go after that?”

“Just stand near this table. It’ll be fine, don’t worry!”

That reassuring voice and kind smile are enough for her; she breathes out and nods, even
having to stifle a laugh when Sylvain, far from gracefully, has to crawl out from beneath the
tablecloth. It leaves Bernadetta feeling incredibly grateful for her lack of height.

“Sylvain?” Ingrid’s voice, Bernadetta thinks. “What are you doing on the floor?”

“Uh, a girl.”

“Did she hit you? Maybe that’s why you shouldn’t be so pushy with women, Sylvain.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Bernadetta notices their footsteps walking away. She exhales, resting her forehead on her
knees again. Luckily, she is sure she can sneak her way back out from beneath the table in a much
less obvious way than Sylvain, but the thought of doing so still makes her anxious. She simply has
to have faith in Sylvain’s plan.

Five minutes soon passes, and she carefully stands up again without anyone noticing. Her eyes
close briefly, an exhale escaping her lips; though the room is barely louder at all in reality, it still
seems to crash against her senses.

“Bernadetta?”

“Gah!” Bernadetta’s head swivels to Byleth, who has wandered over to her. “Um, hi professor. Is
something wrong?”

They shake their head. “Not at all. Would you be able to come outside with me for a moment?”

Though they have already said that nothing is wrong, Bernadetta’s brain still goes into
overdrive. Is she in trouble? Is there a rule specifically stating that students cannot hide beneath
tables, and will face harsh punishment for doing so?

“Is … is everything okay?” is what Bernadetta manages to squeak out, as the two of them begin
to walk across the hall. Byleth faces her, giving her a smile.

“You’re not in trouble,” they say. “No need to worry.”

The words are reassuring, but even so, nothing can quite shift that sense of dread in
Bernadetta’s stomach. She follows Byleth outside silently. And, despite how much her mind and
heart alike are racing, the cool evening breeze helps put her at ease just a little.

“Um, so what did you want to speak to me about?”

“Bernadetta, you didn’t have to stay at the ball at all if you were too anxious to do so,” Byleth
says. “You were never pressured to join, but you already did wonderfully by attending at all, and
you were free to leave whenever you wanted to.”

“Oh.” In an instant, similarly to when Sylvain helped to ease her panic earlier, Bernadetta finds
herself relaxing. A smile grows on her face. “Thank you, professor. Um, I might go back to my room
after all, if that’s okay.”

“Of course. Do exactly what you need to.”

With those words, Byleth pats Bernadetta’s shoulder with a gentle, careful hand, before they head
back the way the two came. Once alone, Bernadetta breathes out, both touched by their care and also
relieved. It’s a shame she missed Sylvain, though—hopefully she would spot him on her way back.

Now comforted and cooled down by the evening air, Bernadetta’s eyes seek the sky above her,
with all of its stars and a beautiful shining moon. And, rather than rush back,returning to her
room, she decides to linger to observe all of those different stars, smiling at the sky. It’s not so bad
being out here, after all, when night has fallen and most of the students are still inside.

“I see it worked!”

She jumps slightly over the exclamation, although is more taken by curiosity when her eyes
land on Sylvain. “Sylvain? What are you … oh.” A realisation dawns on her, and she glances in the
direction Byleth came from. “Wait, was that your doing?”

“That’s right! I reckoned if Byleth directly asked if you wanted to go, you might have lied to
please them, so I asked them to encourage you to leave the hall in another way.”

“I … I see. Um, thank you, Sylvain.” Bernadetta ducks her head, feeling her cheeks warm at the
thoughtfulness. “That was really considerate of you.”

“Don’t mention it. I hated seeing you as anxious as that.” Sylvain comes closer to her, a smile
on his face as his eyes glance at the sky above them. “It’s really beautiful out here.”

“Mm. It really is.” Bernadetta’s words are slow, almost drifting away as she grants herself a
moment to look at Sylvain’s face and realises how handsome he is, staring up at the sky like that
with a smile on his face, moonlight highlighting his skin and mask. She drops her gaze when his
head lowers. “Why do some girls dislike you, Sylvain?” she ends up blurting out, and soon babbles,
“Goddess, that was so rude to ask, I’m sorry!”

“No, it’s fine. I guess I’ve earned those types of questions,” he says, rubbing the back of his
neck. “I … don’t really treat girls the best. I take them on dates, we do certain things, and then I
drop them for the next. That’s why they dislike me.”

“But it’s really hard to imagine you doing that,” says Bernadetta. “I mean, you do nothing
like that to me.”

“That’s because you’re different, Bernadetta. Those girls, they only see me for my Crest, my
family name and the money I have. But my friends aren’t like that, and I would never abandon
them in the same way.” Sylvain grins sheepishly. “So yeah. I do a lot of crappy things, and I’m not
the best person. But I don’t want to hurt my friends either.”

“I think I get that. Some of it, anyway. I don’t really like how they don’t see that there’s more
to you.” Bernadetta drops her eyes to the floor, smiling. “I mean, you like literature for one thing,
and that’s really cool. I would have never expected that.”

“I’m a multi-talented guy, after all,” says Sylvain, and out of the corner of Bernadetta’s eye, she
notices him wink. “I’m strong, I like literature, art, riding horses. The professor is even teaching
me to ride a wyvern. So, you know. Lots of layers, and lots to love.”

Bernadetta laughs, shaking her head in disbelief. “I don’t even know how to respond to that,
but I agree on the layers. It’d be fun to write a character based on you.”

“I would adore that,” says Sylvain, his tone growing genuine again, along with his smile.
Bernadetta can tell he means it.

The two of them soon part with their farewells, feeling as though they are closer friends than
ever before. And Bernadetta, smiling to herself as she opens the door to her room, realises why
that word ‘friend’ causes a mixture of joy and disappointment; this must be what it feels like to
have a crush on someone.

Of course, someone like Sylvain could never like her back in the same way, and he is simply far
kinder than most realise. Bernadetta cannot even be sure if she truly has feelings for him, or if she
is simply touched by all the care he has shown her tonight.

Either way, she is far happier than she would have expected to be on a night like this one, and
she couldn’t be more thankful for that.





A Single Kiss

The moon sat high among the clouds, casting everything in a pale-blue light. By contrast,
inside the many chandeliers bathed every inch of the halls in softer, golden light. Tables lined the
sides of the walls, and sitting at them were students. Every person was wearing formal wear, and
all together they painted a stunning backdrop for the dance.

On the dance floor, students twirled around in pairs. The music playing throughout the hall
mingled with a stream of voices, blending together into a beautiful symphony of white noise. The
dancers all moved as if on an invisible tidal wave of joy and excitement.

Sylvain himself had joined their ranks almost as soon as the dance began. He had been pulled
into the crowd by some young lady whose name he could not recall. If he had ever met her before,
she looked too different in all her makeup and finery to tell. After that it had been a steady stream
of different partners, some he recognized and some he did not. Conversation was pleasant,
perhaps overly so, but enjoyable nonetheless.

At the moment, he was dancing with a young lady from Faerghus. She was unfamiliar to him,
but apparently they had met before. She seemed very interested in him, like every other person
he had danced with that night, but he was not particularly inclined to do much more than speak
politely with her. He would be nice, certainly, but he was growing even more bored by the second.

As they twirled around the dance floor, Sylvain looked out for the other members of his class.
Dimitri was dancing with some woman he had never seen before, and from the looks of it, he was
not enjoying it that much. At the side of the room, Felix and Dedue stood observing the floor. Felix
had not wanted to be there, so it was not hard to understand why he wasn’t dancing. Dedue was
probably just watching Dimitri. Why he didn’t just join his highness, Sylvain would never truly
understand. Proper noble behavior or expectations chained both Dedue and Dimitri to their roles,
which he could understand, but Sylvain was honestly getting sick of all the rules.

Nearby, Mercedes and Annette were dancing together. They appeared to be chattering away
about something, but they both seemed to be having a good time. He couldn’t see Ingrid, but he had
expected her to disappear sometime during the night. She was likely going to check on Bernadetta,
as she had taken it upon herself to ensure that she did not become overwhelmed. Her classmates
should really be doing that themselves, but almost all of them were busy tonight upholding their
social obligations, so he supposed Ingrid had just stepped up to take the role herself.

He scanned the room, and his eyes finally fell on Ashe. He was standing off to the side, hidden
by the students coming in and out of the ballroom. He had a tendency to do that, just completely
disappearing within a crowd as if he had never been there. Sylvain had learned how to spot him
eventually, but it had taken practice. It was just another thing Ashe did that reminded him of how
different their worlds had been prior to coming to Garreg Mach. Sometimes it felt like there was a
gap between them that neither could ever really cross.

A gap that took the shape of a crest, an invisible harbinger of pain and power existing silently
within him. Sometimes he wondered if his life would have been better without it. Sometimes he
wondered if he had a right to hate his crest. Sometimes he wondered, but tonight was not the time
for introspection. The lady he was with spoke louder now as the song winded to a close. “I am
having a lovely time,” she said. “Aren’t you?”

Sylvain flashed a charming smile, feeling himself slip away. “Of course. This has just been
great. We definitely have to do this again.” The song closed out, and Sylvain guided them
gently away from the dance floor. A few other couples broke away from the current with them
as well, as people began to switch partners or pause for a drink. The lady he was with frowned.

“Do you not want another dance?” Her face seemed distraught, and he quickly moved to
reassure her that she had done nothing wrong. He really didn’t need to upset another young
woman tonight. He had already had one girl storm out crying, and Ingrid had nearly torn his ear
off. “I would love to, really, but I promised a friend of mine a dance. My apologies.”

“Oh. No, it’s okay. Thank you for the dance, Sylvain,” she said. She beamed, and he could
tell she believed that he enjoyed her company. Which wasn’t untrue...but it wasn’t the truth
either. It had been an okay few minutes of his life. Nowhere near the top ten, but not horrible.
He watched her float off to talk to her friends, and he turned to look for Ashe again. Initially,
he had been planning to go find Ingrid, but something made him walk through the crowd and
towards Ashe’s little hiding spot.

“Enjoying the dance?” Sylvain asked as soon as he was within earshot of the other man.

Ashe jumped, turning to Sylvain with a sheepish grin plastered across his face. “Sorry, didn’t
see you walk up to me. The dance...has been okay. Lots of people here,” Ashe said, gesturing
broadly at the ballroom around them. The conversations around them had completely faded into
dull humming. It was almost musical in and of itself, with a sort of imperceptible movement to it
that was nonetheless hypnotic.

Crowds weren’t Sylvain’s favorite thing in the whole world, but there was something
comforting about being surrounded by people, even if they didn’t seem to notice your presence. In
fact, the gazes that slid right off him as if he weren’t there were actually rather pleasant. He was
tired of being watched and whispered about and poked and prodded and treated like a child or a
soldier or an investment rather than a human being.

“Yeah, I think pretty much the whole school showed up for this. Which I mean, of course they
did. Who would give up a chance to just relax and have fun after the year we’ve had?” Sylvain
said. Ashe’s face contorted for a brief moment into a grimace, and Sylvain wanted to kick himself
for reminding Ashe of the horrible year they’d been having. No one wanted to think about their
adoptive father dying on the one day of the year they were truly free of any responsibility. “So,
why are you just standing here? Aren’t you going to dance?” Sylvain gestured to the dance floor in
a vain attempt to keep the conversation going.

Ashe laughed a little, and Sylvain found himself pausing to consider it for the briefest of
moments. It was light but it had an energy to it that made Sylvain feel strangely out of breath.
And in the golden light, Sylvain thought for a few hysterical moments that Ashe looked like some
otherworldly being. He almost wanted to look away for fear that he might get stuck staring if he
looked for too long. Luckily, Ashe began speaking and the moment of strange awe washed over
him. “I don’t really dance.”

“Why not?” Sylvain asked as he watched Ashe reach down to adjust his cuff. The formal
uniform he was wearing was gorgeous on him. He had to thank the goddess for blessing whoever
designed these uniforms with such a talent for design, even if her blessings weren’t always this
awe-inspiring. “I can’t dance. Well, I mean I can but not very well and I’m sure everyone here
would prefer to keep their toes uncrushed.”

Sylvain frowned. “That’s no reason to miss out on all the fun. And really, I think you’re selling
yourself a bit short. I’m sure you’re not that bad,” he said. Ashe laughed again, and Sylvain marveled
at the crease near his eyes that seemed to only appear when he smiled. “No, I really am that bad.
Honestly, I feel a bit out of place. Most of you guys had...formal education and saw dance instructors,
and it just feels like there’s so much nuance to stuff like this that I’ll never really get.” Sylvain winced
at the mention of dance instructors. He had one as a child, and so did Felix. The poor lady he had
danced with might not have recovered from it even after all these years.

Sylvain could feel the gap between him and Ashe starkly tonight. He was right; the worlds they
had grown up in were wildly different. But he didn’t want to think about it. Instead, he made a show
of shaking his head. “No, I still don’t buy it,” Sylvain said, extending a hand out towards Ashe. “Prove
me wrong?” Ashe paused for a moment and then chuckled, a hand going up to cover his mouth.

“That was so cheesy.”

“Hey! That was great! Honestly, would you rather I have taken your hand and asked ‘may I
have this dance’? I can get down on one knee if that helps.”

Ashe made a face, still biting back laughter. “Goddess no, that’s even worse. It’s like something
out of a bad novel.”

“I thought you liked bad romance novels?” Sylvain teased. Ashe pouted slightly, cheeks puffing
out and turning a lovely shade of red. It paired nicely with the freckles on his face, and that is
where Sylvain forced himself to turn away slightly. “I like stories about knights, Sylvain.”

Sylvain rolled his eyes, making sure to exaggerate it. “Ah yes, very different genres, I forgot.
Forgive me for my indiscretions.” He casually flexed his fingers. Holding his hand out was
beginning to strain his muscles, but putting it down before hearing an answer would be improper.
Not that Ashe was likely to care. “Oh, quit teasing me. Not all stories about knights are romantic.”

“A lot of them are, though. It’s okay to like romance novels, Ashe, it’s not a bad thing. Actually,
it’s kind of-” Sylvain cut himself off, face flushing. He could not say that Ashe was cute. He’d
sooner roll around in a horse’s stable than make things...well, he couldn’t say that would make
things awkward between them. It wouldn’t be the first of his friends he’d hit on. But Ashe was
different, somehow. “So, about that dance?”

For a moment, he was worried he had screwed up somehow and Ashe was going to make some
excuse and run off. Instead, he took Sylvain’s hand --- and Sylvain had to admit that stirred some
foreign emotion in his chest --- and although he was still looking slightly hesitant, allowed Sylvain
to lead him onto the floor as the next song began.

Ashe was right in saying he was not a particularly elegant dancer. But he was passable, and he
had a natural charm to him that made his slightly shaky steps look cute rather than embarrassing.
He stepped on Sylvain’s feet a few times in the first couple minutes, but once the two of them got
into the rhythm, it was smooth sailing.

The glares Ashe recieved from ladies and gentlemen alike did not go unnoticed by the pair.
Ashe kept looking between Sylvain and the floor and the crowds around them. Sylvain could feel
him stiffen as he whirled them around the edge of the dance floor.

He shot a few glares of his own into the crowd, silently admonishing them for making
his friend feel self-conscious. They were trying to have fun and Sylvain would not stand
for anyone ruining that for them. He glanced back to Ashe just in time to meet his eyes.
Immediately, Ashe stared back at the floor.

“Eyes on me, please?” Sylvain said. This apparently caught the both of them by surprise.
Sylvain stumbled slightly. He recovered quickly, but the moment of imbalance had brought the two
of them closer to one another. Ashe ripped his gaze from the floor, and they stared at each other.
Sylvain couldn’t help but feel like their faces were just a bit too close.

In fact, they were so close Sylvain could feel him breathing. His own face was growing warm.
For a moment, he was sure he was going to kiss him. Ashe looked like he was leaning forward.
Sylvain felt his heart stop for a moment.

He wasn’t sure what he was going to do. Did he want to kiss Ashe? He had never really thought
about it before, but something about that night cast him in a different light. He really was the
prettiest out of all his friends. And he was sturdy in a way that Sylvain appreciated.

Just as he was about to close the distance between the two of them, the music stopped. Sylvain
and Ashe halted as the idyllic motion of the hall came to an end. The moment slipped out of
their grasp, and they stepped away from each other. Sylvain tried to play it off, forcing himself to
remain as casual as possible.

“That was nice. Do you want another dance?” Sylvain said, holding out his hand. Ashe smiled,
shaking his head. “I think I need to sit down. Maybe later?”

“Yeah, I was actually needing a break as well. Shall we-’’ Sylvain was cut off as a young lady
rushed between them to face Sylvain. “Sylvain, can I have a dance?” Ashe looked over the woman’s
shoulder at Sylvain. Sylvain felt a pang in his chest that nearly made him reject the hopeful young
lady in front of him. But the etiquette drilled into his brain from an early age screamed that it
would be rude of him.

Sylvain smiled gently at the woman, stepping around her as smoothly as possible. “Give me a
second to say goodbye to my friend, and then of course you can have a dance,” he said. Out of the
corner of his eye, he saw Ashe’s smile falter for only a second. He wanted to kick himself.

“Sorry, Ashe, but duty calls.” He stepped closer, moving purely by instinct now. “But I’ll catch up
with you later. Thank you for the dance.”

“It’s fine Sylvain. It’s really not your fault you’re so popular,” he said. Sylvain chuckled slightly,
grabbing Ashe’s hand. “Sylvain?”

Sylvain leaned over and gently kissed the back of Ashe’s hand. Ashe spluttered, face burning up
with an intensity Sylvain relished. He stepped back, ignoring the small glare from the lady behind
them. “What was that?”

“Just in case we don’t see each other again tonight...something to remember me by,” Sylvain said
with a wink. Then, before he could respond, Sylvain made a quick exit back into the dance floor with
his new partner, the growing wave quickly swallowing them. Ashe was left confused and flustered,
standing alone in the hall. The back of his hand felt warm.

Perhaps in the busy and joyful hall, no one caught him bringing that same spot on the back of his
hand to his own lips.





Black Wings and Starlight

Hilda follows in Holst’s footsteps, gazing around the room with wide doe eyes. The arching
columns, the glowing chandeliers, the chatter of nobles on the ballroom floor—all so familiar, yet
distant, removed from her reality like a dream she can only catch a glimpse of.
People smile down at her, wine glasses in hand, watching like hawks from the masks
concealing their eyes. It’s not the first ball of the year, nor will it be the last; she always hated the
stuffiness of the other nobles, the etiquette and effort required to simply be presentable. She’d
rather be out there, among the stars, the sky, the grass, the trees that bend in the wind.
But as a Goneril daughter, she cannot. She has a duty, her mother always says, prompting Hilda
to stick her tongue out and flounce away when she was younger, and barely restrain herself from
rolling her eyes now that she’s older. Usually, she’s able to ask her parents to give her a pass so
that she can design a new outfit or make necklaces for the chefs that’d survive the wear and tear of
the kitchen, but not this time.
No, this ball is special.
“Hilda, you’re of age to begin finding your soulmate,” her father had reminded her before the
party. “This ball could change your entire life. Your mother and I-”
Hilda had cut him off, thanking him quickly and rushing away to get her costume in order.
Nobles were always blathering on about soulmates this and soulmates that, but frankly, she couldn’t
see what all the fuss was.

But even if she didn’t care that this ball was special, nevertheless, she must be on her best behavior.
And if she succeeds, she’ll get more of that lovely fabric she spotted in the marketplace last week...

Daydreaming about all the outfits she’ll be able to make, the barest flicker of flame catches
her eye. She turns to the left. The sea of people parts, and suddenly, she’s face to face with a girl
her age, white hair drifting in an unparted sheet down her back. Amethyst eyes and a dress of the
deepest night contrast her fair skin, a pair of wings flaring out behind her in an elegant display. A
small circlet sits atop her head, golden metal sparkling in the chandelier light.

They stare at each other for a moment. She’s never seen anybody like her, with eyes of steel
and cold fire. But at the same time, she looks as familiar as Hilda’s own reflection, a deep, hidden
part of her calling out in answer.

She opens her mouth. Questions dance on the tip of her tongue, the same questions she can
see mirrored in the other girl’s eyes. But before either of them can speak, she hears her name
being called from across the ballroom.

“Hilda!”

She starts a little. In that moment, it’s as if time unfreezes, and the girl slips away into the tidal
wave of people swirling around them on the dance floor.

“Wait-” Hilda reaches out a hand, desperate to chase after that mysterious feeling still tugging
at her chest. But instead of the girl, Holst appears, holding on to her arm like a liferaft here to save
her from the depths. Yet somehow, she feels even farther from shore than before, land fading away
right in front her eyes.

“You scared her away!” She yanks her arm away, but feels immediately guilty about it after
seeing the concern in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Holst’s brow furrows. “I couldn’t find you in the crowd, and I got worried.
What happened?”

“Sorry, I just…”

She stops, shaking her head. How is she supposed to explain the newly empty feeling
that lingers in the back of her mind, like a dancer abandoned with no partner? It nags at
her, gnaws at her, eats at her.

If only she had gotten her name…

The rest of the night, Hilda searches for the girl, but she’s long gone. Gone to be with
the stars, the sky, the grass, the trees that bend in the wind, places where Hilda can’t go,
tethered to the ground in a cage of glass and brick.

Gone.

1 year later, Hilda trades her cage for another, one made of stone and holy prayer. It’s
beautiful, but just as empty, haunting in its soaring spires and towering pillars. She roams
around a lot during the day, making up excuses to skip class and avoid the new teacher’s
watchful stare (which proves surprisingly easy, yet, sometimes she wonders if the
professor somehow knows something she doesn’t). Her friends in Golden Deer watch her
as well—Claude’s shrewd, secret-keeping gaze, Marianne’s worried one—but she escapes it
all for as long as she can out in the open air of Garreg Mach Monastery.

It’s on one of these days that she sees a flash of white hair, and chases after it, the tug
in her heart pulling her forward. She rounds the corner and nearly smacks straight into
another girl before a hand pulls her backwards.

“Ow!” Hilda hisses as a tall, spectre-like boy steps in front of her, eyes glinting
threateningly as Miasma gathers around one gloved hand. “What was that for?”

“State your purpose with Lady Edelgard,” he shoots back, unwavering.

Hilda narrows her eyes and plants her hands on her hips. “Look, stick man, you can go
shove that Miasma up your a-”

“Hubert, please, I’ve told you already to not attack the other students,” a female voice
says sternly from behind the boy, full of natural authority and command.

Hubert’s demeanor switches in an instant. He bows low, moving to the side. “My
deepest apologies, Lady Edelgard, but this girl-”

“You!”

Hilda’s eyes nearly pop out of her skull as she gapes at the girl before her. The white
hair, the lavender gaze, the eagle ensemble she’d seen back then, it all falls into place. She
has no decorated mask now, but she’d be able to recognize her from anywhere.

Edelgard.

“Hubert, can you leave us for a bit?” Undiluted shock simmers in Edelgard’s expression,
reflecting Hilda’s.

Hubert opens his mouth to protest, but after she gives him a pointed stare, he leaves.
Leaves Hilda with Edelgard, the spirit of her dreams, the ghost of her days, her invisible
partner in the dance of life.

1 year later, Hilda finds the one she’s looking for.

And the wait totally isn’t fair, but somehow, the easing of the emptiness in her chest is worth it.

Somehow, Edelgard is worth it.