Chapter Text
There’s something deeply unsettling when she meets Claude again after five years.
Maybe it’s his eyes or his uneasy smile, the way he’s laughing when he greets her at the Goddess Tower—hollow like an empty shell, vibrating through the walls and down the steps. He looks like him, but… he doesn’t feel like him.
“I didn’t expect anyone else to be here,” he says casually.
The way Claude speaks is off-putting, like he’s been tilted off his axis. And his eyes… they’re wrong, all wrong. The coolness in which he regards her is like fortifying a re-constructed barrier between them, and she doesn’t like it. Not when she’s been able to experience a relationship without it.
“Look,” he says finally, slightly on edge, “what’s your business at Garreg Mach? I would peg you for a thief but... you don’t look the sort.”
And then it hits Byleth like a ton of bricks—he doesn’t recognize her.
“Claude—”
He’s quick to draw his bow. Byleth’s seen his piercing combat gaze geared towards his enemies so many times, it must be engraved in her memories by now. But she never imagined it would one day be directed at her. “Seems a bit unfair that you know who I am, and I don’t know you. I love a good game but only when it plays to my advantage. Who are you? Are you a spy for Edelgard?”
“It’s me, Byleth,” she says, almost desperately.
Claude’s next words cut through her like a knife, so earnest and true that she doesn’t doubt them for a second.
“I don’t know a Byleth.”
Her insides sink, twisting painfully. She doesn’t think twice and rewinds the clock.
Byleth waits to meet him this time, decides it might be best to wait for the rest of the Deer. Maybe... maybe they’ll remember in place of his forgetfulness. She’s not sure if his amnesia is his only or everyone’s or if it is the consequence of her five-year deep slumber.
She scouts the area for days, carefully watching from the sidelines as Claude singlehandedly defends Garreg Mach against bandits with a wyvern and his bow. Byleth itches to draw her sword and help, but she can’t.
She needs to see the rest of her students first.
Byleth needs to understand how her confidant, her right hand, her friend could forget her so. It physically hurts in a way she doesn’t know how to describe.
The Deer arrive one by one, and Claude looks a bit misty-eyed as he greets them. She carefully keeps herself tucked away in a corridor behind piles of rubble, patiently waiting for the right moment to approach her students as a collective team.
“I’m glad you all remembered our promise,” he says with a laugh. A true laugh. She didn’t know she had a favorite sound, but she thinks it comes pretty close.
“Where’s the Professor?” Ignatz asks.
Byleth closes her eyes as she listens. She clutches Jeralt’s ring hanging from her neck.
“The Professor?” asks Claude.
“Don’t play dumb, Claude—we all know how you feel about your precious Teach,” Hilda giggles, teasing. Byleth can imagine her shoving his shoulder childishly, and she almost smiles at the thought. “But seriously, it’s been five years... and no one’s heard a peep from her. I know you had a lot of confidence that she was still alive, but what if she’s—“
“Don’t say it!” Lysithea interrupts, voice screeching. “I don’t want to believe it. The Professor can’t be dead. She’s way too powerful, and…”
“And she’s the daughter of the almighty Jeralt. If anyone can stay alive for that long, it’s definitely the Professor,” Leonie jumps in.
“You’re right, you’re right! Stop nagging—sheesh! I didn’t mean to get everyone’s panties in a twist.”
Claude is silent, so she takes that moment to remove herself from her hiding spot and walk towards the huddled group in the monastery lobby. A swell of pride and longing surges within her when she sees them, five years older, each more mature and put together. Byleth can’t believe she’s missed all that time.
“Professor!” Lysithea squeals. The team turns to her, and she can visibly see a sense of familiarity and relief across all their faces.
She’s greeted with open arms by the team. But she looks up for a split second and catches Claude’s gaze.
Unfamiliarity and suspicion. Her chest aches.
Why? Why doesn’t he remember?
Hilda nudges him with an elbow, and he glares at her. “Aren’t you going to say anything to your precious Teach? You were moping for forever without her around.”
Claude blinks carefully and then smiles, but she can feel it again—that uneasy hollowness to him that she remembers from the first round at the Goddess Tower. It reminds her of her first encounter with him, back when he was just a snarky teen who still needed saving from bandits. He plays along, and the both of them can tell that it’s just that—pretend.
“Teach!” he says easily, catching her eye. “Glad to have you back.”
Hilda hits him across the back of his head, and he winces with a yelp. “You mope for five years, and that’s all you gotta say? Seriously! Boys are so dumb.”
Claude smirks wryly. “I’ll save my affection to my favorite professor for later.”
Hilda gags. “Gross. Save it to yourself.”
It’s when she takes sight of Marianne’s face that she’s aware that there’s something the girl knows that Byleth doesn’t. The blue-haired noble flushes bright red when she catches the Professor’s gaze and turns her cheek.
Byleth tells everyone to get some sleep, and they’ll regroup in the morning. She refuses to look into Claude’s empty eyes, instead grabbing a hold of Marianne’s hand before she walks away.
“Marianne,” she says gently. Marianne bites her lip. “Let’s talk for a second.”
Marianne nods, and in the peripheral of her eye, Byleth sees Hilda and Claude look their way before parting.
When they’re alone, it’s Marianne that speaks first, but her gaze is glued to the floor. Marianne has matured over the years, and though she holds herself more confidently, Byleth notices that her demure and hesitant habits are still present. “I’m glad you’re alive, Professor. We were extremely concerned about your well-being.”
“I’m glad you’re all safe too,” Byleth responds.
She peers around the monastery, its once safe space now stacked high with rubble, layers of dust visibly present. Marianne has always regarded the Church as sacred, and the idea that she’s hurting makes her ache for all her students. How much had she missed not being there for them?
“How are you holding up?” Byleth finally asks.
Marianne is quiet, and she glances to the floor. “It’s been... difficult and... sad. But I’m glad we’re all together again. Some... have fared worse than others.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“I...” Finally, Marianne looks up and catches her eye. “...You can tell something’s wrong with him.”
Byleth turns her head, keeps her gaze locked on the stained glass. “More or less... He’s not acting right.” She doesn’t say that she’s experienced a moment in time where they’d already met, where he didn’t know her at all. “You seemed to know why.”
Marianne hesitates to answer. When Byleth refocuses on the noble, she seems caught in an internal war, struggling on what is and isn’t okay to say. Marianne lets out a heavy sigh. “While you were... away... Claude had so much faith in you. He swore you weren’t dead and that you would come back. I... want to say we all did, but... we also had our doubts. He never doubted, not for a second, and would come visit the monastery every year—
“I decided to visit last year. I don’t know why, exactly, but... something was telling me I should. And… Claude was very sick...” Marianne pauses, torn, carefully selecting her words. “He... said to keep it a secret, but... As a healer, I made some decisions that led to some... regrettable consequences, and…”
“What was he sick with?” Byleth’s voice comes out in a terrified whisper she doesn’t recognize.
“Professor... have you heard of Hanahaki?”
Hanahaki—a rare disease, almost a legend due to its infrequency. To think Claude could be diagnosed with it is baffling, to say the least. To think he underwent a surgical operation is… There wasn’t a lot of information in the one book Marianne had, and per the young noble, an operation meant physically removing the flower that was the root of the illness. And thereby consequently removing memories of said person and the victim’s feelings for them—forever.
Byleth gently sits on her bed in the dark shadows, moonlight glimmering through the window. She stares at her hands, replaying the conversation.
”Who was it? Who was he in love with?”
Marianne looks at her curiously. “Professor... of course it was you. Don’t you understand? He doesn’t remember anything about you. And... I must sincerely apologize. It’s my fault. I... I pleaded with him. I didn’t know when you would come back, and he was so very sick, he was on the verge of dying. And then he collapsed, and I…”
“And he’ll never remember me,” Byleth says, voice distant. “Or fall in love again.”
“If history is right…” Marianne doesn’t finish. They understand the implications.
She stares at her fingertips and wonders about the power within her. Does she have the chance to make it right? How does she make sure he remembers? How often can she rewind the clock? Should she... let it be and rebuild their relationship?
Byleth closes her eyes, memories fragmenting sporadically in the back of her mind. Some of her most favorite are with him, and she’s not sure what to do knowing that their relationship will never be the same. She’s not sure if she loves him, but she thinks... if Claude had remembered their time together, and they had continued this path towards a better future, she could have fallen in love with him.
They could have been together.
He could have never been sick.
A knock at her door pulls her out of her reverie.
It’s late, but she has a feeling she knows who it is.
His back is to her when she opens her door, broad and familiar and God, she misses him.
“Hey—Teach, is it?” Claude grins, turning. His grin is wrong, all wrong. The Alliance leader peers around her, then, “Looks dark in there. Did I wake you?”
Byleth shakes her head. “No, no. I was just... thinking. Come in.”
She turns on her lamp as she lets him into her room.
“I’ll be honest,” he says when she shuts her door, “I don’t... remember you. And I was going to hide it, but you seem to be one step ahead of me. The Golden Deer seem to know who you are and...”
Byleth is silent, lets the walls cave in on her. Where to start? She doesn’t know where to start...
“Who are you?” he asks after a moment, green eyes blazing with curiosity. “I tried racking my brain for hours today, and I can’t come up with anything. I don’t trust you to be quite frank, but something tells me that... I might be wrong not to. You could be lying... But then clearly everyone is a great actor if they’re playing along with you, and I’ve seen Lorenz act before. He’s awful.”
He stifles a laugh to himself, and she almost follows suit.
Then she wonders if it’s worth it, starting from scratch with him, rebuilding their camaraderie. Will he ever remember? Will she be able to... reach those dreams... together with him?
“Claude... Do you still have dreams for a better world?” Byleth finally asks.
Claude stiffens, and a twitch in his face tells her he doesn’t expect her to know him to such a deep and earnest level, that she would have an inkling of what his dreams are.
He squints at her, casually bringing his hands behind his head. “We must have been pretty close,” he comments though he doesn’t confirm or deny her question.
Byleth looks at him, really looks at him for the first time since she’s awaken. She doesn’t remember taking him in at the Goddess Tower, nor in the lobby of the monastery, too focused on his lack of recognition and aloofness towards her.
Five years have done Claude well, and he’s not the same teenager she recalls from her memories. He’s filled in, broad across the shoulders and chest, hair slicked back, jaw angled and sharp and curated with facial hair. Now the official leader of the Leicester Alliance, she can note how his new position of authority has already given him signs of aging, worn weariness lined around his eyes. But it’s him, Claude von Riegan, still the man she’s known since before.
And yet, he feels like a stranger, and Byleth misses the familiarity and warmth of his younger self, however snarky he may have been.
She finds herself reaching out to briefly touch his face, how different it has changed over the years and then stops herself.
Stranger.
There must be a way she can have him now and him then, with his memories and fondness of her intact.
“...Professor?” he prods.
Byleth blinks, a sharp ache in her chest. He’s so rarely ever called her that.
“We were friends,” she says slowly. As she says it aloud, she firmly knows it to be true. What had he said back then, that their bond went deeper than simply friends? That their hearts were connected. “I don’t know if your memories will return, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to give them up—I just... wish I was here to have stopped you from losing them.”
Claude stills, his expression torn between confusion and curiosity and a strong desire to make everything right. “What do you mean?” he says after a moment.
Byleth closes her eyes and shakes her head. “It’s nothing.”
She’s determined to get her Claude back.
And turns back the hands of time.
She finds him in the library before the war, before she’s meant to receive a revelation at the Holy Tomb. Byleth knows that nothing she does here is going to change the output of that moment in the mausoleum, that Edelgard will still surprise everyone when she reveals herself as the Flame Emperor, and that there will be a Battle at Garreg Mach, but—
Maybe she can fix this.
“Claude.”
He’s got his nose in a book, and Claude perks up at the sound of her voice. He presses the book closed before sliding it on the table. Then turns to her, eyes glimmering, a genuine smile on his lips. It’s him, hers. “And to what do I owe the pleasure, Teach?”
She almost smiles, but instead makes a grab for his hand.
Claude’s eyes widen, and his whole body stills. His shoulders tense for a moment, as he searches her face, and then his features soften. “What’s wrong, Teach?”
Byleth shakes her head and searches for the right words to say. Words have never been her strong suit. She finally lands on, “You’re important to me.”
He laughs. “You’re really doing my heart things there, Teach.”
She tilts her head, and his smile fades slowly at the sight of her seriousness.
But Claude’s eyes remain warm, and he firmly returns his grip on her hand. “Teach, I hope you know I’ll take your word on that, and the sentiment is the same. I’m glad to have you as an ally... no, my friend. You understand that, right? Your presence in my life is invaluable.”
Byleth nods, closing her eyes. She knows this because he’s told her this before, though simply a bit later. But she needs to ensure he’s aware of her own sentiments now. “I’m with you to the end, I promise. Please know how important our relationship is, how much it means to me. ”
Claude gazes at her, moving to brush back a stray stand of hair behind her ear. And there’s a spark in that moment that makes her feel hopeful, that this will end the way she wants it to end. Claude squeezes her hand again. “I want you by my side as I achieve my dreams,” he says softly.
“I’ll be there.”
Claude’s grin is glowing wide across his face. “To the future of a better world.”
After she wakes up from her deep slumber, she finds out he’s dead.
That he not only suffered Hanahaki but absolutely refused treatment.
”He was adamant that you would come back, that he could make things right if you just came back.”
She shuts herself in her room.
She thought he understood. But she can fix this. She can fix this.
Byleth has gone back four times now. She’s not sure which part she needs to fix, what conversation she needs to have, but all of them lead her to one of two paths: (1) Claude is forced to undergo a surgical operation and forgets or (2) Claude refuses to undergo the surgical operation and dies.
She’s tried showing him affection, but how does she fix something she doesn’t know she has to offer? She’s not sure if she loves him. Is it because she doesn’t know, that he keeps dying?
She’s sure, she may in due time.
But she feels the only solve is to tell him that she loves him.
She tries on one turn.
He doesn’t believe her, is almost upset that she says it at all.
Hell, she doesn’t believe it herself.
“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” he says sharply. “I don’t know what you heard, but I don’t need that sort of pity in my life.”
On that attempt, Claude undergoes an operation within a year that he’s diagnosed.
Byleth tries to solve the slumber—maybe if she were present, maybe if she doesn’t fall into that limbo vortex, she can help find a solution.
But it must be fate, because the same scene occurs again and again no matter what she does. Byleth’s dismally reminded of her father’s death, when even the shift of time couldn’t save him.
This though... this must be fixable. She can’t be forced to choose between Claude’s friendship and his life.
She can’t.
On the eighth time, she wakes up, and the world is spinning in multi colors, blood pooling from her mouth.
She stares at her hand, flexing it back and forth, wondering. It must be an overuse of her powers. It’s the only thing that makes sense. She’s aware she’s pushing the limits, and she’s not sure how much more her body can take.
Byleth can’t keep going back—she needs to choose between his friendship or his life.
She wonders if it would be worth it... to start from scratch. To rebuild.
So she tries.
On this attempt, she doesn’t tell him why he lost his memories, they’re just both acutely aware that he did. But he continues to pretend to everyone that he does know her, that they’re close, that she’s his Teach, and though Hilda seems to look at them a bit oddly, she doesn’t verbally bring it up. And the root of his memories, his disease, Marianne and Byleth keep that squarely a secret between the two of them.
It’s better that he doesn’t know why. She’s not sure if he’d really believe it.
Instead, Byleth and Claude pretend things are normal, that they had a relationship, a somewhat sort of special one, enough that he’s vaguely brought up his dreams, and so they try to start at the beginning. They rebuild it slowly, taking their sweet moments between each battle, strategizing each move, savoring the small spaces of quiet between them.
Byleth can tell he doesn’t quite trust her fully, not the way he did before. But there are moments he’ll smile at her, and when it reaches his eyes, her insides stir.
“Thanks,” he says when he sees her enter the Golden Deer classroom with a tray of food and Almyran Pine Needle tea, and she recognizes genuine appreciation across his features. Byleth drops it on the table, then takes her seat across from him, eyes glazing over the tactical diagrams he’s already started working through for their next move.
“You should make sure to eat when you work,” she says quietly in response. “You’re not sleeping enough.”
Claude simply smirks, but there’s a grimness to his words. “Professor, I can’t be the Master Tactician if I’m not always working. These schemes don’t get devised by themselves.”
Hearing him call her Professor is… off-putting. But he seems to not be used to his old nickname for her, despite Hilda once asking him why he’s changed his lingo. She chooses to ignore it, moving to pour them two teacups and placing one directly in front of him.
He raises a brow at the tea, and something softens in his face as he takes in a whiff. “This is my favorite,” he says, his voice treading carefully.
“I’m aware.”
Claude nods, still staring at the cup of tea as if it has done something wrong.
“I’m not like you—I didn’t poison it.”
His head shoots up, and this is one of few times she’s seen him surprised since they started again. Then he laughs, and she feels confused. So she sits in silence, waiting for him to tell her exactly what’s so funny.
“You’re just very interesting,” he explains. “Almost impossible to understand. There are days, when we first… met, where you were eager to be my friend, I guess, because, well, we were once friends. Before the war. And then there are days you have no expression, and I can’t read you no matter how many questions I ask.”
Byleth isn’t sure how to respond to this, so she chooses not to. She doesn’t quite find how it warrants a laugh, but she’ll allow him to explain.
Claude pauses to think on it, leaning back in his chair, casually bringing his arms around the back of his head. He tilts his head, pursing his lips. “You started off as a mercenary, and then you became a teacher—you’re impeccably strong, can wield the Sword of Creator, and you’re a tactical genius… And even though I don’t understand you, you have a strange ability to make me want to trust you.
“And then you do things like gift me my favorite teas and remind me about my very fun hobby, and I forget that I did—trust you.” Claude lets out a sigh before finally taking a sip of the Almyran tea. “I have to admit it feels a bit weird. It’s like getting hit with whiplash.”
Byleth takes that moment to take a sip from her own cup. She can feel his eyes on her, waiting for her next move, and she feels in that moment like a chess piece on a playing board. But she finds she doesn’t mind while she waits for them to get back on the same page again.
“You not remembering me… it’s weird for me too,” she finally says, looking up at him. “My goal isn’t to make you feel uncomfortable. If you want me to leave, just say the word.”
Claude only leans forward and grins, and this time, it reaches his eyes. “Professor, I have no problem with being uncomfortable. I grew up in the face of discomfort. And honestly? You don’t make me uncomfortable. I just find you fascinating.”
“Professor,” Claude says calmly one night when it’s just the two of them, and still, it’s wrong, “you should get some rest. We have all of tomorrow to work through this.”
“I’m not your Professor,” she says as her eyes skim over the makeshift soldiers on the table. “Not anymore.”
“But you were a Professor,” he comments. When she doesn’t respond, he lets out a snort, leaning back in his seat. He’s observing her from across the table, but it’s not in the same manner he usually does. Usually, his eyes rake over her with skepticism, but today they’re light and curious and genial. “I’ve always thought it was interesting—when I first met you, I couldn’t believe someone so young could be our teacher. You must have not been too much older than me at the time.”
She looks up and blankly stares at him. “I’ve already heard this argument from you before.”
Claude smirks. “I guess it’s good to know that young affable bratty Claude and I think alike.”
Byleth feels a smile tread her lips, and visibly notices his grin widen at the sight. She overlooks him carefully, and the words are out of her mouth before she can stop them, “But you’ve grown well.”
Claude blinks. Then licks his lips, swallowing thickly at her words. “Have I?” His voice is low and quiet in the stillness of the room, and the air between them grows charged with an electric energy.
She suddenly feels like she’s burning under his gaze. Maybe she should’t have said anything, but the words can’t be retracted now.
At her silence, he turns his head, and though she doesn’t notice it, there’s a faint color tinging his cheeks. Claude clears his throat, fingers fidgeting with the makeshift soldiers. “It still feels funny to call you Professor.”
“Then don’t call me that,” she says simply. She doesn’t like it when he calls her Professor anyway. “You can call me Byleth.”
Claude doesn’t respond for a moment.
Then, “Byleth,” he repeats slowly.
“And anyway, we’re… friends again, aren’t we?”
He leans forward, hand covering hers and squeezing. There’s a soft glow on his face from the lamp. “Of course.”
It’s the slight affection in his voice in which he says those two words that make her smile. And yet—she doesn’t think he understands the weight of it.
Her first friend.
He’s back to work in a matter of seconds, and she’s mesmerized by the way his features shift in the low light, how serious and musky and older he looks, determination gleaming in his eyes. She grows dizzy at the sight of him and quickly reverts her gaze to the maps in front of her.
She can’t focus.
“I’ll take my leave early tonight,” she says quietly, getting up from her chair.
Claude looks up and gives her a smile. “Rest well, Byleth.”
She feels warm, so warm.
She wakes up with a tight pain in her chest, like thorns have wrapped around her lungs. She begins to cough, hacking until she senses a small tickle flutter up her throat.
Her hand catches it just in time.
A small yellow petal. She’s not sure exactly what kind of flower it is, but it’s smooth and vibrant in her hand.
A petal… a petal…
She clenches her fingers around it.
Oh.
This can’t be good.