A Single Regret

Dedue takes a deep breath as he weeds his small plot in the greenhouse. He is well aware that there's no point in caring for these flowers anymore. Soon, he is sure, the greenhouse will be overgrown and abandoned. Soon, he is sure, he will die.

The Knights of Seiros are outmatched and the students--those who are willing to fight the Empire, at least--are undertrained.

He has no doubt; the professor's plan is excellent, and surely it will minimize the casualties of those who cannot flee... but the upcoming battle isn't too unlike the monastery tournaments in a way. Battle after battle until either you win, or until you run out of steam. He cannot imagine a scenario where they will win, but if his liege wills it, what choice does he have but to cut down as many as he can until he, too, joins the blood soaked dirt as so many soldiers before him...?

The greenhouse doors open, and behind him echo crisp steps. He could guess the owner, but by the voice that chimes out, he doesn't have to.

"Dedue. I'm pleased to see you here." The professor's voice drops into a murmur. "I guess I can depend on you to provide some sort of normalcy." She sounds... different. Certainly less strict than usual. Maybe even... weary?

He stands to greet her, brushing the soil from his fingers, then bows.

"I'm glad to..." He pauses for a moment. To what? Provide normalcy? To be dependable? To see you?

Ah... but he can't say that last one aloud. He changes the subject quickly.

"Do you need something from me, professor?" She hesitates for a moment, but eventually shakes her head. Dedue lets out a mild breath as he sinks back down into the dirt. "Then surely you have better things to do than waste your time on a man of Duscar."

She doesn't bother responding to the self-deprecating comment.

Instead, Byleth watches over him steadily, her arms folded. The silence between them is... comfortable, for the simple reason that her presence is comfortable. To be frankly honest, he would be content if the emperor's army slay him then and there if it meant that she would always look at him with such kind eyes. He thinks the thought, acknowledges it as true, and says nothing. He is far past the point where loving the professor is a thing that he is willing to fight or deny. He has long since accepted the two forbidden facts that he cannot tell a soul: first, that he loves her, and second, that his feelings have only gotten stronger.

She breaks the silence to ask him about the upcoming battle.

"Are you afraid?"

"Of death?" Dedue snorts. "Absolutely not. I am prepared to fight to the last breath to keep his Highness alive. If I die to that end, then I will rest easily and without regrets." A half-truth, if only because he has a feeling that in the moments he lays dying, his thoughts will be filled with a certain stoic professor's face. Dedue refuses to say as much. Some secrets must be taken to the grave. He is prepared to make this one of them.

Byleth nods in reply, but offers no opinion of her own. Not too unusual, considering she is his professor. He tells himself that she is just concerned for the wellbeing of her students to loosen the chokehold on his throat.

She isn't--couldn't be--asking out of concern for him.

"I..." He looks up at the sound of her slightly hesitant voice. "I have something to give you."

Dedue's eyebrows lift. A gift? She's given him gifts before--and he always appreciated them--but the way she is avoiding his eyes... he can only wonder what it is. He takes a rag and wipes his hands, then stands again.

"..." She presents it without fanfare. There, stretched towards him in her open palm, lies a simple ring.

He stares at her hand, his heartbeat fluttering in his ears, then forces his eyes to meet hers.

"What is this?"

"My father's. He... gave it to my mother. It meant something, once, but now the two people who could appreciate it most are gone." To his surprise, the professor's eyes seem almost... moist. "I am... not like you, Dedue. I have many regrets, some of which I will carry for the rest of my life." Her eyebrows furrow as she closes her hand over the ring. "I don't want this to be one of them."

He forces himself to speak.

"What are you saying, Professor?"

Instead of immediately replying, Byleth takes a moment to look Dedue over from foot to crown. Her pale, hungry eyes take in his dark, oiled skin, the gentleness in his large, calloused hands, the strength to protect in his broad shoulders, legs and thighs. Her eyes are filled with an emotion he's seen before, but never quite so strong, and certainly never directed towards him.