Technically, yes, there is nothing wrong with Lysithea’s reproductive organs and she is thus not infertile and fully capable of getting pregnant. With that being said, due to the blood reconstruction surgery rendering her body weak, she would not be able to survive a pregnancy; Her body would simply not be able to sustain another life growing inside of her, and she would die as a consequence of this. Her body also struggles with obtaining nutrients and this, in combination with her rather sweet diet, would certainly not help her in the case of pregnancy, since she would not only be in charge of having to feed herself, but the fetus as well. 

Lysithea does furthermore not want to bear a child, despite not being aware of the fact that it would kill her. This partially because she is utterly afraid of passing her condition onto the child, and thus signing them up for a short life of suffering, plus she also knows she would not be there to see her child grow up; Lysithea wants neither to happen. She wants her family’s story to end with her, and has never even considered passing the Ordelia’s genes onward. As a matter of fact, she is rather scared of becoming pregnant, and would rather consider it an awful curse than a blessing. 

   ♛ . REMEMBER, REMEMBER: HOW TO MAKE SURE SHE IS SAVE; by positioning other’s battalion as far away from any skirmish as possible, move it in between CAVALRY & REMAINING MAGES, perhaps have armored infantry flank her troops’ every move. Aye! ‘twas the standard procedure for ranged units [& yet she wagers to disobey / to jolt into danger! Suicidal, craving destruction & a MARTY’S DEATH]. SCREAM: why must you be so foolish? Hardheadedly deeming own selfish wish more refined, NECESSARY despite being anything but. What would she give to SMITE it, that craving for some violent end / to match a life subjected to something just as atrocious. – glaring, cold rage subsides / abates, languidly, only to be replaced by concern. Oh, such was their way, was is not? Their dynamic; a relation built on GUILT & REGRET [birds of a feather; yet as different as SUN & MOON]. Scold & scold & scold with a heavy heart; never meant to CHANGE what principles the other had so desperately annexed: a worthless life, a forlorn life traded for another. 

      how it stung; worse than any wound ever could.

    “Stop lying to me, Lysithea.” Say, how many siblings have you lost already? How many lives have slipped through a sprawled hand; akin to sand, akin to a river’s searing stream? – count them [mementos etched into the back of your skull]! && do it quick, whilst thoughts drift & abscond, while joints ache under armor’s weight, barren arm fixed by gauntlet & plates alone. – but there is no time to waste / no time to dwell & lose yourself: get back to your feet & walk other back to the Imperial camp. 

      Weight shifts, bare palm sensing the twitch in mage’s back muscle, in every sinew / the hotness of crest-cursed blood, the throb of a fatigued heart. – cue a blink, brows furrowing in worry / to spot veins spreading akin to cobwebs underneath torn cloth, blackest bile, pressing against porcelain skin as if meant to ELOPE [deep breaths / hesitation; mind you, she is a bad LIAR]; muscles tense in anticipation, restless mind assessing how to further progress: ever matter-of-factly, burying seething / wretched sentiments somewhere deep. Remember: feckless / damaged left would do little to support body’s ascend even less the lifting of other’s lithe frame. 

      Lo, lilac finds deep pink, strain & solicitude weighting heavy on stark mien / haggard features. Deem it a paradox: the stench of blood, sweat & dirt ever sticking to golden plate, to every limb, every curl of ashen hair. All sharp edges, keen metal, biting steel / imposing, overbearing, brutal, HARSH; yet with a tone so gentle, mellow / honed down by heartfelt care for someone most unfortunate; a broken mirror, bearing cracks & fissures, both. – & she feels the dire sting of guilt: for letting this happen, for not paying any heed to actions / blind in her urge to shelter & maim. Deem this your reparation then; ax rammed into soiled earth, awaiting to be dragged by shattered left. Shield on her back, &, if other consented, a wounded mage in steady grip / bearing own wounds with gritted teeth. –  such was her way, no? “I need you to grab my shoulder. Can you do that, please?”

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⁅ ⚜ ⁆ JUST FOCUS ON HER WORDS, mage whispered to herself though gritted teeth, for in moments like these, when own body sagged against armored other as if she was a sack of wheat, ghost in the shape of a VOICE hammered on repeat in her skull — What was it masked men had yelled all those years ago? Memories hazy, wrapped in a cloud of dust, forgotten voices seeping their way by akin to sunlight through a curtain ; ‘ SHE IS DEAD ANYWAY ‘ one of them screamed disappointed through the haze, hands carrying the stench of alcohol ( same hands pulling away the corpse of dead sister by the hair what had felt like just days before ) carelessly bandaging some wound on already far too scarred skin.‘ WE’D BE WASTING OUR TIME WITH THIS ONE ‘ Oh, recall father’s cry when little girl was tossed back into his arms, the desperation in his voice growing heaver each time he cut of STRANDS OF WHITE HAIR over and over again, promising old colour would return soon ; Accidentally cutting her earlobe for own hands were trembling far too much, one had lost count of the times, and merely recalled the same dull locks framing pale face, wounds and gashes forming oblong scars wrapping tightly akin to thorns around lithe body. 

No, please, no...! 

MIND A DARK PLACE ( do not wander over that bridge alone, girl, for you will get lost ) ALL SHE KNEW WAS THAT some had time for countless of strategies, developing a plan, adapting to enemy’s movements and adjusting accordingly, while others... — THE MAGE WOULD NOT CALL HERSELF RECKLESS, but rather efficient ; For she was very well aware of her holding back merely meant body would drain before the chance to strike, firepower eventually running out, rendering one useless on the battlefield ( ah useless... masked men’s favourite word, followed shortly after they cracked her bones in half and deemed it RESEARCH! ) BRITTLE, FAIL — TELL ME, EDELGARD, how can both our bodies have the same scars, yet yours stand tall where mine crumble? What did own body fail which someone else succeeded ; OH EMPEROR, EMPEROR, DID THE ORDELIA’S WEAKNESS DENY HER TO PREVAIL, AND THUS CAUSED YOUR SUFFERING? Did own inability to prove oneself cause wretched body to be tossed aside and forgotten, did hands with the stench of alcohol claw themselves into HER heart next?  

No, no, NO!

‘ STOP LYING TO ME, LYSITHEA! ‘ THIS SUPPORT SHOULD NOT COME FROM THE EMPEROR ( two souls so different, yet two souls bound by guilt ) for the supported considered herself to be the root of the other’s pain. Thus, single arm supported itself against Edelgard’s frame, while the other with sleeve torn rested against own stomach, trembling legs laboriously attempting to fully stand up on their own. ( Limbs already faltering in strength before pushed out of harms way — After sitting down, FATIGUE both from battle and flaring memories had started to catch up with her ; oh how one detested the sentiment of collapsing, other’s features and surrounding details always turned so blurry and WHITE ) Hand rose from own stomach and rested against armoured shoulder ARROW had pierced, with the intention to heal the other should her armour not have been enough. 

                                  𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒛𝒆𝒏 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 ; @ariaharte 

⁅ ⚜ ⁆ “I really don’t know what else to tell you,” the girl answered with a slight tilt of her head, arms folding across her chest ; One had already explained own means of how to relax, these usually involved a bowl of fruit sorbet, freshly made slice of cake, or some pieces of sweets. These tastes hardly ever experienced as a child one now could not get enough of, spoon after spoon of sugar poured into her tea whenever the sensation of bitterness was to arise in the back of her throat. WHENEVER ALONE or scared, she’d often also indulge in singing to kill the silence, but deemed this useless to bring up for she knew singing to oneself was a trait fellow mage shared, and neither of them were probably as discrete as they sometimes thought. 

“If you want a RELAXATION EXPERT, I suggest you talk to Linhardt,” the girl added, eyebrows knitting together ; One was forever BAFFLED ( and quite frankly, quite jealous ) by his ability to rest nearly anywhere and anytime ; Even missing CLASS because the desire to stay sleeping had been too strong. Why, the Ordelia could barely sleep in her own bed. 

    ♛ . WHAT GOOD WOULD SAVED TIME DO IF DEATH WAS THE ONLY CONSEQUENCE; when yet another wound would brashly claim a soldier’s life? Such was war, such was Empire’s HER sanguinary cause; yet to have death come & wrap grim claws around known ally’s very throat, nails sinking into delicate skin / to squeeze / to suffocate & snap their very neck? No better than whatever nightmare oft came to haunt her still. – to march through devastation, to cross blood soaked soil & find yet another familiar face distorted by violence & death-delivered ANGUISH. – a thought that made stomach turn / a blow taken to the chest, ribs cracking underneath its metaphorical weight. UNBEARABLE / UNTENABLE. Would she be able to forgive herself? Failing those sworn to her very vow: for a brighter future, a just tomorrow! 

       Could she? 

   Ever protecting those deemed dear, as vigilant as she was brutal / lethal. Crushing bone with a precise ax-blow: decapitating, maiming, cutting her way ONWARD towards a single goal, for a single purpose. – ruthless, & yet …

     “You would be dead!” behold battle-ax’ cutting edge: droplets of red spiraling [nay, dancing] as they leap / as a single swing rams it into hard earth below, to free her intact right & no longer encumber useless injured left. REMEMBER, REMEMBER, DEAR LYSITHEA: dead archer found a few centimeters ahead, headless corpse naught but feast for the crows / split open armor of some infantry unit decorating his [?] lifeless body. How could she bear the sight / how could she look ever so coolly, composed save for sudden BURST of wrath / of worry / of suppressed sentiments; this dreadful fear. A mangled thing / shattered bones & languid crimson gushing forth. – this could have been her, a mage, too frail to be midst havoc & clashing steel, ever naive, ever FOOLISH / say! SCREAM AT HER: have you no concern for those in you care? Right fingers coil around stuck arrow, yanking a part out of own shoulder & joint / breaking off its head with a flick of armored wrist; balled fist rising to merely present. With a scowl & a thunderous voice / overbearing ere tossing wooden remnants elsewhere. “with an arrow stuck in your head!”

    Pray, what had traversed? REMEMBER, REMEMBER: a leap, shield risen to catch enemy’s blow / second hit askew enough to bend her left far too unnaturally; ah, mayhap the tingle in her fingers & the numbness felt were a result of THAT. In addition to some wretched arrow head caught in heavy plate, piercing membrane beneath [naught she could not handle / barely noticed]. A jab of own elbow had certainly provoked other’s fall; a fact that stung worse than a gash ever could. 

   Cue a harsh sigh / there, she kneels; knees sinking into the very dirt with but most subtle metallic clink. Body hunching, shoulders relaxing ever so cautiously. Right glove taken off & flung aside, trembling fingers coiling around mage’s torso; one too brittle to be handled with roughest steel coiling around hand’s digits; lo, pale skin, faded scar etched into the back of slender digits; these tips now setting against a shoulder blade, lilac glare mellowing beneath a concerned brow [rage subsided, abated / INTERNALIZED]. – “can you walk?”

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⁅ ⚜ ⁆ Despite witnessing what was to follow after bloody battles again and again, one would never quite grow used to the sight of split open corpses, grass stained with pools of red ( it’s YOU or THEM! ) it was another ghost added to her book of loss, another shadow lurking over petite shoulders whenever darkness would hit, brutally burrowing its way into torn mind ; HAUNTED by something dead which appeared to be alive. In the heat of the moment, always too busy to think, to see, to hear, archers, mages and armored units mere targets for her SPELLS — Yet in this moment, one nearly felt forced to look, EDELGARD’S LECTURE drowning out to white noise, eyes thus focusing on mangled bodies, rivulet of crimson dripping from stout ax... ‘ THAT COULD’VE BEEN YOU ‘ Edelgard, Edelgard, cherished Emperor, THAT IS ME, are you aware of the fact that your arm is wrapped around a WALKING CORPSE? Was it not better to die standing on a battlefield, instead of sickened and broken being tucked away in some bed, helpless to save anyone? 

Bright gaze averted from decapitated mess and instead focused on a non-specific spot on muddied ground, unable to lock glances with her. Foe’s blade had merely managed to split her sleeve in two ( if Emperor had interfered mere fracture of a second later, blade would’ve easily sliced through flesh and bones ) causing nimble fingers to wrap around broken edges, pulling shirt back together — Skin below had grown far too pale, it made her veins protrude so disgustingly, it was not a sight she wished to share with the woman kneeling next to her ( REMEMBER, REMEMBER, EDELGARD WHAT I AM, YOU WILL BE! ) LOOK AT HER, pulling an arrow out of soft flesh with a quick yank, soldier marching on, while destroyed self... Sharp exhale, ribs scratching against thin membrane as she moved ; LITTLE DID IT MATTER — Whatever endured in childhood days far worse than anything encountered / witnessed on the battlefield, bones snapped over and over again by strong hands for reasons unknown to then little girl, small lungs gasping for air between the cries / PLEAS for them to stop... 

Slow exhale, gaze finally turned towards the other, focusing in Emperor’s direction but still not daring to met her sight, head dipping into a small nod. Limbs ACHED, one was drained, but the mage refused to be pitied and branded useless by not walking herself. 

Lysithea has a deep fear of ghosts, the dark, and also silence, as mentioned in canon. This can be traced back to her childhood, during the time TWSITD conducted crest experiments on her and her 5 siblings. During their time in imprisonment, Lysithea would again and again believe her siblings had died whenever they were asleep or unconscious for longer periods of time, so whenever they awoke ( in a worse state than before ), she would believe they had come back to haunt her. Even as she gets older, she continues to see the faces of her dead siblings ( what she can remember, being only 6 years of age when the experiments started, most of their faces have since long started to blur ), being the oldest, oft blaming herself for what happened to her. 

Her life also went from being surrounded by the noise of 5 younger siblings, to gradually be reduced to something akin to static, so she often seeks out a filler noise, absolutely detesting being wrapped around absolute quietness. She often sings out loud when she is alone to break the silence, especially when it starts to get dark. 

⁅ ⚜ ⁆ Head tilted to the side at the man’s respond — SWEETS FOR THE GIRL a celebratory thing, reward after a tough lesson, or simply whenever hunger would strike, gladly indulging in slices of cakes, biscuits and pieces of candy. Sugar crystals more often than not used to wash away the clumps of crimson forming in constricted throat whenever hit with overexertion, and to drown out memories of times in confinement when a stale piece of bread was considered a full meal for growing children, own fingernails oft used to help younger siblings scrape away clumps of MOLD forming around the edges... 

Snapping back to reality, the girl cleared her throat, rosen lips forming into a petite smile ( there was no point in dwelling in the past when one’s future was already taken — THERE WAS SIMPLY NO TIME! ) ; OF COURSE SHE COULD BUY SWEET ROLLS from the market and spoon some of the delicious frosting onto them — Why did that idea not strike her in the first place? It was quite frankly BRILLIANT! Her tea time was saved, and companions could enjoy sweets she easily could pass of as her own creation ( the unsuccessful cupcakes she could safe for later, a midnight snack never hurt anyone, after all. )