Lanto is old for a man of his age. Yes, perhaps he could still pick up his sword and fight. He was no stranger to going off with his horse stead and riding off around his small area of land he owns, what he is proud to call his domain. Walking around the estate, relaxing in the garden, or training along with his son is one of the daily routines he applied into his life.
However, he could always feel the strain of his back becoming a regular occurrence. His legs would sometimes give off pop sounds and his hair was no longer his normal silver-white but into simply a dull gray. His eyesight was worsening, memory was becoming far and in between, and his body was becoming more tired.
Simply put, he was too old.
And yet he wanted to live on and help the burden that was to be on his son's shoulder.
Christophe is his favorite son, his only son in fact. A fact that led him to cherish him very much so. He was raised to be kind, always so kind. His knowledge of the lands around them and the people was experienced from the many travels they have done. His swordplay was polished, his lance skills were defined, and his clumsy fingers somehow made magic flow through the winds when he shot an arrow followed closely by blades of green. Etiquette, manners, law, and ruling were learned over the course of years and Lanto would be safe to say that when it is his time he would pass down the title of Lord down safely to his son.
Yet it did not feel that way to him.
No matter how old he was, Christophe was still his only son, his only child. He can't bear to place the burden of having all his life's work on his son alone. And even more, that was the problem itself.
His son would be alone.
Lanto had not been alone, after all, he was now used to it. It didn't mean he wasn't affected by it though. He hated it but he learned to coop with it. Christophe, on the other hand, wasn't.
So he started to plan and look. He thought about finding someone to marry his son but decided against it. He thought of finding another noble to befriend Christophe but most nobles his age either wanted something from their domain, for their blood family or were busy learning to take care of their domain as heirs. He thought about finding a guard, a knight, or even someone that could help to care for his son but this all led to another question. Will they stay by his son to the very end? Where will their loyalty lie?
The answer was something that he can't afford to get wrong.
So days and weeks pass. Season change and then years came. His little boy was now a young adult, one who watches his people with gentle eyes and a voice that held an authority that one can't argue against. Yet his habits of being oblivious to his surroundings stayed the same, his fault of staying up late with anything that catches his interests never dwindled, and his love of surgery sweets and glazed fruits seem to always make the cooks amused.
He was a man with the soul of a child.
He loves him so much.
He loves his boy so much and he gives him all his love because that's all he could do. He might not find the person that would stay by his son's side but he will live and love his son as long as he can.
He can promise him that.
And then his study was left with an open window and a small boy with his eyes skimming the pages of a book that he was sure was supposed to be in the library. He met another little boy with the mind of an adult. That's when things started to change.
The boy was filthy, dirty, and with the connection of the window left open did he realize what he was here for. He had thought to chase the kid away by scowling him a bit before taking him back to his parents but he stopped when he starred a bit longer.
Slightly hollow cheeks, clothes that are too thin in the winter snow, pale skin, and bruises of many shades of blue. However, that wasn't what caught his eyes. The boy's eyes were shining, even though he clearly looked like he could have been better off. His eyes seem to hold the wonders of the world as he flipped page after page, in awe at the fictional tale that laid before him.
"Father, I want this one!"
"Are you sure? This one will take a couple of days to read."
"Yeah!" Eyes of wonder sparkle in awe. "That would just mean you will come back to read to me."
"You're right," he huffed with fondness. "That would just mean I will have to come back. Come, move the candle this way so we can start."
"OK!"
Without really thinking about it he took a step forward.
He was so glad he did.
The boy was young, one of the poor victims of the effects of the plague. His parents were no longer alive, the eldest of a leftover family of three. Hungry, poor, and cold. Desperate he chose to learn to steal. He was caught the first time around, then the second, then the third. It wasn't until he tried for his eleventh time did he manage not to get caught. Then the twelfth, then the thirteenth, and the next one after that. He was better at picking locks and running silently. He was small enough to fit in cabinets and under every bed, his hair was dark with dirt so no one could recognize his natural silver-white, he was proficient enough to steal from many in a crowd.
He became a thief in order to survive and care for whatever family he had left. He made sure never to get caught, never to linger, never to steal from the same person more than once.
Until he was caught by him.
And he offered the armchair by the fire for the little boy to warm up.
Christophe came barreling in not a few minutes after.
His son was cautious and scared when he cried out his name but he changed dramatically when he saw the little thief by his side, pressing himself to become even smaller than he already was.
Then his son got the little thief to open up. His name was Ashe and he wanted to find some spare coins or food for the winter season. Ashe was easy to tease and he spoke so little. He was needed back soon, however, and wanted to leave.
Christophe took his hand and offered him a bath and told him that he would pick up his siblings for him instead.
By midnight the House of Gaspar had one guest room clean and polishes, dishes of fruits and dry meats placed on the table, and three thoroughly washed children sleeping soundlessly in one giant bed.
Lanto didn't know how it came to be. His office now has three extra armchairs, each to match the children much to the younger one's delight. The kitchen staff had the pleasure to know the three more personally than not, their habits of storing food were not berated on as they always left out dry foods for them to store in their room. The maids always fret when Ashe would come into their quarters and try to clean his clothes much to the maids' horror. Anshul became friends with the librarian as he was taught to read and write in his spare time rather than his lessons. Aster became the regulated sight of the early morning risers, having gone to visit the horse every morning day to help feed and clean the noble steads.
The children, for better or worse, were humble. They would always do the work of a maid even when the rest of the staff said they were more than happy to clean after them. Their choice of clothing was modest at best, plain simple solid colors that even Christophe had taken the time to ask the streamest to help him make designs for their spring clothing next season. What's more, is that they refuse to be selfish in any way.
When dinner that night was salted fish Ashe said nothing but ate in silence with his face in a slight grim. When the night came Anshul said nothing when the candles were blown out and clutched the blanket tightly. As the stable boys led off their horses to run along the plains Aster said nothing but watch as they managed to ride the steads bareback and race each other.
So Lanto came to ask questions. Do you want some fruit with your dinner Ashe? Would you like to have a lamp placed in your room if you want a late-night reading Anshul? One of the stable boys is sick today so we need another hand to help ride the horses today, would you like to ride one Aster?
The children were regrettable weary when he started to ask questions even when he twisted them enough so he didn't ask them directly. They would all deny any open hand opportunities and would stay silent. Not once have they asked for anything but Lanto kept on asking even when they always answer with a 'no'. Soon his son found out what he was trying to do and started to do the same which made the children both relaxed and tense. Relaxed to have someone closer to their age ask but tensed from all those questions. It was then when the staff started to ask them if they started to crack.
Anshul was surprisingly the first one to ask. He had simply asked if he could be taught how to do magic. A simple request that made him red to the tips of his ears to the blush on his cheeks like he was in shame for asking such a thing. However, Lanto only smiled softly and said that there was a maid in the House who knew basic Faith magic to help teach him until he can get a teacher.
He stuttered, waving his hands in front of his face, and was stuttering out denies and saying that it wasn't necessary but Lanto only raised an eyebrow at the boy and huffed slightly.
"I merely want to give you comfort. If learning the magic of the faith helps then I will help in any way that I can."
Who knew children could grow so red.
It was a little foolish to think that Anshul would instantly come to him when he wanted something, however, he would relish the small favors or questions the little boy would ask him. They were never frequent, maybe twice a week, three if he was lucky, but he was getting somewhere with the young Ubert.
Slowly he got to know the middle child more than not. Anshul wasn't a physically weak boy but he didn't like to be outdoors. He rather read about anything and everything. His favorite animals were birds because he liked how they sing to one another. Unlike his older brother, who he said liked sweet things, he liked more of the salted and spicy flavors. Anshul is never cold, he knows how to cook like his brother, he wanted to write a book one day, he wanted to become a gremory because he wanted to learn how to heal.
Slowly the days went by and he was able to gain the trust of little Anshul so much that he no longer questioned the habit of the little boy coming to his studies in the early mornings and picked out a book and read alongside him when he's doing paperwork. Sometimes he would test him on his knowledge on the subject he was reading that week and other times he would allow him to glimpse over his reports and other letters from the neighboring domains.
Slowly time had managed to catch Anshul.
Slowly Aster started to question him too.
Aster, unlike Anshul who asked for things at such a slow pace and immediately asked him if he would get her a horse out of the blue.
Looking back at it, he could tell that the girl was joking. She had smiled and there was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes that told him that she didn't expect much, maybe even a doll or a woodcut of the animal instead.
He relished the fact that he managed to get her to be rendered speechless when he showed her the black foal he had bought from a breeder two weeks later. Her steps were slow and silent when she went up to the baby and stroked her nose. The young foal whined and nibbled at her tied up hair in turn.
Then she promptly burst into tears.
Aster must have seen this as a test because after that day she was no longer shy to his presence. She would jump to him when they were in the same room and chatted with him for far longer. Her dresses were now laced with small bits of laces and beads and her clothes now had a space for her riding gear. She would play with her hair and weave beads, ribbons, and trinkets of all kinds. Her time was spent outdoors most of the day before coming to the dinner table with a streak of dirt on her cheeks, her braid coming loose, or her hands stained in green.
With both younger children finally warming up to him he had only needed to wait for Ashe.
It was proven to be far more difficult than he originally hoped.
It was not to say that Ashe avoids him. Whenever they were in the same room he could make polite conversation about his day, how well Lanto was doing, and how grateful he was to take him in. Then nothing else. He doesn't talk about himself, nor his siblings, or his studies. All he ever spoke of when face to face was all about Lanto and his gratitude and no more.
Another pet peeve that Lanto had was that he never called him anything other than 'My Lord'. It was always 'My Lord' this and 'My Lord' that. Never anything other than 'My Lord' was always spoken to addresses him when it came to Ashe which was worrying after his half-year stay. Even Anshul and Aster had gotten the habit of calling him simply Lanto, or in Aster's case, Lord Lan. He had asked around the staff at the start of his first month's stay and many agreed that it was that he was older than the three so he had gotten used to the mention of his title rather than his name. However, it became evident that that wasn't the case.
And so Lanto tried to mend a relationship with the boy but he was always an arms reach. Saw him watching the garden? Always denying the ability to go in whenever he pleased. Heard that he liked to cook? Simply smiled and said that he didn't want to trouble the staff when he was allowed to cook any time. Remember how he tried to steal one of the fiction books from before? Simply looked away and said it was merely a hobby.
Ashe was a polite little boy but he was also distant from how he placed himself away from everyone and anyone.
Lanto was already considering giving up from applying to the boy after for so long until late summer came.
His son came to him asking if he could help him watch his training with the bow. While he was talented with the weapon he was also clumsy when he wasn't using the said weapon at full attention. That fine little detail had cost them a lot of misfires and close calls. Too many in fact.
So he agreed and followed his son to the training room and opened the door to see little Ashe reading in one of the benches in the back. Little Ashe who was quick to look up and start frantically apologizing for intruding. Before he could do anything to put the boy at ease Christophe laughed and said that it was fine for him to watch.
"But only if you stay behind one of those fences we arranged," his son pointed out with a smile.
Ashe looked from his son to the fences that had many dents in them. A few had a couple of broken tips of metal stuck in them while others were littered with broken off wooden sticks. Ashe looked from his son to the fences and back again before he moved to pick himself up and moved behind one of the wooden shields. He poked his head out curiously when his son started to test out one of the bow's strings before settling with a steel bow with a nod.
The training was routine for Christophe as much as spotting was Lanto's. He waited at the sidelines and watched Christophe get a good distance away from his target, a wooden circle painted in red and white. Christophe got into a stance, his shoulders slightly loose and his feet in a line, his body facing away from the target slightly and his hands stretching the bowstring with eased practices and bent his arm straight.
His eyes were glowing teal and confidence was burning from him like a fire in the night.
He took a deep breath.
He let go.
Bullseyes.
He breathed out.
And a gasp was heard.
Both son and father looked away from the target to where Ashe was. He was no longer behind the fence, in fact, he was a couple of steps in front of fencing. His eyes were wide, cheeks gaining a slight blush that pronounced his freckled skin, and his hands clenched into small fists. His book was forgotten on the flooring that Lanto knew Ashe frets about more than once whenever he was told to place the book down on the floor for just a bit. That all seemed to be long forgotten.
The boy was starstruck.
And before anyone could do anything he took a step forward. Then another. And another.
He was coming up to them.
But it wasn't him that Ashe went up to.
It was Christophe.
And slowly the pieces started to click.
~¤~|Ω|~¤~
Christophe wanted to cry but only felt the sting of dull pain behind his eyes. A phantom pain that is.
The remainder of that only made him want to cry even harder.
"Please," he begged. "Just go. Leave! Don't do anything you'll regret."
As expected his words could not be heard and he could only see the eyes that he grew to love so much, harden impossible further when the sound of footsteps on cobblestone echoed throughout the fog. The outline of a person, a woman, was growing closer and closer.
He could feel the tensity surrounding the area, the villagers covered in armor stepping back in hesitation.
The figure glowed red, a familiar color, and Christophe flinched away.
The air was alive, vibrating in such power that he cowered away. To think that he used to be comforted by such glow. Smiles and laughter, the pride of a job well done, shouts of warnings, and cheers of victory. Memories that he knew all so clearly.
And yet… there was something he was missing. Something that was inarguable wrong and he didn't know what. Was it the way his hands could touch but never move? The shouts and cries he made into the howling night but never heard? Why do his eyes linger on the displays of sweets and summer berries yet his stomach would never even dull?
He knows what he is and he can't understand it. But there's something wrong. Something was under his skin, the way he breath felt normal , and how he back always burning-
Something is wrong but what is it ?
Pained groans and muffled thuds told the story of two defeated. The villagers that were in front of his father were now down for the count, not able to get up.
"It's you." The ragged filled voice of his Father echoed and made him shiver. "Thunderstrike Cassandra!"
"Yes," Christophe said, pleading. "So you have to go! She will hurt you, Father. She can kill you!"
Words hit nothing but air, his Father did not turn to him but he could see the rage and the way that he bared his teeth into the growl of a hungry predator.
His Father was in fury and he was out for blood.
A sob cut through his throat but no tears could come out. His eyes slowly placed more phantom pain of pressure behind them, his nose tickled with irritation, and his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton.
He was drowning.
"It was your wretched zealotry that killed my son!"
"Father," his voice cracked. "Please, just go! Hide and never turn back! Take Aster and Anshul away from here and hide. Don't let my life be the one that ends your life!"
And he all can think of are cold walls and rusted metals. No light, no day. Where is the moon? His bow is gone, what of his hand? Drip, drop, echoes through my mind. Why does it feel empty? Cuts and burns with blood dried up. No longer pale but dark with grim.
Why am I here?
Cassandra did not flinch but instead gave off a smile with all teeth, white shiny pearls that sparkled sharply. "The only name I answer to is Catherine."
His mind stopped.
'Huh?' He thought. 'Why would you- when did- but you said that you would-'
'No.'
His head hurts !
"Prepare to taste the blade of one who serves the goddess. Now you face a Knight of Seiros!"
Why… why won't eve- "-ryone STOP !"
He was never worth the trouble. Never. So, please…
Go back.
~¤~|Ω|~¤~
Ashe could only watch when Lanto was deflecting a sword with his lance. His stead, Charlotte, one of his sister's favorites, was forced to back up quickly when Catherine moved to slash her sword again. Catherine saw this in time however and she instead moved to slash at the poor horse. A ribbon of blood flew and he could see the way Charlotte wobbled. One more slash and she was down.
One more slash and Lanto was upon his feet.
One more slash and Catherine moved.
One more slash and the Professor came barreling in.
One more slashed the battle ended.
Ashe screamed.
~¤~|Ω|~¤~
Sothis could feel something. Something was happening outside.
Breathing in and closing her eyes.
When she opened them again she was no longer on her throne.
Battle did not feel strange to her, if anything, a battlefield such as this made her body wanting to jump in as well. The feel of a gripping sword and a shield of blessing. The area in chaos yet she was always the one in control. Men do not die, her people will not die.
However, that feeling was not her own, or at least, not now. She had other matters to worry about.
Something is here.
Her presence was covered. Byleth has yet to feel her. Her eyes were solely on the man that was cut down.
Lanto, she remembered, was the threat they were ordered to kill.
Looking at the man she could feel nothing but a grief so deep that all his warmth was barely holding on.
This man had lived a sad life, but not for himself. He lived for someone else. A selfless act.
This man will live in a place where he could erase his grief and replace it with the little bit of warmth he still has in him. It will grow and nurture itself.
The man is dying and there is nothing else to do.
Yet there is something here, something that made her hairs rise unnaturally yet draws her in.
Something is here, something is going to happen.
So she watched and waited because there is nothing else she can do.
All she needed to do was wait.
And wait she did.
Then her skin glowed .
But that was not by her actions, but the actions in front of her.
The man that was destined to die in a matter of minutes was glowing in magic.