"She's alive," Ignatz said, not looking him in the eye. "Worse for wear, but alive."
Holst wanted to jump from his chair that he'd been helped into and shake the man. And maybe he'd have tried, were Indech not in the room with them, lost in his own little world. "Worse for wear?" he asked, fearing an answer.
Ignatz sighed. "Whatever it was that she got hit with, it wasn't pretty. Mercedes told me she's never seen anything like it. From what we can tell, it was some sort spell meant for paralyzing. It goes above my head a bit, but dark magic corrodes by nature and the magic targeted her nervous system."
"Just tell me," Holst snapped, angry. Not altogether at Ignatz, honestly, but more at himself.
"She'll recover, we hope," Ignatz said, an attempt to assuage his fears. "But for the time being, she's lost a lot of her grip strength, along with feeling any sorts of physical sensations. Walking's tough, too, but she can manage it for very short bursts, which is promising. Mercedes thinks it'll all come back in time, like a patient with atrophy can. But it's new territory and she makes no promises."
Holst deflated and fell back into his chair, his vigor leaving. "So my sister's ended up like me, then." The anger bubbled in his stomach as he raged. He hadn't been there. His darling sister was hurt and he could do nothing.
"She's a fighter. Like me, like you," Ignatz said. His expression was firm as he made eye contact.
"How do you fight against something like that," Holst said bitterly.
"You keep getting up. You keep going," Ignatz said. He gestured to his crutch and his leg. "I didn't fight this overnight. I worked at it, and never have stopped. She will too. So will you."
Anger gave way to shame, and Holst looked away.
Ignatz continued. "I don't mean to say it's easy, by any means. I still…find it hard some days. But it's my lot in life now. I had good people by my side. She does too. As do you."
Holst said nothing.
It didn't seem to bother Ignatz. He just nodded and grabbed his crutch. "I'll come back to give you more news soon. Marianne's not left her side, so your sister's in good hands." He took his leave, walking fluidly with his crutch as if to prove a point.
The tent's canvas flapped. Holst sighed. He was stuck in this tent, feeling the stifling urge to get out and go somewhere. But the weight of shame was a burden that was unrelenting, that the people he cared for were getting hurt and he could do nothing.
He turned to Indech. The man's eyes flicked to him, and he cocked his head like a curious owl.
"I'll do it," Holst said.
In their defense, it had started as a conversation.
In the dead of night, they'd found each other. Byleth look for distraction from plaguing thoughts, Claude to perhaps absolve some unease with a friend's company.
Both of them, separately but together, thought the same thing. What had happened to Hilda, it could happen to any of them. They might not be so lucky as to come out with their lives.
"I'm worried," she whispered, quiet as a mouse. She wrapped her arms around herself in abject terror. "I don't want…to leave anything unsaid or done."
Claude cautiously wrapped an arm around her, both parts to comfort her as well as himself. "Where we go, I fear what'll happen to us as well."
They knew each other so well that the words that went unsaid were as good as screamed. Their lips locked moments later, equally as hungry as they were passionate. Their kiss before held no candle to such a collision of stars, for this was years of feelings and unspoken words culminating in a single action. It was promise, vow, an accord all mixed in one. Desire mixed with need was their cocktail, and both drank greedily.
Claude broke apart, if only to ask, "Are you sure?" He was, but he needed to know.
She stared at him with those beautiful eyes of hers, the kind he found himself losing his way in. "Yes," she breathed. They could die tomorrow. Or in a week. War was a line of work that offered no time to dawdle. Feelings unspoken could go that way forever.
Lips caught lips as action dominated words, thoughts. For her, a truth as she realized this felt right. This was what these feelings were supposed to feel like, not like any times she'd mistakenly thought them. For him, reassurance that his feelings were reciprocated. It was a place where he, man of two worlds, belonged: in her heart.
Hands ran through hair, gliding over skin while they breathed heavily. They tore at each other's shirts, wanting—no, needing—to see more of the most important person in their life.
As the thought crossed their mind, they stopped, each gazing at each other. Slowly, they kissed again. It was chaste, but the gentleness was its own fire and promise.
They held each other close all the way through.
They plotted insurrection in a tavern by a canal.
Lysithea's hair was tied back and obscured by her hood, while Petra's was the same. Each quietly picked at the food in front of them, not at all hungry but playing the parts they had.
With the Alliance coming, preparations throughout the city were made to defend, not looking at all for two strangers in the place that they'd called home for five years. It was the perfect spot to wait for him.
Petra had snuck into the Imperial Research Institute and left Hanneman a message. Lysithea would have preferred to be the one to do it, but she was too recognizable. Not that Petra wasn't, but she had the skillset to compensate.
The islander's eyes darted at each movement in the room as various patrons enjoyed quiet food and drink in the respite before the coming battle. There was little chatter and everyone was content to keep to themselves.
Being back in Enbarr felt like a pall had descended over each of them. For Petra, it manifested in extreme paranoia, while for Lysithea it was a silent dread. Lysithea thought she'd been prepared.
Now that she stood on the doorstep of her wife's home, she wasn't so sure.
"Eat, you look suspicious," Petra muttered.
Lysithea nodded, distractedly, a speared a random vegetable. Glancing out the window, the roads were empty. A few people were ferried by gondola, but they kept to themselves as if speaking to others might bring the coming hell faster.
A city so still, Lysithea thought. When she'd first come in the wake of Garreg Mach, it had been bustling. War had just begun, and the populace had yet to adjust. Now, they knew. They felt the exhaustion as she did, the desire to move on to something else.
War had lost its luster, if it ever had it to begin with. This grand Empire was disillusioned, drunk on the glory of prior conquest and dominion. No matter what wrongs the Church may have committed, the price of blood has always been too steep.
The third chair pulled out from the table with a scratch against the floor. Lysithea snapped her head over to see the man who had taught her so much.
Hanneman, still wearing the monocle, glanced back and forth between the two of them. He looked older, weary, having lost some of that spry energy she'd last seen him with. "My students," he whispered, as if on the verge of crying.
Disguises be damned, he seemed to say, as he reached forward and hugged the both of them, desperate for the familiar faces. Though both tensed initially, the comfort of a familiar face won out.
Things felt right, if only for a moment.
"I failed her," Mercedes wept.
Dorothea could only hold the woman in the moment. It came as no surprise to her, honestly. She'd expected her beloved to crumble with this.
Hilda's injuries were not the first time Mercedes had been unable to heal someone completely. As much as Ignatz tried to reassure her that he held nothing against her, she would not accept it.
It was a high standard that Mercedes held herself too, so lofty of expectations that she'd never reach them. When it came to reflecting on herself, Mercedes saw the glass as half empty.
"You saved her life," Dorothea countered in a hushed voice as they lay in bed together, their tent their own little world. "She would have died if not for you."
And it was true. Mercedes had held back the truth from Hilda and Marianne, but she'd told Dorothea. A minute longer, and Hilda would have been dead. The vile darkness Alister had cast was something evil that both of them prayed no one would ever be able to recreate.
Mercedes said nothing. Dorothea didn't press it, knowing that she'd be more receptive after the initial bout of emotion passed. While she seldom showed it, Mercedes empathy was debilitating at times. But it was one of the things that made her such a good person, one Dorothea loved so dearly.
The songstress pressed a light kiss to her forehead and softly sang to her. Sure enough, it began to lull her to sleep.
Mercedes curled up closer to her, and Dorothea held her all the tighter. Her mind drifted as Mercedes' quiet snores filled the tent before long.
Thoughts drifted to a man wearing black armor, carrying a long scythe. Jeritza. They'd not seen him yet in the war, and Dorothea had read enough stories to know he had to be at Enbarr. Fate played cruel jokes like that.
Were she here, Annette would have wanted Mercedes to be safe. So that was why Dorothea intended to keep her away from Jeritza at all costs.
She'd kill him. She'd bear that weight so her beloved did not have to.
Bernadetta found that it was easy to hide from everyone after everything that had just happened.
Yuri had suggested trying to reach out to former friends in the camp, but she was scared. Where these people had stood up to the Empire, she'd just bowed down and obeyed.
Her secret shame was hardly a secret. She had been terrified, too scared to act. Bernadetta had hidden herself away at her estate and done nothing for the war. Only once imperial summons had brought her to Merceus had she acted, and then it had been out of fear. Fear of Edelgard, fear of consequence, then fear for Caspar.
How is such a coward to face those better than her? Ferdinand, who stood fast by Lorenz? Dorothea, who followed her heart? They didn't let themselves be stopped by fear. They pressed through it.
She sighed, leaning against the box in the secluded tent. Perhaps it would be better if she had responsibilities to keep her occupied around camp, but no one seemed to know what to do with her. Her, Count Varley, traitor to the Empire, more-than-a-friend of Yuri's. Bernadetta could hardly blame them, she'd not have an answer if roles were reversed.
A box was set down atop the one she leaned on, causing her to yip loudly in fright. Standing, confused, above her was the redheaded merchant that was always near Seteth.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
Bernadetta fought that bout of anxiety that always appeared when someone new spoke to her. No Bernie, she warned herself, fight it. You've beaten this part of you before.
"I'm sorry," she said, feeling the terror of a new face recede as she worked through it. Coward she might be, but no longer the one she used to be. "I just had been looking for somewhere quiet to be."
The woman nodded. "I'm Anna. You're Bernadetta, right?"
"Bernie," she found herself saying. "At least, that's what most people call me."
Anna blinked in surprise, but nodded. Bernadetta didn't know what to say, so she stood there dumbly trying to think of either something or a means of escape.
She found neither, distracted by the look in Anna's eyes. It was the protectiveness of a parent, though Bernadetta had never been on the receiving end of such a thing so she didn't know it.
"Hey," Anna said, eventually. "Would you be willing to help me move some things?"
"M-me?" Bernadetta squeaked. She swallowed. Calm thoughts, Bernie. "I mean, sure?"
"If you're busy, you don't need to. You just…" Anna drifted off. "Forgive me, it's nothing."
Well, that piqued her curiosity, but Bernadetta didn't ask. Instead, she took the distraction for the welcome relief it would be. "Sure. I'm not very strong, but I'll do what I can."
Anna smiled softly. "Here, if you'll grab this…"
Marianne drifted into consciousness to the sound of her wife's voice. She was speaking with someone.
Seteth glanced over to her. "Ah, did we wake you. My apologies, I tried to be quiet."
She shook her head, eyes darting across the room to recall her surroundings. Medical tent, right. Marianne had fallen asleep in her chair as she kept an eye on her wife. The long days and emotional exhaustion had done its work on her, finally causing her body to collapse in sleep.
The Archbishop stood. "I'll not keep you two. Remember what we spoke of, Hilda."
Surprisingly, her wife nodded and thanked him with a smile. The man saw himself out and Marianne wasted no time putting voice to her curiosity.
"He was just coming by to see how I was doing," Hilda said. By some mercy, Alister's magic hadn't messed up her head much. Speaking came easily and though her vision had been blurry at first, the clarity that she met her gaze bespoke of recovery. "Had some advice, too."
"About?" Marianne asked, gently.
"Recovery, like Ignatz when he was here." Hilda looked thoughtful, but shook her head. "We can talk about that later."
"Everything okay?" Obviously, it wasn't, but it was an invitation to voice anything her wife needed to.
"Just need time to think, first." Hilda smiled. "Good nap?"
"No, but probably needed," Marianne admitted. Nightmares had plagued her of Hilda blaming her, of her shouting that it was all her fault.
In reality, Hilda had done no such thing and been very emphatic that not only did she not blame Marianne, but she would do it again in a heartbeat.
Marianne grabbed Hilda's hand, her heart breaking at just how weakly her wife gripped it back. She'd not fight again, not for a long time.
Their eyes locked, and the words they'd exchanged at their wedding and the previous night rang in their heads.
Together, 'til the end.
Marianne smiled and began to talk about everything and nothing to distract her. Hilda smiled, content to listen to her wife while she rested.
The journey down the wall was blessedly easier than up.
Constance had requested a breather in the shade of the wall after getting them in Aegir. The other two gladly obliged, Hapi at her side while Ferdinand looked around.
The streets were empty. Not empty in the way the dead of night was, but the way Remire had felt after everything. Not a soul was out. Ferdinand felt like he ought to be hiding too, with how quiet it was.
He knelt at the end of a street, crouched against a building as he looked around. An empty vendor's stall across the way was deserted, but the means of its desertion spoke of a hurried escape. Food was rotting on the display.
That in particular puzzled him. It was one thing for a merchant to leave their product, it was another for thieves to not have made off with it. Had something stopped them from doing so?
"If I were hungry, why wouldn't I steal abandoned food…" Ferdinand mumbled to himself in hypothetical. "It's not guarded or watched…unless…"
He blinked. Surely someone wouldn't go out into the streets if they were unsafe. If something was keeping them inside out of fear.
"Shit," he cursed in a manner unlike him. He turned around and scrambled back to his companions.
The ladies were engaged in hushed whispers as Hapi fussed over Constance who had regained some of her verve. They stopped when he approached.
"I don't think the streets are safe," he murmured, hurried. "We need to get into cover."
Neither questioned him on it, trusting the scared tone he used. Rather, Hapi asked, "Got a place in mind?"
"Any building?" Ferdinand said. "We can worry about other things later, we just ought to get out of here."
Constance nodded. "I'm completely tapped, so let's pick somewhere close."
"You know this city best," Hapi said, throwing the decision to Ferdinand.
He knew the richer parts, not the poorer area they were in. But saying so would needlessly add unease. "That one," he said, pointing at the nearest building. "We can relocate later if need be."
Hearing no disagreement, he drew his sword and led the way to the building adjacent to the wall around Aegir. The street was still empty, their presence still unknown to anyone watching, or so they hoped.
He tried the door of the two-story building, and found it unlocked. Even stranger. Ferdinand pushed it open and ushered the other two inside while he kept watch on the street. He followed them into what turned out to be a shop of some sorts. A clothing store, he realized, once his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
"This city gives me the creeps," Hapi mumbled. Ferdinand couldn't help but agree.
Though his attention soon turned to the crossbow sticking out from the shadows as a rough voice spoke.
"Who are you?"
He woke from dreams rested. Eyes flicked open to see the world spinning, swaths of colors everywhere as his vision righted itself.
Words were spoken, but he did not hear them. Comprehension was beyond him in this muddled state. He solely felt the pulses of stimuli around him, decerning no clarity from them
But he knew one thing. He felt alive.
Effervescence bloomed within him, a palpable energy oh-so-powerful that he felt like he could do anything he put his mind to. He felt young, hale and whole.
The voice stopped as a blurry figure watched him swing his legs off the bed and experimentally get up. That joy within compounded on itself, doubling, tripling, increasing.
Holst walked.
Author Notes: Hi, I'm back. I know it wasn't a long wait compared to a lot of fics, but it was for myself. Feeling better and ready to get back to a story this emotionally complex. Getting back into the swing of things with a slower chapter before we get back to some points of bigger conflict.
Clarent Saga Tactics has been updated! The Arranged Script now goes through chapter 18. It was a lot of work, but I'm SUPER proud of this second batch of chapters. If you've been waiting for more chapters to be available before checking it out, now's a great time to. There's two more updates of chapters to go, as I divided the last third in two for my workload's/sanity's sake.
Don't worry, I didn't just work a ton on my break. I beat Endwalker too. I started FFXIV back in September and caught up in time for the new expansion. If anyone's on the fence about the game, I cannot recommend it enough, especially if you're an aspiring writer. It might surprise you, but it's an extremely tight narrative despite its length. It's breathtaking.