Something lurched in her chest, a jolt of feeling not unlike being shocked. She paused, clutching her sword. Turning, she scanned the marble buildings that loomed over the road.
Rhea walked tranquility ahead, smiling gently at the cheering crowds that lined the street. Catherine and Jeralt walked by her side, both of them looking warily at the throng lauding Rhea.
She ran a thumb across her pommel, her chest constricting painfully. I thought I saw...Something crimson flashed at the edge of her vision and she spun, staring at the roofs.
Frustrated she ran a hand through her hair, finding nothing on the roofs. Slowly Byleth moved ahead, priests and scholars passing her with worried glances.
"You see something?" Shamir asked, drawing close enough to be heard over the crowd. Byleth frowned as Shamir's gaze turned to the cobbled roofs looming over the street.
Reluctantly Byleth shook her head. "No."
She continued forward ignoring the unease that prickled within her. "Tis' a beautiful city, is it not?" A fat man with thinning violet hair and a well-trimmed beard pronounced, trotting to her side.
Byleth hummed, the buildings surrounding her were gracefully built, white brick and marble topped with red cobbles. Lush gardens and fountains displayed out front.
"It is fine." She answered. She couldn't say whether or not the city was beautiful, it just was.
"Only fine, eh? You have harsh standards." The man's face was oddly sallow, loose skin hung from his jaw and chin, his cheeks unnaturally plump.
He smiled at her with thin lips, his dark eyes sunken and calculating.
"I am Count Varley, Minister of Religious affairs." He offered her a hand. "I've heard that the Archbishop is most fond of you."
Fond of me? The thought flit dully through her mind before she dismissed it. "Nice to meet you." She said dutifully.
Varley's gaze was fixed on her, strangely reminiscent of the eyes of dead fish. "Have you been to Enbarr before, my lady?"
She shook her head. "I've never been." She didn't bother to remember the places she went, only Gharreg Mach truly mattered.
Varley laughed. "If only I could look upon Enbarr again for the first time. It is truly the most magnificent city in all of Fodlan."
Byleth nodded. Her heart had slowed, her hand dropped from her sword. It was nothing. She walked ahead, the crowd's cheers overwhelming.
Varley scurried to keep up. "It is an honor to meet the Archbishop once again, I have long prayed that the church might one day return to it's former prominence."
He huffed, scowling at the setting sun. "It has been difficult in the church's absence I must say. Without an official sect, I have had to fill my time with other matters. Namely the punishment of sinners in the eyes of the goddess...that is to say, criminals." He tugged proudly at the beard.
"With my assistance and a firm hand the city has never been so secure, I assure you of that. I made certain to hang a few miscreants before the Archbishop's arrival to remind all the rabble what becomes of trouble-makers." Varley chuckled. "You can not have the criminals thinking you have a soft touch, you see. Obedience comes only through fear."
Byleth thought of Lady Rhea, she did fear her, when Rhea became truly angry but even so...something about the Duke's statement irked her.
"The emperor ought to have taken that into account, perhaps he may have kept his power," Varley said, leaning in conspiratorially. "Ionius is old and lost to grief it must be said."
"Grief?" Byleth asked, curiosity stirring.
Varley nodded. "Ten years ago a...sickness struck the royal family, all of his children but one perished at it's hands." He tsked.
She felt a jolt of surprise. "I never knew." Ten children...All dead but one. She knew the thought should have saddened her but she felt nothing.
"Yes, it was a tragedy truly. I was set on one of those boys marrying my daughter." He huffed.
Byleth continued walking, seeing no reason to acknowledge Varley. On the horizon, the palace rose like the sun. It easily dwarfed the manors they had already passed in both size and extravagance, crafted of gleaming white marble and golden domes that caught that setting sunlight.
They left the crowds behind their cheers growing softer the farther they walked.
"A grand sight, is it not?" Varley asked, putting a pudgy hand on her shoulder.
Byleth bristled at the touch, wrenching her shoulder from his hand. A dark scowl flashed across Varley's face before it settled back into placidity. "I am sorry if I startled you, my lady."
Byleth shook her head. "Don't touch me," she said simply, regaining her gait.
Their procession moved on, Rhea at the head and Byleth lingering behind, Varley chattering nonstop at her side. As the sun sank below the horizon they passed through a titanic stone gate and into the palace courtyard.
They moved through a well-manicured garden, stern-faced guards nodding at them as they walked. As they advanced toward a pair of massive jeweled doors a pair of guards wrenched them open. Rhea led them through the extravagant palace halls to another grand pair of doors.
"Sir Jeralt, Catherine, please wait for me outside. Byleth, please accompany me to my meeting."
Jeralt caught her eye, a familiar look of wariness on his face.
"Yes, Archbishop." Byleth obeyed, walking to her side, ignoring Catherine's glare.
The doors yielded easily to Rhea, revealing a throne room almost as grand as Gharreg Mach's cathedral.
At the end of a series of steps was an old frail-looking man perched on a throne, a portly man with balding ginger hair and a girl with light brown hair in fine red clothes.
The girl and the Prime Minister bowed but the emperor stayed seated.
"Emperor Ionius, Prime Minister, Princess Edelgard." Rhea greeted, her voice cool.
"Archbishop." The emperor acknowledged, his voice weak and strained.
"Archbishop Rhea, to be in the presence of one so holy as you is truly an honor. Your beauty and wisdom are famed throughout the land-"
"Oh, stop with the flattery. It's very boring." The girl interrupted, yawning.
Rhea turned to the girl, a familiar look of shock and anger in her eyes. "It is only proper to greet one's guest with such courtesy, Princess Edelgard."
The girl smirked at them. "Of course, Archbishop. But I think it's rude to waste your time with hollow compliments."
"Edelgard…" The emperor raised a hand as if to silence her but she greeted it with scorn.
"The Prime Minister has brought you here to reestablish the northern church." Edelgard sat on the arm rest of the throne, a hand propping up her cheek and a mocking grin on her face.
Rhea turned an icy gaze to the girl before settling her gaze on the Prime Minister. "I see. I shall have to consider this matter carefully."
Byleth stood diligently, her hand on her sword as the Emperor and Rhea began to negotiate, the Prime Minister chiming in every few seconds.
Byleth's gaze wandered the throne room, the tapestries bearing the black eagle crest when her chest seized. She clutched desperately at her chest, the feeling growing tighter and tighter as if caught in a vice. Her vision narrowed into a black tunnel as her eyes focused in on Edelgard's careless smirk.
"Byleth!" Suddenly Rhea was at her side, a steady arm keeping her upright. "Are you injured?" Rhea demanded.
Byleth shook her head. "No, I don't know…." She trailed off, gasping at the pain.
"My companion needs rest, we will resume this tomorrow."
Byleth drew desperate breaths as the emperor nodded ponderously. "Of course Archbishop. Lord Vestra will see you to your rooms."
Rhea swept her out into the hall as her chest was overcome with an unfamiliar pulsing sensation.
I feel...it feels….The thoughts fled like droplets of rain lost to the gutter as her chest seized.
A gaunt hollow-cheeked man with black hair and a closely trimmed beard greeted them. "I the minister of the royal household and all it's guests if you will allow me to lead your companion-"
"No!" Rhea snapped. "I will take her to her rooms, you see that a healer is sent for."
The man gave her a withering look, bowing stiffly. "As you command."
She was half carried half led up two flights of stairs and several hallways to a grand bedchamber. Rhea guided her gently to a plush canopied bed. "Rest here, I will watch over you."
Byleth nodded dully, her vision fading. As sleep claimed her, a soft song seemed to surround her, familiar and foreign at the same time.
It was still dark when she awoke. She rolled out of the unfamiliar bed. She often walked the grounds of Gharreg Mach when she could not sleep when she needed to feel the wind against her face.
She walked cautiously to the castle grounds, ignoring the staff's curious looks. Ahead she saw the familiar stout figure of Lord Varley hurrying through the palace gates.
He's in a rush. The thought was idle but Byleth found herself trailing him out the gate regardless. She stayed a ways behind him, her gait silent.
Varley rushed through the city, the manors and prosperous shops gradually displaced by crumbling tenements leaning precariously against each other. From broken windows and dark alleyways, dirty, sunken faces watched her hungrily.
Varley came to a stop in front of a dingy looking tavern with a sign reading "The Crimson Plume." After a moment three figures filtered out of the tavern, all in black hoods and shrouds.
Byleth crept closer, ducking behind a foul-smelling pile of rubbish behind the bar.
"I'm here just as I said I would be, now give me those letters!" Varley demanded, his voice shrill.
One of the shrouded figures laughed. "What are you gonna do if we don't? hang us?"
"I'd gladly see you all hanged." Varley blustered.
A fourth figure dropped down nimbly from one of the windows. "You hanged my cousin y'know, Arla was only fourteen." The figure accused.
Varley scowled, his face a burning red. "She was a criminal now give me those letters!"
"Sure we will. After we print em' for the whole city to read." A more feminine voice said.
"If you do that I swear to god I'll hang you all, every last one of you!" He rushed forward, gripping one of the figures by the shirt, shaking them. "Now hand them over!"
Byleth gasped as a lithe figure from the roof of the tavern nimbly flipped down to the street, landing in a crouch. With one hand they gripped Varley by his neck; raising him in the air, his legs kicking futilely.
"Your hanging days are done Lord Varley and so are you." The figure said in a stern voice. "Take him." She threw him to the ground; the shrouded figures quickly gripping him by both arms, one of them shoving a rag in his mouth.
The leader turned, looking straight at Byleth. They wore a beaked crimson mask a flowing black cloak.
Byleth's hand went to her sword and then she screamed, falling to her hands and knees something pounding inside her chest with the force of a hammer.
As the darkness overtook her she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, the masked figure crouched beside her, and finally, her heart was calm.