Edit: Sorry. Made a mistake with the Dimitri bit. Haven't played the BL route, so if there are more errors please do correct me.

Chapter 7: Riparian

Riparian: adj. of, situated, or dwelling on the bank of a river or other body of water.


She was the fourth daughter and only surviving child of Emperor Ionius IX, the puppet emperor of the Adrestian Empire. She was the princess and heir to the throne, the sole possessor of the Minor Crest of Seiros in her generation, and a living victim of the cruelty of Crests. She was one bequeathed with a great responsibility, and she would not shirk from it.

She was trained from the time she was a child in all manner of statecraft and martial combat, taught always to act for the betterment of Fódlan. She was also one who suffered from the games played by the nobility, forced to flee during the Insurrection of the Seven. She knew that beneath the staged smiles and false platitudes lay monsters that cared only for power. For Crests.

She was the Flame Emperor, the only possessor of the Crest of Flames since the time of Nemesis, and the one who would tear down the veil of secrecy upheld by the Church. She would bring an end to a system based entirely on Crests and the circumstances of one's birth.

She was one who was willing tobear any burden and pay any price to save the future of Fódlan. She would willingly endure the ire of the people of Fódlan, so long as it meant that future generations would not suffer the cruelty of Crests, that none would be subject to experimentation and discrimination for something outside of their control as she had.

She would change the world, and any who stood in her way would fall.

For she was Edelgard von Hresvelg.

- and she was having a tea party.

She had been invited by Byleth earlier in the week. She had, of course, graciously accepted. This was an excellent opportunity to evaluate the influence he would have over her future plans. She would let nothing get in her way, and someone like Byleth held great potential to do just that.

Of course, that didn't mean that she couldn't enjoy it.

The scent of fragrant citrus emanating from the teacup before her permeated the air all around the pavilion within the garden. She took a small sip – graceful and refined, as expected of her – appreciating the sweet, yet subtle spice and bitterness of bergamot tea. Divine flavour and heavenly aroma blended together.

She closed her eyes. Perfection.

"You have excellent taste, Byleth."

Was it a coincidence, or did Byleth happen to know her favourite tea? Had he guessed?

"I had figured you would enjoy this particular blend." He sipped at his own cup. "Bergamot certainly suits your personality."

Edelgard studied his expression closely, looking for any tell she could find.

Byleth was an enigma. Raised by nobility in both the courts of Enbarr and Fhirdiad, she was well-versed with looking beneath the false smiles and kind words that the nobles of the Adrestian Empire and the Holy Kingdom of Faergus so loved to dispense. She knew that no one was truly quite as they presented themselves. The Empire nobles that had once praised and declared their friendship for her father had revealed their true nature during the Insurrection, and she would not repeat the same mistake of trusting what others wanted her to see.

She had seen the way that Byleth's smiles didn't quite reach his eyes, much like Claude von Riegan, the scion of his House. She had seen Byleth in the monastery, twitching and tensing at random occasions as though expecting an attack at any moment. It was more pronounced in the library and guest quarters, which she reasoned were locations where an attack would leave little room for retreat. He had good instincts, but what reason had he for such paranoia?

Was it the same reason as her? Did he have reason to both fear and despise the Church?

Or was he an enemy? Did he know the true nature of the Death Knight, of her and her tenuous allies? Did he fear an attack from them, instead?

It had been two weeks since he had returned with the Blue Lions, along with their willing prisoner, Lord Lonato. The next day, Jeritza had him assassinated, which of course meant that Thales wanted him dead. The Knights had found a note detailing a plan to assassinate Rhea, which any fool could tell was an obvious distraction. But for what purpose?

Why had she been kept in the dark as to their involvement in Lonato's rebellion?

She was no foolish child. She didn't know whether Thales was truly born Volkhardt von Arundel or was one who merely wore his guise. What she did know was that he could not be trusted. He had turned on Emperor Ionius IX, his own brother-in-law. The only thing that held their alliance together was the presence of their common enemy. Once the Church and Rhea were destroyed, there would be nothing stopping him from doing the same to her. This matter only served to confirm her suspicions.

Were Byleth on her side, she would have thanked him. He had forced their hand, causing the Death Knight to lose his position to act from within the monastery. It was only after that happened that Thales had deigned to inform her of their intention to steal Seiros' remains from the Holy Mausoleum. She now knew exactly where she stood in Thales' plans. It would give her time to prepare and re-evaluate her own plans going forward. Perhaps she should find a way to intervene, if possible. The way Thales operated wasn't one that she would allow onto the rest of Fódlan when the time came.

Byleth was skilled, of that there was no doubt, having seen his prowess during the mock battle earlier in their first month and in their first mission against the remnants of the bandit gang led by that fool Kostas. She didn't feel the least bit of sympathy for the man. He had chosen the life of a bandit, of a thug that preyed only on the weak and innocent, and he had dug his own grave. He was merely a tool for her own designs, and one that had failed miserably. Had he not met his end by their hands, she would have killed him herself when the time came.

Speaking of Kostas… Byleth had ruined her plan to take out the other two heads of houses. They were some that she could consider as friends, but it had been a necessary venture. So long as Fódlan remained divided, the system that cared only for Crests for millennia would continue to be perpetuated. Sacrifices had to be made.

Then again, it was just as well that Byleth had taken care of the situation. With how pathetic Kostas and his gang had been, they could just as easily have leaked what they knew of the Flame Emperor to Rhea and the Church. There was no guarantee that he and his men would have been able to finish the job.

"You're looking deep in thought."

Edelgard didn't startle at the voice of her latest puzzle. Such was unbefitting of a future emperor. Behaviour like that would see her plans for Fódlan ended before they bore fruit.

"Indeed." She sipped at her tea once more. A disarming tactic, one that would lower the guard of others. There was a reason why tea was so favoured among the nobility. "As a matter of fact, I was wondering about you."

"Oh?" He tilted his head fractionally. A calculated gesture, one that Edelgard knew well. He certainly was no Caspar von Bergliez or Ferdinand von Aegir who would openly place his heart and mind on display.

"Indeed. You demonstrate skill well beyond my peers and I, and I cannot help but feel that talent of your calibre is wasted serving in the Knights of Seiros."

She looked for any sign of contempt toward the Church. Was he like her, one that planned to work from within to topple the system? Or was he a hopeless loyalist, one that she would inevitably have to fight?

No such luck. His face remained completely neutral, expressionless.

"Hmm," he hummed, placing his teacup back on the table. "Serving as a squire is… shall we say, an exploration of sorts. I'm undecided between the life of a mercenary and a knight." Calculated words.

"You would absolutely reject the possibility of serving under a noble?" She asked pointlessly. She knew the answer.

"I am not keen on playing the games of nobles."

There. There was a look in his eyes, one that spoke of some form of suffering under the system that had plagued Fódlan since the time of Nemesis. He tried hard to hide it, but some visceral reactions were unavoidable. She had great experience in such matters, and knew precisely where to look.

But what cause would he have to despise the nobility? He certainly wasn't a noble or related to one. Jeralt Eisner, the legendary Blade Breaker, was well-known for avoiding the requests of nobles, opting to perform mercenary jobs posted by villages and merchants. There was no clear agreement as to why. Did any of that factor in here?

She needed to learn more. Byleth would be either a formidable ally, or a terrible enemy. The sooner she found out to which way he leaned, the better.

"Forgive me if I overstep, but have nobles given cause for offense? If so, as the heir to the throne of the Adrestian Empire, I must apologise." A probing question, diplomatic and balanced. It asked for his views without explicitly demanding for them.

Again, she sipped at her tea, using the cup to hide her own expressions. She pretended to be mesmerised by the tea (make no mistake, it was good tea), but her attention was undivided. Her eyes could see just a glimpse of his face just above the borders of the teacup, while he wouldn't be able to see much of hers. It was an age-old tactic in non-verbal diplomacy.

Still the same reaction. A carefully hidden and suppressed emotion, visible only in the barest of frowns.

"I don't exactly dislike nobles. But the pages of history is filled with the names and deeds of nobles who treat the lives of people under their charge as mere pawns for their own ambitions. Hrym is one such example." He paused, swirling the teacup slowly in his hands. "Equally, there are nobles that rule with wisdom and act for the good of their people. Holst Goneril, for example. Nobility is not flawed, but the nobles themselves might be."

Intriguing. His views were so similar and yet different to her own. "How would you propose to change the system?"

He remained silent, staring at his tea. She leaned back into her chair, posture elegant and yet open, awaiting his response.

"I'm not a noble," he finally said. That slight downward tug to his lips remained, barely discernible.

"Humour me," she said. "Suppose you were in my shoes. What would you do?"

There were no words for some time. He sipped at his tea. There was a certain look about him, but one that Edelgard couldn't easily place. It wasn't quite anger, wasn't exactly regret; neither sorrow nor disappointment. If anything, she would say he looked tired, but even that seemed inaccurate.

"I believe there are two extremes," he said slowly, lowering his teacup. He looked at her in the eye. That indescribable emotion was still present, so overwhelmingly familiar and yet one she couldn't describe. "The system of nobility can be abolished, or it can be maintained."

She waited for his elaboration. He obliged, speaking in measured words. "The former is difficult. War would come at a heavy cost, and even then there is no certainty that the system could be changed. A soft approach would take years; decades even. A ruler would need to be surrounded by a council of like-minded nobles, and this system continued for generations."

"And the latter?" Again, she waited.

"Nobility would need to be kept in check," he finally said. "They need to be held accountable."

"How?"

"I have no answers," he said with finality, sighing deeply. He seemed so tired that Edelgard didn't pursue her inquiry further. That on its own told her much of his mindset.

"I see."

He disliked nobility, that much was clear, but he would not approve of her methods. That strange expression equally defeated and tired mirrored her views from a time long past, when she had been a naïve child unable to reconcile the necessity of what had to be done and the price that must be paid. It was a completely ambivalent response, one of crippling indecision. The years had taught her that there was only one answer.

It would mean that he wouldn't be swayed to her side. Unfortunate. He would have been a valuable ally, but he didn't have the conviction to change Fódlan through the only language that nobles understood. Conquest.

"Shall we talk of more pleasant matters?" she suggested.

"Please." He poured himself another cup of tea, the rich aroma invigorating her as its scent wafted past her nostrils.

From there, they chatted on all sorts of mundane matters. He was remarkably well-read in history, with knowledge of military battles and tactics across the ages. He discussed the legendary figures of history that had changed Fódlan for better or for worse, ranging from the likes of King Loog to Holst Goneril, hailed as the Leicester's Alliance greatest general.

For someone who had professed such a great desire to stay away from nobility, he had great insight into political affairs, even going so far as to discuss predictions based on complete hypotheticals. He had raised so many possible paths that the future of Fódlan could take when subjected to changes ranging from the loss of a minor House to the destruction of the Empire itself, each of them plausible and valid.

Despite her thoughts, she found herself engrossed in the discussion. Byleth was certainly capable. His interests were so similar to her own, that were times and circumstances different they could have truly been friends. It was a pity that he had to stand against her. In time, he would need to be eliminated.

"That was a lovely tea, Edelgard," he said, sipping the last dregs of his tea.

"Indeed." She patted and smoothened out her clothes, rising to stand. "I would not be averse to a future discussion."

"That sounds lovely. We could perhaps have some training with weapons or magic as well," he said diplomatically. Edelgard couldn't tell whether or not he truly meant it, but there was something odd in the way he spoke of magic. Curious. She was merely an amateur, capable of casting a single Fire spell. Still, training would be welcome. Caspar had been singing his praises all month.

Then he sighed. A fake one. "While I do understand the reasoning, I would appreciate if Hubert didn't see the need to keep an eye on me."

She couldn't help it; she started. What? There was a brief sound of rustling of leaves, as Hubert emerged from behind a convenient patch of foliage in the garden, out of sight of both her and Byleth.

Or at least, he should have been out of sight. How had Byleth known?

She knew, of course, that Hubert wouldn't trust anyone to be alone with her. He'd done this for years now, and she had never been able to convince him that she was more than capable of protecting herself. Of course, in this particular instance, had Byleth truly wished her harm, she doubted even she would be able to hold her own.

"You must forgive me, Byleth," Hubert said smoothly, smoothening out his own military uniform. "Ensuring Lady Edelgard's safety is of paramount importance. I did not mean to insult."

Again, Byleth gave a fake, shallow sigh. It was theatrical, engineered.

"Of course. I would not mean her any harm, but I could hardly get in the way of your duty." He gave a final nod. "Until next time, Edelgard."

With that, he took his teacup and left. She watched his retreating figure until he was long gone from sight.

"Hubert. Was that truly necessary?"

He gave a slight bow. "Lady Edelgard. You know that I must take any possibility of you coming to harm very seriously."

"Hmm." She hummed, accepting his point for now. Alone with Hubert, she could at least let down some of her walls. She trusted him fully, given that both of them were willing to do what was necessary for the betterment of Fódlan.

There were more important matters. If Hubert had been spying on them, he had to have heard everything they discussed. "Your thoughts?"

"I believe that Byleth is more than he seems. Regrettably, I do not foresee that he will be willing to join our cause."

"I believe the same."

There was more, though. Byleth had called out Hubert's presence for a reason. He wasn't the type to simply boast of his abilities. Their conversation had shown him to be a pragmatic person, much like herself. It was almost uncanny.

He had given that choreographed sigh for some purpose. That kind of perceptive ability and understanding of his surroundings was far more than what a mere squire should have been capable of. He had demonstrated it to prove a point.

What was it?

"Should we be concerned, Lady Edelgard?" Hubert's voice took on a mildly threatening tone.

It clicked. Byleth had let some of his abilities show, precisely to let her know that he was more than he seemed. That if she tried taking action against him, he was more than capable of retaliation. It was not done out of petty one-upmanship or egotism.

It was deterrence.

"No," she told her loyal aide. "For now, we do nothing. We will continue to mingle with the students, and find those willing to fight for our cause. We will await for our allies' next move, and we will be ready when the time comes."

"As you command, Lady Edelgard." Hubert bowed once more.

Byleth was far more than he seemed. She couldn't sway him to her side, but she couldn't simply eliminate him either.

Would he fight against her when the time came to destroy the Church? Or would he stay on the sidelines? She had no immediate answers.

All she knew was that her plans would need to accommodate for his presence.

-o-o-o-

Dimitri raised his lance before him, catching Petra's sword with the shaft of his weapon. He pushed outward, sending the student from Brigid away from him, as he danced back and readied for another thrust.

"Ooh, nice one, Dimitri!" Annette said in her usual bubbly voice, launching another volley of Fire toward Lorenz. His fellow noble quickly raised a magical shield of his own, bearing the brunt of his teammate's spell, but was still forced backwards all the same from the concussive force of the ensuing explosion.

"Sorry, Lorenz!"

"It is quite alright, Lady Dominic." He coughed as he slowly stood up from where he'd been thrown, his normally impeccable dress shirt in a state of disarray. He made his way off to the side, where those that had already been defeated were watching the battle unfold. "This defeat can only be attributed to my own lack of skill."

It was now just Dimitri, Annette, and Caspar up against Felix, El and Petra. Caspar and Felix were brawling it out on their own, the Fraldarius heir having earlier lost his sword in a risky and yet tactical endeavour by Ignatz that saw himself being taken out of the fight. Unfortunately, Dimitri knew just how talented his childhood friend was even without a blade by his side. Caspar would find it difficult to overcome his foe.

He didn't have time to worry about that, however. Already, Petra was moving toward him once more, her fluid and graceful movements befitting the hunters of legend spoken of in Brigidian tales. She was fast. Dimitri swept his lance out, making full use of the longer reach of his weapon, but Petra leapt over his swing that aimed at her legs. He hurriedly moved to raise a guard of his own to block the follow-up strike, but…

Petra simply moved past him.

She's going for Annette.

He tried to turn, to catch her with the long reach of his lance before she left his range, but Petra was simply too fast. She'd already reached Annette, her sword aimed at her shoulder, while a glyph was already manifesting in the air, building up to unleash a spell at point-blank range.

Blade bit into shoulder right as Wind cut at abdomen. Both fighters staggered backward, retreating a few steps each.

"Alright Annette, Petra, that's enough," Byleth called out from the side where he'd been observing this bizarre training session that incorporated members of all the Houses. "Everyone else, continue."

It was an idea that Dimitri approved of. All his fellow students would become fine nobles in charge of their own Houses in the years to come, and this exercise was something that would help to foster relations between them. It was like the mock battle and the upcoming Battle of the Eagle and Lion, without the rivalry and tension and an actual chance to work together rather than against each other.

Caspar and Felix were still duking it out on their own. Just he and El, then.

His childhood friend and stepsister held her axe with both hands. Her stance was one that allowed great versatility, able to fluidly move into a strike of her own or to catch the point of his lance with the axehead. It was one that he knew very well.

"Just like old times, El?"

Her calculating eyes narrowed. Dimitri felt a thrill of amusement run through him. El was always the serious one in battle, even when they were but children swinging wooden swords and lances.

"Focus, Dimitri. This isn't a simple spar."

"Of course."

She frowned, such a familiar scene. She always did that when they sparred, which of course meant that –

He dodged to the left, expecting the strike to land where it did. He retaliated with his own swing, using the blunt end of his lance to strike at her heavy armour, seeing as he didn't have the space needed to generate the momentum for a forceful thrust. She read him equally well, dodging out of the way of his counterattack, her axe returned to its former position once more.

They knew each other too well. This was going to be a stalemate.

Those days with El seemed so far away. Life was so different then. His mother in all but blood had been around for both of them. Father was stern, yet kind and loving for all his family and subjects in the way that Dimitri so longed to become. Glenn had been around, always eager for a fight, entertaining Dimitri and Felix as they peppered him with questions on the finer arts of combat with all the innocence of children.

Such simple times…

Then the Tragedy robbed it all away.

No, he couldn't think of it, not right now –

It should have been you.

He saw their faces, as he always did. They never went away. They hounded him from the corner of his vision, in dark corners and shadowed hallways. He heard their voices, Father and Mother and Glenn and their knights –

The knights. Fighting to their last breath as fires raged around their camp, beset by treachery and unseen assailants. Blood pooling all around, the taste and scent rusty iron so overwhelming he couldn't breathe. Loyal knights slain as they fought till the end to protect their liege, to protect Father and Mother, to protect him.

You killed them.

Father, imploring him to avenge the dead moments before his head had been cut clean off, Glenn already dead by his side. As his head rolled across the bloodstained floor, he caught a glimpse of his eyes, death locking its gaze for perpetuity. His eyes, pleading, imploring.

For what? To avenge him? To run? To live?

He ran. He ran, until he could run no more, and then he limped.

He stared at his bloodstained hands. Not his own blood, but from those that died protecting him. Blood on his ears from when he'd tried to keep the sounds out, to put an end to the screams of the dying and crackles of flame. His own cries lost in the chaos of the massacre, as he ran aimlessly in any direction so long as it was away.

Coward. You left us to die.

I die for you, my prince.

Avenge the dead.

Live, Dimitri.

You abandoned us.

Vengeance. Forgiveness. Retribution. Understanding. Sacrifice. Love. Justice.

Contradictions. None of it made any sense. The voice of his father imploring for vengeance, the screams of knights yelling for him to run while they fought to the last man. Knights shielding him bodily against their unknown assailants, his father's head rolling on the floor. Sounds and images blended together, and he couldn't hear what he was supposed to do, why he'd been left alive while everyone else had to die. Some demanded vengeance, and yet some fought for him to live.

Their ghosts were clawing in now, their incomprehensible screams so loud against his ears. There was the pungent scent of blood, the shouting, the 'thud's as lances were released from knights that breathed their last –

"BOAR PRINCE!"

The ghosts cleared. They retreated to the dark corners as they always did, their ethereal forms every-present and yet always disappearing the moment he turned. The sounds were dampening, he could hear, he could see –

Edelgard was on the ground, her axe abandoned on the ground below clutching at her abdomen. For the first time, Dimitri saw weakness and uncertainty in her eyes.

What?

The scent of blood never faded. His hands – they were wet, like they'd been before.

He dropped his bloodied lance.

Felix hurled him onto the floor, and Dimitri didn't react, barely registering the fact that he'd collided with the floor. His gaze was locked on El's body, slouched over, as Byleth rushed to her side, a bright glyph already forming in the air.

"You wild boar!" Dimitri's head was turned sharply by forceful arms, Felix's face twisted in an expression beyond anger. "Do you truly crave blood so much?"

He didn't speak. He couldn't. The ghosts were there, mocking him, taunting him, begging him, scolding him, incomprehensible demands and pleas that he couldn't ignore or understand.

Felix released him, and he slumped over onto the floor. "Beast," he spat a final time.

"El –" he tried to say. "I didn't –"

"It was an accident," Caspar said nervously. Fearfully? "Right?"

"Training's over for today," he heard Byleth declare. "I'll be taking Edelgard to see Manuela." He'd stopped casting his healing spells. That meant that El was going to be alright, surely? He hadn't just –

"I'm sorry." His words were mangled, butchered, like the knights from –

He had to get away from this. He couldn't see El looking so vulnerable, looking like him, back when the fires raged and blood pooled and –

He left.

The voices and blood accompanied him.

-o-o-o-

"I heard about what happened from Manuela," Jeralt said slowly. "She's not pleased."

"She has no reason to be pleased." Byleth looked more tired and defeated than he'd ever seen before. "I should have seen it coming. I was debriefing Annette and Petra, when I should have been paying attention to Dimitri."

"No one could have known." From the second-hand accounts of those who'd been at the fight, the boy had fought with reckless abandon, with none of his usual calm and precise strikes of his lance. He'd caught Edelgard entirely off guard, fighting in a way that was completely different than what Jeralt had seen during the mock battle.

He'd seen it before in the chaos of battle. Knights that honed their skills over decades of service punching and clawing at their enemies, relying only on their basest instincts. The Tragedy must have hit the boy harder than he thought. He would need to tell Hanneman to keep an eye on him.

"I should have known."

Byleth was blaming himself for someone no one could have foreseen, when he had no reason to. A few weeks ago, he'd fought for Lonato's surrender, risking his own life in the process, simply for the slimmest chance that his men would stand down. From the way Alois had described how he had returned with Lonato in tow, he hadn't even given the slightest thought to the fact that he'd been injured. He was shouldering blame, taking on more burden than he needed to. He didn't value his own life, taking risks that he shouldn't.

He now knew the reason for that look in his eyes, why he seemed to carry such a heavy weight in his soul.

It was guilt.

But what reason did he have for that?

Jeralt had joined him more than once during his training, and he'd finally realised what was so strikingly familiar about the way he fought. Each Swordmaster would come to develop their own form over years of practice, each suited to their unique physical build and preferred type of blade. He'd come into contact with many over the years.

Byleth's technique was an amalgamation of many other Swordmasters' own. There was Thunder Catherine's preferred method of swordplay, one that relied on the legendary strength and long reach of her Hero's Relic. Byleth had combined it with Jeralt's own style that he'd taught his son, a form suited for mercenary work, relying on short blades and dirty tactics. There were elements of the standard Fraldarius forms, a regimental and disciplined form of fighting that worked to pressure an opponent and slowly force them to yield. There were others he recognised but could not name, old pictures in manuals he'd read as a knight that detailed methods from the Empire, Kingdom and Alliance.

He had blended them together, flowing seamlessly through them all, distilling their underlying philosophies into his own refined style that suited him in a way each Swordmaster did their own. That kind of work took decades of experience, not just by practice in combat, but also required active discussions with other masters of the craft. This wasn't something Byleth was capable of.

He had asked Byleth about it. He claimed he had come across them in a text he'd studied, but this wasn't something that could be picked up simply by reading or observing.

It meant that Byleth had lied to him.

Byleth never lied. Sure, even as a child, his son wasn't expressive, took things far more seriously than most, and wasn't the sort to chatter incessantly as kids so loved doing. But through all of that, he never lied.

This Byleth was perplexing. There were moments where he acted like the son he so loved, but then there were moments where Jeralt couldn't recognise him. Was it that he now couldn't trust his son too? Had Rhea, or whatever else was causing these sudden changes taken that away from him as well?

Worse, Byleth wouldn't confide in him just what was going on. Jeralt so desperately wanted to know why he carried such guilt and how he could help his son, but forcing him to speak would only push him away. He had to talk, to start with the small things.

"Don't blame yourself." Jeralt shook his head, then changed the topic. "Has Alois informed you of your mission for the month?"

Byleth nodded, although he still clearly appeared troubled. "All the Houses and the knights will be working on security for the Goddess' Rite of Rebirth."

His own students were adamant that the missive was a ruse, and he was inclined to agree. An obvious plan that detailed the assassination on Rhea was a clear diversion. The kids believed that those who had worked with Lonato aimed to carry out an attack on the Holy Mausoleum to steal the relics and possessions of the Saint within, and Rhea had approved his house leader's request to guard it.

"Where will you be stationed?" Jeralt asked curiously.

"Alois and I will be patrolling the grounds. We'll be coordinating the knights." His son frowned, the slightest of wrinkles on his forehead a clear sign of his deep thought. That hadn't changed since the time he was a child. "And yourself?"

"Claude's requested for us to guard the Holy Mausoleum."

His son's eyes narrowed slightly. Concern? "Be careful."

"Of course," he agreed. "Your old man's not going to let any of his students die."

"Not just them." Byleth shook his head. "Be careful for yourself as well."

Jeralt snorted. "I'll be fine."

He wasn't one to brag, but he was known as the Blade Breaker for a good reason. He took every threat seriously, even one as unlikely as an attack on the Mausoleum, but he'd faced worse foes in the past and survived.

"Promise me."

It was almost cute how Byleth was concerned for him. He knew he wasn't the best father, but he was pretty sure that their roles were supposed to be reversed. Moments like these affirmed his belief that this was still his Byleth, despite all the mysteries that surrounded him.

Even now, their relationship was improving. His son was talking to him more frequently; actual talking, not just the one-sided conversations where he'd simply nod, shake his head or give one-word responses. Coming to the Monastery had been an excellent idea, despite how much pain it brought to have to walk past her grave everyday with all the memories that simple action carried.

"Sure thing, kid," he humoured him. Byleth's face was deadly serious. He smiled softly. That boy cared far too much. He should probably take this seriously. "I promise."

His son relaxed only marginally. "Good."

Neither of them carried the conversation. Jeralt sighed. Why was this so difficult? How could he connect with his son? He thought back to how Alois had slowly rubbed off on him over the years, since the time he had been a squire as a child.

Ah, the memories. Eleven-year-old Alois was nothing like he was today. He certainly had more original jokes back then. Why couldn't Alois have learnt something else from himself?

Initially, he'd been but a recently orphaned child, inconsolable at the loss of his parents. He rejected all attempts by the Church to integrate into the community at Garreg Mach, hiding away in solitude. Jeralt had come across the boy crying one day – not that Alois would admit it to anyone who asked – and found him strikingly similar in appearance to his previous squire, bless his soul. On a whim, he offered to allow Alois to become his squire.

He slowly found himself in a position that was a bizarre combination of friend, sibling, parent and mentor. He knew that this experience as a child was why Alois projected that sense of friendliness and helpfulness that he did. He remembered just how he'd managed to get the child to lower his walls, and he couldn't help but smile fondly.

"Byleth," he said, standing from his chair into a lazy stretch. Byleth tilted his head toward him. If it worked with Alois, maybe this could get Byleth to relax? "How would you like to go fishing?"

-o-o-o-

There was something strange going on with Byleth.

Claude wasn't one to take things at face value. He liked to think that he knew people in a way deeper than what they revealed to the world. It was only natural that they would hide their innermost thoughts. He certainly did the same.

He knew that Edelgard was more than simply the perfect heir to the throne that she presented herself as. There were times where she had far too much conviction in her words, or where she'd become distracted in her own thoughts during idle conversation. That spoke of some sort of plan she had for the future, but not one that Claude could figure out. It was vexing, but then again Claude had plans of his own.

There was Dimitri, the prince who Claude had honestly believed he had been able to get a read of. Loyal, compassionate, helpful to a fault; that seemed to fit how he behaved and interacted around the academy. Then, word had spread of just what had happened during one of little Teach's joint training exercises, and he had to revise his mental image of the prince. It seemed that Dimitri, too, wasn't all as he appeared.

He knew that people in his House had issues. Marianne shied away from the rest, spending her days in the church, gardens and stables where she thought no one would watch. She saw herself as separate from her peers, but Claude couldn't fathom the reason as to why just yet. Hilda appeared lazy, if only because she hated having to bear the burden of responsibility. She was more than helpful in working at meaningless tasks that held no consequence.

Leonie had a sort of complex with Jeralt and to a lesser extent his son that Claude wouldn't even begin to dissect. It was probably harmless, anyway. Ignatz and Raphael had a strained relationship, and he pieced together that it had something to do with their shared childhood. Lorenz was clearly in the Monastery to keep an eye out on Claude, but he'd also been helpfully attempting to guide him in his future role as leader of the Leicester Alliance.

Then there was Lysithea. He didn't know what was going on with her and Byleth, but since their meeting she'd been more studious than normal. He'd had to drag her away from the library on more than one occasion where she'd been poring over archaic tomes, sketching diagrams on scraps of paper.

She had looked fatigued, a mess of books and parchment scattered around the table, completely unlike the tidiness she'd been working with before. At least he still managed to force her to get some rest by scaring her with some ghost stories. That particular titbit he'd learned from none other than the honorary professor himself was paying massive dividends.

And of course, there was Byleth. If the rest were hard to read, he was virtually a walking contradiction.

He was the son of Jeralt the Blade Breaker, the famous Captain of the Knights of Seiros and later a famed mercenary, and yet he wanted to become a lowly squire. Even in that position, he showed no actual interest in squiring, spending all his time on the training ground or working with other students. It was as though he wanted to simply be at the Monastery, but surely there were far easier ways of achieving that if that was his goal? It wasn't as though the Church barred entry into Garreg Mach.

He'd seen the way Byleth acted. He was kind to his peers, almost like how he thought Dimitri had been, taking the time to teach he and the rest of the students. He didn't call him little Teach or honorary Teach merely as a jest; as far as he was concerned Byleth earned the title. Yet, he could also be downright vicious, employing tactics that showed no concern for chivalry or fairness. They'd even gone so far as to recently have a discussion on poisons, making use of Claude's extensive knowledge of exotic deadly substances found in Almyra. To him, what mattered were results.

He was genuine, and yet artificial. He was friendly, and yet distant. It didn't make sense. If Claude absolutely had to describe him, he would say that he was an outsider, much like himself. But he was also different, acting as though he both belonged and didn't belong here.

One thing was for certain, though. Byleth didn't mean he or the other students any harm. He heard just how he'd helped Ashe in the fiasco with Lord Lonato, both during the battle and in the aftermath of the assassination. Ashe had been training with Byleth far more than he used to, even after considering how he had previously already been diligent. He'd spotted them training with bows and lances at the training ground, and then at the stables where he'd been learning to ride.

It was obvious. Ashe intended to become a Bow Knight. But why?

It was a mystery, but one that Claude would solve. He certainly had dug into his fair share of secrets in the past.

At least with the pair frequenting the stables, Marianne had been forced to interact with them, particularly since Dorte the horse was friendly enough for a novice like Ashe to learn to ride on. He wouldn't need to intervene there as much.

Say what you would about him, but for all that Claude wasn't a zealously helpful person like Dimitri or someone that took responsibility as seriously as Edelgard, he still looked out for those under his charge. Especially those he viewed as friends.

Byleth was a great mystery, and Claude delighted in solving curiosities. He would leave no stone unturned here. It was why he was now up and about early in the morning, at a time where only he and Ashe would be at the training grounds.

"Hey, little Teach!" He smiled, a sincere one. He suspected that uncovering the living riddle that was Byleth would be oh so very interesting. "Mind if I join?"

He looked at him, and Claude took the opportunity to study him closely. Ah! For the first time, Byleth looked genuinely surprised. It was only mildly, but he hadn't ever seen the man caught off guard before. Claude looked at Ashe, who had paused in his archery practice at the interruption. He had a kind of singular focus about him that had consumed him over the past weeks, since the time that Lonato died. It spoke of determination and conviction, but revealed nothing else to Claude.

"Grab a bow," Byleth said, already turning back to look down the archery range. Ashe did the same, drawing another arrow from his quiver.

Claude smiled. If nothing else, this would prove useful for improving his own expertise. He delighted in mysteries, but the joy in solving them came with the journey. In time, he would find out just why Byleth seemed to be both so much an outsider like himself, and yet so integrated into the community of Garreg Mach.

-o-o-o-

Soon, it was the twenty-sixth day of the Blue Sea Moon.

The stage was set. The Agarthans would make their first direct appearance.


…is it truly a Three Houses fanfic if it doesn't contain at least a mention of one or more of tea parties, gifts, lost items, faculty training or fishing?