Uploaded these two chapters on AO3 last night, fell asleep and promptly forgot about FFN. Whoops.
Had some difficulty with the later half of this chapter and the next, so writing quality may have suffered a little. I had several ideas in mind before the previous chapters, but with how I wrote things leading up to now I boxed myself into this one that I had a metric crap-ton of trouble writing. A fair amount of AU elements where I can't find information as well. Hope you enjoy!
Chapter 9: Thalweg
Thalweg: n. (Hydrology) a subterranean stream that percolates under the surface and in the same general direction as the surface stream.
"Are you sure you'll be alright on your own?"
It was the third time he had been asked that question. Looking at how concerned Jeralt was for his sake, Byleth couldn't find it in himself to be annoyed.
"I'll be fine," he said, standing up from his bed and making a show of moving his arms and legs for emphasis. "See? Manuela's patched me up. I'll be back to normal in a day or two."
"Make sure you don't overexert yourself," Jeralt warned, critically appraising Byleth for as he stretched his limbs. "Even healing magic can't cure all wounds."
"Of course," he lied. "You take care on your mission as well."
The Golden Deer were heading off for their mission, one that would take them deep into the territory of the Leicester Alliance. Apparently, Holst Goneril was dealing with some bandit gangs hiding out in the mountain range separating Goneril lands from Almyra, and had requested for the help of the Church in clearing out the threat. He couldn't simply mobilise his soldiers to drive them out, due to the lingering threat of being caught off-guard by Almyra launching an invasion when their troops were deployed.
It meant that Jeralt and his students would be away from the Monastery for a week or longer, depending on how long they took to locate and eliminate the bandits. Goneril lands were located right at the eastern edge of Fódlan, after all. It was excellent for Byleth's upcoming plans. The less scrutiny placed upon him, the better.
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Claude added cheerfully.
"That hardly excludes anything. Is there a thing that you wouldn't do?" Lysithea scoffed. "I've even seen you climbing and hanging upside down from bookshelves in the library."
Byleth had wondered whether it had been the right idea to inform her about how her Crests were interfering with her ability to utilise Black Magic, but over the past month she had been looking less haggard than she'd been previously. He assumed that Claude was putting the vague hint he'd given him regarding Lysithea and ghosts to good use. Since the assault on the Mausoleum, though, some of the signs of stress had seemed to return.
"Please, Claude, you must refrain from such jest," Lorenz berated. "Such foolish behaviour is unbecoming for one who would lead the Leicester Alliance."
"'Unbecoming', Lorenz?" He clutched at his heart dramatically. "You wound me. There's a reason for it, you know."
Ignatz grew curious, and Byleth could not deny his own intrigue. Claude never seemed to run out of antics across his lives, but this one was particularly unique.
"Why would you do that, Claude?" Ignatz asked.
"Training, Ignatz. Training!" Claude twirled around on the spot to look at the meek boy, folding his hands behind his head.
That was enough to draw Jeralt's attention away from his son. Worried though he may be, even that bizarre admission required further inquiry.
"You climb bookshelves in the library," he stated in an entirely deadpan tone while staring at Claude, who remained unflinching. "For training."
"Of course! Petra said it was a valid method of training!"
He didn't elaborate any further. Byleth took it upon himself to ask what was on everyone's mind.
"You're telling me that Petra, huntress and warrior princess from Brigid told you to climb a bookshelf for training. The same Petra who, earlier this month, hunted down and chopped off a feral wolf's paw, then presented it to Caspar in the training ground because he said to 'give him a hand over here' in a training exercise days prior. That Petra?"
"Yes, little Teach! See, you get it!"
Byleth sighed. If he was going to be like that, someone else could deal with him.
Jeralt grit his teeth, forcing the words out of his mouth. "How, exactly?"
"See, I was out in the fields taking a walk when out of nowhere Petra drops from the tree in front of me," he described theatrically, waving his hands about him. "Little Teach is always going on about how we could stand to learn between Houses, and we've just finished one of little Teach's joint training exercises, so I asked her if she could teach me how to climb a tree."
Again, he paused.
"And how does that relate to your behaviour in the library, exactly?" Lysithea finally asked begrudgingly.
"Why, I'm glad you asked, dear Lysithea!" He whirled around toward her, taking far too much joy in the looks of irritation that she and Jeralt were showing. "I couldn't do it on my first try, so Petra advised that maybe I could start with the little things, you know? Apparently, they do that in Brigid from the time they are children! She said to try practicing on walls, ropes, rock formations, buildings, bookshelves…"
One of those things is not like the others. Looking around at the others present in the room, Byleth could clearly tell that most of them were thinking along the same lines.
Well, all except for one.
"Woah!" Raphael exclaimed, his eyes filled with a terrifying intensity. "You're telling me that if I start climbing bookshelves, I can become as awesome as Petra?"
"You've got it, Raphael!" Claude flashed him a thumbs up. "The sky is the only limit here! Don't let your dreams –"
"Alright," Jeralt cut in, no doubt desperate to put a halt to an impending disaster. "Enough. Raphael, Claude's just joking. Claude, refrain from making a mess in the library."
Jeralt eyed him suspiciously, then sighed. When his father wasn't looking, Claude shot him a wink.
Ah. So he'd deliberately done it to get Jeralt to stop fretting over him, then. Say what you would about his methods, but no one could doubt its effectiveness. Jeralt was tiredly rubbing at his eyes, muttering all the while about 'damn kids'.
It was strange, watching his father interact with the members of the Golden Deer. In past lives, he only seemed to talk to Leonie, and that was only because she actively sought him out. He didn't think he had ever seen his father interact with Claude before, barring their initial meeting in Remire Village.
At least his method of bringing the Houses closer together seemed to be bearing some fruit. In most lives, Claude would only learn that particular skill a long time after Petra was recruited into his House. When she didn't join the Golden Deer, he wouldn't be able to climb at all.
Of course, he did wish that his endeavour had brought more practical benefits than tree climbing.
"Aww…" Raphael looked downcast. "So I can't become like Petra then."
"That's not it, Raphael," Leonie said hurriedly. "Just don't go about practicing on bookshelves."
"Great!" Raphael returned to his usual jovial mood. "I'll become like Petra in no time! Just you wait, Professor!"
Thankfully, the door to the infirmary opened at that moment, sparing them any further discussion of Claude's dubious training methods. Rhea, Seteth and Flayn entered, and from the corner of his eye he could see Jeralt tense just slightly.
So, he suspected Rhea's involvement in what he'd told his father, then. It was strange that he hadn't asked for Byleth to keep his guard up around Rhea. Did he have some doubts about him as well? Or was he trying to keep him away from Rhea as much as possible by not revealing what he knew?
"Professor," Seteth greeted. "Byleth. Students. I am glad to see that all of you are well."
He hadn't had much interaction thus far with Seteth in this life, but his treatment of Byleth had been far more ambivalent than past lives. Normally, it took the protection of the Sword of the Creator and then Flayn's rescue before he would come to view Byleth as anything close to a friend.
"Seteth," Jeralt returned. "Rhea, Flayn."
"Jeralt. It is good to see that you have recovered," Rhea said. "Will you and your students be heading toward Goneril soon?"
He nodded slowly. "We were about to head off after checking up my son." He emphasised the title strangely, equally a threat and reminder to Rhea about the circumstances behind Byleth's birth. It was information he wasn't supposed to know about just yet, and the hidden byplay would almost certainly fly over the clueless students.
"We were hoping to speak with Byleth ourselves," Seteth informed them, nodding toward Byleth. "We have heard the report of what happened in the Holy Mausoleum from you, Alois and the students, but we would like to hear from Byleth as well."
He could see Jeralt stiffen, and Byleth decided he needed to intervene here. There was no sense in allowing the suspicion and whatever animosity Jeralt might hold toward the Church to fester. They needed to be allies in time to come.
"I'll be fine," he reassured Jeralt, then turned to face Seteth. "I'll be happy to answer any questions."
"Are you sure?" Jeralt asked, concerned. Byleth didn't know how aware his father was of what he was doing, but Jeralt's eyes lingered on Rhea's form just a little longer than the rest.
"I'll be fine," he repeated. Jeralt scrutinised him for a moment longer, then relented.
"We'll be back in a week or two." Jeralt gave him a final pat on the back, before moving to leave the infirmary. The rest of the students gave their own farewells as they left.
Soon, the only occupants of the room were the four oldest living individuals in all of Fódlan.
"What would you like to know?" Byleth opened.
"Alois informed us that both of you were alerted to a possible commotion coming from the cathedral," Seteth began saying. "As I understand, young Leonie was sent by Jeralt to find help once he determined that reinforcements were required."
Byleth nodded. With the service held in the cathedral long since having moved toward the courtyard and Goddess Tower, the sound of her rapid footfalls had easily cut through the silence.
"They reported that you ran toward the Holy Mausoleum, ignoring their cries for you to stop."
"Leonie was panicking that father was in danger," Byleth said, withholding his foreknowledge about what they were facing in the Mausoleum. "He ordered Leonie to get help. I was worried. Could you blame me for rushing to help him?"
Seteth's eyes softened, not-so-subtly looking toward Flayn. "I suppose not. I apologise. Please, continue."
"When I arrived, the Death Knight was about to kill father." His eyes narrowed. He remembered just how close it had been, how the tip of the scythe was poised to pierce Jeralt's heart. He remembered the rage that he felt and the burning in his chest. "I used a Meteor to force him away."
"You are capable of casting Meteor?" Seteth asked, astonished. "I had heard the reports of the students, but assumed that to be a misunderstanding of some sort."
Byleth nodded. There was no real need to downplay his abilities anymore. The students had probably revealed how his Crest had manifested during the battle. "I am able to cast an Agnea's Arrow."
"Impressive," Seteth complimented, a glint of respect entering his eyes. "Truly impressive."
"Anyway, I tried to fight him in combat, but his armaments were far too powerful for me to deal with. My sword shattered against his armour."
"The students mentioned that the Crest of Flames manifested during your battle," Rhea finally spoke, looking at Byleth intensely. Greedily, Byleth would almost say. "They claimed that it turned the tide of battle."
"It chipped his armour slightly. From there, I was able to further expose his weakness by engaging in combat while we were both unarmed."
He continued thinking furiously as he spoke. Just how much should he reveal to Rhea? Certainly, he couldn't reveal that the Goddess herself dwelled within him.
"Mid-way during our battle, the mage broke the seal on the coffin in the Mausoleum. He claimed that there was a sword in Seiros' coffin, but I didn't manage to see it for myself," he reported, studying their reactions carefully. "The mage managed to escape by teleportation through a means that I couldn't identify. I wounded the Death Knight with my dagger, but was injured as a result. Alois soon arrived, and he retreated as well."
Byleth could still see Rhea's face tighten when he mentioned the theft, despite her already having had a few days to process that information. No doubt the loss of her mother's final remains hit her hard. He'd seen her lovingly caress the Sword in his dream of her battle with Nemesis many times over, for the Goddess' sake. Knowing just how vengeful Rhea could become, even going so far as to set Fhirdiad ablaze in some of his lives where he'd fought alongside Edelgard, he wondered just how irate she had been in the immediate aftermath of the battle.
He didn't even need to ask about what happened to the survivors from the Western Church. They'd been executed for far less in past lives.
"I see. So, we are no closer to understanding just who these enemies of ours are," Seteth mused, then nodded respectfully toward him. "Regardless, I thank you for your timely assistance. I dread to think what might have become of Jeralt and his students had you not intervened."
"Have you manifested the Crest of Flames before, Byleth?" Rhea asked. He didn't flinch under her gaze.
"No," he lied. "It just happened. I was angry at the Death Knight, and it just appeared."
"I see." She sounded disappointed, the hungry look in her eyes diminishing. She continued probing. "Has anything strange happened to you?"
Again, he had to make a choice. Reveal some of his secrets, lie or tell nothing? He couldn't afford to make enemies of Rhea and the Church, but he couldn't arouse too much of her interest, either. He hadn't seen the full extent of just how far she was willing to go to revive Sothis in all his lives.
"I've had some dreams," he admitted. She looked toward him hopefully.
"There's a battle between two armies. I see a man with a long scar, running down the side of his face." He gestured as he spoke. "He wielded a powerful sword, a segmented one that could extend, retract and bend at will. He fought a woman using a shield and sword, with hair…"
He deliberately let his voice trail off. If she wanted to interrogate him, he could probe at her just as well. "Come to think of it, the colour of her hair was much like yours, Lady Rhea."
She tried hard not to react, but Byleth had a great deal of experience in reading her. There was a mix of surprise and disappointment. "Indeed? Is there anything else, Byleth?"
He figured he might as well use a similar excuse to the one he gave to Jeralt for his aptitude in combat. "Since the most recent time that I had the dream, I've been able to fight with weaponry and use magic that I've not known of before," he lied again. "I can't explain how it happened."
"I see." She sounded disappointed, but smoothened her tone quickly. "If any other further developments occur, please do not hesitate to reach out to me, child. We shall do our best to help you."
And find out more about Sothis in the process, of course. "Certainly," he said convincingly. "Thank you very much for your offer."
Seteth looked toward Rhea, checking to see if she had any further questions. When she didn't respond, he brought the impromptu debriefing to a close.
"Thank you for taking the time to give your account of events, Byleth. I wish you all the best in your recovery."
With that, he gave a final nod, Flayn leaving along with him. He hadn't spoken to Flayn much in this life. Normally his early interactions with her involved odd jobs centred around fishing and working with the dining hall staff, but in his new position as a squire, he hadn't had to do any of that. Seteth wouldn't have made mention about him either. He was essentially a stranger to her.
Still, she gave an enthusiastic wave goodbye. She always was friendly and naïve despite having lived over a millennium.
Rhea gave a final long stare toward him, before she too made to leave. He wondered just how much she believed about what he said. Hopefully, the fact that he'd been grievously injured by the Death Knight would dissuade her from thinking that he was one of the Agarthans. In time, he might just be able to reveal more of what he truly knew.
When he was alone once more, he rehearsed the plan for the upcoming week. Alois and Jeralt were gone on missions, which meant that it was his only opportunity to head off on his own without having a constant eye on his movements. If he wanted to assassinate Cornelia during this free month, now would be the most opportune time. He'd mostly fully recovered already, anyway.
During the war, she would make Arianrhod her seat of power, but prior to that she was in the service of the royal family and based in Fhirdiad. He knew a great deal about the Faerghus capital and the palace, having previously been there in past lives on the sides of both the Empire and Kingdom. Dimitri had also offered much information about his home. He knew the positions of guards, the shift durations and timing for shift changes, and even some secret entrances and exits known only to the royal family for their evacuation.
Before that, he would need to restock on his equipment. That battle with the Death Knight had taken both his sword and his dagger. He also needed some other options available to him that were suitable for use in assassination in case he needed to adapt his plans.
He'd already killed Cornelia once in his previous life. This would probably go off without a hitch.
-o-o-o-
Fhirdiad was equally far as House Goneril was from the Monastery. On foot, it would take just short of a week to make the journey, but Byleth had an advantage over Jeralt there. He had taken a Wyvern from the Monastery aviary, cutting the duration of the journey down to less than a day. Given how challenging it was to ride a Wyvern, there were many of the creatures available for him to choose from. He settled for one that he'd used in past lives.
After carefully landing his Wyvern some distance away on a rocky cliff-face, he'd made his way on foot toward the capital, making sure to tether the Wyvern to a nearby rock formation and ensuring a sufficient amount of food for the short duration of time that he would be gone. He hadn't spotted any predators during his flight, so hopefully his Wyvern would remain safe.
This would be his second time in Fhirdiad prior to the war. It was a pity that he wouldn't be able to appreciate the sights. He didn't even enter the city proper, instead making use of a far more inconspicuous method of entering the palace.
He was currently carefully making his way through the aqueducts and sewage system of the capital, making his way through twists and turns that he knew would lead to the palace itself under the light of his torch. He had spent several lives studying this before he'd made his previous assassination attempt, and given its recency he knew just where he should be going.
Carefully, he approached the particular branch that originated from the palace. The shared cesspit that collected waste from the outhouses and latrines of the palace was very thankfully empty. Under the light of his torch, he identified the particular branch that would take him where he wanted to go, and very carefully climbed up the sides of the shaft, using the rocky outcroppings from where the sewage system had been crafted from bricks and stone as his footholds.
Thank the Goddess that no one was disposing of sanitary waste at the time. He hadn't been so lucky in his last life.
When at last he reached the very top, he extinguished his torch and set it down, then very carefully removed the hatch from which waste was fed in. He tossed off his now-dirty cloak that obscured his entire form, abandoning in to the waste below. No sense in giving away his position by smell.
He replaced his outerwear with another dark cloak. This late into the night, the halls of the palace were dimly lit, with only the barest amounts of candle-light providing illumination. The royal servants were mostly asleep, and all he had to do was be wary of the guards. He had a dagger in each boot, and a few more on his tunic hidden from sight. Hopefully, they wouldn't see any use beyond killing Cornelia. He had also brought a shortbow that was currently slung over his back.
The density of guards was highest in the upper floors, where Regent Rufus Blaiddyd had his own quarters. Cornelia, as merely a mage in service to royalty, had no such luxury. She was housed on the second floor that he was now stealthily infiltrating, with only a minimal number of guards assigned to her detail. Two guards kept constant watch just in front of the door to her room.
In his previous life, he had opted to assassinate them as well, taking them down from afar with carefully aimed arrows. Here, he would avoid their deaths as best he could. They were but men doing their duty, unknowingly protecting someone who would doom their kingdom in time to come.
Footsteps ahead. He stilled, listening as he tracked their movements, making reference to the layout of the palace that he knew so well. He'd have a few options of hiding – out the window, into an adjacent room, or retreating back to the sewage system he came from. He could –
The footsteps passed around the corridor, failing to spot him behind the corner he was hiding. Just regular patrols, then.
Good. It would mean that the path to Cornelia was now clear. He had a window of a few minutes to move in, take out the guards, take out Cornelia and leave before the next rotation of patrols would arrive.
He waited several seconds, and when he could no longer hear the footsteps of patrols, he moved; quietly and yet swiftly, as expected from someone of his standing. Down the hallway, a left turn, down that hallway, and Cornelia's room would be in the next one.
Carefully, he took out the arrows he had prepared beforehand for this mission. He had discussed the finer points of Almyran toxicology with Claude two weeks ago, and had come into the knowledge of a particular poison that would suit his needs. It was the extract of a plant the locals termed 'twelve-hour death', its name a clear reference to its effects.
Anna just so happened to be in possession of a vial of the poison, and he'd willingly paid a frankly exorbitant sum of gold for it. She'd been suspicious, but relented under the excuse of using it as a harmless teaching exercise on behalf of a professor wanting to teach a practical lesson on the necessity of being aware of the threat of poisons.
He could always steal due compensation from Cornelia, once this was all over with. The dead had no need for gold.
He quietly took out his bow, placing one of his laced arrows on the bowstring. He peeked around the corner to get an idea of their position, then hurriedly hid from view once more.
Two guards, as expected. He inhaled silently, then drew his bow.
He stepped out. One arrow flew.
"Wha –"
The arrow hit him just below his shoulder, where the chainmail covering his chest offered no protection. These guards were no Death Knight, and finding such unprotected areas was a trivial task.
He was loading the second arrow while the first was still in flight. The one who was hit cried out in pain, but soon his words slurred as he staggered toward Byleth. He crashed to the floor with a loud thud.
The other guard hardly fared better. He reacted quickly to the threat, drawing his sword in one quick motion, but by then Byleth had already released his second arrow. Soon, both guards were down.
No doubt the commotion would have raised an alarm by now. He had to take care of Cornelia quickly.
He quickly moved past their fallen bodies, opening the door –
- and came face to face Cornelia, an arcane glyph forming in the air aimed towards the door.
He tumbled quickly, the Blizzard clipping against the corner of his left shoulder. Sharp icicles pierced through flesh, but his quick reactions limited the brunt of the damage. The rest of the spellimpacted against the wall just behind where he stood, flash-freezing the air where it burst to form an icy barrier separating the room from the hallway he came from.
"Intruder!" she shouted. "Help!"
He was on a timer now. Abandoning all attempt at subtlety, he threw the first of his daggers toward her. It impacted against a hastily raised shield, but he hardly hesitated. A second dagger was now in his hand, making full use of the time window required for her to complete casting of a new spell.
He lunged, twisting his entire body as he stabbed the dagger toward her heart, but the shield still held.
"Who are you? Why are –"
Byleth didn't bother answering. Again and again, he worked on bringing down the shield. He knew the weaknesses of mages, being one himself. Full concentration was required during casting of a spell, and sooner or later her shield would fall. Already, her hands were shaking with the strain, her eyes darting about as she searched wildly for a way out of her predicament.
The only problem he had was time. Already, he could hear the sound of heavy footfalls, a clear sign that the palace guards were mobilising. He had no choice, bringing the power of the Crest of Flames to bear in order to shatter her shield.
"Byleth Eisner," she spat, abandoning all pretence of innocence. "Do you think Thales will let you get away with this?"
Thales. That was the name of the one he had fought in Shambhala, who had given him so much trouble so many times over. Thales knew of him, then. She had just unknowingly fed him information.
The shield finally broke with a final forceful descent of the dagger, piercing deep into her abdomen. He raised it once more, ready to finish it once and for all.
"You – You'll fail, you know," she coughed out, giving up any attempt at retaliation. Maintaining the barrier must have been harder than it looked, wisps of blue vapour trailing out from her hands in the aftermath of the magical shield breaking. "The Beast will join the rest of her kind. You're too –"
He paused. Rhea? "What do you mean?" he finally spoke threateningly, dagger held against her neck, but still carefully watching her hands. Any sign of spellcasting, and he wouldn't hesitate to end it. "Rhea?"
She laughed weakly. "You'll just – just have to see."
"Tell me!" He shook her threateningly, his blade cutting a thin line across her neck. She winced, but only laughed harder.
"Know despair, Byleth Eisner," she cackled. "Her blood will run along with the rest of her filthy kind. You are –"
The footsteps were approaching closer now. He didn't have time.
He let the dagger fall, silencing her forevermore.
He was about to step away and leave, but then her form morphed. Her face contracted and contorted, wrinkles forming in the skin, revealing features that were pale and disfigured. She became a male Agarthan mage that he didn't recognise, his face locked in an expression of mockery as he taunted Byleth in his final moments.
His previous assassination of Cornelia hadn't ended like that.
He'd just been played. Cornelia wasn't here at all. It explained why her spells had been so weak, why he had been able to break his way past her shield. In his previous life, he had taken her out while she was still deep in sleep, but he knew just how formidable she was in battle from the many times he'd come across her in Arianrhod.
He heard loud cursing just outside, alongside the sound of weaponry hacking away at the ice wall formed from the mage's errant Blizzard.
Subtlety was a moot point now. He opened the window, and leapt out into the dark of night, rolling and moving into a sprint. Guards would most likely be mobilising toward the main entrances. He headed toward the garden outhouse, and exited the palace the same way he entered.
At least the corpse of the mage he'd left behind should raise some questions. Cornelia may not have died, but she certainly wouldn't be able to appear in Fhirdiad again without being involved in the investigation.
His gambit with the Death Knight must have made them more cautious. He hoped that Solon would still be in the Monastery when he returned.
But what had that novice Agarthan mage meant? How did they plan to kill Rhea?
-o-o-o-
Claude hadn't previously met Holst Goneril, but looking at him now, he could see why he was so respected by the people of Fódlan.
At first glance, he bore a clear resemblance to Hilda. His face was of a similar shape to Hilda's, only with sharper angles and a more tanned skin tone. His hair was the same distinctive shade of pink, only cut short and less tidy. It wasn't quite in the style that nobles of Fódlan favoured, and certainly nothing like Lorenz's or Ignatz's bowl cuts. Instead, it appeared to be more like his own and those he had seen growing up in Almyra, emphasising coarser and rougher features that reflected the warrior culture of Almyra. It was almost like Nardel's – Nader the Undefeated in Fódlan, he supposed – if he shaved off all his secondary facial hair and dyed it pink.
He fought down the urge to snicker at the thought of a pink-haired Nardel. If he saw the man again, he just had an excellent idea for a harmless little prank. He was the one who had taught him to always keep his guard up against possible plots and threats, after all.
Holst Goneril's gaze swept over the crowd of students before him with the same playful look in his eyes that Hilda had. He was far taller, dressed in military attire that emphasised his rugged features. He knew from stories spoken about the man that the Great Knight entered battle in a full suit of thick plate armour while riding a mighty steed, and wielded the legendary axe Freikugel, one of the Heroes Relics.
Beyond the surface, he had a certain presence about him. He held a commanding posture, but not overly stiff like he had seen so many Fódlan nobles adopt. He possessed a quiet confidence, one that demanded respect from those around him. There was an easy-going smile on his face, but Claude could see the gears turning in his head as he evaluated each of the students.
Holst certainly wasn't like Hilda in that aspect. It seemed he held a healthy amount of distrust from first impressions alone. Claude respected that.
His fellow Golden Deer students reacted differently to Holst's presence. Ignatz and Marianne were uncomfortable in his presence, while Leonie and Raphael were relatively indifferent, acting like their normal selves. Lysithea respected the man, probably because he hadn't treated her any differently in his initial inspection of the group. Lorenz, on the other hand, was practically starstruck, a sheen of sweat on the side of his face as he stared at the greatest general of the Leicester Alliance, a man who had held Fódlan's Locket against the legendary Nader the Undefeated himself.
As for Hilda…
"Oh? Has my dearest sister finally brought her friends home at last?" Holst said teasingly, rubbing the top of Hilda's head affectionately from where he stood well over two heads taller than her. She squirmed uncomfortably, protesting against his act of brotherly love.
"Holst!" she protested. "Don't coddle me!"
Claude chuckled. He didn't think he'd ever seen Hilda act like that before. For all that she respected her brother greatly, she still felt embarrassed at being treated like that in front of her peers.
"Has my little sister forgotten all about me after entering the Monastery? You wound me, Hilda!" he held a hand to his heart dramatically. Claude couldn't help it; he smiled. He had a feeling that he could get along just fine with this man.
"Ah, but where are my manners?" He turned his attention away from his sister, looking toward each of them in turn. "Holst Goneril, Duke of Goneril. Feel free to just call me Holst. I welcome all of you to Goneril."
Teach stepped forward, extending his hand in a firm handshake. "Jeralt Eisner."
"Ah, the Blade Breaker? My sister speaks well of you in her letters home." He gave another sweep of the students. "I don't suppose that your son is in attendance?"
Claude wasn't surprised that Hilda would write home about Byleth. She certainly held the father and son pair in high regard, for all that they impinged upon her ability to laze around. Then again, the training exercises they held were mostly done simply for fun, with no objective beyond training itself, and so Hilda had no qualms against it. She mostly tended to avoid things when they held lasting consequences. She was certainly more than helpful in helping Marianne rearrange books in the library.
Jeralt shook his head. "He's recovering from a recent attack during the Goddess' Rite of Rebirth. My idiot son chose to nearly get himself killed protecting us."
Claude could hear the mix of disapproval, guilt and anger in his voice. Teach had tried his best to help them, but that Death Knight had been a powerful enemy.
If he was being honest with himself, Claude too held some guilt over how Byleth, Jeralt and Ignatz had gotten injured. It had been his decision to lead his House in the protection of the Mausoleum, and he had a legendary Knight of Seiros with his team, but even then they still failed in their task. He'd been broody for an entire day, and had even been called out by Lysithea for it.
He'd realised how stupid he was being after a day – courtesy of Raphael's own brand of wisdom, of course – and had since taken their failure as a learning experience. He simply hadn't considered how powerful his enemies could be when first taking up the task, and he would not repeat that same mistake again. In future missions, he would need contingencies in place. Had Leonie not managed to call for backup in time, and had Byleth not come rushing in to save the day, all of them might have died. That would be an area of consideration going forward.
"Killed?" Holst sounded astonished.
"They were stealing from Seiros' coffin," Jeralt confirmed, then sighed. "If it weren't for Byleth, we'd all probably have died. That Death Knight who we fought was a formidable enemy that even I couldn't handle on my own."
"You didn't mention any of that," Holst whirled around toward Hilda, more concern than anger in his tone.
"It was just less than a week ago!" Hilda looked at Holst defiantly. "I was going to write to you if we weren't sent on this mission."
"You and I are going to have a long chat about that, Hilds," he growled. Hilds? Hmm, an interesting nickname. Perhaps he should start using that as well?
"Please extend my gratitude to your son, Professor," Holst returned to speaking to Jeralt. "House Goneril owes him a great debt."
Jeralt nodded, then moved on to the actual purpose of their visit. "We would like to find out more about the bandits."
"Right." In an instant, Holst's expression changed to one of seriousness. He rummaged around in a nearby shelf, then took out several neatly-annotated maps of the area, pointing around key landmarks as he spoke.
"Bandits have set up camp around the mountain range here. They've been raiding nearby villages, but we can't mobilise troops fast enough to assist them. We can't abandon our posts at Fódlan's Locket to flush them out, either, both because of the potential threat of the Almyrans invading and for the message that it sends to the rest of Fódlan. They need to know that we are committed to defending against incursions from outside Fódlan, since the Almyran threat affects Empire, Kingdom and Alliance alike."
Claude's respect for the man increased. So, he wasn't just known for his skill in combat, then. He had a keen tactical mind, not just for the battlefield, but also in politics and relations with the other major powers in Fódlan. He also didn't seem to view Almyrans with the same disdain that most people of Fódlan did. He didn't miss out the way he spoke of a 'potential threat' rather than the preferred terms most people used. 'Barbarians' and 'savages' were words freely thrown about even in the Monastery.
Perhaps he should introduce Nader and Holst to each other one day, outside of a battlefield. They seemed like they could get along if they didn't have to deal with the responsibilities placed upon their shoulders by each of their peoples. A successful alliance between the two would put his dream of a Fódlan without borders one step closer toward becoming a reality.
"I've requested for assistance from the students to deal with the matter. Frankly speaking, I do not believe the bandits to be capable of putting up much resistance, outside of their ability to hide within the mountain range. You students should be more than capable of completing this mission." He smiled warmly at them. "I used to head the Golden Deer House when I was in the Monastery. From how my sister describes each of you, I believe that you will be more than up to the task."
"H- Hilda has made mention of us?" Lorenz gasped, then placed a hand over his mouth at his loss of composure. Claude had to do a double-take. Lorenz never lost composure. "F- forgive me, Duke Goneril! My impropriety is inexcusable!"
"Ah," he said, scrutinising Lorenz carefully. "You must be… Lorenz, was it? Lorenz Hellman Gloucester? Count Gloucester's son?"
"Yes, Lord Goneril! I mean, Duke Goneril!" Lorenz hurriedly replied, flustered. Nearby, Claude could see his classmates as equally amused and disbelieving as himself.
"Hilds speaks highly of you," he said, ignoring Hilda's embarrassed protests. "She describes you as, ah, how did she put it? 'Helpful in a noble way', 'responsible' and 'surprisingly sweet'?"
"HOLST!" Hilda tugged at his arm, glaring hard at him.
Lorenz looked shell-shocked, alternating between looking at Holst and Hilda. Well, it seemed that something could cause him to lose that air of nobility after all. Claude would need to revise his impression of Lorenz.
"All right, all right," Holst sighed at Hilda's continued poking at his side, becoming serious once more. "Will you all be staying for the night? It is late, and tracking down the bandits may prove to be difficult work."
"We wouldn't want to impose," Jeralt said slowly.
"Nonsense!" Holst denied. "I will ask the servants to prepare some rooms. House Goneril owes you and your son a great debt, Professor."
Jeralt reluctantly accepted. Claude got the sense that he disliked dealing with the nobility.
"Please, wait here and you will be shown to your rooms shortly," he said, hailing down a passing member of staff of House Goneril and passing down some instructions. He turned to face Hilda. "Meanwhile, I'll be having a nice chat with my dear sister as to why I am only just now hearing about the fact that she'd almost been killed."
She gulped, and while Holst's back was turned Claude cheekily ran a single finger across his neck. Hilda glared at him, which only inspired him to become more committed. He alternated between pointing at Holst and herself, then held his hands together in mock prayer.
At the corner of his eye, Claude could see Jeralt watching their interaction, shaking his head all the while. He really needed to lighten up. He had looked more stressed than Claude had previously seen him since the attack on the Mausoleum, but at least he seemed to forget the worry he had over Byleth during his little performance back in the infirmary.
He understood where Jeralt was coming from, but he knew that Byleth wasn't quite as vulnerable as Jeralt seemed to think. Sure, he had some self-sacrificial tendencies that Claude disapproved of, but there was no doubting just how capable he was. He cut his way through the enemies from the Western Church faster than the Golden Deer students, and Claude was inclined to believe his claim that he didn't even remember how he'd been attacked.
The Death Knight was only a match for him because of his armaments, but next time would be a different matter entirely. Claude learnt from all his defeats, and this would be no different. He would come up with a plan, work with his House, Byleth and Jeralt, and their next battle would have a completely different outcome.
-o-o-o-
When Byleth returned to the Monastery, his first plan of action would be finding Solon in his guise as Tomas, and if he was still lingering about, to kill him immediately. He couldn't afford to let him escape like Cornelia had. He wouldn't even bother cleaning himself and finding a change of clothes.
In his haste to escape from the palace, he inevitably had to hurry his way through the sewage system. That unfortunately meant that it had gotten more filthy than he hoped. Even though he'd prepared a second set of clothes waiting by where he had left the Wyvern, the stench still stuck to his person.
He landed his Wyvern at the aviary, the beast protesting during their long flight at the putrid scent emanating from his person, then threw open the doors leading to the rest of the Monastery. He was about to run toward the library as fast as he could, but then caught sight of Seteth approaching him.
He braced himself for a rebuke. No doubt that Seteth would berate him for his filthy state.
"Byleth!" he greeted, breathing heavily as he came to a stop, bending over with his hands on his knees. He looked worried and stressed, and Byleth immediately knew something wasn't right.
He didn't even make mention of the stench. "Thank the Goddess! Have you seen Flayn? I cannot find her anywhere!"
No. It couldn't be.
His blood ran cold. His ears deafened, as he processed just what Seteth had told him. She was kidnapped? Again? Even without Jeritza present? It wasn't even the right month, but…
The Agarthans knew of him. They had relocated Cornelia. And they were making their move.
"Flayn is not the type of person to just wander off on her own without telling me where she is going!" Seteth continued speaking. "We have searched the monastery thoroughly, even Jeritza's dungeon, but have found nothing. I am mobilising the knights to search for her, but most of them are off on their missions and…"
His voice trailed off, looking toward Byleth hopefully. Desperately.
"Please, Byleth! Do you know anything of where she may be?"
The mage hadn't been referring to Rhea.
He was referring to Flayn.
And his actions may have just directly caused the death of his student.
"Follow me."
He didn't even bother waiting for Seteth's response, running as fast as he could toward the library, a dagger in his hands as his heart pounded and thumped without beating. He would find Solon, and he would employ any means necessary to force him to talk.
He hoped beyond all hope that Solon was still there.
