Chapter 4: Herald of Change.


One week prior.

The imperial war council room in the palace was seldom used, yet always meticulously cleaned.

Dorothea glanced at the sleeping form of Bernadetta von Varley, neatly sunk in her chair.

She moved to touch the girl, but a light cough interrupted her.

She turned to the only other individual in the room, the ever vigilant Shamir.

"Let her sleep. We don't know what is holding up Edelgard and the others, or for how long."

Dorothea nodded and sank back into her seat, taking a small sip of tea in the process.

Shamir took a small sip of hers.

Dorothea glanced at the untouched slice of cake she had brought for her friend, focusing quietly on the candied cherry on top.

The door to the room flew open and Dorothea almost leapt out of her chair.

"Sorry for being late. Byleth fell into a river." Edelgard said from the entrance of the room, her tone rushed as she hurried to the nearest chair.

Dorothea raised an eyebrow as she turned to face Edelgard. "How did that happen?"

Edelgard shook her head. "He slipped on a wet patch of grass in the dark. Then his jacket ended up soaked and he couldn't climb out."

"And I had to fish him out." Hubert said grimly as he walked in, having hastily changed into a pair of Byleth's pants.

Dorothea winced. "Are you alright Hubie?"

Hubert shook his head. "Byleth may catch a cold, but yes, I'm fine. Shall we get on with the meeting?"

Edelgard nodded as she sat down at the head of the table, noting the sleeping form of Bernadetta. "We did come rather late."

"A letter came in from Linhart this morning. It's dated from two weeks prior, but it should still be relevant." Shamir offered

"What did it say?"

"I haven't read it yet."

Hubert raised an eyebrow as her walked close to Bernadetta, towering over the small girl, leaning over her chair as he looked at Shamir.

A sneeze at the door turned heads as Byleth walked into the room, his hair vaguely resembling a blue mop.

"You shouldn't be here." Edelgard said sternly.

Byleth shook his head. "I need to be here."

Then he sneezed again.

The second sneeze woke Bernadetta, who snapped to attention, hopping to attention in what appeared to be panic.

She leapt up stunningly quickly, and smashed headfirst into Hubert's chin.

Dorothea could not suppress a laugh as Hubert's head snapped back, his face consisting of shock, pain, confusion, and probably outright exasperation. It was certainly not a good day to be Hubert.

Bernadetta rubbed her head gingerly as she stood up, blinking as if she forgot where she was.

"Ohh! Cake!"

Edelgard sighed as Bernadetta ate the first forkful, happily chewing on it.

Then Bernadetta looked around and noticed Dorothea, Edelgard and Byleth, all of them who stared back at her.

"Why do I feel an ominous evil in the air?" Bernadetta asked out loud.

Dorothea glanced at Hubert, rubbing his jaw, his face deep set.

"Bernadetta." Hubert said in a low, serious voice.

Bernadetta looked up, her face content and cheerful, cake still in hand. "Were you trying to surprise me?"

Hubert clenched his teeth. "No."

Bernadetta frowned. "Um, erm, would you like some cake?"

"No."

Edelgard stifled a laugh, and Dorothea could have sworn Byleth was doing his very best to not erupt into laughter as well.

Bernadetta finished her final bite of cake and settled happily into her chair. "So? When's the meeting?"

Shamir sighed. "Right, I suppose I'll read Linhardt's letter now."

Hubert, despite still rubbing his jaw, sat next to Bernadetta, his features serious.

Shamir flipped open the letter, calmly cutting through the wax seal with a pen knife.

"Wait." Hubert snarled.

Shamir paused as the man rose from his seat. "Linhardt does not use seals when delivering letters. He's too lazy."

Dorothea glanced around the room as Shamir put the letter down, her eyes glaring at the seal on the letter.

"Well, he's right about Linhardt being lazy." Edelgard observed quietly. "Let me see the letter."

Shamir slid the letter across the table, and Dorothea passed it to Edelgard.

"Indeed. This isn't Linhardt. The seal is similar to the seal of House Hevring, but it's a forgery."

Byleth was next, his eyes like a hawk as he looked at the letter. "No doubt this is a fake. It is a good forgery though." He declared after, tossing the envelope back to Edelgard before sneezing.

Dorothea looked nervous. "Should we be concerned?"

Edelgard sighed as she broke the false seal, her eyes following line after line of text. "Whoever this sender is asked for future goods to be sent over the Bridge of Myrddin. Something about the main road being clogged."

Dorothea raised an eyebrow. "Do we have anyone there?"

Edelgard nodded. "Lorenz and Leonie should both be stationed at the crossing. Fairly small garrison of imperial forces. A few elite cavalry units, but mostly light infantry. If whoever this letter came from intended to trick us into sending supplies into a poorly guarded route, and intercepted the convoy anywhere on the trip, we would have very little to stop them."

"What concerns me more than this is that our enemies, whoever they may be, are bold enough to use false imperial authority to try to divert valuable resources."

The room sat silently until Shamir spoke up. "In the near future, we should not rely on messages that aren't delivered by hand by trusted confidants."

"Until when?" Dorothea asked.

"Shamir, ride to Fort Merceus." Edelgard ordered, her voice tight. "Tell Emile that in four weeks time, I will be in Garreg Mach, meeting with the quartet we have in the north about the state of affairs there. We will discuss this additional matter then."

Shamir nodded. "Should I go now?"

Edelgard shook her head. "It's late and we are all tired. Get some sleep before you head out. Until that meeting, Shamir's suggestion makes sense."

Shamir nodded as she rose to her feet. "Will that be all? I'll return back to Enbarr once the message is delivered, but if there's anything else, I'd appreciate knowing about it now."

Edelgard shook her head. "Just one more thing. In the event that I want to send a message, I will use a personal code."

Hubert turned his head. "Perhaps Ionius? Your father?"

Edelgard shook her head. "Any messenger of the empire would know of my father, no matter where their allegiance lies, and that he passed away in his sleep some time ago. The name I want to use is Adrasteia."

Hubert flinched at the name. "You are certain?"

Edelgard shook her head. "Hubert, it's just a name, and nobody in the empire would know what the name means. Frankly, even I don't even know what Adrasteia looks like."

Dorothea raised an eyebrow. "Who is this Adrasteia anyways?"

"Do. Not. Mention. That. Name." Hubert hissed, his rage growing with every word.

"Hubert. That's enough. They have a right to know." Edelgard snapped.

Hubert's face was still lined with rage, but he nodded anyhow. "I will not honour him by speaking his name, but he was a member of those who sliter in the dark."

"Was?" Bernadetta asked, her voice curious.

"He was a miserable runt even by their standards."

"When Thales was experimenting on me, I heard his name mentioned." Edelgard said calmly, though Dorothea could still hear the anger in her voice. "He was complaining over how he didn't want the job of burying dead bodies. Only after did I discover that the bodies in question were those of my siblings."

Hubert snarled from behind Bernadetta, who sat uncomfortably in her seat, no longer tired.

"So, erm, if we were to get a message from you, the messenger would have to specifically mention this Adrasteia?"

Hubert hissed as he stood over Bernadetta's chair. "Yes Bernadetta, that is correct."

Bernadetta looked up and squeaked. "The face of death! Save me Linhardt! Bernie is too young to die!"

Hubert looked like he was about to explode.

Byleth got in between the two before Hubert could make Bernadetta's worst fears come true. "That should be fine. Bernadetta, could you go ride to the Great Bridge of Myrddin? I want Leonie and Lorenz at Garreg Mach for the meeting, and I would like to know if they saw anything out of the ordinary."

Bernadetta perked up at the order, forgetting all about the murderous look on Hubert's face. "Of course!"

Byleth nodded. "Good, get some sleep. The ride there should only be slightly longer than the one to Fort Merceus."

Bernadetta beamed brightly as she hopped up, barely missing Hubert this time, and ran out of the room.

"Hubert, that's not exactly how you should treat Bernadetta. It wasn't her fault that you got in the way of Caspar and Linhardt."

Hubert now looked like he wanted to strangle Byleth, but he finally nodded. "Alright, I understand. Forgive me for what I did there. That was unprofessional."

Byleth and Edelgard shared a glance. "In the meanwhile until we move out for Garreg Mach, I'd like you to monitor all mail coming into the royal palace, and in particular, anything directed to Edelgard."

Hubert nodded. "As you wish, Professor."


Present Day

"Adrasteia." Dorothea said softly, loudly enough for the messenger and her three companions to hear, but not loud enough for the rest of the street.

The guard did nothing, staring at her blankly.

Dorothea felt a feeling of disappointment rising in her. So indeed, the man was lying about Edelgard requiring her presence.

Perhaps seeing the look in her eyes, the false messenger seemed to realize his cover had been blown, and in a moment, a large knife slipped out of his sleeve.

The sight of the blade was enough for Dorothea to act, and she threw a burst of electric power at the man, the blast killing him instantly.

"Take her and go." The red haired woman's voice came through.

Dorothea turned as the other messenger hastily grabbed the child and began to run, hastily leaving the scene as the two women stood alone, a still twitching corpse at their feet.

A shout on a distant street caught her attention as two city guards ran toward the commotion, their weapons drawn.

From behind, one of them fell to the ground, a clean arrow shaft elongating from his back like a single wing, and the man fell to the ground, unmoving.

The second guard seemed to notice his partner fall to the ground, and assumed a defensive position, raising his shield and slipping to one knee.

A second later, he too, fell dead, his throat opened like a second mouth.

A spike of fear found Dorothea even as she backed herself away from the figures emerging from the darkness.

Three figures, each one dressed in a heavy cloak, descended on her position. One wielded a large, crude sword, a second a vicious spear, and the third a bow she had no doubt was aimed at her belly.

It was a logical target. Her dress was not armoured plate, and her midsection would not be protected by her ribs.

She glanced around the street, hoping for a way to escape the situation, but found nothing.

The street was empty now, apart from the cowering boy that had yet to leave the fountain and the woman next to her. Even if she could reach him, he was too short to be used as a human shield anyhow.

The trio of hostile attackers, having nothing but a trio of corpses in between them and her, now fanned out, their faces sporting cruel grins.

And then the archer went up in flames.

The man did not seem to notice for a split second, but began to dance as the flames hungrily devoured his entire form, the man's bow reduced to charred wood.

The other two men seemed stunned that they were fighting two mages instead of one, and they seemed to freeze in place, as if unsure of what to do.

And then Dorothea called into the heavens and brought a bolt of electricity into the blade wielding attacker, watching as the man spasm as he died.

The sole remaining attacker now realized he was no longer in a position where he could attack, and turned to flee, his spear clattering to the ground.

It seemed like he had melted from the shadows, but the hidden frame of Sir Hawthorne stepped out of an alleyway just as the cowardly attacker had attempted to enter it.

The fleeing spearman seemed stunned that he was being blocked, but found the sword twisted in his stomach of much greater concern as the older gentleman plunged the blade deep into the retreating ambusher.

Dorothea looked away as the man tore his blade free from his victim, the dying man clawing feebly at his killer as the older man turned toward Dorothea and began a leisurely walk.

"Miss Dorothea. I was not expecting to meet you again so soon after our last encounter." Sir Hawthorne offered quietly as he approached, shaking some blood off his saber.

"There shouldn't be any more of them." The crimson haired woman reported as she looked around. "These four seemed like the whole attack party."

The wealthy gentleman nodded. "We should leave this area for the time being. A police investigation would put you under a great deal of stress, and Adrasteia would certainly be displeased."

Dorothea flinched. "You know about that?"

The man shrugged. "I have my sources."

Dorothea frowned. "You know Byleth?"

The man laughed. "No, I'm a casual acquaintance with Hubert, although I confess our relationship can be frosty at times."

Dorothea glanced at the pool of blood that surrounded the last victim, still widening slowly onto the cobbles. "We should go. We do not want to be here when the town guard arrives."

The man nodded. "Very well then, we can talk later. Follow me."

Dorothea glanced at the red headed woman next to him and began to walk at a hurried pace, following the man into the darkness of Enbarr's alleyways.


It was shortly before daybreak that Yurius staggered out of his bed, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He had slept fitfully over the previous night.

He dressed quickly, glancing at the three bunks that held his roommates before he headed out into the silent base.

The underground city was dark and his footsteps echoed on the hard ground below, though dim lighting did exist in the form of tiny lamps that lined the halls of the base.

Three twists in the dark later, he found himself standing before Spite's office.

He glanced around before he gently rapped on the door.

There was no reply.

Yurius glanced at the doorknob and gently turned it.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the door remained in place, the lock refusing to budge.

Yurius sighed as he turned away from the door, falling silent as he heard steady footsteps in the hallway to his right.

A moment later, the overlord of Shambhala stood before him, his pale skin ghastly in comparison to the dark hallway.

"Can't sleep?" Spite asked as he slid in a small key into the lock, the well oiled door swinging open without even the slightest creak.

Yurius nodded. "What are you doing here?"

"Odd question, considering these are my personal quarters."

Yurius winced and turned his gaze away. "Sorry, that came out wrong."

"No offense taken." Spite replied as he turned to his desk, opening a drawer.

"What are you looking for?" Yurius asked.

"Matches." Spite replied, tossing a packet of the tiny sticks onto the table before sliding the open drawer shut.

"What for?"

"Candle." Spite replied as he locked the door to his office once more.

Yurius watched in silence as Spite turned his heel.

"Follow me if you want to talk." The overlord of Shambhala quietly.

"Where are we going?" Yurius asked.

Spite did not reply, his stride long and quick.

Yurius hurried to follow the older man, making considerably more noise on the catwalk than the man he was following.

"Be careful." Spite warned as he turned to his left.

"Why?"

"This flight of stairs is poorly maintained compared to much of the base."

Yurius glanced down at the stairs Spite mentioned. "Where does it lead?"

"A memorial." Spite replied calmly.

"Oh. I've never been past your office, now that I think about it."

"Well, most people don't feel comfortable in the command wing of Shambhala, so your lack of experience in the area is perfectly understandable."

Yurius nodded as he stepped down on the staircase, wincing as the metal under his boots groaned.

"Keep to the left side." Spite said from three steps below.

"Sorry." Yurius muttered.

Spite shrugged. "It's quite alright. There aren't any barracks in this quarter of Shambhala."

"Why is that?" Yurius asked as he gingerly took another step down the flight of stairs.

"You'll understand in due time." Spite said with a mild chuckle.

Yurius nodded and continued his walk, frowning as the sprodratic lights that illuminated the staircase became less and less frequent.

"We are here." Spite said as they touched solid ground once more.

"And where is here?" Yurius asked as he stared at the grim, unpainted hallway.

"From what I can glean from the archives of Shambhala, this was originally an emergency exit that lead out into the mountains."

Yurius raised an eyebrow as Spite turned deeper into the tunnel. "And where would they lead to from there?"

"An old mountain path. It's still there of course, but there is a memorial along the way."

"Is the path still functional?"

"Barely. I first traversed down it as a young man, but I've rarely had the time to go down all the way."

"When was the last time you went down it?"

"For the whole way down, it was last fall. I wanted some quiet time to myself."

Yurius nodded. "And where is this memorial along the path?"

"A short walk once you get outside. Even at night, you can't miss it."

Yurius nodded as they reached a dull, unpainted door. "This the place we head out?"

Spite nodded as he pushed on the door, the surprisingly well oiled hinges giving way to the night sky.

Yurius took a deep breath of the summer air as he stepped out. It was a lush meadow with a rough, lightly used path hugging a rocky outcropping.

Spite was walking faster now, his arms gently clasped behind his back.

Then, rising above the field, Yurius saw the memorial in question.

It was an obelisk of smooth, black glass, towering over the surrounding landscape.

"It's beautiful." Yurius admitted.

"It looks much better in sunlight. But yes, it's beautiful."

"How big is it?"

"About four metres in height." Spite replied as the path turned toward the large obelisk.

Even from a distance, Yurius could tell that the structure definitely measured up to what Spite had claimed.

"Wait, how did you get that thing there? Did Old Agartha put that there?"

Spite shook his head. "I'm afraid not. From our records, the obelisk was the remains of a mage who served with Old Agartha during the war."

"He was killed here?"

"Yes and no." Spite replied as he fiddled with the matches in his hands. "He survived the war, but he could not bear being the only survivor from his unit."

"He killed himself?"

"Yes." Spite replied. "It is said that he began to have dreams of the comrades he had lost during the war. In his final days, he was a babbling mess, calling out for those comrades he had once fought with."

"So how did he end up out here?"

"A survivor of his unit carried him out here in an effort to calm him down, but that proved futile. He turned back to Shambhala when the mage asked to be alone. When they checked on him a few hours later, they only found the obelisk in his place."

"Did the other member of his unit make it out alright?"

Spite nodded. "He was the one who suggested to use the stone as a marker for those who lost their lives in service to Agartha, both on and off the battlefield."

Yurius nodded. "So what are the matches used for?"

Spite sighed as he arrived at the stone. "It is a tradition to burn out a candle against the stone to honour the life of a friend or family member."

Yurius remained quiet. "Just who are we talking about?"

"Today, six years ago, was when Spite last spoke with Kronya." Mortis said.

"Mortis! Where the hell did you come from?" Yurius spluttered, backing a step away.

"I was checking out the mountain path we are set to use in the morning. I came back because I figured Spite had arrived with the matches. Why are you here?"

"I had a hard time sleeping, that's all." Yurius said.

Spite nodded. "I know the feeling. Both now and when I was your age."

"Should we bring our gear with us once we enter the field?" Yurius asked.

"To do so would bring too much attention. Two heavily armoured soldiers would bring a great deal of attention to you." Spite replied with a shake of his head. "Attention that, of course, you don't want."

Yurius glanced around. "Should we just travel like this?"

Spite shook his head and pointed to what Yurius had initially believed to be a rock. Upon further examination, it was a large wooden trunk.

"What's in it?"

"Clothes for you and Mortis. A radio in the event that you find something important. A considerable amount of money, mainly torn from the coffers of House Ordelia."

"How did you get your hands on the property of House Ordelia?" Yurius asked.

"Long story. About a quarter of the coins originate from either kingdom or imperial vaults. Nothing too major, but I know both of you are resourceful enough to do well in the field."

Mortis nodded as she struck a match, gently lighting a candle.

"Mortis, that's Spite's candle. Why are you lighting a candle now?"

The woman glared at him before turning the match over to Spite.

"It's fine. She has something she needs to commemorate as well." Spite said as he lit a second candle, blowing out the match as he set the candle down.

Yurius grimaced. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

Spite shrugged as he turned to the trunk. "I left something in here that I think you'll find useful."

"Really?" Yurius asked, curious of the possibility of a gift from Spite.

"Ahh, here we are." Spite said, a longsword in his hands. "Do be careful with it. I just had it sharpened."

Yurius glanced at the sheathed blade in the hands of his overseer, gently taking the sword.

It was a fairly light blade, as far as swords went, coming in a long, neat, straight blade.

Yurius swung the blade quietly, feeling the master crafted blade cut through the air.

"Thank you Spite. I'll take good care of it."

Spite nodded. "You do that."

Yurius blinked as a flash of light caught his eye.

"Oh. The sun is up." Mortis murmured as she rose to her feet.

"It's a beautiful sight, as always." Spite said as he turned to the sun rising over the horizon. "I must return to Shambhala. Feel free to leave whenever."


Byleth found it annoying that his personal body pillow wasn't present when he woke up.

With an annoyed sigh, Byleth rose from the bed he shared with Edelgard, patting the large teddy bear still left on the bed on the head.

He dressed quickly, figuring his favourite body pillow was painting him.

"Should I visit Edelgard in her little painting room?" Byleth asked the empty walls of the bedroom.

Perhaps predictably, the walls did not answer.

Byleth sighed as he decided to be nice to Edelgard.

He rose and dressed quickly, wondering what the palace kitchens had prepared as he slipped open the royal bedroom doors.

"Good morning." He greeted the guard who guarded Edelgard's drawing room, who blushed and nodded hastily in response.

The dining room had a fresh set of pastries and iced tea, and Byleth smiled before he frowned.

"I certainly hope she doesn't fall asleep again in that room. It would ruin a surprise breakfast."


Lysithea was alone in the dining hall of Garreg Mach, murdering a slice of chocolate cake.

It was a lovely day and there was delicious food, which she was thankful for.

And then she began to sneeze.

It was a cute sneeze, or so Mercedes said, but the fact that she kept sneezing after told her it would be a very bad day.


The balancing act of carrying a platter of food on both hands and a jug of iced tea on his head raised numerous eyebrows as the imperial palace seemed to freeze in place of the sight of the royal consort both make a fool of himself and make every woman in the palace jealous that their husbands could not use their heads to carry food.

The guard at the door had almost fallen over, barely stifling her laughter as she locked eyes with Byleth, remaining coherent long enough to open the door before she fled the scene.

Edelgard was deep in thought, carefully finishing a stroke on the painted Byleth's shoulder.

"I said to not disturb me." Edelgard said halfheartedly, her voice filled with annoyance.

Byleth stood in silence, waiting simply for Edelgard to turn around.

Perhaps angered, Edelgard spun around and glared at him, her face turning pale as she realized that he wasn't the guard.

"Oh no." Edelgard whispered, her face sporting a stunned expression as she stepped back protectively, as if Byleth seeing the painting would cause her doom.

Byleth set the two platters of food down before he moved toward Edelgard, retrieving the jug of iced tea from his head as he did so, a warm grin forming on his face as the Emperor of the Adrestian Empire seemed to shrink into her chair.

"I brought breakfast." Byleth said quietly. "I hope you are hungry?"

Edelgard looked as if she might collapse. "I, erm, the painting."

"Is it as lovely as I am?" Byleth asked teasingly as he brought himself closer.

Edelgard let out a squeak and frantically shook her head.

"That was very cute of you, my dear Edelgard. Allow me to reward you."

Edelgard blinked as Byleth grabbed a pastry from the plate, placing one end in between his lips.

Edelgard laughed as Byleth inched closer, the pastry glistening in the early sunlight.

When the pastry seemed close enough for her to bite, Edelgard darted forward.

And bit into empty air.

With a slight pout, Edelgard tried again, this time her teeth sinking into the sweet fruit of the pastry.

Byleth opened his jaw slightly wider, taking in a bite of his end of the pastry.

Edelgard had flushed a deep crimson, but she took another bite into the pastry, and Byleth saw a sparkle of joy in her eyes.

Byleth too, bit into the pastry, their lips almost touching.

"Edelgard!" Hubert half shouted as he burst through the door, almost running into Byleth in the process.

Edelgard flinched at the sight of Hubert and let go of the pastry.

Byleth turned around, the half eaten pastry looking like a pair of insectoid incisors dripping bright red blood.

Seeing the murderous look on Byleth's face, the surprised look on Edelgard's face, and the painting of Byleth she had worked so hard on, Hubert swallowed, bowed, and turned tail and bolted.

"Linhardt." Edelgard said with a sigh of anger, their romantic moment ruined.

Byleth quickly finished the pastry. "Yes. Linhardt."


Linhardt was watching Lysithea from a fairly significant distance when he felt an air of malice whisper through his spine.

He glanced around, checking for any insane redheaded assassins before shrugging.

"Perhaps Hubert hasn't forgiven me for the incident with Caspar?" Linhardt wondered out loud.

"What about Caspar?" A feminine voice asked from a staircase above.

Linhardt sighed. "I could have sworn both Manuela and Mercedes told you to stay in your room. You lost a lot of blood in that battle, and we would hate it if you got hurt."

The voice above sighed. "But I'm bored."

Linhardt glanced back down. "Let me help you down the stairs. Caspar would never forgive me if something happened after all this time."

"What were you talking about anyways? What does Hubert have to do with anything?"

Linhardt sighed. "It's a long story, and I don't think you remember much of it."

"I remember hearing Hubert screaming, but not much else."

Linhardt let out a slight chuckle as he helped the woman down the stairs. "You know half the story then."


The sight of Hubert fleeing from what seemed like an invisible force with a look of horror on his face would go down in legends as a reminder of the power of love.

But that would not be for a few centuries. The regular denizens of the palace almost instantly began wondering which bath the Brazen Beast of Enbarr had walked into.

It would later be the talk of the town, exacerbated by the fact that Hubert would not stop running until he was well away from the palace.

"Oh! Hubert!" Bernadetta's cheerful voice called out.

Hubert turned to the sight of Bernadetta standing before him, waving hello.

"Back from your trip to Myrddin?" Hubert asked, though Bernadetta could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

Bernadetta nodded. "Yes! Hubert, why are you so tired?

Hubert blinked. "I am not tired."

"Nonsense." Bernadetta said, dismounting and pulling out a handkerchief. "Your forehead is covered in so much sweat. You must have run a great deal. Thank you."

Hubert blinked. "For what?"

Bernadetta turned her head slightly. "For being here to welcome me. You've always been there for me. With the needle back at the academy."

Hubert looked away. "I simply did not want anyone to be hurt by the needle."

Bernadetta nodded as she took his hand, her grip somehow strong as a vice. "I'm here to make my report to Adra- erm, Edelgard."

Hubert nodded. "So, what is it that you need me?"

Bernadetta looked at him again. "I want you to be next to me when I make the report."

Before Hubert could protest, he felt Bernadetta slowly begin to drag him to his doom.

"Wait! I have somewhere I need to be!"

Bernadetta looked confused. "Wait, so you weren't coming out to find me?"

Hubert, perhaps realizing that he had made a terrible error, instantly backpedaled. "No! The kitchen made fresh fruit pastries today. You do like those."

Bernadetta's face lit up. "Wonderful! Bernie will make her report and eat delicious pastries! Come on Hubert!"

With his hand still caught in the grip of an excited Bernadetta, Hubert had no choice but to follow, his legs aching as he was marched to his doom, fuelled by pastries and paintings.


The third time Yurius glanced at Mortis was the first time he found her looking back.

In the light of the early morning sun, Mortis looked like a teenager's fantasy, and he could tell what had drawn Ryan to her.

Mortis was attractive for sure, and her trousers and blouse left very little to the imagination, her curves no longer hidden by the dark, imposing armour plates of her standard uniform, though a light cloak draped across her shoulders hid some of her features, and the deadly blade sheathed on her thigh would send most suitors running in the opposite direction.

"I won't drop our case." Mortis said with a mild annoyance in her voice. "So focus on the path. Spite did mention it was a dangerous place at times."

Yurius nodded as he turned back to the rocky path that slowly lead to civilization. "Should we rent horses or a carriage once we get into town?"

"Carriage. Two horses would also require a third to carry our belongings. The carriages here would only cost one horse worth of feed, and we should be able to switch horses every night in any case."

Yurius nodded. "Do you think Thales is at Garreg Mach?"

Mortis shrugged. "Possible, but it's more likely he's at Enbarr."

"Was that what you were talking over with Spite before I got there?"

Mortis paused but kept walking. "Mage things."

"So magical stuff I wouldn't understand?"

Mortis shrugged. "That's not wrong. He talked mostly about his last trip to Enbarr."

"Was there anything about Enbarr that he mentioned?"

Mortis let out a sigh. "He mentioned some of the specifics he had seen."

"Anything about the city itself? I mostly stayed the tavern with you know who last time."

"Wonderful. You set that tavern on fire."

"I'm glad you were willing to change our plan."

"Didn't do us much good in the end, but oh well."

Yurius stayed silent at that.

"We are almost at the crossroad Spite mentioned. House Goneril or House Aegir?"

Yurius glanced ahead. "Let's go with Aegir. We can avoid crossing the Great Bridge if we go through with it."

"So be it." Mortis said calmly. "Lead the way."

Yurius paused. "Mortis, why are you looking behind us?"

The woman shrugged. "I don't trust people. That and a scout could mistake us for deserters and open fire."

Yurius raised an eyebrow. "You don't trust even me or Spite?"

Mortis shook her head. "I trust Spite well enough, but you? No."

Yurius winced. "I'm sorry to hear that. Why him and not me?"

"Speech."

Yurius blinked. "The fact that he uses a different vocabulary than me makes him more trustworthy?"

Mortis shrugged. "Amongst other things."

"So why am I not trustworthy?"

Mortis shrugged. "Let's keep walking. I don't want to be out when the sun is fully up."

Yurius blocked her. "I'm willing to let you pass if you promise to explain to me why you don't want to talk to me in the coach."

Mortis glanced at him, the steep path that led below, and back at Shambhala. "Fine, but only if you carry the trunk."

Yurius nodded as they switched, wincing when he realized the trunk was heavier than he would care to admit.

Perhaps he really needed to go back to lifting weights.


Dorothea found herself in a second floor bedroom in what appeared to be a tavern. She rose from the soft, comfortable bed and breathed in the warm summer air. The room was surprisingly cool, with heavy curtains blocking out the sun.

Slipping on her boots, she opened the heavy wooden door that lead to the main tavern, blinking at the sight of the well lit building and numerous patrons having a lively lunch.

She walked down the steps quietly, but found every pair of eyes in the tavern staring at her.

"There was an imperial general sleeping upstairs?" A man whispered to his companion in a back table.

"My father saw her sing once. He wanted to go back, but she retired before he could." A woman, slightly closer, whispered to a friend.

"You idiots. She's obviously uncomfortable, look away." An older, fatherly voice, snarled at a table close to the bottom of the staircase.

Perhaps it was the fact that the room had fallen into silence, but immediately all the diners turned hastily back to their food, as if she hadn't been there.

She wandered amongst the tables before a waitress approached her, two large plates in hand.

"The boss is in the back room. He'll want to talk to you now that you have been well rested."

Dorothea nodded as the woman placed the two plates before a pair of men on a nearby table, turning toward the unmarked back door.

The room was small but well lit, an open back door providing a view of mid afternoon Enbarr.

"How did you find your rest last night?" The older man asked, his voice was gentle as he gestured to a small chair before him.

Dorothea blinked. "I'm sorry, I must return to the palace. My house staff has probably raised the alarm with the royal palace."

The man shook his head. "My assistant has already sent the message to the royal household. Adrasteia is very much aware of your location. I expect poor Hubert will be sent to escort you back to the palace in good time."

Dorothea nodded before her stomach growled.

She flushed and looked away as the older man chuckled.

"Please, wait here." The man said as he rose from his seat, walking quietly to the door and shutting the heavy frame behind him.

Dorothea sighed and closed her eyes as she waited for the man to return.


Hubert von Vestra counted himself lucky. Edelgard and Byleth had firmly locked the door after he had walked in, and the unfortunate guard who had tried in vain to stop him frantically shook her head when Bernadetta came to make her report.

Dropping his hand and leaving Hubert to wonder if he had any broken bones, Bernadetta tried to open the door to no avail.

With a sigh of annoyance, Bernadetta grabbed his other hand and marched off, determined to get Edelgard to open a window at the very least.

It was only when they both realized that Bernadetta was too short to actually reach the window did Hubert lift her off the ground. It was hard to do with two very sore hands.

And she witnessed a shirtless Byleth feed a half sleeping Edelgard fruit pastries.

Then Byleth noticed the multi-limbed shadow blocking out the sun and looked at him.

Bernadetta screamed.

Hubert declined to scream, but his arms were still in use holding Bernadetta up, so he couldn't cover her eyes like he wanted to.

Nor could he cover his own eyes to block out the horror. Edelgard not working like a good emperor! And being hand fed pastries! On her back! In a terrible sleeping position!

The room had somehow been magically enhanced, because Byleth simply stuffed the fruit pastry he had on hand into Edelgard's mouth before shutting the curtains, his eyes boring holes where Hubert's forehead probably was.

If looks could murder, Hubert would probably have been deader than Kronya, his father, and the Immaculate One combined.

And hence, he sat in the dining hall with Bernadetta, the girl desperately stuffing her face with cake and he himself emptying his precious alcohol collection at an extraordinary rate.

"Adrasteia." A voice said softly.

Hubert blinked. That wasn't Bernadetta, who sat next to him, still scarfing down cake.

The woman across from him had bright red hair and a face that he somehow recognized.

"Oh!" Bernadetta yelped. "I didn't see you there."

The woman smiled, and Hubert had a sudden urge to turn her into a bloodstain on the carpet, but alas, he was drunk, Bernadetta was right next to him, and the carpet had seen enough shenanigans over the last week.

"What did you say?" Hubert asked, pointing his bottle at the not-stranger.

"This is a message from Paul." The woman said cheerfully. "Adrasteia."

Bernadetta fell back. "Who are you?"

The woman shrugged. "Miss Arnault was approached last night by a bad of assassins."

Hubert hissed in anger. "WHAT? And you only mention this now?"

"We were unsure at the time if there were more attackers. After an extensive patrol, the answer to that particular question appears to be a solid no."

Bernadetta gasped. "Do you know who did it?"

The woman shook her head. "No, all four members of this little ambush were slain."

Bernadetta looked disturbed. "What happened?"

"No need to get into the more uncomfortable details, Lady Varley."

Hubert grimaced. "I'll need to tell Edelgard and Byleth this in due time."

"Tell us what?" Edelgard asked.

"Dorothea Arnault was attacked last night." The red haired woman said, as if mentioning the weather.

"Is she alright?" Byleth asked, his voice enraged.

"She's fine. The attackers have been made an example of. Anyone looking for them will find four decimated corpses."

"We need to see her." Byleth snapped, rising to his feet. "Where can we find Dorothea?"

"She's in a tavern in the Ionius district." The red haired woman glanced at Hubert. "Is he ok?"

Byleth glanced at the disheveled state of Hubert von Vestra and shook his head. "No, he's staying here. I'll summon Shamir, Bernadetta, you're coming too."

Hubert opened his mouth to protest, and seeing the murderous looks on Byleth and Edelgard's faces, wisely decided to shut up.

"We will be waiting for you by the east gate." Edelgard said softly to Byleth, giving him a peck on the cheek.

Bernadetta, the redhead, and the two remaining guards in the room all looked away as Byleth, unhappy with simply a kiss on the cheek, loudly and openly made out with Edelgard.

Hubert stared at them, his face confused before he seemed to realize where he was.

"Umm, Bernadetta?" The redhead asked.

The girl seemed to jump up. "Yes?"

"Hubert's nose is bleeding."

"Eh?" The purple haired girl seemed stunned.

Edelgard and Byleth turned, and sure enough, Hubert was proudly bearing a stream of blood running down his face.

"Someone find him a handkerchief." Edelgard muttered as she turned her back on the unfortunate head of house Vestra, gently dragging Byleth out of the room. "No Byleth, we still need Hubert in one piece. Put your sword away."

Bernadetta sighed. "Oh Linhardt, please do be merciful."

The redhead blinked. "I don't want to know what happened do I?"

Bernadetta shook her head as Hubert's head hit the table. "I would appreciate it if you didn't ask."


Author's Note: Spelling issues corrected, names fixed, etc.