Chapter 9: Still no conference call.


"What the hell is going on?" Spite snapped as he kicked open one of the doors to the mess hall, an orb of dark magic in each palm.

The crowd fell silent as the overlord of Shambhala stormed in, his face a mask of cold rage.

"I asked you once. I will not ask again." Spite snarled as the formerly rioting soldiers staggered back, keenly looking to avoid being reduced to a bloodstain by their overlord.

"We were getting anxious about the situation with Thales." One of the men said finally, hastily taking his hand off the collar of another man's shirt.

"As am I, but I'm not involved in a mess hall dust up."

At his words and the ever present threat of a murderous overlord, the group dispersed quietly, perhaps ashamed of themselves, but more likely terrified of Shambhala's furious overlord.

"You. Stay." Spite ordered the man who had spoken.

The man froze in place as the other rioters fled in good order.

"What was the riot really about?" Spite asked as the orbs of dark magic disappeared from his hands, the arcane dissipating into the air.

"The emergency rations were rotten sir."

"What?" Spite spat, his tone both angry and exasperated. "Odesse. Get me a portion."

"Right away sir." Odesse spluttered as he turned tail and fled.

"What about the food was rotten?"

"All of it. The dried meat had gone bad, the crackers that were supposed to come with the meal had turned into crumble, and the chocolate chip cookie had been stolen from all of the meal kits."

"And instead of coming to me, you and the other men chose to riot."

"No sir. We were debating who might have killed the private, but things got very heated at the end."

Spite nodded as he glanced at the ruined nature of the mess hall. "Once Odesse gets back, I'll have him supervise the clean up. If the food really is rotten, I'll lift the state of emergency long enough to eat the food the cooking staff have prepared. In the meanwhile, I might as well conduct private Ryan's autopsy."

The soldier glanced at the faint bloodstains still present on the mess hall floor.

"I got an emergency ration!" Odesse shouted as he burst back into the room.

"Good." Spite replied as he placed the small box onto a nearby table.

Odesse exchanged a glance with the unfortunate soldier as Spite opened the meal.

"Yes. I understand your concerns now." Spite said as he turned away from the box, his face twisted in disgust. "Some idiot either placed the meat somewhere with water contact or whoever made the ration in the first place failed in a major way."

"Is it salvagable?" Odesse asked.

"No. The crackers with it have probably been dropped a half dozen times a day for the last three years. And someone stole the cookies."

"What does that mean?" Odesse asked.

"It means I have to speak with the kitchen staff after I perform the autopsy. Whoever made this meal better be dead, because that's the only way I can't hold them responsible for this debacle."

"Is there anything you want me to do?" Odesse asked.

"See to it that the results of the dust up are erased and oversee that the meal that the kitchen cooked is distributed to the base. Give them advance notice I will come by later to speak to them about the debacle that is the emergency rations."

"And where will you be?"

"The autopsy will be held in Vault November."

"Isn't there more room in Vault April?"

"Vault April isn't well suited for an autopsy. And I have no wish to accidentally get blood on the archive in there."

"And Vault November is different?"

"It's got considerably fewer valuable archives in it."

"I understand." Odesse said before turning to the soldier. "Toss out this debacle of a meal and inform the men to get to work. Sooner that the mess hall is clean the sooner we can eat."

"Yes sir." The soldier said as he turned to dispose of the rotten meal.


Yurius sighed as he threw himself onto the heavy bed that lay in the room, content to sleep with the two other men.

"Please. As a noble, it is my duty to treat commoners like you right." Lorenz said from his left, his voice slowly grating on Yurius's nerves.

Yurius toyed with the idea of murdering the annoying noble for a few long moments as he prattled on about injured feet.

"I need some fresh air." Yurius said quickly as he pushed himself out of the bed, hastily fleeing before Lorenz could get into the details of fragile foot bones.

"And I thought Will was bad." Yurius muttered as he stepped out of the tavern.

And smashed into Ignatz on the way in.

Yurius, being taller with a stronger build, staggered back.

Ignatz, being shorter with a slender build, sprawled onto the ground with a loud yelp.

"Oh. Sorry Ignatz. Are you alright?"

Ignatz laughed weakly from the ground. "My apologies, I didn't see you there."

Yurius nodded as he glanced back at the room above them. "Does erm, Lorenz usually talk about foot injuries?"

Ignatz laughed sheepishly as he staggered to his knees, quickly wiping away his glasses. "I've heard a mean joke or two about it, but no."

"Thank goodness." Yurius said as he helped Ignatz up. "If me or Mortis had to share a carriage with him, he'd be dead within an hour."

Ignatz laughed. "He can get annoying from time to time, but we have learnt to accept him."

Yurius hastily patted Ignatz on the shoulder as the smaller man got to his feet.

"Yurius, could I ask you a question?" Ignatz asked.

"But of course. What do you want to know?"

"What were you doing during the war?" Ignatz asked as he rubbed his neck. "It sounds like you and Mortis know each other well."

"We were part of a private guard company that guarded an important location." Mortis said from behind them. "Fairly boring work, but not affiliated with any of the kingdoms."

"How did the report go?" Yurius asked as he turned to his partner. "Does the town have any means to follow up on the bandits?"

"Not much was promised on that front. This town is severely lacking in manpower, and I've seen enough militia forces to know that most aren't even close to a professional fighting force."

"What should we do about the bandits then?" Ignatz asked.

"Killing them once you gather a sufficient force does tend to work. I believe the dead rarely come back to try to terrorize the living."

"I apologize for the fact that Mortis doesn't usually have a solution that doesn't involve wholesale slaughter." Yurius said quickly as Ignatz took a small step back from the woman. "Rest assured, perhaps we can find help in Myrddin or Garreg Mach?"

Ignatz frowned. "That's a good idea. The others mentioned that Edelgard herself is coming to Garreg Mach in the near future for a state visit."

Yurius exchanged a wary glance with Mortis, though her face remained blank.

"That's good to know." Mortis said quietly. "There's a fairly significant bandit population in this region from the looks of it."

Ignatz nodded. "I know, but from what I've seen, most bandits are people who would otherwise have gone hungry if they didn't steal."

"Yes, and that is why your average bandit is an incompetent chump." Mortis replied.

"Not all bandits are incompetent though." Ignatz replied. "I know of a bandit who stole a Relic weapon and captured a fortress."

"And how did you get to know of this?" Mortis asked, though her tone was less amused and much more serious than what Yurius might have expected.

"The professor. He lead an assault on the bandits. Took back the Tower of Black Winds from the bandits after combat."

Mortis didn't say anything, but Yurius could feel the question forming inside the woman's head.

"Oh. That's right. You probably don't know who he is. The professor is Byleth, the royal consort to the emperor."

Yurius swallowed as he glanced at Mortis again, the usually calm mage's hands firmly clenched as she turned away from the other man. "I see."

"He was so brilliant on the battlefield." Ignatz added unhelpfully. "He was really impressive. I learned a lot from his lectures in Garreg Mach."

Mortis turned back, her eyes cold, though her hands were no longer clenched. "That's good to hear."

Yurius felt an internal wince as he heard the forced sweetness inside the woman's voice. "Mortis, would you like to come to the local market? I want to see if there's anything we can eat here."

Mortis nodded. "That's reasonable. You did set our breakfast on fire."

"That's my fault. Sorry." Ignatz spluttered.

"No. It's his fault. He should have finished cooking the damn rabbit before he turned to talk to you."

"Look. I'm sorry alright?" Yurius shot back.

"Whatever. I'll collect some money before we head out."

"Oh no!" Ignatz exclaimed.

"What's wrong?" Yurius asked as the turned to the shorter man.

"I forgot to give Maya spending money."

"Unfortunate." Yurius said as he turned back to Mortis. "If you don't mind, could you get some more money for him?"

"It's nothing. I'll go upstairs myself."

"Lorenz is talking to himself about foot injuries." Yurius reminded him.

"Ah. Perhaps not then."

Mortis sighed as she pushed back her hairline. "Alright then. Is six hundred gold going to be enough?"

"More than enough. I don't believe Maya can spend so much money in a short while."

Mortis scoffed. "We shall see once we meet her. Never underestimate a woman's urge to spend."

"Alright then. We'll see you outside when you have the money." Yurius offered as Mortis turned to the stairs.


Byleth grimaced at the small, moss covered structure that they stood before.

"This is the Ladislava plot?" Jeritza asked as he looked over the mausoleum, clearly disappointed.

"I thought it would be bigger." Bernadetta said quietly as she stood quietly behind the main group. "And in the sun."

"She was born to a merchant family." Hubert said from his position behind the kneeling Edelgard, his face lined with a characteristic frown. "Lady Ladislava was the first person in her family to serve the empire as a soldier for three generations."

"It seems they have come under hard times." Jeritza said as he approached the structure, his arms firmly crossed around his midsection. "I doubt anyone has come here since those pines were planted."

"I came here once before." Hubert said. "Though I was only here for a few short minutes."

"Why was that?" Bernadetta asked.

"I had some business to discuss with Lady Ladislava. She suggested this place because it was out of the way and out of the sun."

"Did this have something to do with me?" Edelgard asked as she rose to her feet, her face stony.

"Naturally." Hubert replied.

"What was it about?"

"Two bishops under House Varley had been caught discussing something regarding one of your siblings. I was asking if they had been dealt with and if they had posed a threat to you at any point."

"Was there?" Edelgard asked as Byleth tensed.

"No on both counts. Adrastea personally executed them before the assembled seven. I was told they had suffered cruel, painful deaths at his hand."

Bernadetta winced.

"I assure you. You don't wish to know what she told me on the subject." Hubert said as he turned to Bernadetta.

"And what did you do?" Edelgard asked Hubert. "I know you well enough to guess that a simple execution will not satisfy you."

Hubert chuckled. "Very true, Lady Edelgard. I let Mr. Hawthorne know, and he acted accordingly."

"What happened?" Byleth asked as he crossed his arms, his stance serious.

"The congregations of the Black Forest and North Coldstream found their local parishes burned to the ground overnight." Hubert replied in a tone most would use to describe the weather.

"I see." Byleth said as his face turned tight. "Was anyone hurt?"

"A few guards had their throats cut, but Hawthorne is more a thief than a butcher. I suspect that he coordinated the attack with House Bergliez, for the guards along the roads reported nothing out of the ordinary."

"Whatever the case, we can get Hawthorne himself to elaborate later." Jeritza said as he turned to leave the graveyard.

"The sun is starting to fall." Byleth observed as he glanced away from the well hidden grave. "We should get going for the meeting."

"Very well." Hubert said as he turned from the grave. "Let us be quick. It would reflect poorly on Lady Edelgard if we arrived late to a meeting we called ourselves."


When Dorothea arrived to the meeting room, she found it surprisingly large.

In contrast to the secretive room that served as meeting point in the palace, the meeting room she had been led into was bright and open, the long windows that reached the floor engulfing the room in golden light.

"Ignatz is going to love this." Dorothea said as she slowly marvelled the large room.

"It is a beautiful place." Hawthorne said from behind her.

Dorothea spun around as she heard the voice of the older man, her hand flying to her chest.

"I did not mean to startle you, my lady. Please accept my apologies for that."

"I'm sorry, I just found this to be a beautiful place."

"It is. It's one of the oldest rooms in the entire lodge."

"Really?"

"Before the incident with the northern lords, before our empire began to crumble, this room was meant as a vision of triumph."

"This room was there before the kingdom chose to revolt?" Dorothea asked as she turned back on the room, her eyes trying to find any sign of the old empire on the walls.

"There's a great deal of artwork that I have kept in safekeeping that would have once lined the walls."

"Our friend Ignatz would love to see those."

"Many people would, but I'm perhaps the only person in the empire who has seen the whole collection."

"What collection?"

"The Ball of Celebration, I trust you've heard of it?"

Dorothea stared blankly at the man.

"I suppose not. But the Ball of Celebration is one of a kind, so perhaps it's excusable."

"What kind of ball are we talking about?"

"The last ball before the old empire collapsed. The only painting that depicts the entire empire at its full might."

"Such a painting exists?"

"It does. The unfortunate thing is that there was only one chance to paint it. The nobles of the Kingdom revolted shortly before the painting was finished, and there hasn't been any hope of creating a similar painting since."

"That's rather tragic isn't it?" Dorothea asked.

"Indeed, but perhaps one day it could be made once more. After all, is the empire not whole once more?"

"I suppose so." Dorothea replied. "But there is still much we have yet to do."

"That is true, but it is also the reason that we are all gathered here today."

"Yes it is." Monica said from the doorway. "Shamir Nevrand is calling on you, Mr. Hawthorne, were you expecting her?"

"Hmm. Did you invite her Miss Arnault?"

"No. I haven't seen her since yesterday." Dorothea replied. "Why is she here?"

"Only one way to find out then. Monica, do let her in, and prepare for some tea."


"This is Spite. Conducting autopsy three in the year 1185. The deceased is sixteen year old private Ryan."

Spite sighed as he finished the opening line of the report, closing the plain folder that contained the report as he snapped on thin gloves.

"The deceased is a young man of pure Agarthan ancestry. Our records indicate that he was raised in Shangri-la until he was summoned earlier this year for active field placements. Our archives state that he was summoned on the fourth of January, and arrived in the 8th of March."

"From external observations, the private suffered at least three different sets of wounds. One blunt, likely a handheld club of some form, two sets of sharp wounds. Likely handheld blades or pocket knives. Small, quick, nasty things."

"Why are you talking to yourself?" A voice asked from the entrance to the vault.

"Tradition of autopsies, Odesse. The woman who trained me at this particular art claimed it dated back to the old empire."

"Right. I've come to report that the mess hall has been cleaned and breakfast is being served now."

"Very good." Spite replied. "I will head up when this is finished."

"Why did the empire of old explain their findings out loud?"

"I was told at the time that they had devices that could record speech. Saved them the effort of writing all their findings down I suppose."

"Another thing lost with the old empire."

"Indeed. The old war cost our people dearly. So many lives lost to our stupidity."

"What do you was stupid about the old war?" Odesse asked as Spite scribbled some more notes down, shutting the folder quietly as he tossed away his gloves.

"Not killing to Fell Star in a single blow. We had one chance to end the war with a swift strike. And we blew it."

"Was the old war that much of a failure?"

"They built a damn church over the ruins of the old capital. I think that's enough of a failure on its own. And then we have the fact that only Shambhala and Shangri-la have survived to this day."

"Oh. I-" Odesse replied as he sneezed. "Sorry, can we continue this somewhere warmer?"

"It's colder down here than the main base." Spite replied as he turned to the doorway to the underground vault. "We should talk again once we get to the main levels of the base."

"Of course." Odesse said as he glanced at the corpse behind him. "What will you do with him?"

"I'll remove his heart later. But only when his killers have been brought down."

"What about the rest of his body? And why are you taking out his heart?"

"The rest of his body is worthless. Only our hearts are of value, and whatever value they do have is highly limited and situational."

"Erm, I don't quite understand." Odesse said quietly.

"Remember that our main difference from the savages who rule the surface world is the fact that we have hearts of stone." Spite explained as he turned around, his voice annoyed. "But this is a double edge, for when a soldier falls in combat in the outside world, we must remove his heart to ensure that our enemies never find out his origin."

"But the private did not die in combat."

"Yes, but that is where the situational value I mentioned earlier comes in." Spite said coldly. "Our civilization has few resources that it will not find good purpose for."

"Like what?" Odesse asked.

"The very fact that you do not know is a gift. Treasure that you don't have to know."

"Alright then. I'll not ask again." Odesse offered as Spite opened the door to the vault, gesturing for him to enter the main corridors of Shambhala.


The armour plates Ashe carried raised numerous eyebrows as he hurried through the medical wing of the camp.

He was fortunate. Ingrid's tent was far closer to the city than the tent he shared with Felix and Sylvain.

It was a simple thing, made of a plain, undyed canvas, with the eagle of the empire proudly emblazoned on one side.

Ashe paused briefly when he slipped into the tent, drops of sweat leaking into his eyes as he tried to find Ingrid's armour rack.

When a drop of sweat leaked into his eye, Ashe gasped and dropped Ingrid's armour plates on the nearest bedroll, groping frantically at his face as he tried to block out the pain.

A yelp of complaint rose up as the armour plates crashed into the bedroom, followed by a long, pale arm.

"Oh." Ashe croaked as one of Ingrid's roommates staggered to her feet, the dark haired woman blinking sleep out of her eyes.

"General Ubert, just what exactly are you doing here?"

"Ingrid wore too much armour while riding today." Ashe offered. "I'm here to grab a change of clothes for her."

The woman winced and nodded her head. "Ingrid's trunk is the one on the right."

"Thank you." Ashe said quickly.

"Still, I'm worried for her. She takes very poor care of herself."

Ashe blinked. "What do you mean?"

"If it had been any of us who were in the air, we wouldn't be wearing armour at all."

"Well, I suppose she takes the idea of being a knight very seriously."

"Too literally in this case." The woman said with a slight shake of the head. "If she insists of going on a flight, make sure she at least sees a medic first."

"I'll remember to do that." Ashe said as he quickly fussed through her trunk. "Should I bring her a light jacket as well as a blouse?"

"Couldn't hurt, but do remember to have her see a doctor before anything else."

"I'll do that." Ashe said as he hurriedly gathered a neat set of clothing in his arms.

"You go on ahead, General, I'll make sure her armour ends up on her armour rack."

"Thank you so much." Ashe said as he darted out of the tent.


"One more word about cake and I'll stab you." Felix warned his friend as he downed a swig of his canteen.

"That's fine. There's the explosion song too." Sylvain replied cheerfully.

"In that case, one more word from you and I'll feed you to a bear. Feet first."

"Are you jealous that I have a beautiful singing voice?" Sylvain teased his friend.

"The next time I have a mission, remind me to dump you in the nearest dungeon."

"Why? Is there a fair maiden inside that needs rescuing?"

"Yes. Inside is a fair, silver haired maiden with a big heart and a love for strong, handsome men."

Sylvain rolled his eyes and sighed before he suddenly tensed.

"Wait a minute! That's what I said about Ashe when we met him!"

"Yes, I know. First you started with Ingrid's grandmother, then you moved onto scarecrows,and then boys younger than you. You really are getting desperate Sylvain."

"I am not desperate!" Sylvain shot back. "How was I supposed to know he was a guy?"

"You could have asked him." Felix sneered. "You know, about how his eyes captured your soul? How his smile could light up a church? How you would make him the happiest girl in Fodlan?"

"I'm not attracted to him, for the last time!" Sylvain shouted. "And he's certainly not interested in me either!"

"Yes, who wants you around when he can spend all day with Ingrid?" Felix asked with a small chuckle. "They are all alone in Fhirdiad, with nobody watching them."

A moment of horror seemed to dawn on Sylvain as he glanced behind him, his hand firmly grasping the reins to his horse.

"We still have bandits to kill." Felix warned Sylvain as he punched his friend on the shoulder. "Bandits you agreed to help kill."

Sylvain swallowed slowly before he nudged his horse forward. "Fine then. Let's be quick. I'm not going to let Ashe and Ingrid be alone much longer."


"Dad?" Flayn asked as she sat close to him in the back of the small carriage they had rented.

"Yes? Flayn?"

"Does uncle Indech like fish?"

"He's sleeping under a lake. I don't believe he has anything else to eat."

Flayn giggled at her father's words. "Tell me about you and mother again. From the very beginning."

"But you already know the story." Seteth chided.

"Can I listen to it again?" Flayn asked her father pleadingly.

Seteth sighed as he admitted defeat. "Very well then."

"I was in Enbarr at the time. I was young, hurt, angry."

Flayn waited for the inevitable silence to end and Seteth continued.

"One day, perhaps, I'll show you the exact spot where I met her. When it's safe again."

"What was it like then?"

"A church. I haven't been back to Enbarr since her death."

"Is it possible that-?"

"I'm afraid so. I don't know if it's been torn down or not."

Flayn whimpered as she slowly leaned into her father. "Is it selfish of me to want to see her again?"

Seteth swallowed as he shook his head. "No. I've wanted to see her again every day for the past thousand years."

Flayn felt a tear drop from her face. "Do you think the professor will end the war?"

Seteth grimaced as he turned back out the window. "I don't know. Even after all this time, I don't know what will happen in regards to the war."

Flayn swallowed. "If the war is over, can we visit mother?"

Seteth shook his head. "I'm sorry Flayn, but I can't risk losing you. Especially with what happened last time."

"Oh." Flayn whispered as she laid her head on her father's lap. "I shouldn't have asked then."

Seteth shook his head. "I'm sorry, but as a father, I must see to your survival first and foremost. Even if the professor is a great man, I cannot help but feel like he might be murdered by those who slither in the dark."

Flayn whimpered as she closed her eyes. "If we see him again."

"We'll see when the time to cross that bridge comes." Seteth promised as Flayn leaned closer into her father's lap. "Until then, let's dream of a brighter Fodlan."


The sound of choked crying filled Lysithea with a certain fear as she glanced around the tower that she found oh so peaceful on hectic afternoons.

She paused for a moment as she thought of the ghost stories Mercedes loved to tell so much.

A moment and another sob later, Lysithea fled through the tower to find Linhardt.

Her favourite pillow and sweets maker was, as usual, in his study, ever buried in a pile of books.

"Lindy!" Lysithea called out as she scrambled into his room, panting as she rushed through his open door.

"What's wrong?" Linhardt asked as he glanced up from his book, his face serious, if not sleepy.

"There's a ghost in the tower!"

"Lovely." Linhardt replied. "What is it that you want to do?"

"What should we do?" Lysithea asked as she glanced behind her, content with the knowledge that a ghost wasn't chasing her down the tower.

"Let the ghost stay there?" Linhardt asked as he blinked hastily. "It's not like the ghost is actively trying to hurt anyone."

Lysithea gave Linhardt a dirty look as he sighed. "Alright. Fine then. Let's confront this ghost."

It was a slow walk back to the top of the tower, with Lysithea smiling as a gust of wind blew cold, fresh air into her face.

"Ahh. That feels so nice." Lysithea sighed happily.

Linhardt turned around, what appeared to be a letter plastered to his face.

"Pardon me while I read this." Linhardt said as he flipped the folded piece of paper open.

A yelp from the top of the flight of stairs caught Lysithea's attention as she realized the ghost had seen them.

Without another word, Lysithea bolted down the stairs, trying desperately to drag Linhardt down with her.

Instead, the taller man remained planted firmly in place, refusing to budge an inch as Lysithea turned again to desperately pull at her.

"The ghost is coming!" Lysithea cried out in panic.

"I'm not sure why the ghost would be reading through Annette's personal mail." Linhardt replied as he turned away from the note, his face mildly confused. "That being said, we cannot dismiss the assumption that it's simply a burglar who got lost."

"Is it likely to be a burglar?" Lysithea asked.

"No. It sounds like Annette." Linhardt replied.

"Annette!" Lysithea shouted above. "Are you alright up there?"

The voice at the top of the tower was silent now, and Linhardt sighed as he headed up the stairs.

"Please don't come closer." Annette gasped as they reached the top flight of the stairs.

"Are you alright?" Linhardt asked.

"Do you need us to call Mercedes?" Lysithea tried desperately.

A whimper escaped Annette as she mumbled a reply either of them could hear.

"If you hurt yourself, we can help you down to the infirmary." Linhardt offered helpfully.

"I'm fine!" Annette laughed weakly, though Lysithea could tell the lie in her words. "Nothing to worry about!"

"Would you like your father's birthday letter back?" Linhardt asked as Lysithea took a step forward.

A cry of horror escaped the orange haired missile that leapt out of the open doorway at the top of the tower, the girl scrambling at Linhardt.

Linhardt however, had seen the sudden attack coming, and raised his arm with the letter high, with the letter now firmly out of reach for Annette.

It was only when Annette turned to look up at the letter did Lysithea notice the red lines that marked Annette's eyes.

"So you were crying after all." Linhardt said as he lowered the letter back into reach for Annette, who snatched the paper quickly from his hands.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you." Annette said quietly, as if deflated by being caught.

"Why were you reading birthday letters?" Linhardt asked quietly.

"I-" Annette started, her voice shaking, her face like a stunned deer.

"Lindy, we should go." Lysithea warned.

Linhardt looked as though he wished to protest, but nodded. "Annette, if at any time you want to talk to us, we are all here for you."

Annette swallowed as she nodded. "Thank you."

Lysithea began to drag Linhardt away in ernest, the taller man coming down the stairs slowly as he gave Annette one last glance over his shoulder.


"What are you doing here?" Shamir asked as she entered the hall, her eyes glaring down Dorothea.

"I ran into Monica earlier today." Dorothea replied as she gestured to the red haired girl. "We ran into Hubie."

"Yes, I was told there would be a meeting here." Shamir replied. "Still, it is odd for the rest of them to be late."

"Do we have any idea just who is coming?" Monica asked. "I could ask the cooks to prepare food in advance if we know the guest list."

"We are not here to have dinner." Shamir said coldly. "We are here to have a serious meeting."

"That is true on the part about the meeting. Still, I would be a terrible host to not offer some light refreshments." Hawthorne replied as he sat down, his hands folded neatly before him.

"Water." Shamir replied.

"Is there anything in the hotel that you wouldn't mind serving up?"

"We have a great deal of alcohol, not to mention fruit and simple water based drinks."

"We need everyone to be sober for this meeting." Shamir replied quickly.

"That's true." Dorothea said. "Water for me as well."

"I'll need something stronger." Monica said quietly.

"Your testimony will be needed early and often, so I'm afraid I must deny you that." Hawthorne replied. "If you do need it, I will offer you a shot of whiskey before the meeting to calm your nerves."

"That would be nice." Monica said as she pulled a chair away from the nearest table.

"I suppose I must ask the others if they want anything to drink." Hawthorne said as he too, pulled out a chair.

"The others?" Shamir asked.

"Hanneman von Essar and Manuela Casagranda both checked in earlier today." Monica offered helpfully.

"They should be in Garreg Mach." Shamir said as she turned to the window, her eyes focusing on the slowly settling sun. "Why are they down here in Enbarr?"

"Research purposes." Hannemann said as he entered the room. "As for drinks, lock up your cellar. Manuela will drink it dry or until she collapses, whichever comes first."

Hawthorne sighed. "Right. I forgot she was here for a moment. Almost bankrupted me once."

"Was this back when she sang for the opera?" Dorothea asked.

"Yes. It was very interesting to come back to Enbarr to find two of my restaurants having run dry of liquor seemingly overnight." Hawthorne replied with a shake of the head. "Even worse was when the opera refused to pay."

"She drank two bars dry?" Dorothea asked, stunned by the man's words.

"No. She spurned a legion of fans while performing at a restaurant that I owned. They collectively drank the entire bar's supply of alcohol, as well as the supply of a second bar I owned close by."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Dorothea asked.

"Not when it turned out that two thirds of them could not afford to pay their bill. The opera claimed that they were not responsible for the debacle, which meant I had to pay out of pocket for the penniless bastards who had gorged themselves on my alcohol."

"You were the owner of that bar?" Manuela asked as she walked into the room, her hair messy and undone.

"Yes, Miss Casagranda, I was." Hawthorne replied. "I was very unhappy to find that three weeks worth of my most expensive alcohol had been practically given away for free."

"I apologize for that."

"Bah. It was in the past. I've moved on from simple tavern running."

The words hung in the air for a long, silent moment.

"Right." Manuela said as she too, sat down. "I'd like a glass or orange juice, if you don't mind."

"Pulp?' Hawthorne asked.

"None. I prefer a long, clean drink."

"Very well then." Hawthorne said as he glanced at the setting sun again. "When the rest of them arrive, we should be ready to begin."

"Who else is coming?" Hannemann asked Shamir as he pulled aside a chair.

"The professor, Hubert, Edelgard, and Bernadetta are the most likely candidates." Shamir replied.

"We saw Hubie and Bernie earlier." Dorothea confirmed. "They were out shopping."

"As I understand it, this entire meeting is for the benefit of this professor." Hawthorne said. "Tell me, just exactly what does he know?"

"He's the son of Jeralt Eisner." Shamir replied.

"I see." Hawthorne said calmly. "But that doesn't answer the question."

"The truth is, we never really got to learn who he is." Dorothea said in turn. "There's very little he's actually told us about himself."

"Well, it seems like there's something to be taken away by all of us." Hawthorne replied. "Once of course, they actually arrive."

"Mr. Hawthorne! The emperor is here!" A servant cried as he burst through the door, his face flushed and his breath laboured.

"Ahh. Very good. On time as always." Hawthorne said. "Very well, have them come in. And ask them if they require any refreshments."

"Yes my lord!" The footman shouted as he turned and ran back.

"Speak of the devil." Hawthorne muttered as he turned to Monica. "Get yourself one shot of bourbon and the others their respective drinks. This meeting might take a while."


AN:Only a few spelling errors. (Thank Sothis for small mercies).