Across the sweeping northern land of Faerghus, only Fhirdiad could be considered a city in the midst of farming villages and hamlets where the inhabitants worked tirelessly to wrest what they could from the hard, unforgiving landscapes. Farmers and craftsmen alike made frequent journeys to the capital to procure what they could not produce locally and to sell what they could among the shops and stalls of the market square. The Great Southern Gate lifted just before sunrise to remain wide and welcoming until the sun began its descent in the west.
The Great Southern Gate was truly a sight to behold, harkening back to the days when castles were surrounded by moat and drawbridge to guard against roving bands of rogues and rival clans seeking to snatch up resources for their own. One could move an entire army through the gates, including ballistas and airborne battalions of pegasus and wyvern. Knowing the history of Faerghus, these gates had likely seen many processions of this kind. Now, the main thoroughfare just beyond the arched gates housed store fronts and inns where you could find almost anything you desired from all parts of Fodlan or seek lodging before continuing on along the Imperial highway to other stops on the continental trade route.
Everyone of repute arrived by the Great Southern Gate where the watchful eyes of the city guard could make note of the comings and goings. The north-eastern and western gates, however, were ideal for greased palms and early access to the best vending spots in the square before the opening of the southern gate or the transport of illegal goods and unsavory transactions not fit for the bright bustle of the city proper. Anyone who sought entrance via the north-eastern gate did so under duress or for dishonest means which brought on additional scrutiny if the coin purse was not heavy enough.
The land was clear for miles around the capital city and two horses bearing two riders apiece thundering toward the north-eastern gate as though pursued by demonic beasts was easy to spot, even for the unwatchful eye. They were met by closed gates and a line of pikes barring their path. The captain, distinguished by a helmet-less head, shouted at them as they approached.
"Halt in the name of the King!"
"I am one and the same," Dimitri shouted. He was loath to stop but the line held and only with a sharp jerk on the reins did he avoid impaling his mount. The stallion reared up and Byleth very nearly fell from the saddle. "Move aside and open the gates!"
"Your Majesty!" Whatever the captain had expected, receiving the King of Faerghus in such a way was far from it. Shock displayed plainly on his face and he fell to his knees. His company followed suit rather than opening the gates as commanded.
"Rise and open the gates!" The mount beneath them stamped impatiently as did Sylvain's gelding. Felix, still slumped against his friend's back, turned his face away too late to mask a low, painful groan. Sylvain's face tightened at the sound but he made no other sign that he had heard. "Quickly!"
The captain scrambled to his feet, falling over himself to apologize for the delay and issue commands to his men all at once. His men seemed as bewildered as he but managed to clear the path and open the gates. No sooner had the path opened than they spurred their horses to charge onward without so much as a look back.
Beyond the north-eastern gate, the avenues were residential and the number of people milling about far less than one might find closer to the market square. Still, their furious pace sent people darting aside to clear their path ahead. Flying through the inner gates, the faces of confused soldiers and servants swept past in a blurr. Shouts and horns sounded, racing ahead to announce their arrival with the King but a second behind their flight. Through stables and courtyards, Dimitri did not slow until they'd met the threshold of the grand hall itself where the boney steward and plump Margaret waited with a smattering of the servants they could assemble with such short notice.
Dimitri dismounted with a sweep of his fur-lined cloak and assisted her down before the steward could straighten from his bow and began issuing orders like he might to soldiers on a battlefield. A knot of confused soldiers and servants, each trying to help at once, fell on Sylvain's gelding to assist him and Felix is dismounting.
"Take Lord Fraldarius to the infirmary immediately and summon the healer. His leg is broken and his pain is severe."
A strained huff that might have been a laugh burst out of Felix. "You don't know what you're talking about. It's nothing."
Somehow amidst the cluster of bodies and outstretched hands, Felix was no longer on horseback and stood with an arm slung around Sylvain's neck, sweat beading visibly on his brow. Even when obviously in pain, Felix could not abide the appearance of weakness.
"Be quiet or you can walk yourself," Sylvain said with a dip of his head. What might have been intended as jest was clearly soft concern. Without further argument, Felix moved slowly and painfully through the arched doorway and into the castle, supported by Sylvain and trailed by several servants who couldn't decide whether to fuss or keep their distance.
Margaret's face was strained and pale as she observed the commotion from beside the stone-faced steward. Beneath the years of lacquer and polish, these seasoned servants could barely hide their dismay at such an unannounced arrival and the state of the party. Likely unaccustomed to having orders barked at their staff in such a fashion the pair stayed rooted while action flurried around them like two pillars in a desert temple. Byleth could only imagine what they must be thinking.
Instructions continued to fly about as Dimitri strode toward the open gate, removing gloves and cloak as he did.
"See to the horses and prepare four fresh mounts for immediate departure. We will ride to Garreg Mach as soon as possible."
"Summon the Ravenmaster, word of the catastrophe must be sent to all corners of the kingdom."
"Bring food and drink suitable for riders. We must eat before we leave."
When the harried Steward asked whether he should summon warpers from the Royal School Dimitri paused then declined with a sidelong look and a grimace.
Margaret took full advantage of the momentary pause. "Your Majesties, the man from Duscar is here and.."
"Dedue is here?"
Byleth's stomach dropped so suddenly that her balance shifted. There were very few reasons that Dedue would leave his post and she dearly feared each of them.
"Yes, your Majesty. He arrived only moments before you did. The Sister from the Church is with him. They are in the sitting room."
Dimitri made to brush past her but the governess blocked their way.
"Your nose, your Majesty." She held her handkerchief up to him and continued to eye the smear of dark red on his upper lip.
He accepted the handkerchief and absently mumbled his thanks. Cleaning his face was of little concern and the small, white square disappeared into his fist as he brushed past her toward the sitting room at the end of the grand hall. Byleth had to double her steps to keep up with him and as they drew nearer to the sitting room the tighter the dread in her stomach knotted.
Dimitri pushed the door with unintentional force and it swung open with a startling bang that made the occupants jump and froze in the doorway. Every fear Byleth harbored was confirmed when Dedue rose to bow. His face, which many would have described as stoic like her own, was drawn and worn from exhaustion; his eyes were harder than steel, the sorrow she saw was just a sliver of what raged behind them.
"My friend…" Dimitri's feeble attempt to stop the bow withered and died in the air between them and Dedue continued as if he hadn't heard.
"I apologize for abandoning my post, your Majesty. I have come to report on the status of the border."
A lump had settled in Byleth's throat and the fair-haired woman all but invisible behind Dedue sobbed softly.
"Duscar has vanished or rather, is no longer there," his voice trembled with uncharacteristic emotion. He cleared his throat. "It is gone; all of Duscar and most of my people with it. But I gather you already knew this."
It was just as she feared; the abyss was not an isolated occurrence. If it was present in Duscar, how much more of their world had winked from existence? She watched the blood drain from Dimitri's face and felt her legs threaten to wobble.
"Dedue…" he began but failed to find anything else to say. His jaw muscles worked as he ground his teeth and his eyes fell to the floor. There was nothing for it but to speak directly. "We've only now returned from the northern border. Sreng is gone as well." Dimitri's voice rumbled in his chest.
Dedue closed his eyes, gathering himself with a rise and fall of his shoulders. Byleth felt a pain fork across her chest. She could not fathom the strength it took to bear this loss. The ink couldn't have been dry on the treaty before his homeland was once again ripped away from him. How he was standing before them was beyond her comprehension.
The woman seated behind Dedue reached out to take hold of his hand. Byleth had almost forgotten she was there and was surprised to discover she was another of her former students. In the livery of a nun with her long, honey hair pulled back into a neat bun beneath her coif Mercedes looked more like the women bustling about the halls at Garreg Mach than the doe-eyed girl she remembered. That she had joined the clergy after graduating was no surprise. Mercedes was a talented healer and possessed of a heart big enough to encompass entire cities within it.
"What are we going to do, Professor?"
Mercedes was looking at her with large, sad eyes. Just like Sylvain, she thought her teacher had the answer. Even as adults, they looked to her to solve the unsolvable and here she was, struggling to grasp her own sanity. How was she supposed to help anyone when her memory was as full of holes as an old shoe? Her guts twisted sharply inside of her. She could not tell if what she felt was anger at the injustice of it all or grief to rival that of her father's death but somehow she wanted to crawl out of her skin just the same.
"I don't know. Yet." She added, not yet ready to shatter their powerful illusion of an all knowing teacher. Leveling her gaze on Dedue and steadying her voice she asked him to tell her everything he saw.
"Beloved, don't you think…" Dimitri began but Byleth cut him off.
"The more we know, the better equipped we will be to face it."
"Her Majesty is right," Dedue said with a finality that ended any shut down any further objections. "Before a strategy can be made, you will need all the knowledge you can gather." He sat stiffly, with a straight back and hands at his knees. "What do you need to know?"
As it was with Sreng, so it was with Duscar. One moment it was there stretching beyond the rocky foothills and descending into lush valleys that poets once called bowls of flowers when the spring came and pools of diamonds when the reeds captured the moonlight on clear nights and the next it was not. Dedue was stationed in the fort that would serve as the checkpoint for crossing from Fodlan to Duscar, overseeing the implementation of the treaty and had not witnessed the disappearance first hand. Much like Anton, he'd been roused by shouts of treachery and a thunderous knocking on his chamber door.
There were initial suspicions of deceit and black magic as retaliation from a Fodlan that begrudged the treaty but it was difficult to assign blame when soldiers and lords alike were just as terrified as his kinsmen. Even though the fear was palpable on both sides, it had taken a great deal of diplomacy to prevent the high tensions from erupting into violence.
"It is not enough that our homeland was scorched and my people displaced and humiliated… Everything that we have endured; all for a land that the senses tell us was never there to begin with," he paused to collect himself and Mercedes placed a supportive hand on his. "It is near unbearable."
"Did anyone fall into the abyss?" Byleth pressed.
"Yes. Some fell in as they investigated the edge; others wandered over as though compelled. A few were recovered or restrained as they approached it but far more were lost than saved."
"How were they? Were they well?"
Dedue shifted to meet her gaze. He looked at her as if she were speaking in some unknown dialect. "In what way?"
"Did they say anything?"
His brow furrowed, evaluating the question or her or maybe both. "They did not know their names or who they were. They rambled when asked questions and hid their faces from the light, Duscan and Fodlander alike."
Dimitri and Byleth exchanged looks. This was more widespread than they'd feared.
"It's settled then," Dimitri said with an air of finality as he stood. "We depart for Garreg Mach as soon as we're able. The Archbishop will be able to help. I know it." He gave Dedue what he surely thought was a reassuring smile though it looked more like a grimace.
Dedue gave him an affirmative nod. "I will accompany your Majesties. I want to hear from the Archbishop as well."
"How terrible that the lions promised to meet at the Millennium Festival but instead of celebrating we're struggling and frightened."" Mercedes shook her head sadly. "I was so looking forward to seeing everyone but not like this."
Byleth perked up at this, having almost forgotten about Gilbert's theory. " Is there a rite or ceremony performed to commemorate the completion of the monastery, Mercedes? The Millennium Festival would mark the thousandth repetition and we wondered if there was some kind of connection."
Mercedes raised her knuckles to her chin, thinking and looking more like the student Byleth remembered. "Not that I can think of, Professor, but that doesn't mean there isn't one. My station may not be privy to some of the older rites performed by the Archbishop herself. I'm sorry I'm not more help"
"Chin up Mercedes. I know it seems dire but I refuse to give up and I'll be counting on your strength, my friends." Dimitri had a way of seeming both boyishly optimistic and infectiously encouraging and Byleth wasn't the only one with a soft smile on their face. Everyone nodded, seeming more determined than before.
"You're right Dimitri! I... oh!" Mercedes gave a soft cry and sprung to her feet. "Dimitri! Your nose!"
"What?" he stammered. Mercedes was up on her toes, stretching to check his face and Dimitri instinctively leaned back, staying just out of her reach. "Oh. Yes. It's nothing, really Mercedes."
"It's not nothing," she insisted, continuing her pursuit. The further she stretched, the more he leaned, shifting in all directions to avoid her fussing. "You're bleeding!"
Even though he had nothing to be guilty about, Dimitri looked harried; insisting he was not injured.
Despite the gravity of their circumstances, the humor of watching the much shorter woman chasing the King around like a mother hen and her chick wasn't lost on them. Byleth grinned behind a hand cupping her chin and the mood of the room seemed to tangibly lighten.
"That's what happens when you give the Professor a hard time," said Sylvain. No one heard him arrive but there he was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, watching the pair of them with a lopsided grin on his face. "She headbutted him."
Dedue frowned. "Why did you headbutt his Majesty?"
Byleth waved all of them away dismissively. "It is a long story and, when I tell it, I only want to tell it once. Sylvain, how is Felix?"
"Not good." Sylvain was almost casual as he draped himself on a cushioned chair. "His leg is completely broken. It's been set and he's comfortable but he won't be riding out today."
Byleth nodded. "We can't afford to wait. Mercedes, will your Bishop allow you to leave on such short notice?"
Mercedes' paused, forgetting all about Dimitri and his nose. "Professor? Are you feeling well? I know I was only raised last moon but it can't be that you've forgotten. I am the Bishop." When Byleth did not answer, she looked up at Dimitri. He was dabbing at his nose with the handkerchief Margaret had given him and leaned back when their eyes met like he expected her to dart at his face again.
"It is also part of the long story," Byleth admitted.
"Tell me everything."
"It is a rather long story, Mercedes. Perhaps we should…" Dimitri did not have time to finish before Mercedes insisted.
"Nonsense, it will take time for preparations to be complete. Tell me everything." She planted herself on the couch and looked between them with such authority that Byleth suddenly felt like a school girl fidgeting beneath the gaze of the headmaster.
Sylvain swung up right in his chair. "May as well. We'll have to eat something before we head out and it sounds like you two have been leaving me in the dark on a few things."
"There were tremors here in Fhirdiad as well," said Mercedes.
The spread of cured meats and dried fruit remained untouched on the table where the servants had left it. No one had much of an appetite. Even knowing the rigorous journey laid ahead of them, no one so much as put food on their individual plates and once Byleth had finished her very long story, no one spoke for several minutes before Mercedes broke the silence.
"If we felt the earthquake here, it must have been incredibly powerful where you were. I hope that everyone there is safe."
Byleth hesitated to speak but no one else had anything to say. "We need to find out if the edge has changed since the quake."
"To see if it's moved further inland?" Sylvain asked.
Byleth nodded.
"Why would we need to know that?" asked Mercedes.
"Have you ever cracked a walnut?" Sylvain asked in a low voice, his lips hidden behind steepled fingers. "Maybe you use a nutcracker or something but you have to squeeze really hard and…" he spread his hands, popping his fingers apart like a firework.
"I still don't…"
"The Professor is suggesting that the earthquake happened because the abyss is pushing against the edge of land." Even speaking over her, it was obvious that Mercedes was not the cause of Sylvain's short temper. No one, even Byleth, wanted to voice the theory outright; that the quakes were not coming from beneath the earth but rather from the force of the abyss pressing in.
The color drained from Mercedes's and her voice shook. "I see."
In a moment, she collected herself and with hands folded at her heart, she continued. "There are many things that we don't fully understand. Miracles and magics alike that the goddess chose not to reveal to us. Is it possible that this is another part of her divine plan that we do not understand?"
Sylvain's face darkened and he shook his head. "That makes no sense. You're telling me that the all loving goddess would swallow entire countries full of people for what? To teach us some kind of lesson? You're wrong."
"Just because you cannot understand it doesn't mean it is evil." She insisted gently but with another glance to Dedue she paused; reconsidering. "Perhaps this is not the right time for a religious debate or conjecture."
Sylvain snorted. "What I don't understand is why the Professor doesn't have any memory of the last few years. Is that somehow connected or just a strange coincidence?"
"Indeed. It is odd," agreed Dedue.
When Byleth looked up, Sylvain was studying her with a shrewdness that reminded her of his father in a very unsettling way. For the first time since this had begun, she considered the timing of her memory loss and how all of this had come on the heels of that strange dream; it was an unnerving thought. Even if she didn't like it, she could understand the subtle suspicion behind their looks.
Suddenly, Dimitri's arm slid across her shoulders and his thigh pressed against hers. When Byleth looked up, she found his attention fixed on Sylvain with that cold intensity she'd seen the night before.
"Even if it is connected we'll get to the bottom of it. The truth of the matter is, we don't know what the earthquake was and conjecture isn't going to help." He looked down at Byleth and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before turning his gaze back to the others. "I know that when we bring all of this to the archbishop, we'll find a solution."
Sylvain stood abruptly, stretching his arms above his head with an exaggerated yawn. "Then it makes more sense for me to go back home rather than heading to Garreg Mach. I can send word if this theory holds true and if there's been substantial damage I need to be there. I don't want to fail in my first few days as the new Margrave."
Mercedes hands flew to her mouth. "Did you say, the new Margrave? Sylvain, is your father…"
"Hey hey, no need to worry Mercedes. When I last saw him he was still kicking. There's just been a shift in power at the border is all. Can you lend me a horse for the ride back?" The warmth in his voice iced over as he turned his attention back to Dimitri.
"Of course, Sylvain." Dimitri straightened to stand. "Please, friends, eat what you can and prepare to depart. After what we experienced during our last warp, I don't know that I am keen to do it again so soon. That means we'll be riding hard and the road will be long and tiring."
Even with fresh mounts and a brutal pace, the journey would take a full day and the horses would likely die at the gates of Garreg Mach. It was decided that they would stop at Radnor in Charon territory, a small farming village where they could buy new horses and continue through the night.
Mercedes would remain behind. Once the people of Fhirdiad learned of the state of the borders they would need the support of the church; as Bishop she wouldn't abandon them. With Felix in no shape to travel and Sylvain returning to Gautier territory, only three would depart from the Great Southern Gate. There was not enough time to arrange the battalion that would accompany the King under normal circumstances but they would follow behind them.
Before long, Byleth found herself checking the strapping of her saddle much to the chagrin of the servants around her. Margret would certainly have had a thing or two to say about it, the Queen preparing her own mount, but it was a way to distract her from the questions rattling around in her mind. How did royalty and nobles stand having all this idle time to do nothing but think?
With a final, unnecessary tug of the girth, Byleth could find nothing more to do. The horses were ready. They would depart soon. Just beyond the arched entryway to the stable yard, Byleth caught sight of Mercedes and Dedue exchanging their goodbyes. Their heads were close together and she held his large hands between her palms. The intimacy between them touched her unexpectedly and heat blossomed on her cheeks.
She spun around, embarrassed to have intruded despite being yards away and clutched her chest. Sudden warmth and a shortness of breath accompanied the blush on her cheeks; she was so happy to see them this way and equally frightened to separate them. Such a connection must be rare and determination to preserve it filled her.
Although she was no longer their teacher, she wished to be there for all of her students when they needed her and, selfishly, that they could always remain together. Perhaps this was an unforeseen risk of becoming a teacher. Perhaps it was impossible not to become attached to all of her pupils. She wondered if Hanneman and Manuela felt such a bond with their houses or if there was some sort of secret she was not privy to that made them immune to such devotion.
With a sigh, she wished that things were simpler and was reminded of a time that she'd longed to have stayed with her father as a mercenary and never become tangled in all of this.
"Byleth?"
His voice brought her back, summoning warmth where before there'd been a tangle of dread and uncertainty. If she could be with him the heavy burden of fear and uncertainty was bearable.
As she turned to look up at him, however, she found him several paces away with an uncertain expression on his face. Even without words to label how she felt, she knew with certainty that she did not like that expression nor the distance between them.
"Are you well?" he asked.
She frowned. What sort of question was that to ask your lover or rather your wife from such a distance.
"I am sorry," he continued. "I feel like I have done something to upset you but I am afraid I don't know what I did. Did I hurt you when I grabbed you?"
"No. If you hadn't, I could have hurt you. I didn't know it was you."
He nodded but this explanation wasn't enough to put him at ease. "I see."
She looked on, waiting for him to speak clearly but instead he dropped his gaze from her face and adjusted the gloves that were already on his hands.
"You seem different after that last episode and…" he paused, deliberating his next words. "I don't know how to describe it…"
"Do you think I'm going mad?" Her question was blunt and she wondered if he knew that he flinched.
"No," he insisted too quickly. "It's more of a feeling that I have. You seemed… different. Like I remembered you from our academy days or what you must have been like as a mercenary." He raked his hand through his hair, forgetting that it was tied back and huffed when his fingers tangled. "Not that it's unwelcome, I just... It surprised me."
"And you wondered if you'd done something to offend me because I assumed an authoritative role?"
His face paled as he realized how this was being received. "No no. Not at all! Byleth. I'm sorry. This isn't going as I had hoped. I wanted to apologize either way. For offending you, that is."
She studied him and he shifted under her scrutiny, looking more like a school boy than a king. After an agonizing silence, he turned to make his escape. "I'll leave you to your preparations."
"Sylvain said that I of all people should know that you are not someone to say no to. What did he mean by that?"
Dimitri's back grew rigid and he stopped in his tracks. He turned to look at her over his shoulder and the shadow behind him obscured half of his face. Byleth's breath caught and the small hairs on the back of her neck stood erect for a split second before he turned back toward her. The air between them warmed when he shrugged. "I'm afraid I don't. Unless he is talking about the lengths I went through to woo you."
He chuckled and she felt the corner of her mouth curve up. Perhaps Sylvain was playing a trick on her with his ominous insinuations. "You said that you would tell me more about that."
"We just haven't had the time." He smiled as he recalled something and his gaze lowered. "You were very stubborn." When he looked up, heat exploded across Byleth's face at the intense hunger behind his eyes. Desire sparked in her stomach with unexpected force that her legs wobbled. Rather than close the short distance between them like she desperately wanted to, she spun around to check her saddle bags again. "I was, was I?"
He closed the distance between them silently. Before she realized it, his arms were around her waist and his lips at her ear. His breath sent chills down her neck and she leaned back against him before she could control herself. "I lost count of the letters I wrote and the gifts I sent."
The world around her dimmed and she couldn't hear anything but the pant of her breath and his rich voice in her ear. Her skin tingled and adrenaline surged through her limbs. She clung to the leather strap of her saddle bag like a lifeline. "I wrote poetry, Byleth. You know that I am not a poet."
She twisted around to face him and he tightened his arms, pulling her flush against him. Her breath rushed out of her with the force of his embrace. His face was so close to hers. "But for you, I was willing to play the fool."
"Why would I deny you?" she asked, grasping at coherent thought.
A chuckle rumbled in his throat. "We don't have time now for me to recount all of the excuses you sent me or the number of times my gifts were returned. But we will."
He kissed her, capturing her lips with ease and finding her pliant beneath them. Kissed her deeply and she found that she would gladly let him take whatever he wanted from her. With a sigh, he straightened and their kiss ended before it had truly begun and held one another tightly.
"I love you, Beloved."
"And I you."
Without another word, they parted, each to their horses. If they had another thing in common besides their stubbornness it was their sense of duty and timing. As Byleth settled into her saddle, she realized her lips were still throbbing. Recovering from the haze his affections raised in her was difficult. It lingered, clouding her mind like thick perfume or the stupor following a night at the tavern.
The send off was just as sparsely attended as their arrival with a handful of castle staff in attendance. Mercedes and Sylvain stood among the staff, watching with somber expressions. Mercedes raised a hand to wave just as the bitter winter wind barreled into them.
Byleth had hoped for the wind at their back but was not surprised that it shifted to blow against them as they spurred their horses on. Dimitri set them at a thunderous pace and in no time at all they crossed the bridge at the Great Southern Gate. There was no time to look back and although their eyes remained fixed on the road before them, their minds were already at the gates of Garreg Mach.
The farewells were fleeting and the send off was just as hastily attended as their arrival only hours ago. The trio waved their goodbyes but each had their mind set on the task at hand. With eyes fixed on the road ahead they spurred their horses on to cross the bridge at the Great Southern Gate but their minds were already at Garreg Mach.