To: Professor Eisner
Lady Edelgard will be indisposed for the weekend, as she has been once again summoned to County Arundel on the Regent's orders. She asks you to excuse the suddenness of the affair but stresses its urgency.
Her expected return is Monday afternoon. Due to the arrangement of next week's seminar schedule, she trusts that it will not cause any particular issues. Although I'm sure you already realize this – Monday is a combat art seminar for healing magic, presided over by Prof. Casagranda. Under most circumstances, Lady Edelgard would not be expected to attend a seminar outside of her own listed combat proficiencies.
While she is indisposed, Professor – I would like to propose a meeting between the two of us to discuss that corpulent serpent we met at the mock battlefield earlier this week. I will make myself available between the hours of noon and eight P.M. in my dormitory quarters.
I would not suggest waiting outside or arriving concurrently.
Eyes are always upon you.
If you do not announce yourself during those hours, I will interpret your absence as permission to proceed with this matter independently. Expect this to be our last communication on the matter if so.
Do not post a reply to this message.
Your Student,
Hubert v. Vestra
Professor Eisner,
You did not submit a student's name for this week's Saturday Stable Cleaning. Understand that the consequence for failing to post this roster is the expectation of your personal participation in the activity.
The group activity hours are 9am-2pm.
Dutifully,
Seteth
I've been on latrine duty before, back when I was a fresh-faced addition within my father's company. Stable cleaning at Garegg Mach, as it turns out, is rather like latrine duty. The horses are fed quite well here, and naturally – that food takes leave of them at some point. Since I've arrived at the stables, I've been shoveling the remnants of that.
To her credit, though – Marianne, the Deer's volunteer – has also been shoveling. And in a weird way, seems to be enjoying the activity. I get the impression that she's humming, but that barely audible music is drowned out by the noise of the horses and shovels.
…And Ingrid.
The Lion's volunteer has been doing less shoveling and more vomiting out what remains of her breakfast with each drive of her spade into the brown-stained hay. I suspect the heir to House Galatea, while rumored to be a fine equestrian, may have left more base activities of knighthood to stable boys in the past.
"Everything ok?" I ask the Lion.
"...Fi–… Fine, Pro… fessor!" she manages in between gags.
My father said that the best way to get through latrine duty was to strike up a conversation. He referred to it as "shooting the shit while you shovel the shit". My only issue is the company – Marianne isn't exactly an eager talker, and Ingrid can barely make it through a sentence without dry heaving.
Still, I feel as though I might as well try. After shoveling a particularly large turd into the gutter, I turn to the Deer.
"Do you sing as well, Marianne?"
Marianne turns to me, absolutely mortified.
"-Oh, Professor? You heard my humming…"
I nod.
"No… I will just sometimes do it to Dorte. It seems to relax him…"
"That's Dorte?" I ask, nodding towards the horse whose droppings she's shoveling.
"Y-yes…"
I've encountered Marianne on a few occasions going to and from the stables with all manner of treats for the steed.
"He's fortunate to have you looking after him."
"I can't say I agree…"
Our conversation trails off from there. Unfortunately, I'm not much of a conversationalist, and neither is Marianne. I suspect Ingrid would be more engaged if every scoop of hers wasn't followed by some sort of reflex reaction.
Five hours pass in this way. Although I thought myself generally acceptive of monotony beforehand, I felt somewhat cold in its wake today. Could it be because of the warmth I felt last night with Edelgard? This is probably something I should consider when not knee-deep in horseshit.
The cathedral's ringing bells signal the end of the group activity shortly after this thought crosses my mind.
"Did you guys want to get something to eat?" I ask my two erstwhile companions.
"...Professor, I… don't have an appetite left, actually…" Ingrid utters nauseously.
A pretty surprising statement given how much she usually eats generally. When we first met, she wolfed down three massive sweet buns. Additionally, at the party last night, she ate roughly half of Annette's birthday cake and downed three shots of absinthe. She outdid Sylvain, who brought the damn drink to the party.
After saying this, she staggers out the stable door.
I turn to my other activity partner. Her tired eyes look back at me apologetically.
"I usually don't eat on Saturdays…" Marianne informs me.
Perhaps this is because I'm just a mercenary – but I've never heard of anyone not eating on a particular day when there's abundant and free food available right next door. I must grimace at the thought of it – as I notice Marianne recoil.
"It's for a fast, Professor… I'm not harming myself…" she informs me hesitantly.
Does she think that I think that she's harming herself? I didn't until this very moment – but now I might.
"...A fast?" I ask.
The only time I've heard that word before was curiously enough – from my father in reference to Fallstaff. He's a fellow who always seems to be perpetually ballooning in size – at least for the length of time that I've known him. My father had made that suggestion to fast in order that he might keep his good health into old age.
Marianne appears to be in excellent shape physically – and I don't get the impression that she's much older than one of my Eaglettes… perhaps somewhere between Edelgard or Dorothea, age-wise. The only giveaway that she might be under some stress are the ever-present dark circles under her eyes.
So why does she need to fast? If anything, she should eat some sweets and relax.
I bring a hand to my chin to consider her words further. My thoughtful stance seems to have aroused a bit of resolve in her.
"It is a way to ensure that your prayers reach the Goddess, Professor." the Deer explains.
"I see." I don't, but I also have no desire to offend her sensibilities.
This just makes her look all the more troubled.
"I-I'm sorry if I offended you by declining, Professor."
I bring a hand to my hair in what must be exasperation. I'm really trying not to make her feel bad, but I just seem to be making a royal mess of things at the moment.
"...No, you're not at all– I was just curious. I wasn't raised in the Church."
Curiously, my admission of confusion seems to put her at ease.
"Oh… maybe you should attend a Mass, Professor. I-I think you would understand more about the Goddess if you participated."
It then occurs to me that I've been at Garegg Mach for nearly a month and haven't bothered to step foot in the cathedral yet. Nodding at her brilliant advice, I say:
"That's great advice, Marianne – thank you."
Much to my relief, she seems to take my genuine gratitude at face value.
"...It's no trouble!"
Marianne takes her leave of me shortly after. It seems to my admittedly rather primitive understanding of people that a nearly impenetrable wall exists between us. What would one even call that? The difference in perspective between a believer and a non-believer? I'm not even sure I'm a non-believer, though. My stance on the existence of this or that deity is never one I've really committed much thought to in my life before.
Here at the monastery, however, it seems of the utmost importance that I make a decision one way or the other. I probably won't be able to get any closer to Marianne until I do.
Which is a shame, as I find myself appreciative of her perspective at times. Her treatment of animals is so gentle, and her relationship with Dorte makes me consider my own past with beasts of war. That is to say that they're certainly not beasts of war to Marianne. To her, they are undoubtedly beings that deserve to be treated with care by sole virtue of existence. And that's a valuable way of thinking - one that I'd like to explore more if I ever have the chance.
I suppose that thought portends a follow-up, though: is that solely Marianne's opinion, or the Goddess's as well?
I'll never know the answer to that question unless I set about learning, of course.
Realizing that I'm about two hours into the range of time Hubert offered for that meeting regarding the "corpulent serpent" – obviously Fallstaff, I head straight over.
Hubert's room looks exactly what I expected it to look like.
Covered from ceiling to floor in massive black bed-sheets surrounding a small table and two chairs, it's clear that the Heir to House Vestra has taken every effort to obfuscate his living space from me. He's even blocked out the windows and resorted to illuminating the room by candlelight at three in the afternoon– a very dangerous thing considering the sheer amount of linen hung all around. It's almost too campy even for a yokel like me and prompts me to comment on it as soon as he invites me inside.
"Hiding something?"
"If I was, do you think that question would prompt me to tell you, Professor?"
"Probably not." I grant.
"Those are very thick, padded bedsheets, Professor. Ochs wool, as it happens."
I shrug, as if he expects me to be familiar with whatever Ochs wool is.
"Perfect for soundproofing a conversation you would not want others to hear."
That's actually a pretty innovative idea, I guess. No one would expect bed-sheets to be a means to insulate secret exchanges in a dorm room, right?
Not following that line of thought further, I take a seat at the coffee table at Hubert's behest. He occupies the seat across from me, and lifts a small teakettle between two white mugs.
"I'd offer you some tea, but I regret to inform you that it is currently lukewarm."
Shrugging, I say:
"I'm not picky."
His eyebrow shoots upward.
"That I cannot argue with."
I take a sip, and am overwhelmed almost immediately with the sheer frutiness of the affair.
"It's a Dagdan fruit blend. Lady Edelgard is raving about Dagda's produce nonstop now, so I thought it prudent to see what all the fuss was about. Like most barbarian food, I consider it unrefined, but not altogether unsavory."
"It's similar to the Dos Cravos." I say rather absent-mindedly.
Hubert treats this as a revelation, though.
"Ah, that is the name of the libation that you're using to curry her affection. Good to know."
Blinking, all I can reply with is:
"...What?"
The Eagle shakes his head bitterly, and pulls out a tightly wound scroll, bound together with a thin red string affixed with a seal bearing a double-headed Pheonix.
"Shall we get down to the business at hand, Professor?"
I nod.
"Good. Allow me to introduce you to Adrestia's greatest failure since the Battle of the Tailtean Plains."
Hubert unties and unfurls a piece of parchment before me.
"This, Professor – is a schematic of the Ark Naglfar, the flagship of Nemesis, King of Liberation and his Ten Elites. A legendary vessel used to wage war on river and sea against Saint Seiros and her Champion, Emperor Wilhelm of Adrestia roughly one millennia ago."
Nemesis is a name I've heard before, in that dream.
The rest… it's all as indecipherable as Almyran, at least to me. Which isn't even fair to the Almyrans, as I probably know more about them than I do any of this political crap.
Cutting through the rest of the mumbo-jumbo that he just mentioned, what appears before my eyes is a clear enough representation of a massive water-going vessel whose scale is almost unimaginable. My eyes fall to the key which is detailed in cubits – a unit of measure that while unused in Fodlan remains in Almyra. Their signposts track distances in those units, a common sight along the Throat. I only have the vaguest understanding of their length, however. If my guess is right…
Before I can speculate too much, Hubert cuts back in.
"...How curious that you'd look straight towards the key. I did the same, although these are recorded in ancient units. Allow me to translate – the vessel was at least two-hundred yards in length, had a beam of roughly forty yards, and possessed ten decks. My guess based on that rather cryptic measure of weight there…"
He points to a series of Cyrillic letters that I cannot make heads or tails of.
"... means that the vessel probably displaced well over twenty thousand tons. Given the large siege weapon posted here at the bow, I suspect that this vessel was used at one point to challenge the Bridge of Myrddin."
My eyebrows raise at the sheer size of the weapon, a sort of cylindrical drill – and really just the ship itself. There's not a single galleon that I've seen in Derdriu, the seafaring mercantile capital of Fodlan – that even approaches the scale. Albinea, the island nation with a "wooden wall" of ships, has a man-o-war that their mercenary sailors often brag about – which I've heard only displaces about two-thousand tons. A ship ten times that large must be truly enormous.
"...As an agnostic raised outside the church, I'm sure all that history means very little to you. I would just ask you to understand that what you are looking at is a waterborne weapon of unimaginable power, lost to history for nearly a thousand years in the wake of Nemesis's defeat." Hubert continues.
"I know a weapon when I see one." I say, shaking my head.
This provokes a curl to form along Hubert's lips.
"I thought so. You aren't the only one, either – Professor. Twenty-five years ago, Emperor Ionius commissioned a one-to-one scale recreation of this vessel based on this long-lost piece of parchment. That engineering project was the single largest in the history of Adrestia since the foundation of Enbarr itself, a city raised from the swampy marshes of Hresvelg. The entire endeavor was also attempted in complete secrecy, hidden from the Church, upper nobility, and foreign powers."
At mention of the Emperor, I'm finally spurred to ask a question that I've been teasing around for a while.
"...Edelgard's father commissioned this?"
Hubert's smirk widened at this, as if I had asked a profoundly dumb question. Perhaps I did.
"Indeed, I suppose I should have clarified her father's identity for a commoner such as yourself… In any event, the man who was selected to lead that top-secret project was none other than your father's lieutenant– Falstaff von Hrym, Baron Morgaine."
A hand goes to my chin rather reflexively.
"You're sure that this is the same person?" I ask.
Frankly, Fallstaff never struck me as a military engineer. I certainly never saw him partaking in any sieges, at least.
Hubert brings out some supplementary information – from what I can see, they're newspaper broadsheets from Enbarr featuring sketches of a man who is unmistakably my father's subordinate. The man we called Sir Fallstaff.
"-At first, no. But shortly after our introduction to him, I sent a letter to my father by carrier owl asking for… assorted books and scrolls such as the one lying before you. Although he and I are on somewhat shaky terms, information on such an event so far in the past was something he was willing to oblige. I suspect he takes a great deal of pride in it, even. House Vestra has a sizable library devoted to just this event."
I nod. I don't recall him sending a carrier owl, but I suppose I should just accept that Hubert's always plotting. It seems like a better thing to do than obsessing over how he goes about doing it. My Eagles are a quirky bunch, I'm starting to realize.
That said, they probably find me rather strange, too. Except Edelgard – she just thinks I'm foolish. And really… I don't mind if that's her impression of me.
Hubert endeavors to get my attention back. It seems as if my blank stare drifted downward when thinking about his liege.
"Baron Morgaine, it should be noted, was the younger sibling of the late Count Hrym, and the uncle to the current Count Hrym." he says.
At times, I wonder what Hubert expects me to do with trivia such as this. I haven't the slightest idea who rules Hrym, or why that should matter. I've certainly never met the current Count.
"In any event, the man that stood before us on the mock battlefield as a mere lieutenant of your father – that man whose head my father apparently presented to Emperor Ionius the very year I was born – has a rather dubious distinction, Professor. Care to guess what that is?"
I shake my head. I'm not really sure what he's getting at.
"As it happens, he was Emperor Ionius's most trusted friend and confidant. They have quite the history together, going back to their days at the officer's academy, here at Garegg Mach. A forty-fiver, to pilfer his own term for it. And like so many alumni from that class, he betrayed his liege when the moment became opportune."
While I don't think the Eagles are as close as I'd like them to be, I wonder if they'd ever be betraying one another like those earlier Adrestians did. Maybe that should be a broader concern of mine in general. Teaching them how to wage war is one thing – but if they just use those skills to murder each other in the future… then I would've done them more harm than good in the end, as their teacher.
"...Was it that bad?"
Hubert runs a hand through his coiffure and squints with his visible eye, as if taking note of my conflicted mind.
"The project was one of the worst feats of mismanagement in the entire history of Adrestia."
I nod. I suppose you can't hide something like that forever. And from what I've gathered, the Church doesn't like that sort of thing appearing under their nose.
"Was the…Ark… completed?" is my logical follow-up.
The heir to House Vestra shakes his head.
"No, not at all. The attempt to reconstruct Naglfar was a complete and utter disaster. From what I can gather, only the frame of it was raised. After five years, it ended up as one of the worst financial boondoggles ever committed by Adrestia in her long and illustrious history."
I sat on this thought for a time. Ionius seemed to have the right idea in building a weapon that formidable, especially with a historical analogue of success present. On the Throat, the strongest citadels often would dissuade attacks from a man as brave as Holst. That's basically what a battleship is as well, isn't it? A big, waterborne fortress? I'm no expert in naval affairs, of course. My battles have been fought on Terra Firma.
With that in mind, it's clear enough from Hubert's story that Ionius didn't acquire the sufficient talent around him to see through that vision. No commander should waste his men on an objective they cannot be expected to fulfill. My father always kept that in mind when he led his company.
So... why did Edelgard's father ignore a maxim that? She made him out to be a fine warrior.
"You look as if you're deep in thought, Professor." Hubert says.
"I am." I reply.
I can pretty easily tell that my statement intrigues him.
"Well, do tell…"
"Why do you think he entrusted Fallstaff with such a task?"
Hubert shrugs.
"The Emperor kept bad company, it would seem. That is the reason why I scarcely keep any at all save Lady Edelgard. Using people for their talents is one thing but trusting them with one's dreams without the bonds of duty… it strikes me as beyond irresponsible. Unforgiveable, even. No offense intended to present company, of course."
Is that what binds him to Edelgard, then – duty alone? Is duty even enough? Nobles are often bound by duty, but this means comparatively little in places like the Alliance which seems to be in a perpetual state of discord and low-level civil war. And Adrestia too, it seems...
Hubert continues on noticing that I proffer no reply.
"...If I might be so bold, Professor – I'd say that every failure of Emperor Ionius's reign from that moment on can be attributed to this disastrous bit of whimsy. It eroded his reputation with the high nobility and began to isolate his more competent supporters." Hubert notes.
Just a month ago, I'd be inclined to accept his assessment of things. Now, I am not so sure. A pang in my chest tells me that this is not the case.
I think of my student – would she ever trust me with her dreams one day? A part of me that hopes that would be true.
Was it Edelgard who gave Hubert all this information, I wonder? It seems so very close to her. Spurred forward by this thought, I inquire:
"How did you get all this information, Hubert?"
Folding up the newspapers, he chuckles.
"Entirely by circumstance, Professor. My father assumed the vast resources granted to Baron Morgaine following his exile and demise. Prior to this, House Vestra was merely a branch of nobility confined to palace politics. Our sphere of influence had never departed far from Enbarr and the Emperor."
He rolls up the scroll again, and ties it tightly with the red string that once held it.
"...After this affair concluded, my father assumed the engineering society that Baron Morgaine had cultivated in his term as Armaments Minister for Adrestia. The responsibilities of Fallstaff's old cabinet position – particularly cleaning up the fallout – became those of House Vestra."
A hair reaches for my hair by reflex.
"...Does this have something to do with Lord Arundel's position as regent, as well?"
Hubert grows rather solemn at this question – as if he didn't expect me to prod along this particular topic line. After a time, he finally delivers a very considered reply:
"Partially, Professor. That said, in my own estimation of things – there is no man more directly responsible for the weakening of Adrestia in the past half-century than the person of Fallstaff von Hrym. I will not bore you with the details that followed in the wake of this – but know many of them have at least some indirect relation to the scars you saw on Lady Edelgard's hand yesterday morning."
Hubert must sense that I'm about to continue this line of questioning, because he holds up a hand of his to stop me before my mouth even opens:
"I will not say another word on that particular matter. You saw what you saw. It is not my place to ever broach such a topic with you any further."
Deciding to push my luck anyway, I prod just a bit further:
"I'd like to learn more about this more generally, Hubert."
"Learn, you say? And you expect me to teach you?"
"Edelgard is my student. If her circumstances are affected by what happened in the past, I should know as much as her privacy would allow. That's my job, isn't it?"
The Eagle stares at me for a long while, as if trying to assess my true feelings behind those words. I am starting to find Hubert's attempts to do this immensely amusing, because, like with Edelgard – I usually just say whatever is on my mind.
Perhaps the downside of eternally dealing in artifice like he does is never knowing when someone is actually being sincere.
"Your… perspectives are always disarming, Professor, but I must decline to assist. I say this for your sake and hers – you would do best not explore any further."
Leaning in, I decide to give it one last go. Meeting his yellow eye sqaurely, I say:
"Let's think of it as an exchange."
If Hubert views relationships as purely transactional, maybe this will encourage him.
The expression on his face that appears a moment later – one of mild bemusement – seems to confirm this.
"Professor – I cannot agree to that without seeing you hold up your end of such a bargain first."
"You sounded like Claude there." I note.
"Your continued comparison of me to that dullard is growing tiresome."
I mean, if the shoe fits – right?
"What can I do for you, Hubert?"
Hubert pours himself some of the lukewarm brew into an empty mug on the table. Considering his next words through a long sip – he finally says:
"Assist me in breaking into his quarters. Before I rid the world of this man, I need to know what he's been plotting in the intervening years. Adrestia has a number of disaffected nobles with eyes towards threatening Lady Edelgard's ascent. If this man remains alive, I suspect his designs on revenge are present as well."
This provokes an eyebrow of mine to rise. He clearly wants to protect Edelgard as much as I do, but the means that he advocates always strike me as the wrong way to do so. I'm willing to grant that he knows more particulars, I suppose - but a part of me feels incredibly prideful. That I know best on how to protect Edelgard. And I'm not sure what to do with that feeling.
"You need my help for that?" I ask, a bit confused.
He nods.
"Unfortunately, disguising myself as a member of your father's mercenary company is not an option. Your father's band appears to have their own code for watches that I haven't deciphered yet."
I'm surprised at this admission. Our watch-phrase is just saying a nursery rhyme line backwards. Maybe Hubert didn't read many nursery rhymes as a kid. My father only read me that one – so maybe the two of us are actually more alike than different in that regard.
That said, I'm not entirely sure I want to give him that just yet.
"...I can just ask my father for his skeleton key to the barracks." I offer.
This alternative strategy seems to ambush him.
"...Without arousing his suspicion?" he asks with a piqued eyebrow.
I shrug.
"I don't think my father thinks I'm smart enough to be held in suspicion."
This provokes a belly laugh from the Marquis of Pickled Sausages.
"Ha! I suppose you don't seem like the type, Professor. If you believe that you can acquire access in that way, I will not encourage you to deceive him. Shall we reconvene tomorrow to explore the matter further?"
I nod and get up, eager to leave this curiously adorned abode of his. Before I turn, however– Hubert cuts in:
"A warning, Professor."
My gaze returns to him.
"Lady Edelgard has mentioned that you're rather sentimental. If you carry that sentiment with you too far along this particular path, I'll be forced to kill you along with Baron Morgaine."
Replying with a blank stare, I take my leave without another word.
