Author's Note:
Winter – thanks again for your reviews, I always look forward to them. Let me take a minute to touch on your last one.
I figure that Rhea would be the one with the authority to excommunicate the Imperial Army, particularly because the Southern Church was dissolved a century prior (according to Lindhardt in-game). I plan on exploring that in future through Byleth's studies. As I understand it from Lindhardt, Adrestia answers directly to Garegg Mach with House Varley as interlocutor. Papa Varley is also rotting in a dungeon as of Dorothea's Interlude, worth noting! There's also the historical analogue of the excommunication of the HRE's forces after sacking Rome in 1526/7 and the Little Corsican's in 1809.
As I said from the jump, neither Edelgard or Byleth are going to have such an easy time in this fic. CF didn't feel sufficiently "underdog" for me. When Edelgard says "no matter how many enemies I amass" – she's not going to be romantically hyperbolic this time. It'll just be romantic. The Little Adrestian is and should've been dealing with her Sixth Coalition from the moment she raises her sword against the Church.
I think that gives her room to grow into her own approach to leadership during the timeskip (she's still very much in "My Teacher has all the answers" mode, obviously) and also significantly raises the stakes of her needing Byleth's return as well.
As for the topic you're Hmmming about, expect subversion. That's all I'll say because we're still twenty chapters away from even broaching it yet. Just trying to make it… uh… rhythmic.
Cheers
My father takes a long gulp of his favored Itha Stout as he scrutinizes the next iteration of my battle-plan against the bandits. Again, we've decamped to Celica's for Sunday afternoon's grog. For the most part, the positions and general thrust of the plan haven't changed all that much – although I did move Caspar into a position to cover Bernadetta's rear. The younger Bergliez has the sharpest vision I've seen out of all my students, and I can perhaps neutralize his own impetuousness by keeping him in as master of the backline.
I'm also giving his family's beer another shot – but I just don't think I'll ever come around on it. All it's done is send me to the bathroom – it works its way through me faster than water.
That's the responsible thing to do, right? With Caspar, I mean – not the beer.
As my father's eyes trail down to the entrance of the canyon – he lets out a sigh through his nostrils. Shortly after I notice this, my own eyes shift to focus on where he's committed his vision.
Marked down there are a few additional letters – "Cl", "Hi", "Ig", "Lo", "Le", "Ly", and "Ma" – indicating the Golden Deer, along with a "Dad" for – well, obviously – him.
Considering the words of Fire-Frill Feather Figure and her mercenary captain Metodey, I've started to commit some time toward developing a deployment strategy for the Deer, lest they be engaged against enemy reinforcements. I don't have anything so clear as confirmation of force or approach path – but it can't hurt to deploy them in a rearguard formation, I figure. With their complement in skilled range units – particularly Claude – they could keep the enemy at bay for a time before reinforcement from the Eagles.
Naturally, if we are overwhelmed, the Deer – already in formation, could also deploy under the leadership of my Father to assist.
It's not the perfect countermeasure by any stretch of the imagination – but I have few other options without having a firm idea of what we face. On the Throat, we often encountered situations like this when sieging a citadel. Since we were in their home territory, Almyran relief columns – led by the wyvern riders, would approach from any and all angles. Even in the brightest desert sun, we often still found ourselves in the dark.
"Kid… are you expecting trouble?" my father asks at last.
"There are bandits in the canyon." I reply matter-of-factly.
"You know what I mean."
I shrug, wondering if I should explain what I saw to him during that reconnaissance. I think better of it, knowing that his hands were probably tied tight by logistics as well. Seteth had stressed that much at the audience.
"The siege camp looked vulnerable." A half-truth, but an omnipresent one for any siege camp, really.
My father brings a hand to his hair.
"They've had ten days to start moving troops and supplies in." he notes.
While he's not wrong, I wonder if that will be enough.
"...Still." is the best I can offer.
He shakes his head.
"I know better than to doubt your sense of things. It's a good countermeasure, at least."
Content with his tentative approval, I roll up the map and slide it under my breastplate. We both nurse our drinks in silence for a time. My father looks like he's toying with something in his mind. I'm doing the same – wondering how I should go about asking him for the skeleton key to the barracks in order to carry out that task for Hubert.
"How's the Princess? I saw her getting into her carriage again yesterday."
Unable to put my own thoughts aside, I shrug.
"She's going to Arundel on her uncle's orders."
A frown creeps across my father's face as he hears that.
"...Arundel, huh?"
Nodding, I wait for him to reply. It takes a while – I can clearly see him working through his own memories.
"...Never mind, kid. It was a long time ago."
It's pointless to push him on these things – I'm his son, not his peer. That said, there is something more pressing that I need to ask, anyway.
"Father."
I need that skeleton key.
"Uh-oh."
He smirks whenever I preface a question like that, and I'm getting the impression he does it to work me up a bit beforehand. I can't blame him – but I don't really get worked up, do I?
"Can I borrow the barracks key?" I ask.
Unclipping a keyring to his belt, he detaches one, slides it across the table, and returns his gaze to me with a conspiratorial eyebrow.
"Sure."
When he does stuff like that, all I can do is stare blankly in return. He usually takes that cue as an expression to speculate about why I asked the question – which he does right now:
"It's about Fallstaff, isn't it?"
"Yes."
There's no point in lying to him. My father nods at my confirmation, and leans back in his seat, content with my response.
"I was going to pay a visit to his quarters, anyway. He's up to something." he says.
"...How did you know?"
He brings his arms behind his head in a stretch.
"I didn't until your Princess started asking questions about him. And then a few things made sense. Little things, but things all the same."
Was her gentle prod about Fallstaff enough? Maybe they spoke more about him after I wandered off – but knowing my father, he was probably filling her head with stories. What a strange circumstance that is. It feels like I've learned more from Hubert about Edelgard than I have from her own words. And in turn, Edelgard's probably learned more about me from my father than from my own perspective.
Is that what it means to learn about someone? This is all oppressively new.
"...Such as?" I ask absent-mindedly, still churning the previous thoughts around in my tumultuous mind.
A smirk creeps across my father's lips.
"You should ask her, kid. She's got my approval, now."
I tilt my head at that statement of his.
"...Approval?"
Chugging about a quarter of his mug in one great gulp, he leans in.
"I thought you were gonna have a hard time with her... And boy was I wrong, kid."
I take a measured sip from my own mug of Bergliezauer.
"What are you saying?"
He shakes his head – his smirk turning upwards even further.
"I mean you're still gonna be in for a hard time, but not in the way I was expecting. In a good way."
Leaning back in my own seat, I shrug at this. He prods at me further:
"I'm glad she found you, kid."
Although he probably said this in a ribbing way, I can't help but agreeing with him. I am glad Edelgard found me. I'm glad I found Edelgard, too.
"...I'm glad that I'm her teacher." I say after a pause.
Nodding, he replies:
"You should try smiling when you say that to her, it'll make her day."
"...I'm not sure I can do that."
I've never expressed myself like that, and he knows as much. So why would he make a statement like that, I wonder?
"...Should've figured you'd give me that line... Move at your own pace, then. Just don't let her slip away before you do."
My eyes fall back to the battleplan, where I've placed Edelgard by my side. I don't want her anywhere else.
Looking back up at my father, I realize that he's been watching me intently for the past few moments. His look has grown suddenly solemn, though.
"...Just remember that the future takes as much as it gives, kid."
We both take our time, nursing our drinks in silence.
Unlocking the door to Fallstaff's quarters, I am immediately overpowered by the smell of dirty laundry. On his best day, the man was always slovenly, so that should be expected – but I was still completely unprepared for the jet of moist air that awaited me upon pushing the door forward. Several dirty towels lined the floor in front of the door, preventing any air from circulating. Couple that with the sizeable collection of dirty socks and stained undergarments, and the place bore no small resemblance to a pigsty.
The stables seemed more inviting than a place like this.
Although, in fairness – I wasn't invited.
Wandering over to his small workstation, I immediately find what I came here for – which is a good thing, as I doubt I'll be able to stay for much longer under such pallid air.
On his desk is a letter – and under that letter, what appears to be a map. His letter is the first to command my attention, and I begin to read it:
Thales,
I have nearly found it – this time, I am sure!
Two decades lost fumbling around the desert with that band of fools, dodging those bastards in the Eastern Church, and it was all for a red herring! Damn that old Imperial– he was loyal to his Emperor to the very last breath. Even his final words before I assumed this mask were a misdirection – sending us so far afield when the original Ark was right under our nose all along.
This winter in Remire, I had a thought – what if the mountain referenced in the Eddas of the Elite was not in ancestral lands of Goneril, but much further afield from Shambala? What if Naglfar never survived the retreat from the Red Canyon, and never descended back down the Airmid? There were never any records of its repair in the dockyards of Hrym, and one must expect it took damage from the so-called Immaculate One's deathly fire.
We also know of Seiros tracking the Tenth Elite, Goneril, to the White Cliffs above the sea– but did it not strike you as curious that no mention of the Ark was ever recorded? Why did the builder of such a magnificent weapon not deploy it against Seiros in a last stand against that vile Fell and her stupid lapdog Wilhelm?
My only answer at present is that the vessel must have been lost beforehand – perhaps during the Anabasis of the Ten.
And I am beginning to think it was lost near Garegg Mach.
Since arriving at the monastery, I've taken to hiking the hills along the outer ring of the plateau. Much like those canyons in the Throat – I see water lines cut into the cliff faces – as if the area was once a giant caldera long since drained. I would ask you to recall those Eddas, and how they mentioned a connection between the Magdred and Airmid rivers. Could the monastery be the key – or rather what lies underneath?
I should have a specific location for you within the month. Unfortunately, however, our next communication will have to be in-person. I believe my cover is about to be blown, as the Captain has assigned me to a night watch of several Imperial nobles, including your weapon. Her whetstone, I fear, will not take kindly to my presence. Still, there is little he can do against me directly, as he is merely a student. My contingency plan is nearby.
That said, if they plant a seed of doubt in the Captain's son, their Professor – my show here will be over. My acquiescence to that plot of yours with bandits has destroyed my esteem as an officer and a gentleman among the men. Losing the Captain's or the Ashen Demon's will be fatal.
Enclosed in this letter is a map, to which you will you see my proposed location of the Ar–
It seems that he never finished the letter, perhaps being cut off as he finished the word "Ark" – which appears rather repetitively in the preceding paragraphs. I wonder what drew him away before finishing something of such importance?
And who is this Thales that he is addressing it to?
My eyes fall to the map that lies next to his incomplete missive. It looks identical to the one Hubert presented – right down the cubit key.
My eyes drift towards the top of the map next – it's title doesn't refer to the Naglfar, however – it refers to something else entirely.
The name reads: Abyss.
It's at this point that I realize how clearly out of my depth I really am. For better or for worse, the only person I can count on to decipher this information is Hubert. Tucking both documents under my breastplate, I take my leave, locking the door behind me.
As I depart, I wonder if anyone else will enter the room ever again.
Hubert has left me waiting outside his door for some time now. After knocking, I immediately heard the sounds of nails being hammered into walls. It occurred to me that he must quite literally be nailing the wool-lined sheets into the walls and ceiling to absorb the sound of our conversation.
That said, isn't me waiting outside Hubert's room in the middle of the afternoon going to arouse more suspicion from a passersby than anyone potentially hearing bits of the conversation?
A familiar voice confirms this thought of mine almost immediately.
"Oh, Professor! Are you lost…?"
I turn to meet the voice, and realize it's Hilda.
"How are you, Hilda?" I ask, hoping I can divert the conversation back to her. Women like to talk about themselves, right?
That's probably wrong, though. The first example that comes to mind is Edelgard – and my student never wants to talk about herself.
"I mean I'm fine, Professor – but if you're trying to hook up with Princess Edelgard, you might want to knock on the door next to that one… after you run away for a little while."
I think hook up is Leicester slang for sexual relations.
"I'm not trying to hook up with Edelgard." I clarify.
"Well, it's probably too late anyway – that's Hubert's door!"
Hilda informs me of this while making an exaggerated expression that indicates her distaste for Hubert. I wonder why Hilda finds him so unappealing? He could just be a bad neighbor, of course.
"Indeed it is, Ms. Goneril." comes a reply from behind my back – naturally Hubert's.
"Oh… well, I'm gonna leave now, Professor. Claude's taking me into town tonight."
"Have fun." I offer.
"You too, Professor – if Horny Police Hubert lets you with Princess Edelgard, that is!"
As Hilda says this, she sticks a tongue out at the Eagle over my shoulder, who I've yet to turn to face yet. Eventually, after a deep breath, I pivot around to the Marquis of Pickled Sausage.
"You will not be having fun with Lady Edelgard, Professor." he informs me.
Shrugging, I reply:
"I never said I would."
A hand of his runs through his coiffure.
"...Consider that a simple statement of fact, then."
We both stare blankly at each other for a time.
"...I suppose I should let you in. You smell like absolute filth, so I take it that you've been inside Fallstaff's abode?"
Curious that he didn't comment on my smell after cleaning the stables yesterday – but maybe he was trying to avoid volunteering himself for such an activity next week.
He beckons me inside, and we return to the small coffee table surrounded in black bed-sheets. We both take our seats and lean in, the good conspirators that we are.
"Excuse my lack of refreshment, but time is short. Let's get to the heart of the matter, shall we?"
Shrugging, I pull out Fallstaff's letter, and the map. Handing him the letter first, I watch his visible eye go wide almost as soon as he laid it on the document. Regaining his composure slightly afterward, and shooting a glance back to my rather blank expression, he seems to return to the document with some effort.
"Professor, would you be familiar with this Thales fellow at all? Did he ever interact with your father's company?"
This query earns a shake of my head.
"As I suspected."
The heir to House Vestra seems to relax quite a bit after stating that. I wonder what his reaction would be if I had said yes? I'm not a particularly good liar – though, so I doubt he'd even believe me.
"Should I be?"
He shakes his head.
"No, you shouldn't."
An uncomfortable silence permeates between us for a time, as if we're trapped in a miasma of distrust and solemnity. Finally, Hubert works up the drive to continue:
"...This Thales is another individual who I have known for a very long time. Rest assured that he is also on my list of targets to kill one day."
I doubt I can be of much help with that, but I suppose I should be thankful that Hubert is letting me know. Still, I have other paths I'd like to tread insofar as the letter is concerned.
"The letter mentions Fallstaff replacing someone who was loyal to the Emperor."
"Indeed it does. But I think we cannot extrapolate any identities from those statements at this early stage. I will have to do some additional digging in my own family's records. That… may take time, and my personal presence – if my father is unwilling to comply."
If I wasn't so used to Hubert layering every request of his in cryptic statements, the cue he's trying to give me would've probably gone straight over my head.
"I'm willing to grant you time off, Hubert." I say.
At this, he seems to settle into his seat at long last.
"...I suspect you will need to make that clear Cardinal Seteth. Lady Edelgard's constant trips are beginning to attract attention because you refuse to actually present leaves of absences in writing to the Cardinal."
That would require me to know that I needed to do that. My colleagues never gave me much of an orientation - and I still don't possess an office.
"How does one do that?"
The question prompts another one of those intricately measured laughs from Hubert. After regaining his composure, he quips:
"Professor… you amaze me with how naked you are to the world at times. It's almost laughable."
"You laughed, though."
Finally, his face softens a touch. Right now, he looks almost human.
"...So I did. In future, I'll prepare those missives for you. Just ensure you submit them to the Cardinal in future."
"Can do." I reply with a nod.
Hubert then stands up and walks over to the closest bedsheet behind him. Lifting it, he disappears behind view for a time. Upon returning, he holds a sheet of paper in his hand with a series of numbers. Looking down at them, he asks:
"In that case, I will compose one for myself to take leave of the Monastery from the eighteenth through the twenty first. Is that acceptable to you?"
He slides the sheet to me, and says while I look at it:
"That is the weekend preceding Saint Macuil's day. It's a festival that the Officer's Academy partakes. Some trivial nonsense regarding garlands and almsgiving to the poor. Like you, I have little time for superstitions like those. If I must take leave of the academy, I think it best to do so then. Taking time off on a long weekend would not arouse suspicion."
This seems reasonable.
"I'll leave it in your hands, Hubert."
"Understood. And… you have my thanks for endeavoring to acquire this information, Professor. Although this raises more questions than it answers, I suspect we are traveling along the right path to learn more."
Was that a statement of comradeship from Hubert? I suppose I should learn to appreciate them, given how few of them he seems willing to grant.
"That's good to hear."
He quickly sours the mood by shaking his head.
"Do not get used to it. Leave the plotting to me for now and focus on your duties."
"Yes, Cardinal." I offer cheekily.
This just causes him to squint. Perhaps that wasn't as funny as I thought. It should be noted that I'm probably a poor judge of humor, given that I never laugh.
"...You'd do well to learn how best to emote when you say such idiotic things. It will make them sound more charitable, because few others have Lady Edelgard's imagination in such regard."
I nod and take Hubert's advice at face value. Shortly after, I take my leave.
Before settling in for the evening, I take a look at the wall calendar posted by my desk, looking for the holiday that Hubert mentioned. The calendar itself has bits of poetry adorning the heading for each month – and when I flip it to the month of Harpstring Moon, I notice this bit of verse, which I'll reproduce here.
When the warm winds blow
from the sea to the south of Adrestia,
residents of Fódlan know that the rainy season is upon them.
Before the heavy rains take their toll,
young women hurry to pick the last of the white roses.
On St. Macuil's Day, these ivory buds are woven into garlands
and given as gifts to close friends or potential lovers.
I see why Hubert wouldn't like this holiday.
But… maybe Edelgard would.
And maybe I would too… if I could spend it with Edelgard.
My chest aches, and sends me to bed with a strange feeling – as if something was lost from me and was now so very far away.
