Your Majesty,
As you predicted, the Alliance has taken note of our most recent movements. Ignoring the Northern feint prompted roughly one-hundred and fifty of Holst's irregulars into a counter-ambush set by the local gendarmerie we had posted at Arundel. The entire force was captured and their leaders were sent to our forward camp for interrogation.
Their orders – as you suspected – were to bait the entire Brigidian expedition into trailing them in a northeasterly direction. From there, Holst would attack Caspar's expedition from the North.
According to them, we've taken Holst by surprise – and in response, he has rather hastily wheeled his force around. No doubt he is preparing to meet us at Gronder – as it is the only nearby locale with terrain that can grant some command over the surrounding countryside.
Unfortunately, not all has gone to plan – as evidenced by this letter from Caspar… He had the good sense to relay it to Fort Merceus, where I am present now, awaiting the arrival of my wife.
Allow me to suggest a strategy meeting here… while Holst did identify the citadel as a target of his, it is clearly defensible enough to use as a staging point with our Brigidian reinforcements. I have some fresh concerns that we might be marching into a trap if we continue along the current path and attempt to unify our forces at Gronder – particularly, we run the risk of being defeated in detail due to the speed of Holst's redeployment.
I should also note that my wife wishes to speak with you – and I get the impression the words will not be kind. If you don't wish to be bothered with her at this time, I understand completely and will see her off when she arrives… but please do be conscious of the military situation.
Additionally, you and I should have a conversation about certain matters regarding your health, if time allows.
Your Humble Servant,
Hubert
Heyo Edelgard,
Saw a weakness on Claude's right flank… there was just Balthus and his troops there, and no archers – and it got me thinkin': right makes might, right?
Anywho, figured the Professor had the right idea about what to do when outnumbered n' surrounded, so I attacked. Turns out Claude's entire right flank was just the Abyss guys… and get this: scarecrows! The entire back line was full of 'em!
We were about to get Balthus, at least capture him maybe, but then some of the troops found Claude's supply dump an' looted it. Keepin' 'em on half rations at the monastery made them kinda hungry, I guess. Balthus split on a wyvern while I was tryin' to get our guys back in the battle.
Crazy how the Alliance had so much food though… weren't they supposed to be hungry, too?
But yeah – it's lookin' like most of Claude's army got across the river thanks to their wings. Prob from that Nader fella. Maybe he's headed to you?
Hubert told me about the Holst stuff. I'm kinda stuck with the main army here… but I can send my half of the Strike Force up to Merceus and they can meet with you there, yeah?
No idea what's happening in Hrym, either… but its lookin from where I'm sittin' like somebody set it on fire. Was that their plan, you think…?
Stay Frosty,
Caspar
Fort Merceus has a throne room all its own, completed in the autumn of 1171. We never really got a chance to see this room, My Byleth… perhaps owing to the fact that we were quite busy with other matters in the leadup to the monastery siege, were we not…? This citadel was alight with activity in those days, before our army marched to war.
In spite of everything, I still rather wish I had the time to show this place to you. Father always deferred to Mother in matters of design, and this hall – much like the cottage in Morgaine – bears her imprint everywhere.
The image of a golden heart resting on a sea of red was one of Mother's conceptual paintings that Father took a fancy to, and he elevated it into the central motif of Imperial iconography after he took her as a consort. Prior to that – most of House Hresvelg's heraldry harkened back to the oft-supposed "special relationship" between Wilhelm and Seiros – a confused smattering of symbology grasped at by Emperors trying to curry favor with a church that had long since abandoned them.
This hall, left untouched and unused for ten long years, reminds me – indirectly – of tender years with my mother and siblings, when the palace of Enbarr was so full of life and color. These memories, however… they grow more remote with each passing day.
It is good that they do, of course – for I know all too well that such memories threaten to swallow people whole with sadness and regret… and I cannot let myself be consumed by those things if our dream is to come to fruition. Even if the faces of my siblings begin to blur in my mind's eye – the promise I made to avenge their suffering remains as clear as day. And with you, I made that first step – starting the long and arduous process of correcting the suffering in this world brought on by those avaricious aliens. Those same who refuse to surrender their hold on you, especially.
Might you be doing battle with Sothis now, as well…?
If so… at least you won't need to tear out that monster's bones like you did with that Brigidian.
Nemesis took care of that centuries ago.
Nine years ago to this very day, my father had planned to receive the submission of Lord Bartels and Count Ordelia in this brand-new hall – just after the suppression of their rebellion. In the preceding year, he had made this fortress his permanent headquarters, leaving Mother, myself, and my siblings far away in Enbarr, surrounded by vipers of the court. In those days, our only ally was Mother's brother, the actual Lord Arundel – and not the demon who replaced him, the one that you knew. That serpent who we struck down together was just a pale imitation of a man who my father counted among his steadfast allies. None of those individuals are alive today.
Shortly before the ceremony began, moments after taking his first steps into this newly anointed audience hall… the Emperor of Adrestia was intercepted by his most powerful vassals and overthrown in all but name. Cuffs thrown around his wrists by the Marquis Vestra. Knocked onto his knees by Count Bergliez, lectured at like a child by Count Hevring… made to kiss the feet of Duke Varley. Forced to surrender his royal writ to Duke Gerth. Our estates – devoured by Duke Aegir with as much pomp as the consumption of his salty breakfast. The final humiliation was yet to come, of course: Father was then passed over to the sick whims of the Agarthans, my torturers – who then took the last thing that mattered to him… his family.
All to settle a feud between the two races of invading monsters who have taken turns oppressing mankind for millennia.
That Emperor never had a chance to sit on this throne – and likely never will, as he is fading more quickly with each passing day. I had hoped one day to ask Father about what the two of you were chatting about in the gardens the night after my coronation, My Byleth… but it is far too late now. The hours you spent there yapping away are something I'm hoping you hint at in your journals, at least.
I truly despise the idea of you two having a secret like that… so you must tell me, of course, and even if it's not in your journals… you'll have tell me when you come back – because this book of yours that I tuck under my breastplate has clued me in on all your weak points. Soon, I'll have an endless arsenal of ammunition to make you smile and blush and tell me everything… but mostly just those first two things, as I am missing your face quite terribly.
I rather desperately wish to see your heart pound again… because I know you have one, My Byleth – and that it only beats for me. Does yours long for me now like mine does for you?
They'll be another heart beating soon, of course… one which we're both responsible for, now and in the future… so perhaps you should return to me now…
For now, I am here alone – crumpling a fresh report in my hands, penned by Ladislava. Its message is clear enough to me: the delirium that struck my father in fits and starts since his children were stolen from him has taken hold of him fully. For the past two days, the servants report that he has refused to eat or drink. Even if I were to leave for Enbarr now… it is highly unlikely that I would arrive before his death.
Naturally, I cannot – for the campaign that lies before me is nearing its conclusion. Thanks to you – your former comrade, that blowhard Holst, has caught himself in the middle of two of our armies – all his amateurish artifice melting away in the face of your insight and Caspar's impetuousness.
For my father… the best I can hope to provide him is the news of one last victory.
Surely, a triumph over the Alliance would put his atrophied chest at ease.
And to affect that victory, I will need to rely on the same people he warned me to never trust: my vassals. Our Eagles.
This is a circumstance I never once thought I'd be in, not least while I sat on the hay floor of that dungeon, chained to the wall and scarcely able to cover my nakedness in front of Hubert. On those fitful days, he stood there on the other side of those bars bent over at his writing station, desperately trying to avoid looking up at me. His father had thought he was descending the stairs of the dungeon to join in my humiliation. How wrong the Marquis was about that – and everything else.
In those dark times, we planned. Most of my waking hours was spent feverishly dictating concepts and ideas before I was hauled off for the next round of experimentation under Solon's knife. By that point… all of my siblings had long since perished. And… looking back at everything… Some of those plans were desperate, foolish, ill-advised. They came from a mind that could only think of vengeance, and vengeance alone.
I wasn't entirely conscious yet of the shining city on a hill we'd need to build in order to realize a future where humans could choose their own path in life. Where babies wouldn't have their chests invaded by dragonic priestesses, and adolescents wouldn't have their blood replaced and lives shortened by subterranean shapeshifters.
Truly, I didn't consider that side of my dream much at all until you stepped foot in Garreg Mach. It is the sort of vision that I could have never seen had you not chosen me.
…But you know all of this, of course – and how naked I feel at times knowing that you know. But I rather like being naked with you – and wish I could be now, in fact…
Unfortunately – I am stuck here – fully clothed, of course– slumped on this dusty old thone, waiting for the arrival of Petra, who I have not seen in moons.
During our misadventure in Varley, we fought with five hundred of her bannermen. Now, she is due to arrive with five thousand. This is a force that would have never materialized if the Empire was still occupying Brigid, and likely would be deployed against us had Arundel's plan come to fruition. As you must have realized, Father never planned on occupying them permanently and using a rebellion as pretext to annex them. Surely you realize that the man who you guided so gently through the garden could not have desired such a fate for such a proud people...?
That plot against Brigid was My Uncle's doing, the slithering doppelganger… a circumstance I only learned about quite recently. More revelations arrive each day, dug up from the remains of the Arundel library by Hubert's mages. I've scarcely had the time to catch up with your diary as a result… and am only able to sneak in a bit of reading before bedtime.
You'll be amused to know that Hubert is in the next room, sweating quite profusely because he clearly hasn't the stomach to ask me that burning question again in person. I've also no desire to broach that topic with him before my consultation with Manuela, too – which I can hopefully have next week. When this autumn campaign has finally been concluded, I can finally get some answers.
Speaking of this campaign, our scouts are under the impression that the Almyrans will withdraw for the winter soon in much the same way they did during their years of combat on the Locket.
Whatever might you have been thinking about in those days? That question is one that provokes endless curiosity in me. The idea that you lived a life so unclear in its inner workings to me is so endlessly frustrating. It's why I always asked you what you were thinking in those days, too. You write extensively of what you did in those places, but so rarely of your thoughts…
When the war ends, you'll tell me everything – of course… especially about the chat you had with Father. However did you reach such a rapport with him so quickly…?
It's really quite frustrating. But for now, I must endure the frustration, and the morning nausea, and be content to leave things in this ever-so-annoying limbo. It's hardly the first plan I've left dangling in the wind, of course – but that doesn't make the prospect of it all any less bothersome.
Speaking of wind – I'm consumed by a terrible draft when the double doors to the throne room are flung open by the guardsmen. Hubert enters the audience hall shortly thereafter.
"Your Majesty – the Crown Princess of Brigid – your vassal, my wife, has arrived."
When Hubert gets concerned about something, he becomes oh so formal even with someone like me – who he has known since we were children. Did you ever notice that, My Byleth? I'm sure you made note of it at some point later…
Petra scarcely waits for my approval, and strolls in with her usual confidence and air. I've always appreciated that about her – and while that confidence is at times concerning… I have to place my trust in it, because that is the resolution I made when I decided to fight the church with my friends instead of my worst enemies. That is a decision I do not – and could not – regret.
"There is no need for formality, Hubert. Are we not all Black Eagles?" I ask – secretly fishing for a confirmation from the two that never comes.
A bother – but I can see why clearly enough. Hubert has probably been planting his perspective in her as of late, among other things, I'm certain…
"Emperor Edelgard, I am now arriving with the Army of Brigid." replies Petra somewhat coldly, and as she does – I resolve to take a closer look at her.
It feels like an eternity since her departure back to Brigid to muster her clansmen for the war… and she has already changed so much since you left us.
Instead of the old academy uniform, Petra now wears a leather breastpiece that exposes her toned midriff and the lean musculature of her arms. A necklace of pearls and various beads fall down from her neck and collarbone – the taut skin of which has been augmented with a fresh round of tattoos in that Brigidian script with all the lines, dots and dashes. It's all very busy – but Petra has a sort of inner serenity that makes all that activity seem remarkably ordered… and I find myself a bit envious of that.
What I don't envy is having to wear such an outfit in the cutting autumnal breeze. I sometimes wonder how Petra can manage it – especially given that her lower half offers little protection to the elements, either… The only article of clothing that I can see between her legs and the bitter winds that are descending from the Oghmas is a single fur miniskirt. Her boots scarcely reach up to her shin and offer agility in lieu of protection.
…If Hubert won't buy her a proper coat, I will have to – I suppose.
Still, Petra looks wonderful – and I should make a habit of telling her that, just like you did. She always seemed to appreciate your praise, My Byleth. Perhaps a bit too much...
"Petra, you seem to be flourishing. Were you able to enjoy your respite at home?" I ask.
Unfortunately, our friend stiffens at this rather innocent question… and I am left to question if my perpetual slouch has put her ill-at-ease. I'm really quite tired lately – and you know that my posture would shift and slouch whenever exhaustion took hold. Unfortunately, I lack a Byleth to lean on….
"Your words are kind, Emperor Edelgard… but I wish not to be speaking of such things."
There's the coldness of responsibility in her voice – the same chill that overtakes mine, at times. I understand that burden – and see no point in further small talk. We must get down to business, then.
"Well, if it is your intent to proceed with–"
Before I can finish, however – Petra suddenly gets quite riled up and cuts me off:
"...Emperor Edelgard – might you be hiding Byleth's body?"
Hm.
Petra calling you by your first name so casually is actually quite irksome to me… when did you grant her that privilege? And how might she have adapted so quickly to not referring to you by your title anyway?
Even now I still sometimes call out to you in my nightmares as "My Teacher"...
And that accusation…!
Judging by her words alone, I'd hardly appear to be much different than that monster Rhea who we all resolved to fight against. Naturally – if I found you…you certainly would never be hidden, and I can assure Petra of that much. You'd be at my side now, and always.
…Perhaps that is what she might take issue with, however…
"...Whatever is that supposed to mean…?" I ask, still squinting a bit at the sheer absurdity of the query.
Our Brigidian closes her own eyes and collects herself before replying with:
"In Brigid, it is being a bad omen to not be doing honor to the dead of a previous campaign before going on a new one. Many of the clansmen are being made anxious by this, and are wanting to be paying respect to the fallen… I am also wishing to see him one last time…"
Naturally she's talking about you – and she's obviously been talking with Hubert again to lead her to that conclusion…
I suppose I should have expected that, given that I ordered the two to be married – but I had honestly thought that of all people, Petra would be wise enough to take his words with the appropriate grain of salt.
"...My Teacher isn't dead, Petra." I clarify.
This prompts a frown from my fellow royal, and a braceleted hand that runs through auburn hair that I find myself taking a moment to admire. Her great braided ponytail is now much looser than it was in our academy days, and it strikes me as most apropos for her new look.
"...Is Hubert not being truthful when he is saying–"
A clear enough confirmation that his recent moods have poisoned her mind.
"Hubert…?"
My oldest ally stands before me with a surprising bit of reticence. He's been growing his coiffure out since we last saw each other, My Byleth… you'd absolutely hate it, I'm certain. I'm hardly a fan of it, either...
You always claimed that he was quite dapper, which I found rather curious – but I understand now that you were always working quite hard to spare his feelings. That is one of my favorite parts about you – how much you care for Hubert, even when he was giving you so much trouble in those early days.
Because of you… there are probably a great deal of things that need to be said in between him and I – as so much has changed, so quickly… but whenever is there the time for such things?
I can scarcely find a moment to critique his heavy-handed administration, let alone have a spare moment for a chat of a more personal nature. There simply aren't enough hours in the day – especially since I am burdened with so scant of a future anyway…
"My wife asked for my appraisal of the situation regarding the Professor's disappearance. I expressed to her what I suspect to be the most likely circumstance." He replies coolly.
But I know that's just another front of his. There's something eating at him lately, and it's beginning to affect his abilities, I fear…
And for better or for worse – I'm quite poorly equipped to discuss the matter with him, as he always dances around certain subjects with me. He needs a proper male friend – I am quite certain of that, now.
You two should have gone out to drink more – but preferably with me there too to make sure that I wasn't the topic of discussion. Perhaps I could recruit Ferdinand for this effort when he returns from the North.
While these thoughts occupy my mind – Dorothea, who up until this point had been observing the proceedings in a lonely alcove to my right, rouses herself and saunters towards the center of the room. After making her grand entrance, she says:
"Hubie… enough with the death talk already, okay? You really need to learn to stuff it sometimes…"
I nod at this from my slumped position on the throne – but no one notices. How bothersome. Naturally, if you were here – you would, and make note of this and have it in your diary. What a comfort that is, at times.
"Quite a comment coming from you, Lady Rusalka." My Retainer snaps back – using Dorothea's new title. She despises that… and so do I, actually.
It is endlessly frustrating to know that I haven't the slightest notion about what in particular has made him so acerbic lately. It's really quite immature and insufferable, and quite reminiscent of that Faerghan brute – who is also here and seething at the side of his lover, Lysithea, by the double-doors. Only Linhardt remains behind at Garegg Mach, doing his level best to find you in the ravine.
Ferdinand and Constance have just about finished their diplomatic master stroke on the Brionac – no doubt we'll be hearing from them soon. I'm glad you spent the time working with them, now… I must admit to thinking that was a waste of time when he first brought it up here at Fort Merceus.
Yuri is somewhere around here, I think… perhaps doing another one of his disappearing acts. Caspar sent him back along with Bernadetta and Jeritza, who are seated at a table in the drawing room sharing a sorbet. Meanwhile, Dorothea pouts – and it's very cute pouting face that I wish I had a more complete mastery of myself. This diary has clued me into the fact that you have a very low resistance to pouts – especially mine – and I'm going to make use of that more often.
"Yikes, dramatic much, Hubie…? I told you that I'm still just me. Dorothea Arnault."
My retainer huffs derisively at this, and I'm tempted to correct him on court protocol regarding such displays.
"Dorothea Arnault von Rusalka, Imperial Culture Minister with an appanage consisting of 190,000 acres, worked by six thousand serfs. Might I suggest that you should consider acting in appropriate measure with your new station?"
This really riles up Dorothea, and I find myself rather annoyed too. Dorothea will do a great job as a noble because she deserves to be a noble. She's earned the title – because that's how meritocracy works, as opposed to the Crest System. That was literally the whole point of purging the nobility…!
I even discussed this with you-know-who shortly after my ascension and he made no protest… circumstances intervened, however – it took me quite a while to get around to promoting her.
"So you want me to plot a coup and ruin people's lives, then? Because that's basically all I've seen nobles do for my entire life…!" Dorothea shouts, and we're of like mind in that regard.
That's why I eventually desire the abolition of this system altogether. But for now… we have to make due with it – as it's impossible to wage war without a social hierarchy and chain of command.
"Thankless, too. Expected, of course. Only one question remains: do you intend to keep making a fool of yourself in front of your liege and all of your peers? Far it be from me to stop you, if so." my spymaster snaps.
At this moment, I decide to cut this argument off at its head:
"Hubert. Enough."
And I get a frown in return – one that I'm only too content to toss back at the frowner.
"I was merely reminding Lady Rusalka of her duty, Your Majesty."
Sure, Hubert…
"I wish you to take leave of the hall for the remainder of this audience."
A harsh punishment for sure, but I have no reason not to believe that everyone needs a time-out at times. You certainly found that tactic useful with the Eagles at times, My Byleth.
"...I will wait in your chambers…"
Shaking my head that's still resting in my palm, I correct him:
"In Petra's chambers. Petra is your wife."
Petra flushes red(-der) at this… and I must admit to being rather amused, as I thought you were the only one who could provoke such a reaction from her…!
If I ever see you refer to her as Redtra, I'm going to be very cross and might tear the page out, you should know…
"...I-I am most contenting to be taking camp with my clansmen…!" she stammers out.
This whole situation with Petra and Hubert is also quite frustrating. My initial plan, of course, was for the two of us to adopt a big family and then marry one of our brood off to their children, but now that plan's become quite complicated, has it not?
These two had excellent chemistry right up until the Garland Moon, as well – which is where I finalized the idea of marrying the two off together, I should mention. Do you recall them sharing Haggis at Celica's, My Byleth? I thought that was rather endearing, myself… not least because the two of us were sharing onion gratin soup, too…
"Remember what you said during Edie's birthday in front of the Professor…?" Dorothea asks Hubert – immediately snapping my attention back to my vassals.
"...What did he say, Dorothea…?" I ask, finally lifting my head from my palm, admittedly quite intrigued by this sudden tidbit of information dangled before me by Dorothea.
"Nothing…!" I'm told in a musical tone… and this makes my eyes narrow rather reflexively.
"A trifle, your Majesty – Lady Rusalka is merely seeking to needle me. It will not succeed." replies Hubert… and now I find myself rather annoyed. He's supposed to tell me these things.
Everything has become quite a mess.
"Then you should not delay your departure any further." I say. I'll bother him about that later, I suppose.
"...As you wish…"
Dorothea gets in a last word before he passes through the double doors, yelling:
"Pick up some cheese and wine, Hubie! Petra likes Dagdan Rioja!"
I rather dislike Rioja. The flavor profile is far too acidic.
Dory then turns to Petra and elbows her gently.
"We tried a tray of that Gautier cheese last summer, wasn't it great...?"
Petra nods in affirmation.
All this is no doubt from her book club that I never had the time to attend. Whatever non-textual discussions happened in those salons is of increasing interest to me, as well…
"I am remembering that, yes… they were tasting most… delectable!" Petra replies eagerly – while testing out what's clearly a new word for her.
That ambition of hers to improve her Fodlanese has always been one of her best qualities.
"And the company, too…!"
At this, Dorothea winks at me – and I know why… so she just earns a squint in return. I was occupied with planning this war, Dorothea…!
"Anyway, Petra – you remember when the Professor got trapped in Tomas's trap, too, right?"
…How exactly could anyone forget that…?
"Yes– when we were all seeing Byleth's hair becoming like the Archbishop's." comes Petra's reply, and seeing your hair match Rhea's… what a terror that was when I first witnessed it.
"Well yeah, but it took him a little while, but he came out again, right?"
"Your thinking is much very positive, Dorothea. I am preferring your… perspective, is the word?"
…Admittedly, I had never once considered that you might be trapped in a more mystical trap like Solon's. If the slitherers possessed such a trap in their arsenal, however… I have no doubt Rhea would be able to access such a base trick as well.
After this audience, I will write to Linhardt at once regarding this potentiality.
"Yeah – Perspective, that's right!" Dorothea confirms cheerily.
And then emerald eyes meet mine.
"...It's so nice to be appreciated!"
…Is this still about the book club?
"Your thoughts are always appreciated, Dorothea." I clarify.
"Oh…?"
That tone of hers makes me melt in this throne in spite of the cold.
Any stammering reply to this is pre-empted by that brute Felix, though, who flails his arms like a spoiled child and mutters:
"I traded the boar for the bitches. Fuck this…!"
"Is that all you can say? You're just wasting everyone's time!" Lysithea exclaims, beating me to the reprimand.
At this, General Fraldarius rams his thumb into the cheek of our mage and wipes what must be a leftover chocolate stain from it… right? Much to my discomfit, he does with all the grace of the animal he constantly compares his former liege to.
"...Why don't you go and stuff your face with another damn cake?" He snaps after doing so.
…I fail to understand how she can bear to be intimate with him, My Byleth. You claim some similarity with him – but I find him to be entirely immature, insufficiently handsome and chivalrous for someone like Lysithea, and far less gentle. His hair is also very greasy, and I would find that unbearable to run my hands through.
Suddenly, a dull roar breaks through my thoughts – and seems to freeze everyone but Petra in place. As it does, I can feel the floorboards far below my throne begin to shake.
"...What precisely is happening…?" I ask to no one in particular.
At this, Petra steps forward.
"The warriors of Brigid are wanting to hear you speaking, Emperor Edelgard."
Sweating a bit – I find myself a bit uncomfortable with the idea. Although I recall your language lessons… I find myself a bit less confident in my speaking skills than I do in reading and writing Brigidian.
"...I cannot address them in sufficient fluency." I admit – and nearly sink into the throne completely as I do.
"I can be translating." Petra offers – and although I gather she still might be angry at me for this or that reason… I can do nothing now but appreciate her sentiment.
"Thank you, Petra."
Assembled in the courtyard below are the full complement of Brigid's finest warriors. Many of the tattooed faces strike me as vaguely familiar – compatriots from our paralogue in Duke Varley's domain who volunteered to fight for us again. After months of staring at nothing but the shifty, fearful faces of conscripts or the annoyed frowns of Arundel-sympathizing veterans… this is quite a welcome sight.
With these Brigidians, I will not need to scale my plans for stubborn issues like morale or loyalty.
What's more, these islanders pay no heed to the Church of Seiros. Their Flame Spirit guides them, and that is a false deity that I have no quarrel with. These soldiers are a rare gift, and I cannot wait to unleash them on my enemies.
As my eyes travel throughout the crowd, they find themselves drawn to the standard bearers who mingle in the center of the mass of troops. Along with the royal standard of Brigid – a triskelion of flames, there are three vexillums with faces on them.
The first, and largest of those three is what must be an image of Petra, as evidenced by her auburn hair and eyes. Just below her chin, In Brigidian script, I can make out the following words – stitched in gold thread:
ᚁᚂᚑᚑᚇ ᚑᚃ ᚈᚒᚒᚑ ᚂᚐᚅᚇᚄ
"Blood of Two Lands"
See? I remember every lesson of yours, My Byleth.
Speaking of you – your face is stitched onto a banner too… but I must admit they've done you a terrible disservice. Perhaps someday, someone could make a truly perfect portrait of you. Naturally, it'd take many years… and perhaps a few more nights of staring at you while you sleep… but I'm sure, given the time and support… they could do much better than the banner that lies before my eyes.
They just need sufficient time and privacy to finish it.
Regardless, your title seems appropriate enough. It reads:
ᚁᚒᚔᚂᚇᚓᚏ ᚑᚃ ᚁᚏᚔᚇᚌᚓᚄ
"Builder of Bridges"
And how could I argue with such a sentiment?
Finally, there is a banner depicting me. I find it rather crude as well, but the core features are present: my white hair – still parted like it was during the academy and not in the side-ponytail that I'm rather glad made you so distracted all the time…
But they made my eyes crimson instead of purple – a bother, but by no means all that fatal of a mistake. Soon – my eyes will be reflecting that color on the battlefield.
The text, however is my favorite part.
It is a title I'm tempted to tack on to the fifteen others that are used at formal court events:
ᚁᚏᚓᚐᚊᚓᚏ ᚑᚃ ᚉᚆᚐᚔᚅᚄ
"Breaker of Chains"
With that in mind… I clear my throat, and reach out my hand…
Author's Notes:
Remember when everyone was freaking about Petra not getting an interlude yet… well, there ya go folks – she's got the longest one so far!
…And among the most important, I'd add.
Astral: Billy does deserve to take ownership of his participation in all of that Almyran business, though. A lot of what I mentioned here will come to full fruition after the timeskip.
Leicester is not going to be push-over like it was in the game's narrative. There's going to be a full campaign that I roughly based off of the North Africa campaign in WW2 scaled down to medieval Japan tech.
I also wanted to give all the time-skipping real consequences. The idea that it functions as a get-out-of-jail free card for Byleth in other fanfics is bothersome to me. It's one of the aspects of the game that's sorely underdeveloped, and few choose to explore how ugly it could really get.
Billy's going to have make a lot of difficult choices moving forward, and going back in time will be one of those as well.
DragonMaster: Interesting points as always – but I think I should perhaps caution you on going that far with Holst.
I wrote him as a patriot first and foremost, an overprotective brother secondarily and just generally impulsive in a more tertiary sense. Those have a way of all being wrapped into one, though.
Holst is going to have his own character arc, mostly covered post-timeskip, so I want to illustrate the start of his "fall" through Byleth's reminisces. Hope that makes sense.
EXTRA: Private Tutoring with PRT Reply King
Today, we're gonna do something a little different with PRT – we're going to take this point by excruciating point.
"Again the professor has little to no reason in yes man for Edelgar and he has little to no reason with siding with her.."
PRT, if you are going to keep making unsubstantiated claims in an anonymous review account, I'm just going to start nuking your reviews again. Facts and logic guys like you go on a great deal about the need for referentiality and reason… but then ignore counterpoints made by people evidencing that the claim itself is wrong.
I've made that counterpoint to this in my last author's note. You need to reply in detail to that before repeating this claim, otherwise you're just tattooing "MY IQ IS 75" on your head. And while I respect that, it's not conducive to the running dialogue I'm trying to cultivate in the comment section.
"…What you fail to understand is that Edelgard it's not proactive enough in trying to earn the professors Trust"
I actually understand this quite well.
My wife happens to be a smol, cringe, perpetually agitated heiress with trust issues who I just happened to luck into marrying while I was a dumb American studying abroad at Peking U. I didn't have any idea who her parents were and what her background was until a pregnancy scare happened.
My contention in the fic is thus: accidental revelations are the spice of life – and far more genuine than outward attempts truth-telling.
Again, Edelgard complains in Silver Snow about "not being able to convince you with words and deeds" – and I think that Kusakihara is making something of a statement here: namely, nothing that Edelgard does would ever convince anyone, frankly. People follow their heart and not their logical mind in most cases.
You have to choose to walk with Edelgard, and very little that Edelgard does has any influence on that. That's just how life goes, as well.
Let me give you a firmer example on this: you, PRT, are trying to convince me to write this story a certain way. In fact, you've been doing this while supposedly hate-reading this story for five months!
What's worse, your typical haunting grounds typically ignore you – as I've seen your handiwork on the Last Scion of House Ordelia review section. You even misspelled the Church of Seiros as Church of Sarah there as well! And yet here – I indulge you, but I do so with total and maximal derision and mocking humor.
The problem here is twofold: you are terrible at cogently arguing your points, and unfortunately for you… I have already written this story. Nothing you do will ever get me to modify this fanfic to your wishes. In this situation – you are Edelgard, too. I just don't want to marry you.
So… don't be so hard on yourself, homie. Look inward!
"her problem that she's prioritizing Conquest over exposing the Argethneans"
It is currently the Garland Moon. Go back and play the game and describe where the Agarthans are even mentioned at this point. Arundel's specter here is quite present in this fic from an early point. I've pre-empted the game in this way.
From what I can gather, you seem to want Edelgard to immediately approach Byleth and ask for help against the Agarthans. That's a dumb idea and if you think it is actually a good one – might I suggest writing your own fanfic? I promise I'll be in the reviews laughing at you.
"I'm sorry that all those points you brought up is not really valid considering that Bylwth sides with Edelgard and against the church for little to no reason."
Could it be that I haven't illustrated the specific reason yet, and that's going to come in one of the other eight moons before the route split?
"How does making the Church of Sarah's more hosile and antagonistic is a sign of good writing"
Two queries here:
1. Who is the Church of Sarah?
2. When did I assert that it was good writing?
I'd also submit that I've made every single political entity more hostile than the game portrayed. Adrestia uses chattel slaves from the Brigid-Dagda war. Holst just sacked a non-military target in Almyra. This was in response to a gas attack committed on Kupala by Claude's homeland. Expect Batlhus to have some opinions about that, too.
The only place I haven't touched yet is the Kingdom – and I don't have to do shit with Faerghus really because they already genocided Duscur.
If anything, the Church has tried to solve the bandit issue and the Lonato rebellion with a minimum of applied force. You only fixate on the church being violent because I used them first to show how I was going to escalate everyone's activity level.
I am serious about those previous two questions, though.
If you don't answer them in your next review, I will be nuking it– be warned.
"you simply make it more absurd"
Thank you for the compliment!
"You Would Think Edelgard who take the professor's lessons regarding Logical Skills(Reason and as Result She Have Hubert investigate why Rhea is so obsessed with Byleth"
"or/and Byleth Reveal To Edelgard While Somewhat Drunk or Sober That he can see and Speak to Sothis"
"and Eenntually Edelgard Realizes That Rhea intends to sacrifice the professor Hoping Sothis Would Take over His Body( in reality sothis would never do that) But Edelgard Knowing Rhea selfish intentions towards byleth would Reveal The Truth"
These are awful ideas, PRT – and if you came up with them… I take back what I said. You are too dumb to write fanfic and I hope you never try.
Also stop accusing me of being a account user..
I'm not – I'm accusing you of being PRT Reply King, and that's who you are.
the more you insist that the more I'm convinced that just ego Driven
All writers, including yourself as a reviewer, are fundamentally ego-driven. The ego is what drives the impulse to write.
"and triggered"
Triggered is a verb that losers with no power use. Remember the people who spent all of 2016-2020 calling certain people "triggered"? Well… my country of domicile stole their election with a bunch of voting machines that went BRRRRRRRR.
All of those people who were shouting "triggered!" are now struggling to afford milk, bread, and ground beef now. They're also basically locked out of any way to criticize the regime. I find that very amusing.
Although Elon buying twitter might throw an intriguing wrench into that!
What I mean to say here is that I'd recommend being very careful when throwing that verb around, lest you self-own as hard as those guys did.
"honestly if you put that much effort in the story as much as you reply to me in Your Author Notes then you would probably be better at than Author and as Critical Thinker"
…What makes you think this requires any effort at all? I'm having fun.
My career revolves around writing dry academic papers so this is a rare treat for me.
If I might steal a line from Tariq Nasheed (I'm sure he'll forgive me because I donated to his FBA history museum and own one of his Buck Breaking NFTs) – we're just choppin' it up with the family…!
