Xavier von Adel always had a fondness for the end of the Horsebow Moon. Back in his youth in Adrestia, he and his friends would take to the fields of Gronder to hunt.

Every year he'd present the largest stag he'd hunted as a tribute to Lord Bartels. His lord would commend him on his hunt and Xavier would rise feeling a little taller.

House Bartels was no more, of course. House Adel, his house, hadn't survived well either. Oh, they persisted with him, but Xavier was the remaining scion.

He shifted in his armor. The problem with passing into his fiftieth year meant his mind was wont to wander. Back when he was in his youth, he could focus on something for an eternity. Guard duty never got away from him. Goddess, what a knight he'd been back then. Before they'd been led by the Blade Breaker, the Knights of Seiros hardly could call itself an order. Jeralt had turned a holy militia into an army the continent respected.

Wandering, again.

Xavier huffed, but saw a welcome distraction. Flayn was walking towards him, waving.

"Oh hello, Xavier! Have you been waiting for me?" she asked with a smile.

He chuckled. "You gave me the slip, little one. Your brother wouldn't like that."

At the mention of Seteth, Flayn rolled her eyes. "Brother ought to worry about more important things. Plus, I am here now and that is what matters."

Xavier never had any children of his own. At one point, he'd had some prospect at finding someone to spend the twilight years with. But that was before the collapse of Bartels.

"It's getting late out, Flayn. I do wish you'd at least allow me to accompany you on your mischief." He couldn't be annoyed with her. She was just so innocent.

Flayn bowed slightly. "Forgive me, Xavier. I shall make it up to you!" She held up a small wrapped basket. "The fish I caught was prepared at the dining hall! We can share."

Xavier laughed. "You and your fish. Sure, I'll accept a bribe from you."

They entered her room, which he'd been standing guard outside of. When Flayn gave him the slip, he knew she'd always turn back up there. To be honest, he had no idea why Seteth was so protective of the girl. She was his sister and all, but the man seemed hell-bent on keeping an eye on her.

Flayn quick set a small table in her room. Despite having a brother high up in Church, her room was modest. A simple bed, dresser, little else. The nicest thing about the room was the view across the grounds.

Xavier sat down in the chair she'd pulled out for him. It wasn't their first time doing this, nor would it be their last. If there was anything Flayn was known for, it was her love of fish. And he had to admit that she had an excellent palate for them.

"I've gotta thank you for introducing me to all these dishes," he said as Flayn divided the meal. Half for him, half for her. "Adrestia doesn't have a lot of unique seafood meals. At least where I grew up."

"Worry not, Xavier. We have corrected that atrocity. Now you are properly educated on what the best ingredient in any food is." Just as Flayn was about to plop down in her seat, there was a knock on the door.

Xavier hoped it wasn't her brother. He'd gotten a lecture about proper decorum the last time he'd stumbled on them.

Flayn opened the door. Professor Jeritza stood in the doorframe.

"Professor Jeritza?" Flayn asked. "What brings you here?"

"Get the other," he said in his low tone.

Xavier began to stand up with a question on his lips just as Jeritza grabbed Flayn, wrapping a hand over her mouth. Her muted gasp was all Xavier heard before a shorter man revealed himself behind the professor.

The man was clad in rich, black silks, a kind Xavier hadn't seen in his entire life. They looked otherworldly like his face, so pale it could blend with snow.

And that was when the Dark magic struck him.

The mage spun a web in his fingers, tendrils of dusk shaping to his will. It lashed out at Xavier, lancing through his stomach, and knocking him to the ground. He groaned in pain.

"No witnesses, Myson," Jeritza growled.

The man scowled. "Don't pretend like you're in charge here." He raised a hand over Xavier and spoke in a language he didn't recognize.

He, a Knight, bested by some magician with the element of surprise? Jeralt would be disappointed in a veteran like him. Perhaps that meant he'd never been fit for the Knights after all.

Xavier felt his body turn to ash.

"Let's take a rest," Shamir said, gesturing to a lone tree in the field.

Ignatz was all too glad. Though he suspected that Shamir had been paying close attention to how tired he was.

They each sat down against the trunk. Shamir passed him a canteen wordlessly and Ignatz guzzled down the water.

She'd taken him out before the sun rose to practice on some real targets. Most of the animals he'd missed, but to his surprise, and Shamir's pride, he'd brought down a young stag. A deer much like himself, new to the ways of the world.

Shamir had been carrying it back with the intent to bring it to the kitchens for meal preparation. "In Dagda, you don't waste," she'd said.

When he'd asked her what would have happened if he hit more than they could carry, she'd just said that she knew he wouldn't.

It'd taken time to realize that remarks like that from Shamir weren't meant to be mean, just honest. Still, Ignatz hoped next time he could prove her wrong.

"How're you feeling?' she said after a few minutes of rest.

"Alright. It's nice to get out of the monastery."

She chuckled. "I forget how little you kids leave the place. If I were trapped somewhere for a whole year, I think I'd lose my mind."

"Have you seen a lot of the world?" he asked.

"Decent amount of Dagda, most of Fódlan. That's about it." She shrugged. "Haven't traveled much for pleasure since I got to Fódlan."

Ignatz smiled. "Still, seeing all of Fódlan must be incredible. I've always wanted to see more of it."

"Hmph. Faerghus is cold, Leicester is tolerable, and Adrestia is warm. Those are all my takeaways from this country." She was smirking so he knew she didn't entirely mean it.

"Do you miss Dagda?"

Shamir tapped her fingers idly against her bow. "Not really. It was just a place. And everyone I knew there is gone. There's nothing to miss."

"Home is where the heart is, right?" Ignatz guessed.

She shot him a look. "I had a partner once. Not anymore."

Somehow he found courage to approach a question he'd wanted to ask for a while. "A partner like you and Catherine?"

The look she gave bordered on disinterested. "What does that mean?"

"Uh, I mean, aren't you two…you know," he said, dancing around it.

Shamir blinked. "You think we're fucking?"

"What? No! I just meant I thought you were together," Ignatz gasped. "Which, I mean, I guess that could…" His face turned completely red.

Shamir howled with laughter. The kind laugh Ignatz expected from a hyena, not a person. "Kid, Catherine's an idiot. I'll admit she's pretty, but me and her? Please."

Ignatz wasn't Mercedes, but even he could tell Shamir seemed to be trying to convince herself more than him. "I just thought you two were close."

"She's a good fighter, if entirely too reckless. She's tolerable, I guess. A friend, if you will." Shamir looked off into the skyline as the morning sun brought with it autumn heat. "And she's much too interested in someone else for that to happen, anyway." The way she said that almost sounded like it wasn't for him to hear.

What did that mean, anyway? Ignatz had never seen Catherine in the company of anyone except Shamir, the Archbishop, or Seteth.

"Sorry, I know it isn't my business," Ignatz apologized.

Shamir shook her head. "Don't worry about it. I grew up in a place where there was a lot less," she waved a hand, looking for a word, "pomp and circumstance around romance. Certainly we didn't have ceremonies like you have here. Marriage was a word I had to learn when I got to Fódlan. Or at least your definition of it."

"What do you mean?"

"The way you shied up when I said fucking." Shamir smirked when he flinched in embarrassment. "I think your Alliance poets would call it 'loving freely' in Dagda. Some people settled down with each other, but it was acceptable to fuck someone for a while and then part. Or love someone for a while. Whatever relationship you had, you were open about it and the fact that you could lose interest in that person."

"That sounds horrible," Ignatz blurted.

His teacher shrugged. "To you, maybe. But that's how it is where I come from. Here, the idea of tying down to just one person for the rest of your life without option to explore seems weird. I understand the appeal and might even like it more than I expected, but it's still absurd to me. Your people start wars over marriages." She said it like it summed up her whole argument.

"Do you like it here?" Ignatz asked. "Would you ever go back?"

Shamir looked off into the sky again. "It's alright here. I've got a reason to stay here right now. But it might not always be that way. People drift apart, that's reality. In five years, I might go back. Who knows?" Her eyes abruptly zeroed in on him. "You're asking a lot of questions. Something you're getting at?"

"I was just curious," Ignatz said. "You don't talk much about yourself."

"I got attached to someone once. He died." Her voice grew soft. "Better to not get attached in this line of work."

Shamir, Ignatz decided, lied to herself more than she knew. She was by Catherine's side almost always. He was no expert on people, but he thought that qualified as attachment.

"Okay," he simply said, willing to let that be the end of it.

He knew from his professor that some people just had things they weren't ready to confront yet. Byleth had fire, Shamir had Catherine.

Ignatz smiled at his own joke. Had her in more ways than one, if Shamir would open her eyes.

"I see you smirking there. Better not be at my expense, or you'll regret it," Shamir said loudly. Her own strange brand of humor.

Ignatz liked it.

Marianne had managed to avoid Mercedes for weeks.

One part of her said that it was because Mercedes was a new person in her life. As much as she'd come to trust the Deer, the newest fawn was someone new. Marianne had been scared of change her whole life. A new parent, a new place to live, a new school, she'd been thrust into so many things before she was ready. And now a new person in her group of burgeoning friends? Marianne just wanted to curl up in her room and sleep the world away. What she would give for a week where the world would just stop.

But a smaller, more truthful, part of her knew it was because Mercedes would see right through her.

"Hello, Marianne," Mercedes said, approaching her at the stables.

"Oh, hello, Mercedes," Marianne whispered as she took a step closer to Dorte. The horse nuzzled her, hoping she would give him more treats. Though if she gave him much more, he'd be a fat horse. But who could resist such a cute face?

Mercedes reached forward and stroked Dorte. The horse immediately looked to the newcomer, nuzzling her instead for affection.

Traitor.

"Please, call me Mercie," she said. "All my friends do."

Friends. Marianne still couldn't get over that. All of the Deer called her friend. What had she done to deserve that?

And then there was Hilda. Hilda, who never seemed to let her out of her sight. All because she'd let slip that she had no friends back home.

"Well, then I'll have to be such a good best friend that it makes up for that!" she'd said.

"Is everything alright, Marianne?" Mercedes asked, in the present.

"Oh, yes," Marianne said, ducking her head behind Dorte with the excuse of bushing lower on him.

Mercedes was silent for a while, but Marianne didn't see her depart. "Have I done something to offend you, Marianne?"

"What?" Marianne said. "No, we've barely said a word to each other."

"That's my point," Mercedes said, tugging on her hair. "I'm worried that I said something to cause you to not like me. Whenever I see you, you just seem so sad…"

Marianne's breath caught. She was right, Mercedes was seeing right through her. "Oh, I'm always like that." She cringed. Mistake.

"Whatever do you mean?" Mercedes said, alarmed. "You're always sad?"

"It's nothing," Marianne brushed aside. "Just homesick." Lie.

Mercedes nodded. "I can understand that. I miss my mother some days. We're very close."

What was it like to miss a mother? Marianne barely knew anything about her real parents. Alister von Edmund, her adoptive father, said they were good people, but Marianne doubted his sense of what was good.

Had she been kind? Had she loved horses as well? Marianne didn't know and wouldn't know. Despite being a relative, Alister said he never got to know them.

What about her father? Had he been a fair noble? Alister had taken his lands—her lands eventually—under his control when he'd adopted her.

All the more reason she was just a pawn in someone else's game. Cursed and used, ready to be thrown away. She was so tired. It felt like she couldn't keep her eyes open much anymore.

Last night, Marianne had a dream. She'd dreamed she was sitting on the edge of a gaping pit. There was no bottom, just an echoing expanse of darkness. A voice in her mind was telling her to jump, to let go. A quieter voice, it sounded like Hilda's, urged her to walk away. She'd given into jumping.

Then she'd woken up, more tired than usual. But that wasn't anything special. Marianne spent every day of the past five years exhausted. Sleeping through a night was a luxury she'd never known, would probably never know.

"Marianne?"

"Huh?" she said.

Mercedes was close to her know, looking more than a little worried. "Are you sure you're alright?" Her voice was softer this time, like it was hidden away from the world in a small box that only Marianne could open.

"I haven't been sleeping well lately." A half-truth.

Arms wrapped around her. Marianne stiffened immediately. But it was just Mercedes hugging her.

When had she last gotten a hug?

"You leave the stables work to me. Head back to your room and get some sleep. I'll let Byleth know you're a bit tired. Let me take care of everything."

Idly, Marianne wondered if this was what it was like to have a mother. She nodded, stifling a yawn. Perhaps she was more tired than usual.

Mercedes nodded upon seeing the yawn. "Doctor Mercie's orders. You head back to bed."

Marianne agreed and began to slowly walk back to her room. Would she even sleep? Doubtful. But maybe she'd get lucky and die in her sleep. It'd be painless, quick and without effort. A death a blink away. It felt intoxicating.

When she got to her room, she looked back to her desk. On it sat the letter from her adoptive father. Alister von Edmund's neat penmanship had told her exactly who it was from before she'd opened it.

It'd had her vomiting for an hour after she'd received it. She'd skipped out on seeing Hilda for their planned tea, half-lying through the door that she was too sick.

When she'd actually gotten to reading it, it said everything she'd thought it would, feared it would.

Dearest Marianne,

I've heard reports from my people at Garreg Mach. They have informed me of your closeness with the Hilda of House Goneril.

Do not forget our discussion. And consider your curse and what that could mean for the Goneril girl.

Margrave Alister von Edmund

It was short, lacking all of the flourish and poise he was known for. With her, he didn't need to dress up a threat. Not when he'd said it to her face months ago after she'd disobeyed him and applied to Garreg Mach. Oh, how angry he'd been when he found out she'd been accepted, that for the first time in her life she'd made a decision for herself. How angry he was that his daughter was expected to go and he simply couldn't pull her out.

"Marianne," his cool voice brushed against the back of her mind in memory. "Garreg Mach might keep you away from me for a year, but after that, you shall know hell like the Eternal Flames themselves. If you think you've a chance to escape me, you are wrong. While you are away, I am your curse. Disobey me and I shall kill whomever is closest to you. And I won't stop at the first person."

She prayed the Goddess would take her. She prayed like she did every day for as long as she could remember. She prayed her curse would stop harming those close to her. Her parents, her new friends, anyone.

Alister von Edmund had adopted her for her Crest, the one thing he lacked. The one thing that held him back from further gains in the Alliance. The thing the separated him from Riegan, Goneril, Gloucester, and Daphnel.

The friends he kept, she shuddered at the thought of them. And the one time she walked throughout town at the monastery, she'd seen one. A figure, dressed in a cloak that obscured their face and the rest of them except for the pale, milky white hands. The same kind of hands that had taken her blood in the Edmund Manor countless times.

Marianne laid in bed and thought of Hilda. Claude. Leonie. Lorenz. Raphael. Ignatz. Even Mercedes.

She sobbed.

Byleth was ill at ease as she sat down opposite Rhea.

The Archbishop had tried to get Byleth one on one since Lonato several times, but Byleth had always wormed her way out of it.

But now it was an official summons. One she dared not refuse. Thankfully they weren't alone.

"Forgive the abruptness, Professor," Rhea said. Over her shoulder hovered Seteth, looking far less well kempt than he usually did. "But we've an urgent matter to discuss."

"I am here to serve," Byleth said. Usually when she had a meeting with these two, it was in the cathedral proper, never in her office.

"Flayn is missing," Seteth said without wasting a breath. All pretense of poise left his posture. "We've been searching the monastery high and low and we cannot find her."

"Calm yourself, Seteth," Rhea soothed. "Level heads triumph at times like these." Her expression hardened. "And we shall make whomever is responsible pay for this crime."

Byleth didn't doubt it. "When did you last see her?" she asked. And why bring Byleth here?

"Two days ago she never emerged from her room," Seteth said. He'd begun to pace erratically. "The man I'd instructed to watch over her is nowhere to be found either. Normally I'd consider him a suspect but…"

"The Knight was found disintegrated, suspected to be at least," Rhea said without missing a beat. She didn't even look overly bothered, as if it were nothing more than a fact. "Ashes were at the scene, Hanneman deduced that were the left overs of powerful Dark magic."

"I don't understand," Byleth said. "Why would someone want to kidnap Flayn? She's just a little girl."

Rhea glanced at Seteth. "Flayn bears a rare Crest," she said. "I cannot claim to know why they would want that, but possess it she does."

"If they harm so much as a hair on her head…" Seteth seethed.

Byleth saw a different man standing before her. Not Seteth, right hand of the Archbishop, but her brother, her family. Whenever Byleth had been hurt on a job, Jeralt had been furious. Not with her, but with whomever had hurt her.

Seteth looked capable of anything. Gone was the appearance of a glorified secretary of the Archbishop. Instead, a tall man stood capable of vengeance upon those who would harm his sister. Byleth saw someone who was a warrior, who belonged on battlefields instead of behind desks. It occurred to her that she didn't know anything about Seteth's past.

"I trust you need help searching?" Byleth asked.

"You as well as your house. Secrecy is necessary, but we must find Flayn as quickly as possible." From the way Rhea said it, Byleth wondered if she knew more about why Flayn had been kidnapped than she let on.

There was a knock at the door. Seteth nearly jumped out of his skin as it caught him by surprise. He opened the door an inch and exchanged a few hushed words.

He opened it fully, letting the knight in. Byleth recognized him, the friendly gatekeeper.

"Archbishop, I have something to report," he said, saluting. "Lady Edelgard sent me to you with a message. She says she has found Flayn and Monica."

"Excuse me?" Seteth gasped.

"Monica?" Rhea's eyes widened.

Flayn's older brother pushed past the gatekeeper, not even thinking to stop to ask where Edelgard was. The gatekeeper stood awkwardly, unsure what to do.

"Take me to them," Rhea said, standing up. "Forgive me, Professor, but it seems the problem has resolved itself. We shall speak later."

They left Byleth in the room by herself to try and process everything that had happened.

Two figures met under to cover of nightfall in the Garreg Mach cemetery.

"Are you having followers?" her companion asked.

Dorothea sighed. Discretion was apparently necessary, but anyone who heard Petra talk knew exactly who was speaking. "No, no one saw me. Why are you so uptight about this?"

The Eagles had thrown a celebration with rescuing Flayn. Petra had been distant at the party. When Dorothea had asked her about it, she'd arranged the meeting.

Petra sat down on one of the gravestones. Part of Dorothea wanted to tell her that was disrespectful to the dead, but the chill of autumn nights didn't agree with her. Best not to draw it out.

"What I am saying will be kept close to us, okay?" Petra asked.

Dorothea nodded, then remembered it was dark out. "Yes," she said instead.

She could hear Petra sigh. "I am thinking Edelgard is behind Flayn's childnapping."

"Excuse me?" Dorothea said after a moment.

"Dorothea, I am having trust in you. Please listen to me. How did Edelgard know where she was?"

"Well, she followed Jeritza, didn't she? She'd been suspicious of him and found the secret tunnel in his room when she got there," Dorothea reasoned. It was the explanation Edelgard gave when Ferdinand asked a similar question.

"Three nights ago, I am seeing Hubert speak to Professor Jeritza. Their conversation was hushed, like a mouse. When I was approaching in stealth, I heard them say 'Flayn.'" Petra leaned forward, close enough that Dorothea's eyes could see her through the dark. "Dorothea, I am having worry about whether we can trust Edelgard."

"That's silly," Dorothea said with an uncertain laugh. "Why would she kidnap Flayn?"

"I am not knowing. But more days ago, she is asking me about Brigid, about how we are the Empire's vassal state. She is making it clear that I am not to oppose her."

"What do you mean?"

"In Brigid, there is talking of revolt. Edelgard is saying that if I encourage thoughts of anger, then she will hurt Brigid." Petra wrapped her arms around herself. "I am scared, Dorothea. I was thinking Edelgard was kind, but there is worry that I am wrong."

"She threatened you?" Dorothea gasped. How could anyone threaten a sweet thing like Petra? That didn't sound like Edelgard. Or did it? What did she really know about Edelgard?

That stark realization scared her.

Petra nodded. "She was being quiet about it, like we are speaking now. This language is hard for me, but I am not being stupid."

"What will you do?"

Petra laughed. It lacked mirth, falling far closer to hysteric. "Dorothea, I am a prisoner of the Empire. There is no doing I can do. My people have dependence on my obedience." She sobered, growing quiet again. "I am hoping you can be careful. You are not treating me like an idiot even though I am not speaking your language well. You are my friend."

"Petra, I—"

"Be listening. I was speaking to Lorenz before. He is saying the Death Knight was in the Mausoleum. If Professor Jeritza is the Death Knight, then I am fearing that Edelgard has plans. Please escape, Dorothea. I am frightened."

"Escape to where?" Dorothea asked. "What are you saying?"

Petra's mouth shut. She stared at Dorothea for a few moments. "Dorothea. What I am wishing to share could be hurting my people. You must not be speaking of it."

Dorothea was confused. "Petra, I'm sorry, but I just don't understand where all this is coming from. What's really going on?"

Petra reached into her uniform, right above her heart, and removed a piece of paper. She held it out to Dorothea.

The songstress was glad it was dark enough to hide her blush at the thought of where that piece of paper had been. She opened it carefully.

It was a list of numbers with a few words she didn't understand. The writing was akin to mere symbols to her.

"Petra?" she asked uncertainly.

In the light of the fire, she could see Petra's face. Tears fell from her eyes. "That note is coming from one of my grandfather's spies in Enbarr. He is with the Sky Spirit now."

It didn't take a genius. "Dead?" whispered Dorothea.

"Before he was being found, he is sending two notes. One to me, one to my grandfather."

"Petra, what are you saying?"

"Those numbers are being soldiers, Dorothea. Many thousands and thousands. The Empire is preparing for war."

Author Notes: You're damn fucking right that I'm gonna use Myson in this story. If you thought I'd ignore a blank slate antagonist oh baby you were WRONG.

Editing Notes:
4/14/2021: Minor grammatical adjustments.
4/16/2021: Corrected a minor continuity issue.
7/30/2021: Minor grammar adjustments.