Lorenz,
It is unfortunate that your house did not win the Battle of Eagle and Lion. I was expecting greatness from you, but it seems I must lower my expectations. Perhaps it is for the best you did not come home to handle Acheron. He is dealt with for the time being. In fact, he and I have come to something of an understanding.
But that is neither here nor there. I cannot allow you to take Thyrsus with you. My apologies, but such a powerful weapon needs to be in the hands of someone I can trust and who has proved themselves to me. We shall reevaluate this once you come home after graduation.
Continue with your studies. Remember that you are a Gloucester and heir to the house. Continue to keep that in mind as you represent us.
Leander Beauregard Gloucester
"The others have been looking for you."
Leonie blinked, looking over her shoulder. Dorothea of all people had found her on the ramparts.
The songstress walked up beside her, leaning on the stone wall. One of three encircling walls around Garreg Mach, it was the highest point in the monastery aside from the Goddess Tower. And that meant it had the best view.
"Did I miss dinner?" Leonie asked softly.
Dorothea nodded. "Lorenz saved you something. I think he's rather sweet on you."
"As if," Leonie chuckled. "I'll tell them sorry, I know how they enjoy the house dinners when we have them."
Her companion smiled. "They're nice. The Eagles didn't do anything like that. Edie and Hubert would eat together, Caspar and Linhardt, who knows when Bernadetta would, and so on. I'm glad I transferred."
"Why did you transfer? You're a commoner like me, transferring means giving up your home." More or less, it was true. Graduates of the academy would be employed by the nobility and everyone knew that each country favored its own graduates.
Dorothea sighed. "Oh, there were plenty of reasons. Some are mundane, some are ones I'd rather not talk about."
"You think you'll get homesick?" Leonie asked.
Dorothea stared out into the horizon as the last wisps of sunlight drifted beneath the mountains. She didn't answer for a long time, so long that Leonie thought she never would.
"I'm an orphan. There's not much of a home waiting for me," she said. "I'll miss Petra, but she's from Brigid. I don't think she'll be in Fódlan forever."
Leonie laughed and Dorothea looked offended. Backpedaling, she said, "Sorry, it's just that I'm an orphan too. Sauin village is where I'm from, but it never felt like home. The people there are good, but it's never felt like the place for me. So in some ways, I can relate."
"Ah, I see," Dorothea said. She smiled and it comforted her. "You miss it, don't you?"
"I guess," the huntress said, almost surprised with her answer. "But also I don't. I feel happy here, but I miss having a place that I know is mine. Somewhere that isn't a room at a school I'll be leaving in a few months."
"I think you're dreading leaving." Dorothea's face was harder to see in the dusk, but there was melancholy in it.
"What do you mean?"
"I think you're like me," said Dorothea. "There's a little attachment to where you lived and it's scary to give that up because it's all you've known. But now you've suddenly found a new home in these people…" She drifted off.
"And you don't want to lose it?" Leonie provided.
"Am I that transparent?" Dorothea said through a chuckle that carried a weight. "Life before this wasn't good. I adore singing, but the rest was…hard. Things here, things are nice. If I could live in a moment for eternity, I'd have a lot to choose from since I joined the Deer."
Leonie turned around and sat down again the stone wall. "Is it odd that I understand completely?"
Dorothea joined her. "I think we both have found home here."
"Very insightful," Leonie said, a glimmer of a smile present.
"Blame Mercedes. I've been spending too much time around her."
They sat in silence as the dusk grew to night and torches began to light across the monastery. From their view, Garreg Mach was its own constellation on the mountains.
"Hey," Leonie said after a while.
"Yeah?"
"After this year, what do you plan to do?"
Dorothea didn't answer. Eventually she turned, face nearly obscured, and said, "I have no idea."
Leonie smiled at that. "Neither do I."
"Professor, is this seat taken?"
Byleth looked up to see Sylvain, a scheming grin and top button of his shirt undone. Well, the latter was normal.
"Go ahead," she said, shifting aside the tome she had in front of her. Her students had headed back to their rooms or wherever the rest of their night took them. She'd deigned to stay behind to catch up on a little reading. The fact that the dining hall was serving delightful little cakes had no reason to do with it.
Okay, maybe a little reason.
Sylvain sat down. The rest of his house was a few tables away. They were talking idly, but nowhere near as animatedly as the Deer did. Raphael had challenged Hilda to a pushup contest during dinner which clearly meant they had to do it in the dining hall instead of going outside. Byleth had been surprised Hilda accepted, but she'd seen the way the woman kept glancing at Marianne. It made Byleth smile.
"So, professor," began Sylvain. He broke off as he looked over at the Lions. Felix and Dimitri were staring daggers at each other over something that had just been said. Byleth frowned. Felix, she expected, but Dimitri?
Sylvain was frowning too, clearly coming to the same conclusion. He was a mediator and his charges were biting at throats. Byleth wondered if his house knew his value.
"Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about Ashe," Sylvain said, putting his two friends out of his mind.
"What about him?" Byleth asked, rigid. The memory of the boy pulling a knife on her hadn't been lost or dulled.
"He told me about how he reacted after Lonato died." The smile was still on Sylvain's face, but it fooled no one. She wondered if he even knew he wore it, or if it were so reflexive that frowns were foreign.
Byleth said nothing.
Sylvain took that as encouragement. "Look, I want to help him as much as possible. Family is…complicated. I don't blame him for exploding." He looked Byleth in the eye. "But allow me to apologize on his behalf. What he did was wrong. I told him to say this to you, but he still doesn't forgive you."
"It wasn't my fault," ground out Byleth, only half believing it. She could have resisted. Said no to Rhea.
He waved a hand. "I know that. I think a lot of people see that now, emotions cooling with time and all that. But he lost his father, the man who gave him a second chance. I can't say I exactly blame him for not moving on yet. I've known people who lost family and spent decades hung up on it."
Byleth afforded a small smile. "I'd be the same way, I think. I…I don't dislike Ashe. He said some things that night I maybe needed to hear. But having your life threatened…"
Sylvain grinned, this time with mirth. "Trust me, I'm not here asking for you to forgive him or for you two to become friends. I just wanted to do my part on his behalf. Hopefully, someday he understands."
"Hopefully," whispered Byleth. She didn't know what else to say.
Her companion gave a casual glance around. Looking for eavesdroppers, she realized. His voice dropped an octave in tone and volume. "We both know who is really responsible. Rhea."
"Dangerous words," Byleth replied, just as quiet.
A halfcocked smirk was all she got. "Faerghus is more religious than the other two countries. There's a long line of faith in its history. My father is a very pious man. I am not."
"You ought to be careful who you share that with. Especially here."
Sylvain winked. "They can't touch me, not with my Crest." His words had a dark lilt to them, an undertone she wasn't privy to. "And I'm speaking to a co-conspirator, am I not?"
She did not deny it.
"Look, I just want to offer my help. I've heard rumors of your house's research. I can help. I have the Lance of Ruin with me."
Her eyes widened. She caught herself, holding back her excitement. "Are you certain you want to throw in your lot with us?"
"Your herd seems to be doing the right work," he said. "I'm not joining your house. I just want to…lend a hand."
"Any help would be appreciated." She paused. "And should you want to join the Deer, I don't think that would be an issue."
Sylvain laughed, the sound breaking their quiet. "Professor, it'll take more than your good looks to convince me to swap." His voice grew softer as he looked back over to his house, at two in particular. Dimitri and Felix were still glaring at each other. "Besides, I've got someone depending on me. Though I don't think they realize it, yet."
She nodded, understanding. "The offer is open."
"I won't forget it." He stood up. "Now I better go make sure they don't kill each other. I think all the blood will spoil the food."
He departed and Byleth watched from afar as he pushed apart the two and sat between them, saying something immediately to gain Ingrid's ire. All attention at the table shifted to him, whatever the argument was forgotten.
He was a good man, in his own way, Byleth decided.
"It's good to see you're awake," Linhardt said, sitting down by her bedside.
Monica looked over at him with an unamused expression. "What do you want?"
Definitely not the woman he remembered. "I know you woke up recently, so I thought you might like a little company."
They were alone in the infirmary. Manuela had stepped out, content to let Linhardt watch Monica.
When she didn't answer, Linhardt continued. "Any idea who was responsible?"
"No," she growled. "They put a sack over my head."
"Likely the same people who kidnapped you. It brings into question why they would leave you instead of capturing you, but I cannot think as to why anyone else would wish you harm." Well, if one believed the rumors, Hilda had bloody knuckles the same day Monica was found. But those rumors had strangely died when both Claude and Lorenz began telling people Hilda was with them at the time, dangerous smiles on their faces. The truth? Or fear? Linhardt didn't particularly care.
As far as he was concerned, this wasn't Monica.
It was a young hypothesis, certainly. It needed testing. But there was magic that could be used for disguise. It was something discovered in Morfis and not very common, but it did exist. And it had its limits, limits that had been broken by Monica. Glamours couldn't stand up to physical abuse.
Such as Hilda beating Monica with her fists, for example.
"Maybe," Monica said noncommittally. "It was dark, I didn't get a good look."
Linhardt nodded. "Have you heard the news from the past month or two? There might not be official results, but most agree that the Eagles won the mock battle."
"Neat," she said, lacking all emotion. She didn't even look at him when talking. In fact, now that he thought about it, the only person she actually engaged with was Edelgard. He made note of it.
"Indeed. We are lucky no one was hurt by Baron Ochs' attack," he said carefully.
"Quite lucky," she said, still bored.
And there it was. Another point towards his guess.
Even if he pretended that the Monica he knew had somehow deteriorated her close relationship with her father, mention of her father should trigger some emotion. Anger, distress, sadness, joy, something.
Either this charlatan truly had amnesia, which he sincerely doubted, or she had no attachment to the man. Perhaps she'd even forgotten that the man was her father? Perhaps her cover was such a means to an end she didn't even try to maintain it?
Questions upon questions.
"With the Baron having passed, his territory is in chaos," Linhardt said. "Thankfully you were found, Monica. Else there would be major concerns with the end of one of the great noble families in the Empire."
Her eyes slid to him. "Are you getting at something?"
His eyes met her with resolution he didn't think he had. "I might be."
She continued to stare through him. "My father has passed. I do not wish to speak of these things."
"Forgive me," he apologized. "But I was merely curious what your plans were after this. Would you have it, I could begin to send out some letters in your stead to the minor families in the Ochs territory. Reassure them their scion of Ochs will return home soon to take up her father's mantle in order to quell confusion."
"How generous of you." She was sitting up now, pretense of disinterest gone. The way she looked at him, it made him feel like prey. A slight shiver went down his spine.
"Quite. I merely seek to help a friend from my childhood. Or have you forgotten me as of late?" he asked.
She smiled, baring her teeth. "Linhardt, as if I could ever forget you. I appreciate your kindness, but I will have everything handled."
"Excellent," he smiled, hiding the wavering confidence he now had. One final push. "I think you'll make an excellent Monica von Ochs."
Her eyes flashed. "Excuse me?"
Too far, backtrack. "Ah, Baron von Ochs. Pardon me."
Monica didn't take her eyes off him. "Quite. I'm feeling tired, Linhardt. I hope you don't mind leaving me to get some rest."
He stood. "I wish you a speedy recovery, Monica. Hopefully we will have your attackers captured soon."
"Soon indeed."
Linhardt left the infirmary. Once out of earshot, he let the breath he'd been holding go.
Dear Goddess, he belonged in a library, not trading barbs. But he was certain that person was no Monica von Ochs.
Should he go to the Archbishop? To Seteth? How could they believe him? Such advanced magic to hide an appearance didn't exist in the realm of White or Black. Dark, perhaps. But he'd never heard of it. The monastery library had nothing on it.
He'd do another pass. He could have missed something. Then ask Hanneman. Could he confide suspicions in his teacher? Well, perhaps if he didn't mention Monica. Purely scholarly interest. Yes, that could work. Then go to Lysithea, his friend? Perhaps, though her closeness with Edelgard was an issue. Perhaps not.
Linhardt dashed off to the library, for once all idea of sleep forgotten.
"You're distracted," Byleth murmured.
Mercedes bit her lips as she leaned into the woman's shoulder. Her lover's arm tightened around her, holding her close. It was safe, lying in bed with Byleth holding her. It was safer than she'd felt in a long time, as if the Goddess herself had come down to comfort her.
"Sorry," Mercedes whispered. "I just have a lot on my mind."
Byleth pressed a kiss into Mercedes' hair. "I can listen," she said. It wasn't a demand, just an offer. Mercedes liked that. Byleth never pressured her into anything.
"It's my father," she said. "I received a letter from him recently. He claims to have a match for me, someone rich who could save his business."
Byleth said nothing, but the brief tense of her arms told Mercedes everything she needed to know.
"Don't worry," Mercedes said with a smile. She reached a hand up, brushing her fingers against Byleth's jaw. "I have no intention of giving you up, dear. My father can be difficult, that's all."
"Do you want me to fight him?" Byleth asked.
Mercedes laughed, not because it was funny, but because she knew Byleth was completely serious. "You're sweet. My knight in shining armor, ready to save me from distress."
Byleth smirked. "You're no damsel."
She wasn't. Mercedes had never told Byleth the things she'd had to do to take care of her mother when she was younger. Things the Goddess frowned upon. Stealing, lying, whatever she could do to keep her mother safe before she remarried. The road to Faerghus from the Empire had been long and hard.
Did she regret those actions? Yes and no. She prayed constantly that those she harmed were able to recover, that they were well off with happiness. But her mother might not have survived had she not done so. Mercedes hoped Sothis understood that.
"No, I'm not," she murmured. "But still, I like having a protector."
Her lover smiled, saying nothing. Waiting for her to continue.
"I'll write him back and tell him no." Mercedes sighed. "If I tell him I'm involved with someone, he won't be pleased to find out you're a mercenary." Her eyes went wide. "Not like I have a problem with that!"
Byleth chuckled. "I understand, dear, trust me. I know you've not a judgmental bone in your body. I think you might be one of the most kind people I've ever met."
Mercedes blushed at the praise.
"As for your father, maybe there's a way we can work around telling him I don't come from money. Tell him about my Crest or maybe that my father is the Blade Breaker. Or that I'm the Ashen Demon. I'm sure we can think of some way to make me seem more than I am."
Mercedes tilted her head up and pressed a soft kiss to her partner's lips. "Oh, Byleth. You are everything and more."
"If he cares about you, he'll care about your happiness," Byleth said amidst the clear embarrassment she felt at the praise.
One of these days she'd make the woman accept a compliment. Mercedes considered it a challenge.
"He cares, in his own way, I think. He's complicated. But I will make it very clear I am not giving you up." Mercedes turned over and climbed on top of Byleth, all too ready to show Byleth just how much she was hers.
Byleth didn't complain.
"You're looking terrible," Lorenz said, taking a seat next to Claude.
It was the evening, the rest of the Deer off doing their own things. But he'd known where to find Claude. If the man wasn't in the library, he'd be in the classroom pouring over something.
"No wonder you do so well with the ladies," Claude said without missing a beat. But there was no malice, just a faint grin.
"What've you got?" he said, leaning back in his chair.
Claude sighed. "Not too much, I'm afraid. The cards got me thinking about other instances of art for reference. I've been digging through remote areas of northern Leicester, Faerghus, and Sreng for their mythology or artwork. Basically looking for anything resembling a Relic or giant monster."
"Dull?" Lorenz guessed as he snagged one of the tomes and began to page through it. It was dense.
"Oh, not at all. The people of the world have so many interesting creation stories. You can see similarities between the faith of Seiros as well as the Almyran gods mixed together. It's not so much segmented into religions as it is a bunch of spilled paints on a canvas, plenty of overlap." Claude yawned. "The problem is that I'm not finding answers."
Lorenz set the book down. "How much sleep did you get last night?"
Claude shrugged. "Enough."
Lorenz narrowed his eyes. He'd have a word with Hilda later. Claude paid attention to her when it came to his health, though Goddess knew why. The poor man looked on the verge of collapse.
The thought of his father entered his mind, the acrid disappointment all too present in the letter he'd received. Were his father to have his way, then Lorenz would capitalize on Claude's weakness right now and take control.
But that wasn't becoming of a friend to do.
A part of Lorenz still detested it, conditioned to hate the name Riegan and all it stood for. But a brighter, more kind part told him that cooperation was better than dominion. It felt good to listen to that voice.
"You look your own share of terrible, though," Claude commented as he snapped the book shut. He leaned back in his chair, tension shedding off and aging him a few years. Claude could barely keep his eyes open.
Lorenz shrugged. "Just correspondence from my father, nothing to worry about."
Claude opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. Then, "You know, have I ever told you about my grandfather?"
"Lord Silas?" Lorenz said. "No, what about him?"
The scion of Riegan grinned. "That I want to kill him."
Lorenz' breath caught in his throat. "Claude—"
His friend laughed. "Sounds odd, doesn't it? He's family by blood, but I never really saw that as important."
He stayed silent while Claude continued on.
"Growing up, I didn't have friends. Just my parents and their friends. I wasn't well liked, I didn't get along with people. That's the way things were. So I assumed that family was the people who stood by you no matter what. When I learned who my grandfather was, I thought I was lucky. Lucky! I'd get a new member of my family, someone who I could connect with like my parents.
"You know what the first thing Silas said to me? He called me a mongrel, someone unfit to be his heir. He made it very clear that I was only in that position because he had no other choices and that he was doing his best to find another heir."
Lorenz said nothing.
Claude tilted his head to Lorenz. "It's okay if you don't like your father. Family isn't everything. It isn't binding. One of these stories, you know how they decided family? By pure choice. Family wasn't even the word they used, it was something like 'togetherness', or at least that's what the translation had it as. Seems like a nicer way of life than having family chosen for you."
"Claude…"
The characteristic leader-of-the-Deer smile was back on his face. "I'm not going to judge you if you hate your dad. I'm not gonna judge you if you continue to stick around him. This house, I think it feels like family. What family should feel like. We look out for each other here."
For a while, neither of them said anything. Lorenz stared at his feet while Claude's eyes closed.
"Claude?"
"Yeah?" he said, peeking an eye open.
"Thank you."
"Of course."
"There's three powers in Fódlan," a husky voice said, raising three fingers. "Do you know what they are, Emile?"
The masked man scowled. "Don't call me that."
The other laughed. "Luckily I don't answer to you, Death Knight. So, Emile, can you tell me what the three powers in Fódlan are?"
Jeritza rolled his eyes. With the way he shifted in his chair, the small dusty room was the last place he wanted to be. But he had orders.
"The three countries," supplied Jeritza.
"Close," he said. "Leicester is a joke of a nation, they're nothing." He held up one finger. "There is the Empire. They have the largest army and the fertile lands of the south. Not to mention some of the most brilliant tactical minds of the century. Thus why they will be our instrument."
"Second, Faerghus. All that snow managed to not kill them and instead bred strong, resilient people. They'll be the first target. Beat them into submission, Leicester will follow suit."
"And finally, the strongest. The Church." The scorn in his voice curled around the word. "They are a bunch of fanatics, extending their control into each country. It is not without the Church's consent that things are done. That is why we must remove this cancer from the world."
"Get on with it, Myson," Jeritza said, bored.
Myson smirked. "You're the one who asked me why this business in Remire was necessary. I simply am explaining just why."
"If I wanted confusing answers, I'd read a book of riddles," the masked knight scoffed.
"Luckily, Emile, the plans do not hinge on your understanding of them," Myson said. He ran a hand through his long hair. "You are but a tool to help our deal little Emperor-to-be to take her continent."
Jeritza said nothing.
Myson stood up. "It's dark enough out to not be seen. Head to Remire, I'll meet you there."
"Why aren't you coming now?"
"Oh, so curious about me now? If you must know, I have business to attend to here."
Claude covered his mouth to smother another yawn. He'd barely managed to avoid Hilda on his way to the library, knowing full well she'd drag him back to his room and lock him in.
He'd get some sleep. Sometime. There'd be plenty of time once he had his answers.
The monastery was calm at night and the few knights he passed gave him nods of acknowledgement. Early on they'd been concerned about his wandering, but now they knew full well his only destination was the library.
Which was especially effective when he had to ferry notes to his contact. A man half Almyran and Fódlani like he was. He'd take the notes to another person who'd bring them across the border to Nader. It took time, but it was covert.
But that was not his destination tonight. Tonight he had plans with a tome he'd seen about small villages in northern Faerghus. A book he'd read today referenced them, deeming them completely cut off from the world. If knowledge survived from ages ago, perhaps it could be found there.
Claude bounded up the steps and to the library, careful not to make a racket. He might be allowed to go to the library at night, but that didn't give him permission to make lots of noise. At least, that's what Seteth had said when he'd done just that before knowing better.
Opening the library door, Claude was disappointed to not see Tomas anywhere. He'd hoped to pick the man's brain. He was old and clearly starting to lose it, but in moments of lucidity he was a wealth of knowledge. Most of the time he spoke quietly to himself and acted erratically. Poor man, Claude thought. But such were the pains of growing old.
Other than him, there was just Linhardt, collapsed on a table fast asleep. Claude exhaled softly in a breathy laugh. That man got enough sleep for the entire student body.
Claude busied himself by taking to the shelves in the back of the library. He'd let to investigate some of the top rows. As quietly as he could, he grabbed one of the ladders and rested it against a shelf, beginning to climb.
About halfway up, Claude realized that he'd put it at far too dangerous of an angle.
And so Claude, heir to the Alliance, quickly becoming one of the best archers in Leicester, quicker on his feet than almost all his peers and cleverer by half, fell off a ladder.
"Fuck," he mutter, rubbing his shoulder. It hurt, but didn't seem to be broken. Oh, Hilda would sure chew him out now. Something about blaming his fall on his lack of sleep, which was probably true, but that didn't mean he wanted to hear it.
Claude looked up as he stumbled to his feet, eyeing Linhardt. Perfect, he'd wake the man and get healed and Hilda would be none the wiser.
"Hey, Linhardt?" he said, whispering. When the man didn't respond, he said it louder. "Linhardt?"
No response.
Claude rolled his eyes. So lost to dreamland, Linhardt. As if the man could ever focus on anything more than a pillow.
He grabbed Linhardt's shoulder and shook him a little, calling his name again. Nothing.
"Hey, Linhardt? You okay?" Claude asked, no longer whispering.
No response.
Claude shook him harder and felt the body slip from his grasp, sliding to the floor in a crumpled heap.
And in his chest, a knife stabbed right over his heart, blood staining his uniform and face locked in shock.
Author Notes: Gloves are off, now.
Editing Notes:
4/16/2021: Minor grammatical adjustments.
8/26/2021: Minor grammatical adjustments.