He'd seen a dead body before. Hell, he'd seen plenty. This one felt different.

"Shit," he swore softly, standing frozen over the man he'd barely known. He could have looked asleep, were it not for the shock frozen on his face.

Did he move the body? Hide it? His first thoughts were that of a criminal, the kind that would come to a murderer's head. Usually he was the one holding a knife, standing over one of his many cousins.

Claude took a deep breath. No, he'd done nothing wrong here. This wasn't one of the attempts on his life.

He needed to get out of there.

His feet crept across the floor, avoiding the floorboards he knew squeaked, and made it to the door. He opened it and walked out, immediately colliding with a body.

"Oh!" gasped the person he hit and the adrenalin lit like a fire in his veins, screaming at him to fight, fly, or flee. Anything to get out of there.

"Oh, Claude! Forgive me, I wasn't watching where I was going," the soft tone of Aelfric said. He smiled, though it wavered as he focused on Claude's face. "Are you alright?"

For the first time in his life, words failed him. He opened his mouth to speak and said nothing.

"What are you…" his voice drifted off as he looked into the room, towards the body crumpled on the floor. Aelfric pushed past Claude, heading toward Linhardt.

Nader's voice itself was screaming in his head. "Run, boy!" it cried. "Get out of there, leave this foul nation and come home!"

Aelfric bent down by the body. Claude didn't move. Couldn't move.

"Claude…is this your doing?" he asked slowly, his voice clouded with an emotion Claude was far too distracted to discern.

"No," he whispered, but it was loud enough to fill the whole room.

Aelfric turned and looked at him, eyes hard, searching him. The gears began to turn in Claude's mind. Were he to bolt now, he could make it to the stables quick enough. There were wyverns there. It'd been a while since he'd rode Tishtar, but she was a queen amongst wyverns. He could manage a simple trained one. If he broke it out, he could be on his way back to Almyra in no time—

"Come with me," Aelfric said, standing next to Claude and resting a hand on his back in the way a parent might to guide their child. The kind that was ready to grab the back of his shirt.

Claude followed. There was a knife strapped to his leg, one he never went anywhere without. Nader had given it to him. The edge was coated in a poison that would dissolve the victim's veins. If he could get away, he could grab the shiv and stab the Cardinal.

They entered a large room before Claude could act: the Cardinal's Room. Aelfric removed his hand and shut the door behind them.

"You'll be safe here," Aelfric breathed. "Or at least, you will be soon. There's a window on the opposite end. Vines grow down the edge, you should be able to climb down."

Numb, Claude could only say, "What?"

"I don't know if you killed that boy—and I don't want to know if you did!" Aelfric said. He looked tired, like he'd been working late. "But you are the heir to the Alliance, you becoming implicated in something like this does not end up well for anyone."

Claude's mouth hung open. Hilda would have teased him about it. Something about the silver tongued man being speechless. "I don't understand."

Aelfric chuckled. "Let me cut to the chase then. I am not a good man, Claude. I have a favor to ask of you. A favor in repayment for not mentioning your whereabouts to anyone."

Oddly enough, blackmail calmed Claude down. That, at least, was familiar territory. "What did you have in mind?"

The Cardinal smiled in a way that could only be called wolfish. "You are to be one of the three most powerful leaders in Fódlan. Having you as an ally would be a boon for any goal. And this goal of mine, well, it requires substantial support."

He breathed and blinked. When he opened his eyes, Claude realized that he was looking at another schemer, just like him.

"I aim to become the next Archbishop."

The news swept through the monastery the following morning.

At first came rumors. "A body was found in the library!" a nervous, but excited, student said to their friend. After all, it was probably nothing to worry about. Something macabre, something that fell in line with the strange going-ons as of late. Maybe just fuel for a ghost story. Perhaps an assassination attempt thwarted, some of the more intelligent students guessed.

But then came the orders. Knights moved left and right, spreading out across Garreg Mach and beyond, searching for something. Those rumors quelled, a quiet fear taking their place. After all, what could have happened to scare the knights so badly?

Whose body was it?

Word got out, as it always was want to do. A Black Eagle had been killed in the library. Rhea ordered all students to their rooms, but that only made it easier to figure out who it had been.

Linhardt von Hevring, murdered.

Was it a grudge? An enemy of his father? No one knew. The boy almost was always sleeping, the few people who knew him best said he'd never hurt a fly. Though if one was to believe Monica, he'd been researching the Church as of late. Perhaps he stumbled into something he shouldn't have.

At dinner the night after the news broke, Edelgard stood on her table and addressed the entire student body.

"Whatever cowards murdered by subject—my friend—I will find you. I will not rest until vengeance is had against the one who did this. Linhardt von Hevring was a gentle soul. You ripped that life away from this world. I cannot and will not abide that. As Emperor, I will put my subjects first. If any of you have any information, I ask you come to me. Trust me, whoever committed their heinous crime will suffer." Behind her, a mute Lysithea who was near comatose after the death of her friend.

A student came forward, not right away, and remarked how they hadn't seen Tomas lately.

Hanneman admitted, in private, that Linhardt had come to him looking for tomes the Church might not give access to. But word of that got out.

While nothing was confirmed, smarter students began to put together a story in their heads. A story where an innocent boy was killed to stop him from finding out more than he should. And one of the Church's own servants carried out the deed.

Tensions rose, with no signs of falling.

And everyone pretended not to notice Caspar's screams.

Dorothea hadn't known him well.

She hadn't had anything against Linhardt. They just weren't interested in the same things. She tried to tell herself that was fine, that it wasn't a problem that she hadn't gotten to know him before his death. But the songstress did a piss-poor job convincing herself that.

So now she stood vigil over the body, alongside Mercedes.

It was custom to stand vigil for heroes after they passed. The Church also extended that to nobles, but for once Dorothea couldn't find it in herself to be angry about that. She just felt exhausted.

The cathedral was quiet. A few people came and went, paying their respects. But both of them remained so as to not leave the body alone. Mercedes had explained it to her on the way over.

"They say the pathway to the afterlife is a journey in and of itself. Seiros teaches that for the best of us, we should watch over them to protect them as best we can."

Dorothea hadn't liked that. She'd voiced to Mercedes a question about what happened to the commoners who passed away.

Mercedes just gave her a sad smile. "They die," she'd said.

She didn't press Mercedes further.

The woman in question had been praying without stop, the only sounds she made were the sniffles that accompanied tears. It made Dorothea feel awful.

She, this woman who had been a Lion, could cry over the body of a man she'd never spent any time with, never shared meals with or even conversation. And here Dorothea knelt over his body in the middle of a cathedral and couldn't even find tears.

Was she broken? She always thought she had a wide capacity for emotion. She was an actor, after all. The wide palette of emotion was her greatest weapon to make an audience cheer, cry, die with laughter.

But here she was, looking over the body of someone she might've called friend, and felt nothing.

As they knelt, she pulled Mercedes into a sidelong embrace, trying to give comfort where she could. Mercedes returned it, seemingly grateful for the contact.

Sothis, are you there? Dorothea found herself praying. Do you listen to the people who cry to you every day? Do you even care that a man died who followed you? Don't you protect people in your own monastery?

Sothis said nothing, of course.

Dorothea looked down at Mercedes, who had her hands folded and moved her mouth in silent prayer. She truly believed there was someone up there, watching over them. How could she, seeing this world for all its ills?

Mercedes wasn't stupid. Dorothea had spent enough time around her to know that. If she believed, maybe there was something to it.

Dorothea suppressed her sigh. If Sothis sent her some sign, maybe she could be convinced. Believing in something other than humanity's cruelty would be nice.

Footsteps hit the floor behind them. Dorothea turned a head to see who approached this time.

It wasn't someone she recognized, but it was someone familiar. A tall man with rough stubble that spoke of a missed morning of shaving. He wore a trim tunic that was free of any baubles a noble might wear, but made of fine enough material to make clear the man's status. His face, shrouded by shoulder length green hair, was chiseled from soft features. Looking at the man was the same as looking into the would-be future for Linhardt had he lived.

The man stepped closer to the raised casket, displaying Linhardt's body. He looked at peace there, as if he were napping. As if he was waiting for Caspar to find him and drag him on an idiotic adventure.

"Thank you for watching over my son," whispered the man. "I can take over. I'd like time alone with him."

"Are you his father?" Mercedes asked, wiping some of the tears from her eyes.

He nodded without taking his eyes off Linhardt. "I am Remus von Hevring. I came as soon as I heard." He stepped forward to the casket, running a hand along the polished wood. Remus crumpled to his knees beside it.

Mercedes stepped forward and lay a hand on his shoulder. "I didn't know your son well, but I didn't need to know him well to see how good of a man he was. The world was richer for having him."

Remus' sob shattered Dorothea's heart and she turned away. Whatever hushed words Mercedes gave him were lost to her, with reality only coming back when Mercedes grabbed her hand and began to guide her out of the cathedral.

Tears now trickled down her face. A wave emotion she'd not known she had—never had—had broken through. Her vision was so blurry she didn't know where Mercedes brought her.

When she wiped her eyes away, they were outside the cathedral on one of the benches. The few students that milled about kept their distance.

Next thing she knew, Mercedes wrapped her into a hug. "It's okay to cry, Dorothea."

Part of her felt like she should say it wasn't, that she had no right to feel sad over someone she barely knew. She wasn't good like Mercedes. She was a street kid who had fooled everyone into thinking she was one of them. No one would cry for her if she died as a child, least of all nonexistent parents.

"I just," she said between sobs, "I can't—"

"You don't need to do anything, Dorothea," Mercedes whispered, rubbing her back tenderly.

She just felt broken. And how selfish of her, to be so self-absorbed to be concerned with herself instead of the man who lost his son. No wonder Linhardt and she hadn't ever connected, he'd probably been a good person, unlike her.

"Did I ever tell you about the loaf of bread I stole as a child?" Mercedes said, moving her hand to run through Dorothea's hair. She'd call it romantic if she didn't know about the professor and her.

"You stole something?" she managed.

Mercedes' laugh was light. "More times than I'd care to admit. But I stole a warm loaf of bread from a baker once to feed myself and sick mother. We had no money upon arriving in Faerghus. Winter had just set in. Times were…tough."

Dorothea concentrated on the words and the woman's heartbeat as she went on. "The owner saw me and sent his son to follow me and report me to the guards. When he found us, he saw how much we were struggling. In fact, he promised to bring us more food from the bakery over the next few days. And he did, as well as bringing me stories about a church nearby that would take in those who needed help."

Mercedes smiled and Dorothea could tell without even looking that she did so. "Dorothea, it isn't something to be ashamed of to cry. Crying, laughing, anger, it's all empathy. We all feel. Empathy saved my life and my mother's that day. Empathy made that grieving man feel like he wasn't alone for a moment. Empathy helped him bear that load for a moment."

"I don't know what to feel, Mercie," she whispered. "First I can't find tears, now I can't stop crying. First I feel fine, now I hate myself. I don't know what's going on with me."

"We don't have to solve problems the second they appear," Mercedes said. She chuckled a little. "If every problem had to be solved the moment it appeared, I think we'd never be able to relax. Some things just need time. You lost a friend, I don't think anyone is prepared to handle that."

And it made sense. A friend. She'd hid behind that barrier of pretending they hadn't been friends. Pretending they hadn't studied together or talked. They'd been friends and he'd been one of the first friends she'd ever had.

And now he was dead.

She began to cry again and Mercedes held her.

"I will kill them," hissed Edelgard.

That was what Ferdinand heard when he passed his house leader's closed door. He paused outside, unsure if he'd heard correctly.

"Lady Edelgard, we cannot be sure it was them. I have spoken to Myson, he claims it wasn't them."

"And you trust him? Hubert, we're in bed with snakes but don't be so naïve as to think they won't bite."

"I would never. I simply advise caution. These would be dangerous enemies to make at this point."

Ferdinand pressed his body against the door, ear to the keyhole. He looked down the hall briefly. No one.

Hubert spoke again. "They said they were busy with business with Remire. Monica and Tomas were both accounted for at Garreg Mach. Monica was in the infirmary and Tomas was in route to Remire. It's possible they didn't kill Linhardt."

"As if Myson could not have gone there and back in a heartbeat. Or even Thales. These are the people that did this to me, do not think they have consciences." Whatever gesture she clearly made was lost on him.

"You're right, my lady. Would you like me to sever ties with them? We could still turn things around and stop the plans."

Edelgard was silent for a moment.

"No. We continue. Don't let Remus leave the grounds before I speak to him. I need to offer condolences."

"We have still yet to ensure his loyalty to us. Will you…?"

There was anguish in her voice, as if on the verge of tears. "Yes, I know the rumors. I'll use it to get his support."

Another moment of silence. "Fuck."

"My lady, I am here to serve you however you need me."

Ferdinand stood up from his crouched position. His hands trembled. Was that fear? Nerves? He'd never felt this way before.

No, he thought, neither of those. It was anger. A quaking, visceral anger that threatened to break him in two. Before he'd give himself away, Ferdinand walked down the hallway and entered his room, locking it behind him.

From the door, he could see his full length mirror showing his reflection. He walked towards it and saw the disgust written all over his face.

"You've followed her," he whispered, trembling. "You've obeyed her, seen her as a leader."

Ferdinand began to laugh at things that were not funny. It was haunting, empty, and bereft of sanity. "You fucking moron!" His fist lashed out, smashing into the mirror. Shards of reflective glass sliced through his fist, blood pooling before the last of the pieces could fall to the ground.

And in that moment, clarity.

He breathed, staring at his hand. And his instinct was to seek out Linhardt for healing.

Oh, Lin.

Calmly, he grabbed one of his cravats. With his uninjured hand, he tightly wrapped the maimed one.

There was a knock at his door. Lorenz. "Ferdinand? Did I hear you shout? Are you okay?"

The mirror fragments at his feet still showed him, broken as he felt. The woman he followed was a murderer. Or at least complicit.

His hand clenched and the pain was excruciating. Oh, he would not forget this. An Emperor did not kill her subjects—or sit silently by. It was time to take things into his own hands.

"No Emperor of mine," he swore. "I will never let you rule."

It was a vow he meant to keep.

Less than a week later found Ignatz in the saddle of a horse alongside his house, several Knights of Seiros, and the Blade Breaker himself.

Rhea's orders had come to all of them. Find Tomas and bring him back to Garreg Mach for sentencing. For he was the guilty one, according to Rhea.

Ignatz didn't know whether that was true or not. Things had been quiet amongst the Deer. He hadn't known Linhardt, but others had. Marianne had been an utter wreck since it happened, but she still rode with them, Hilda keeping close.

Each house had gone in a direction to assist with the search. They'd been given Remire as their destination to ask around at, as well as investigate an abnormal occurrence. At least, that's what Jeralt had said their other objective was. He'd been tight lipped about it, not saying more.

Still, Ignatz took comfort that he was allowed to come. Shamir had given him permission as she'd be going as well and could watch over him.

At some point, he needed to tease her about the kiss she and Catherine had shared when they thought no one was looking. Though he'd need to do it when he was certain he could escape. It'd bring levity to the others, perhaps a laugh to see stoic Shamir blush like a fairytale maiden. That's what they needed now.

"Kid," he overheard Jeralt say to Byleth. "Your students okay with spending the night in the forest?"

"They'll manage," she said. Oh, how tired her voice was. Ignatz saw none of it, but he'd heard from several of the Deer that she'd been up late in the training yard, running herself ragged. "Why the forest, you think we need cover?"

"If we can hide our approach, it might be better for chasing Tomas." Jeralt scratched his beard. "There's no hiding this many of us, but better he not stumble across our campsite and give us the slip."

"Works for me," Byleth said.

"Hey, kid."

"Yeah?"

Jeralt sighed. "Nothing. It's nothing."

Ignatz stopped paying attention to them, feeling as if he were intruding.

Shamir groaned as she walked through the trees. That apprentice of hers, she'd get him back. Ten laps around the monastery's outer wall. Twenty!

She usually was the one to rib her fellow knights, not the other way around. Several of the knights had smiled and told her they weren't surprised, that 'we all knew you and Catherine would end up together eventually' or 'Catherine did follow you like a puppy everywhere, after all!'

It was one thing for the Deer to hear about her and Catherine, but the knights? Her captain? Dear Goddess, there'd be some hell to pay when she got back. And it'd probably be in the form of an insufferable lout named Alois telling her how he'd 'known all along.' She loved her stoic personality. This wouldn't do that any favors.

When night perimeter duty had come up, she'd volunteered and walked away from camp without even waiting for affirmation.

Make that thirty laps for the boy. He'd run until he puked blood, leg be damned.

Not that she'd had venom in her thoughts, but as she thought of Catherine, it cleared away. Being with her was…nice. It was exciting, if she was being honest. In fact, she even looked forward to getting back to the monastery.

Ugh. She sounded like one of the students.

"You're a killer, not some slattern fumbling around to impress a lover," she growled to herself. Were she someone else, she'd be smiling wide and thinking about the way Catherine looked at her when they were together.

But she wasn't, so it was a faint grin and a passive appreciation of Catherine's handsomeness.

"You'd never let me live this down, partner," she whispered. Not Catherine, but her partner from Dagda. They'd had something of a romance, though it was casual. No strings, just enjoyment. She'd liked that. But what was growing with Catherine was much more terrifying.

And like most of her problems, she swallowed it to never speak about.

A twig snapped.

The arrow drew back on her bow, pointing in the direction of the sound. Her breath stilled and she made not a sound.

Another twig snapped. A tree branch rustled. A silhouette appeared not ten paces away from her. It was a man dressed in the simple clothes of a peasant.

She blinked as he stood there. He looked like a commoner that might live in a village, even with his head turned down to the ground like it was. Shamir let her bow ease, keeping the arrow nocked.

"Hey," she said in a low, carrying whisper. "Are you okay?"

The head snapped up straight and slowly turned towards her. And that was when she heard it, the deep, empty breaths. The man's head tilted to the side, cocking like an owl's.

Shamir took a step back.

He wailed, bile and spittle shooting from his mouth as it turned to a scream as he charged at her, arms waving in front of him as he made to grab her.

Without a thought, she drew and let loose. The arrow sprouted from his forehead, dropping him to the ground.

She drew another and pointed her bow at the body. It moved, still, on the ground. Death rattle twitches of his arms and legs, except they didn't stop moving.

"What the fuck are you?" Shamir whispered.

The man—thing—heard her and his head swiveled on the ground to face her. His arms began to pick himself up as she feathered him with another arrow to the head. This time, the gurgle that followed was the last sound it made as brain leaked from the wounds.

She looped the bow around her shoulder and took her knife out, approaching the creature. Flipping the body over, she pushed it into the moonlight. She gagged.

It was a human, but its face wasn't recognizable. Deep purple veins colored its face, arms, legs, chest, everywhere. With the knife, she used the tip to poke one. It cut in easily and blood didn't dribble out. Instead, some inky ichor bled. Shamir tilted her head and vomited as the smell of rotting flesh reached her nose.

Breathing, she looked back at the thing. Had it once been human?

That question went unanswered as she heard the same wail in the distance. Cursing, she stood up and knocked an arrow.

Then she heard another

Then three more.

Five. Ten. Twenty.

More.

Shamir ran.

Editing Notes:
10/8/2020: Changed content regarding Ignatz teasing Shamir to prevent a possible misinterpretation.
4/16/2021: Minor grammatical adjustments.
8/26/2021: Minor grammatical adjustments.