Ignatz,
Forgive me that we could not meet in person. With the nature of the Millennium Festival approaching as well as these horrid occurrences in Remire, my attention is spread thin. Be that as it may, I appreciate your patience and flexibility.
As for your petition, pain me though it does, I'm afraid the Knights of Seiros are spread thin. With dealing with the Western Church, helping Remire, addressing the bandits on the Rhodos Coast, and related duties for Lord Hevring, there is little aid I can offer.
I suggest beseeching Count Gloucester for aid. As it is in his territory, I suspect he would be quick to do away with the creatures that would inhibit his trade routes. Additionally, Leander is a very pious man, I've had the pleasure of speaking with him on many occasions. I believe he will help deal with these monsters terrorizing the merchants.
I shall pray for your success and the safety of the merchants.
Archbishop Rhea
"You are having a long face. Why is that?"
Ignatz looked up from the letter. He'd read it three times and knew that rereading it wouldn't give him what he needed. Reading it a fourth time wouldn't quell his anger. A fifth wouldn't find an answer.
"You're getting better with expressions," he said with a smile as Petra sat down beside him. She was damp with sweat as she leaned on her training sword.
"Your language is odd," she said. "I am not disliking it, but it is odd. Why is sadness long? For your face, when you are having sadness, your face is becoming long. Is sadness long in Fódlan?"
Ignatz chuckled and folded up the letter. "I never really thought about it like that. It's just something people say."
Petra giggled. "As I am saying, odd."
Shamir approached them from the other side of the training yard upon seeing Petra sit down. "Is it break time or something?" she chided, not maliciously.
"Apologies, Shamir. Ignatz was looking long, so I thought to ask." Petra blinked and scowled. "Sad! He is feeling sad. Fucking language."
Shamir raised her eyebrows. "Who taught you that word?"
"Fucking? Sylvain is teaching me it. He says that is a word for expressing anger, but also excitement. When I am asking, ahem, when I asked him, he said it is a word that can mean many different things depending on what I am saying." Petra looked proud.
Shamir chuckled. "Right, I'm not getting involved with that." Instead she turned to Ignatz. "You missed training this morning. Why?"
"Oh, sorry, Shamir. I guess I got distracted," he deflected.
She shook her head. "You've been early to every single session we've had. Hell with distraction, what happened?"
Ignatz sighed. "It's just news from back home. There's been a lot of monsters attacking merchants where my family operates. They're safe, but I'm worried for the future."
"You found that out this morning?" Shamir said, gaze softening to as close to sympathy as she got: not wearing a frown.
"No, I found out a few days ago. I asked Lady Rhea if she would send the Knights to help, but I received word this morning that the Knights are too stretched thin right now. She can't send aid." He sighed again, frustration leaking in. "I'm just at a loss of what to do."
"Are monster attacks being common?" Petra asked, dropping her hair down from the messy bun it had been in before tying it up again firmer, tighter.
Ignatz shook his head. "It's not uncommon, but it's more about how they're happening. They only are reported on the routes to Riegan. Routes to Gloucester are completely safe, or at least as safe as they usually are. My father believes that Count Gloucester is responsible."
"Ah," Shamir said. She took a seat beside her two students on Ignatz' left. "And I take it Count Gloucester denies it?"
"My mother approached him with several other merchants. Apparently 'monster attacks are an unfortunate disaster, but everything that can be done is being done'. Not that we expected anything."
"I am having confusion. Does Fódlan have a way to remove a leader if they are doing a crime?" Petra asked.
"Kill the leader," Shamir scoffed.
"In some ways we do. If the citizens revolt, they could cast out a leader by force. Sometimes in Leicester the Roundtable can remove a noble from power, but that's very uncommon." Ignatz looked at her and gave a weak smile. "There's unfortunately little to be done."
Petra nodded. "In Brigid, my grandfather is leader. But if our people are not liking him, we have a…group? No, that is not right. I do not know the word. A group of people who can remove a leader?" She looked to the other two for help.
"A council?" Ignatz guessed.
"A tribunal," Shamir said.
"Tribunal." Petra nodded, testing out the unfamiliar word on her lips. "Yes, there is a tribunal which can take my grandfather's power. If the people are not having pleasure with his rule, then the tribunal can take away it from him. I am thinking this is a better way than Fódlan."
"Wouldn't argue that," Shamir said, laughing darkly.
"So what would happen if he was removed?" Ignatz asked, curious. "Would you become leader?"
Petra bit her lip. "It is possible. The tribunal would be picking a new leader that the people like. I could be it."
Ignatz leaned forward, fascinated. "Does that happen often? It's so strange to think about."
Petra laughed. "It is not so strange. If a leader is bad, they should not lead. I believe it has happened a dozen times, I do not recall perfectly."
"Dagda could learn a lot from that," Shamir snorted. "If the people don't like a leader, they put an arrow in their throat. Then a war starts. The only reason Dagda hasn't conquered the world is because they keep eating themselves alive. That war you Fódlani had with them? That was only against half of Dagda. Yet the Empire touts it as this grand success." She smirked. "I'd like to see them fight all of Dagda."
"I thought you didn't care for Dagda?" ignatz asked.
"Eh, sometimes. Right now, hearing what Count Gloucester is doing isn't really making me love Fódlan." Shamir growled. "There's not anyone who can help those people?"
Ignatz shook his head. "Mercenaries aren't exactly lining up to fight giant wolves and vultures."
"Fucking!" Petra exclaimed with a smile. Several people around the training yard cast a glance at her with confusion, Shamir and Ignatz among them. She blanched, embarrassed. "Ah, I am forgetting that the word is needed other words to tell. But I am using the excited fucking this time."
Shamir looked between aghast and a grin. She settled on neutral, as she always did. "Pray tell, why?"
"What if we are going to fight these monsters?" she said animatedly. "Perhaps we can find the source of their coordination and be stopping it!"
Ignatz sighed. "I don't think we—"
"I'm in," Shamir agreed.
"Excuse me?" Ignatz gasped.
"Gloucester is an ass, I've met him. Called me a mongrel no better than the Almyrans. But he donates a lot to the Church, so I've never gotten to give him his due." She cracked her knuckles.
"Wonderful, then we shall all be going!" Petra said, clapping her hands together.
"I'm sure I can convince Catherine to come," Shamir chuckled.
"Wait! I mean, why are you two wanting to help so much? This is my problem, not yours." Ignatz found himself looking back and forth between the two women rapidly.
"Cuz I'm petty," Shamir chuckled. "But also because you're my student and your family needs help." She stood up. "I'm going to find Catherine. She's probably somewhere around here. She's always close to me." There was affection in her voice, akin to shaking her head with a smile. She walked away without waiting for a response.
Petra smiled. "Ignatz, you are being kind to Dorothea. I can thank you this way."
"That's nothing though, this is risking your life!"
"Perhaps I am just wanting to do a nice thing," she said with a smile.
Ignatz didn't know what to say.
When she'd been the star of the Mittlefrank Opera Company, there'd always been a person at her side who sought her affection or attention.
At Garreg Mach, no one had asked her to the Millennium Ball. Not that she was so arrogant to think she would be swamped, but she had expected at least someone to ask her.
At first she'd been disappointed. But that had quickly faded into nothing. She felt nothing for it. In fact, there was almost relief.
Relief! To think, she who wanted to marry and find money, power, and love all at once would be relieved that not a single person asked her.
She'd asked Hilda for her opinion.
"Well, whenever there was a ball at our estate, Holst usually scared off the people who wanted to ask to accompany me. Then I punched him. He only scared off some of them after that."
While it had resulted in an utterly delightful recount of the story, she'd still no clue.
She'd gone to Leonie.
"To me, some random person asking you to the ball seems weird. Like, why would you want to go with someone you don't know instead of the house that you do?"
She had a point.
Byleth.
"Who you go with is your choice. If no one asks you, that doesn't mean they don't like you. It probably means they're intimidated by you."
She thought about how at Remire she'd sundered the landscape with a meteor. People did talk, she supposed.
She even sought out Marianne.
"Oh, I don't know much about balls. No one's ever asked me to something like that and I've never gone. I probably won't go to this one."
(Dorothea had made sure to make Marianne promise to go, with the condition that they dance together).
She was, in short, at a loss.
So she found Mercedes.
"Do you think love can happen at first sight? You know, like the stories?"
Mercedes chuckled. "Oh, I think there's lust at first sight. There's nothing wrong with that, so long as you can distinguish between the two. But it takes time for love. No one falls for someone in a day or a week or a month."
"I wish it were easy," she bemoaned, planting her face into the table. Dorothea managed to avoid toppling her tea.
Her companion laughed again, to the songstress' delight. "If it were easy, then what would be the point? If everyone could have it, no one would want it."
"You and the professor are doing well then?" she teased.
Mercedes blushed. "Oh, I mean, there's nothing to complain about. I like being with her. She makes me feel good about myself."
I could make you feel good about yourself. Words she didn't say. Where had they come from?
I could brush the hair behind your ear and whisper that everything is going to be okay, that the sun will rise tomorrow as surely as the moon sets. That despite all the trouble in the world, the words 'I love you' will ever be a constant from me to you, a promise that I'd never imagine breaking.
Mercedes tittered on about Byleth, talking about how they'd gone shopping for house supplies. Dorothea could only watch her smile. The smile saved for Byleth. Softer, warmer, kinder, a little more everything for her.
And Dorothea's heart broke before she even realized someone else had it. But she did not cry. No actress of her caliber shed tears before the last act. No, she'd smile and nod, asking for more details about the lake in the forest Byleth took her to, gasping at the right moments when the woman had kissed Mercedes.
She'd shed her tears in the solace of her room where they'd bother no one.
And once her eyes dried, she'd remembered that relief when no one asked her, because Dorothea knew she didn't want some stranger in her arms for a night. She wanted Mercie.
"She's too good for you," Dorothea decided as she leaned against her bed, hair a mess and hat scrunched in her hands. The same hat that Mercedes had tried on a scant hour ago that made Dorothea want to take her to Enbarr to buy her the latest fashion.
Too good for her, but perfect for Byleth. Two lucky women, Dorothea decided. Perfect for each other. She really believed that. Both of them were incredible.
First Edelgard, now Mercedes. Goddess did she have a penchant for the unobtainable. Maybe money, power, and love were in that category too.
Not that Mercedes could give you the first two, her mind reasoned.
And not that she'd need them with her, her heart replied.
"They are having closeness, do you think?" Petra asked.
Ignatz suppressed a smile as he looked at Catherine and Shamir. They were completely ignoring the other two, busy trying to start a fire. It was a windy day and both of the women were split between deciding the type of fire to make with the log structure in the forest clearing they'd made their camp. Tents were set up as sunset dripped into dusk. Ignatz and Petra watched from the other side of the fire as the two knights bickered as, Ignatz and Petra were learning, they were often wont to do.
They'd traveled this way for a few days setting off for Gloucester. Byleth had given her consent on the mission, as had Hanneman. Shamir hadn't bothered to ask Rhea (much to Catherine's chagrin) and Catherine had obtained permission to escort Ignatz home. It was a half-lie she wasn't pleased about, but Shamir knew how to get her way.
Ignatz had been afraid of what Lorenz would say when he found out, but those fears turned out to be unfounded.
"Ignatz, if you find who is responsible for this," he said, shaking with anger, "as your lord I command you to put them down like you would a sick animal. Though that does assume the deference of respect ought to be paid to them. I assure you that those who prey upon the weak will have no place in the Alliance. Ensure they can never harm again, Ignatz."
The fervor in Lorenz' voice, even the memory of it, helped keep him warm in the chilly wind of winter. The Alliance might have a kinder climate than Faerghus, but winds from the north still blew down to sink their fangs in prey.
"They're happier out here," Ignatz said with a smile. "Where they don't have to hide it as much." Shamir slapped Catherine's hand away as she tried to grab a log and a new argument ensued.
"How are you meaning?" Petra asked.
"In the Empire, there's discrimination against couples who are of the same gender. Male, female, in between, any gender," Ignatz explained. "That isn't present at Garreg Mach from what I can tell, but there's plenty of Empire people there. I'm sure it's easier for those two to not make a big deal out of it."
Petra was silent for a moment. "The more I am learning about Fódlan, the more I am disliking it. Is it this way in the Alliance or Kingdom?"
"Less so in the Kingdom. Not at all in the Alliance. There's a rather crass expression actually. 'The Alliance has gotten fucked so much, they've stopped caring who they fuck.'" Ignatz blushed at it. "It's not wrong, though."
"I do not understand why there is caring about this," Petra said. "I am liking anyone I want. What they call themselves is being unimportant to me. I am just liking. Is this not common in Fódlan?" She looked genuinely bothered.
Ignatz had no answer. "I don't know," he said. "It might be in the Alliance. I've just never really had case to think about it."
"I am enjoying my time in Fódlan, but there are times when I am glad it is not my home." Petra sighed and laid back on the ground. "Your country is having coldness, in your hearts and in your weather. I am having sadness." Her eyes brightened. "My face is being long!"
Ignatz laughed. "Well, you can go back home after this year, right?"
Petra's smile died. "I am hoping so. But it shall depend on many things."
"If you do, let me paint you a picture of Fódlan before you go. To remind you that it isn't all bad," he quickly said through another blush.
Her smile came back, softer. "Ignatz, I am knowing this already. I am meeting people like you and Dorothea here. A country cannot be having terribleness if it is having you."
If he were blushing before, his face turned blood red as he stumbled over one of the highest compliments he'd ever received. But he was saved from responding as Shamir tackled Catherine in some effort to prove her way to set up camp was better.
Petra stood up, chuckling. "I am forgetting I am young when I am around them. They act more like children than children!" She walked forward to break them up.
Ignatz wondered what it'd be like to visit Brigid.
Marianne didn't even read the letter. In a rare act of defiance, she ripped it up and threw the pieces from her window.
Margrave Edmund wouldn't be pleased. Not that he ever was.
His letters had come with more frequency as the year turned towards its end. She'd read the first few.
Alister blended threats with faux affection of familial love. Ambition with greed. The man was an orator by trade, his newfound position at the Roundtable a testament to that. Marianne existed to him as both a means to wed to another family and for her Crest.
He wanted it, her Crest. She did not know how he'd get it. But ever since her youth, the man with pale hands had visited their estate. He'd take her blood and speak to the Margrave about it. Whatever Alister's plans were, they involved both Pale Hands and her. She'd outwitted Alister by escaping to Garreg Mach, but her time was soon to be up.
And so that left her wrapped in blankets in her room as light snow touched the ground, a week before the Millennium Ball. She'd been avoiding everyone. And everyone had come and knocked on her door at least once. But she'd turned them away.
Hilda had sat outside her door for hours one day, but now she only came by once a day to leave a piece of jewelry outside her door along with a note detailing her day, her affections, and her desire to help however she could.
Marianne wanted to open up that door. But doing so would be the final nail on the coffin. It would mean that she could no longer stop herself from wanting Hilda, wanting to live. It would mean that Hilda would see the monster in her, no better than the creatures in Remire.
It would mean Alister would have a way to get to her, like he had the few friends she'd had as a young child.
For Hilda's safety, she couldn't go to her. Hilda was everything. Just the thought of Alister hurting her made her nauseous.
But the thought of Hilda made her feel safe. Those strong arms around her, so carefully hidden to avoid expectation. Marianne could understand it. With her adoptive father, everyone expected her to be confident, composed.
Though, if she were being honest, the pair of earrings Hilda had made her two days ago made her feel confident. She tried on all the jewelry Hilda gave her, if not in person then by herself. They were sapphires, Hilda had written, in the shape of teardrops.
Hilda had written: "Even though they might look sad, sapphires are incredible hard to break. Tears might look bad at first, but all it takes is a hand to wipe them away."
She hadn't taken them off the entire day, even though she didn't leave her room.
She'd show Dorte sometime. He'd like them. Not that he would appreciate the sentiment, he just liked blue things. They reminded him of her hair which reminded him of her. At least, that's what she hoped.
Maybe she'd wear them to the ball. They went well with her dress uniform.
There was a light knock at the door. A familiar voice. "Marianne!" Hilda called softly. "I brought you lunch. I hope you're feeling better today."
From within her blankets she wondered what she'd done to deserve that affection. Marianne couldn't remember a moment in her life where she'd had it.
And in that moment, she made a decision.
"Hilda?" She bit her lip. "Do you mind bringing it in here?"
Shamir had given her the chance to say no, to let her handle it. Ignatz had opted out, as had Catherine per her honor. But she didn't.
They'd tracked one of the groups back to a small cabin. Only eight people, two of which were mages wielding bracelets that they had seen in action.
A scant hour before, one of the mages had a massive vulture mere feet in front of him at their beck and call. The monster did not attack. It was docile.
They'd pursued, enough distance back that there was no chance of being seen. While Ignatz' leg slowed them, it didn't hinder their pursuit. He was improving more and more each day.
One of the men was sleeping outside, supposed to have been keeping watch. Shamir slinked up to him and, in a heartbeat, covered his mouth with a hand and jammed a knife up through the bottom of his jaw. He gurgled, falling silent.
Shamir nodded to her, unperturbed by the blood that had soaked her clothes. With two fingers she gestured to the door. Petra nodded, creeping forward across the dirt and grabbing the door. It had a rudimentary handle that gave a low groan as she pulled it open. Petra cringed, staying still.
No noise emerged from inside.
Shamir grabbed the door from her and gestured to her to enter. She did so. Shamir closed the door silently behind her.
Seven people lay out in front of them, sleeping on bedrolls.
Petra pointed at two men on the right side of the room. The mages. Shamir nodded and crept through the assorted bodies to make it to one of them. Petra got to the other.
Shamir executed the man in the same fashion, hand over the mouth and blade into the brain. Petra grabbed her mage's mouth and tried the same. She must have missed the spot, because the mage didn't go still immediately after, he jerked and shook, trying to grab at her as he quickly bled to death. He bit her hand and she could feel him draw blood from her fingers.
Petra gasped, but didn't let go. She yanked the knife out and jammed it in again. This time, the man jerked, then laid still.
Like a hawk, Shamir looked over the other five in the room. None had so much as stirred. She gestured to the next two closest people. Petra nodded, hands still soaked with blood.
They killed their next two in similar fashion, Petra landing the strike correctly this time. This woman had died with her eyes open, staring at her. Petra tried to forget the gaze.
Shamir took care of the next. There were only two left. The woman moved to take the next, but Petra shook her head and got there first. As before, she covered the mouth.
Except the man took the moment to turn in his sleep and she missed.
His eyes snapped open at the sudden contact and Petra panicked, ramming the knife into his windpipe instead. The scream he uttered was short—but loud.
The last remaining person in the room snapped up in bed. A younger man, barely an adult. He took one look at the room and with remarkably quick reflexes bolted to the door. Shamir threw her knife and missed him, the blade sinking into the wood.
Petra leapt up and ran to the door in time to see the man's head snap to the right as an arrow appeared in his skull, the whiplash breaking his neck and sending him to the ground, dead.
Shamir ran outside and relaxed once she saw. She called out, "Good shot, kid."
Ignatz and Catherine emerged from the foliage, the former holding his massive longbow. "I'd never hit a person from that close with this bow," he admitted as he took a morbid look at his work.
"Good thing it worked," Shamir chuckled.
Catherine walked up to her and assessed her for injuries. Upon seeing Shamir fine, her gaze turned from concerned to disapproving. "I still don't like this. It's not right to kill people in their sleep."
Shamir frowned. "Some people forfeit their rights for honorable deaths."
Their conversation carried on, but Petra looked towards Ignatz as he approached. "Good shot," she complimented.
"Oh, thank you," he said, caught off guard. "Are you okay? Was everything fine in there? Are you hurt?"
Petra shook her head and smiled. "I am fine. Shamir is very talented at stealth."
He smiled, but when she looked back at him all she saw were those eyes of the woman she'd killed in the house.
"Enough, we'll discuss this later," Shamir said, hushing Catherine. "Let's get moving, we don't know if there are more of them nearby."
The four entered back into the forest, back on the hunt.
Author Notes: I updated today for a reason, to shed a bit of light in the lives of those who are scared. For my American readers out there who are concerned about today, I'm with you. This might be a sign of good things or of ill. I can't tell you that it will be alright. But I can tell you that I am right by your side no matter what happens. Stronger together, just like the Deer in this story.
Editing Notes:
5/3/2021: Minor grammatical adjustments.
8/28/2021: Minor grammatical adjustments.