"Sir," one of his soldiers greeted. "I have the dossier you requested."
Caspar looked up from his maps in the war room. He nodded, gesturing to the side of the table. "Set it there, please. Thank you."
"Sir!" The woman saluted and departed, leaving Caspar alone.
Though Myson had backed off, which was a relief, there was no end to Caspar's problems. Victor von Bergliez, Caspar's father, had indicated he would be returning soon to reinforce Merceus. According to the latest intel, the Alliance were preparing for some sort of offensive.
That surprised Caspar. He knew Claude and nearly everyone in his inner circle. They weren't the type to plunge recklessly into something. Either there was a strong plan backing him or Caspar had overestimated him.
With the return of his father, so would come issue. For one, Caspar's command would be superseded. His assignment to Merceus wasn't everything he wanted, but it was his. Caspar was proud of that.
But the main issue was that he hadn't spoken to his father in person ever since he'd been given his Crest. Their communique had been through letters and messengers, never addressing the expanse between them.
"Shit," he whispered, looking at the maps. The Alliance would attack Myrddin first, likely. They'd petitioned for more soldiers, but Caspar hadn't sent them. Sending reinforcements to Myrddin could create a diplomatic incident if their intel was wrong about Claude.
Ladislava was itching to sink her teeth into the Alliance. Caspar refused to enable that. If war was to come, he wouldn't be responsible for its start. His conscience was heavy enough as it was.
When Victor arrived, the war would end. Apparently Lord Arundel was also returning, leaving the Death Knight and Cornelia to handle the remains of Faerghus. Between his father and Volkhard, whatever resistance the Alliance mounted would fail.
He wrenched himself out of his thoughts as they turned towards his former classmates. Grabbing the dossier, he flipped it open.
Remire had happened while the Eagles were out on a mission. Before him was a report, Byleth's personal report, on what happened.
We were attacked on route to the town. Not by humans. I'd sooner call them husks, shells of the people whom they once were. They had black veins and bled darker. Only attacks to the head seemed to deter them. Lost half a dozen soldiers in the initial push, then another half holding the line.
Caspar skipped ahead, looking for something else.
Flame Emperor's involvement confirmed; Death Knight present. Both spoke as if they had some knowledge of the events, but did not directly claim responsibility. Recommend interviewing survivors, see if any know about their whereabouts. Fought both, failed to take them into custody. Blunder is mine alone, but protected the students.
His stomach twisted, but he'd known Edelgard was involved. Damn him to the Eternal Flames for it and still being here on her side. He flipped forward.
Fought mages in black as we cleaned up the town. Bodies were pale, like they'd never seen sunlight. Soldiers discovered from villagers that they had been present leading up to the calamity.
Confirmed testimony from a witness that these mages were responsible for desecration of the bodies. Testimony is reliable, though further investigation is recommended. Asking around the town confirmed the name of the co-conspirator, Myson.
Tomas is in custody. It is my opinion he is subservient to Myson. Tomas implied Myson received orders from elsewhere when pushed on it. Refuses to say any more about the topic. Further investigation is required to ascertain the nature of the hierarchy of this group.
Caspar nodded to himself, flipping back a page.
Bodies were speared on spikes throughout the village, mounted in trees. Knight Shamir suggested it was similar to Dagdan culture. Potentially a lead. Personal conclusion is unlikely, we found no other evidence of Dagdan involvement.
Witness overheard a leader, this Myson, speaking about looking for something. House Leader Riegan suggested it being a form of ritual. Follow up on this line of inquiry recommended.
He closed the dossier and sat in his chair, massaging his temple. Goddess, this was a mess. Whatever Myson was up to in the barracks, he had a feeling that it revolved around something from Remire. A gut feeling, but he trusted it.
Whatever decision he would make about Myson, it certainly needed to be done before his father returned.
Yuri said nothing, but kept an eye on the Archbishop as he rode at the front of the army.
Seteth hid it, but did not keep it as a secret. He'd lost an arm in the battle of Garreg Mach, his right. A half-cape hung over it, covering what was left his arm. "Soldiers would lose faith," he'd said, "if they saw it constantly."
They didn't necessarily agree with that. Yuri thought that soldiers might fight even harder if they saw that Seteth still had stood up to lead. But lessons from the streets didn't always apply to religion. When you got back up after a fall in a fight, people respected you on the streets. The more you kept coming, the more they were afraid.
"Yuri," beckoned Seteth.
Their horse matched Seteth's pace. "You said you wanted to speak, earlier?" Seteth asked.
Yuri nodded. "You know who I was to Rhea?"
"Lady Rhea," Seteth corrected. "And yes, I am aware of the nature of your agreements."
"And you know about Aelfric?" Yuri continued.
Seteth closed his eyes. "I had trusted him. But yes, Hapi filled me in. Is there more to it?"
"No, I merely am curious how much he knows. How much should we fear him, prepare for him, and whatnot," Yuri said.
Nodding, Seteth looked pensive. "I do not think he is to fear himself, so much as the Chalice he found is. Together, though, that makes for a dangerous combination. He's intelligent enough to figure out how it works."
"And what exactly does it do?" he asked. "I've spent a lot of time trying to figure out that myself."
"I am afraid I do not know," Seteth said. "It is a relic from time that magic could perform wonders. I do not doubt it is powerful, particularly in the wrong hands."
And with that Seteth had lied to him.
Yuri fell silent, letting Seteth believe that was the end of the conversation. They never played their full hand before the end of the game. If Seteth wanted to lie to them, then so be it. It was a relationship he was comfortable from the last Archbishop.
"I have something for you, Yuri," Seteth broke the silence. He let go of his reins and removed a bundled sword from the side of the horse. Offering it out to Yuri, he said, "We'll need all the weapons we can get. You're loyal to the Church, I would like you to be its wielder."
They took it. It thrummed with some power, like the Fetters of Dromi did. But that was their secret, not for Seteth to know. He had guesses, but asked anyway, "What is it?"
"Begalta," Seteth said. "The sword of Macuil himself. I recovered it during these past five years, amongst other things."
Yuri removed it from its wrappings. The blade was a sterling silver with a flat end instead of a pointed tip. It weighed more than he expected, but not so much as it couldn't move quickly. This wasn't a blade for stabbing, it was one for crushing.
Seteth continued. "Take good care of it. It's the Church's property, but you'll use it well."
"It certainly is magnificent," Yuri murmured, looking at it. "But wouldn't it be more suited for someone with a corresponding Crest?"
"Perhaps, could I find someone other than Claude with a Crest of Riegan. The blade is powerful regardless, so you're a natural choice."
"Thank you," they accepted, beginning to swap it for the blade at their waist. It was weighted differently than they were used to, but Macuil's blade would suite them well.
With a faraway look in his eyes, Seteth watched him. "Macuil…"
"Pardon?" Yuri asked, turning back to Seteth.
"Just memories. Don't mind me."
"Oh, how I have missed you," Claude murmured, stroking her chin. He rested his forehead against her, taking delight in her comforting presence.
Tishtar purred as he scratched one of the spots she loved, lower on her jaw. Most in Fódlan weren't used to seeing a rider and their companion so close. In Almyra, such behavior was encouraged and expected.
"Yes, yes, I need to be less busy to come see you," Claude said, chuckling. She licked his cheek, sending him back to younger days when his alabaster friend had just hatched. "We'll go flying soon, I promise. There will be many opportunities, before long."
Understanding him through their bond, Tishtar retreated, content. She let Claude move to her neck, continuing to scratch her.
In Alymra, albino wyverns were revered. Some more isolated parts of the country called them 'Squires of the Gods'. Claude doubted that. Tishtar was far too manipulative to be holy. All it took was one pout from her and he would be back to giving her treats for another hour. Clever girl.
"Figured you'd be here."
"Judith," greeted Claude. "Come help me give her a bath while we talk."
The Hero of Daphnel strut down the steps into the small garden Tishtar occupied—a small luxury Claude afforded himself—that kept his oldest friend nearby.
They got to work, soaking sponges in water, and began to bathe her. Most wyverns preferred to clean themselves. Tishtar had Claude wrapped far too much around her finger for that.
After a good five minutes, Judith spoke, "You've been quiet lately. I wanted to see what's been going on with you before I leave."
The army was set to depart posthaste, where most of his friends—his family—would leave for a time. But that wasn't what was on his mind.
"I…" He paused. "It's Lysithea."
Judith shook her head. "I didn't ask what's going on with the Alliance. I asked what's going on with you. I've spoken to Ferdinand, I know everything about her."
"The war—"
"No, try again, boy."
He glowered at her. Judith continued to sponge Tishtar down and she nuzzled up to the woman. "Traitor," he said, playfully. Claude's expression turned dour. "It's Hilda."
Judith nodded, approving. "Go on."
"You heard?" he asked.
"The whole damn manor heard, boy."
That got a chuckle from him. He scrubbed some dirt that blighted Tishtar's scales. "I worry if she was right."
Judith said nothing. She looked at him, waiting for him to continue.
"Did I force Marianne into something? Or at least not stop her where I should have?" Claude asked.
"You tell me. I still don't know much about her."
Claude bit his lip and fell silent. Judith made no move to continue conversation. They went back to bathing Tishtar. The wyvern yawned, letting her eyes close sleepily.
"She made a choice," he finally said. "Marianne rarely asserts herself. At that meeting, I saw something growing in her. I didn't want to crush that."
Judith nodded, approving.
"But perhaps I could have done more?" Claude said. "Checked in with her, or sent better protection? Would she have even accepted?"
"Doesn't matter, much," Judith said. "The offer is the important part." She dunked her sponge into water again, gently running it across the leathery wings.
"Careful, she's ticklish there," Claude said.
Tishtar was watching Judith carefully for if she dared to tickle her. Judith made eye contact with her and grinned. "I ain't gonna hurt you, girl."
The wyvern growled, but made no move to intervene as Judith continued.
"Look, kid." Judith didn't bother looking at him, too focused on not disturbing Tishtar. "These are your friends. Just say sorry if you feel bad, they'll forgive you. That Hilda's a protective hound, she'll bite anything that comes close. Your mother and I had our spats, too. But look at me, still here looking after her brat."
"Love you too, Judith," Claude said.
"Yeah, yeah," she said, brushing it off. "Point is, things worked out well. That's a perfect setting for an apology. Don't let it linger."
"I won't."
"Good. Now, I've got a war to go win for you." She dropped the sponge in its bucket and gave Tishtar a pat on the back. "Catch your friends before they leave, in case we don't make it back."
"Judith," Claude said, disapproving.
She shrugged. "It's realism. Get to be my age, you'll see."
"Then I forbid you to die. That's an order."
Judith looked at Claude for a long moment, her eyes growing soft. "Damn, sometimes I don't see her in you, but other times…" She looked away. "Tiana must be proud of you, kid. You keep that optimism alive, you hear?"
"Maybe some of it would rub off onto you." Claude chuckled, turning back to Tishtar.
He didn't see Judith palm the locket she wore around her neck, opening it up. Inside, a small illustration of Tiana, smiling. She looked back at Claude as he worked, seeing her son instead of the young ward she'd taken in.
"Very proud," she echoed, closing the locket and departing.
The blade clattered to the ground with her gasp, hands reaching out to brace her impact.
"Fuck!"
A stream of cursing continued, a futile attempt to keep the memories at bay. A hacking cough tore through Leonie's lungs as she rolled over onto her back.
The army would leave before noon. It was a final nail on her coffin, not going with them. Finality burned through her, a fury at herself barely quenched.
Her refugee army was important, but Leonie couldn't ignore the reason she wasn't going with the host. Hers was a worthless skill when she couldn't even hold her sword or complete a kata.
Jeralt had been wounded countless times. Scars littered his body, the kinds that spoke of mortal confrontations. He'd nearly died, once, only to be healed by Rhea.
So there left Leonie, laying on the ground, so weak that she couldn't overcome something her mentor had. Anger at that and herself had gotten her this far, but it fizzled out as soon as the memories came.
Halfheartedly, she reached for her sword. It lay too far away and her fingers only managed to brush against the hilt.
She gave up.
When she would ride down with her soldiers after Myrddin, there was no doubt that she'd never fight. Relegated to quartermaster or something, no doubt. Judith would never let her set foot on the battlefield in this condition. Neither would her friends.
"Fuck," she whispered, tears pooling in her eyes.
It wasn't about the battle. It wasn't about killing imperials. It wasn't about glory, or victory, or fighting alongside her soldiers.
No, she cried because there was nothing she was good for now.
A soldier who couldn't fight. An officer who couldn't lead on the battlefield. What did that leave her? A manager of Claude's guard rotation, something Ferdinand easily could do?
Who was she, if not a warrior?
Leonie didn't have an answer to that question, as she lay underneath the sun as it reached its apex. Military or mercenary had been what her eyes had been set on for so long. But now?
A Deer, a small voice in her mind said.
But that wasn't true, was it? All her friends were fighting for Fódlan's future. And here she lay, broken, beaten. She didn't belong with them.
Leonie didn't get up until much later. She left the sword where it had fallen.
When Mercedes entered the inn's room, Dorothea did everything in her power not to throw herself at her fiancé, tear off her clothes, run her tongue along her collarbone, and have the rest of her way with her.
She didn't, unfortunately. Yet.
What she did do was wrap Mercedes into a hug so tight neither of them could breathe, not that either complained.
Then, at last, kisses were exchanged. One, two, four, a dozen. Each saying the longing each had felt since the last time they'd seen each other.
Mercedes was, as usual, the prevailing head in the room. "Dorothea, we need to plan."
"One more kiss?" She was pouting.
Her wife-to-be obliged. "Okay, now planning."
"I think we can keep everything intact," Dorothea said as she led Mercedes by the hand to the small table in the room. It was an inn down the road from where the Ordelias stayed, far enough away so as not to draw suspicion. "The question is—"
"Lysithea," Mercedes finished.
"Aw, you finished my sentence!" Dorothea cooed.
Mercedes rolled her eyes. "Focus, Dorothea."
"I am," she said, growing serious. "Does it honestly change anything?"
"I'm not sure. That's why I wanted to talk to you about it."
"Well, Lysithea is here voting in favor for the war and, if intel is right, is bringing with her Gloucester troops to our side. I don't know what to think of that. But at the end of the day, neither of us have heard anything about the Ordelias here breaking the occupation, right? I say we continue forward with the coup. If Lysithea brings her parents around later, or whatever may happen, then to me that's far less trouble to deal with rather than a territory on Alliance turf that isn't in our control."
"Okay," Mercedes agreed.
Dorothea snorted. "You're easy to convince. It's too late to change anything if we want to keep things intact. Holst's soldiers should be here within two weeks, more or less. Less, probably."
"I agree," Mercedes said. "I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page."
Dorothea took Mercedes' hand, their betrothal rings clinking. "Guess we're like that, huh?"
"Please tell me you aren't rushing through planning so you can kiss me more," Mercedes teased.
Laughter danced in Dorothea's eyes as she stood up, glancing towards the bed. "Oh, hun, if I were rushing we'd have gone much faster. Now, come, I'm gonna make you scream for the Goddess. Or me."
Definitely you, she didn't say.
Claude rested a hand on Lorenz' shoulder. "You'll do fine, trust me. Everything has prepared you for this and I couldn't be prouder of what you've achieved."
Lorenz rested a hand on his. "Thank you. We'll bring you Myrddin. I swear."
"I know." Claude smiled, dropping his hand and grabbing something from his pocket. "Here," he said, holding out a small scroll case. "Open this after the battle. Orders for after, top secret."
He took it without question. "Of course."
Judith cleared her throat. "Either kiss, or let's go."
They both rolled their eyes as the rest of the goodbyes were said. In front of Riegan Manor, Claude, Ferdinand, Shamir, and Leonie stood, watching their friends leave.
Judith and Lorenz were accompanied by the rest. Holst had departed yesterday to catch up with his army. But Hilda, Marianne, and Raphael accompanied the two.
Ferdinand had suggested Shamir go with, to remove her from Claude's side in case she was indeed dangerous. But he'd vetoed, preferring to keep her where he could see her.
"Lysithea has left as well," Ferdinand said, breaking the silence as they watched their friends. "She's sending more soldiers than we expected."
"Odd," Claude said. "Everything about this is, though."
"Would you like us to have people watch her estate?"
"No," Claude said, "but let's increase security on the manor. With Gloucester dead, I don't expect an attempt on my life, but…"
He trailed off as someone on a horse began to approach, separate from those who had just departed. The lone rider tore through the street with ferocity, forcing people to jump out of the way. Before Claude knew it, he was pushed behind Ferdinand protectively.
"Wait, is that…?" Leonie murmured, no less ready, as the rider rode right up to the manor.
"Felix?" Claude said, stupidly.
The blue haired swordmaster of Faerghus slung himself off the horse and approached. "You roll out a welcoming committee for me or something?" he asked, sparing the most mirth Felix could: a brusque smile.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Claude asked.
"Fair question," Felix said. "Dimitri's alive."
Editing Notes:
7/26/2021: Minor grammatical adjustments.
1/7/2022: Removed author notes.