Chapter 8
Day 7 of the Verdant Rain Moon, Imperial Year 1180
Dimitri was still trying to fasten the cape on his shoulder as he jogged to Garreg Mach's training grounds. He had only just received the news that he was needed and had no time to prepare. Apparently, Edelgard had organized an archery training session for that night, but she had since fallen ill. The professors were all unavailable during that timeframe, so rather than try tracking everyone down to tell them it was cancelled or leave it as a free-for-all, Byleth recommended appointing Dimitri to oversee the drills. Professor Hanneman had passed the message on to Annette, but she had forgotten all about it until the final minute.
Archery was not Dimitri's specialty, but it sounded like all he had to do was keep order. Claude would almost certainly have been chosen instead of they were expecting him to actually teach archery. Even so, it was a somewhat uncomfortable assignment for Dimitri, who had thus far deliberately avoided spending too much time with the Black Eagles students. Lord Arundel was Edelgard's uncle, and if he was involved in the Tragedy of Duscur as Dimitri suspected, the Boar Prince would be forced to kill a close relative of his classmate. And if the corruption in the Empire went as high as Adrestia's regent, how many of the other nobles were involved? How many parents of the Black Eagles would be cut down by Dimitri's lance?
Given the circumstances, the easiest road would be to keep relations as impersonal as possible. He wasn't going to ignore an urgent request, though, so he had no choice on this occasion.
With the obvious exclusion of Edelgard, all of the senior Black Eagle students were present when Dimitri arrived. Many had already selected training bows. No one seemed overly surprised to see him, so they must have heard the news that Edelgard was ill.
Dorothea was the first to speak. She was the sole commoner of the class, though she had been acquainted with high society during her time as a songstress in the Mittelfrank Opera Company in Enbarr. Dimitri had no grounds to think her family was involved with the Tragedy, but he still tried to avoid her because… well, she was a bit of a flirt. Sylvain was one thing, but at least his advances weren't directed at the prince.
"Prince Dimitri…" Dorothea cooed. "So they chose you to be in charge of our training session with Edie out. How very delightful! You know, it's a shame that we haven't gotten to spend more time together. They always said that men from the Kingdom were supposed to be all about chivalry and manners and all that. I've dealt with Felix and Sylvain enough to question that idea, but maybe you can still convince me that there is some truth to it, hm?"
Dorothea leaned over her bow towards Dimitri in a manner that made him immensely uncomfortable. He did his best to not back away.
"I… well, if that is what you'd like," he stumbled. Realizing that he was only making matters worse, he changed the subject. "Anyways, it looks like you are all prepared and know your assignment. That should make my job easy."
"There is no need to worry, Dimitri," said a red-haired student by the name of Ferdinand von Aegir. "As son of the Empire's prime minister, it is my duty to keep matters running smoothly. I am sorry you had to be pulled into this at all. If I were in Edelgard's position, I would make sure to be here regardless of how bad I felt."
Edelgard's closest attendant Hubert von Vestra crossed his arms and scoffed, "I am sure you would, Ferdinand. You would not dare miss the opportunity to sicken the rest of us with your incessant babbling in a vain attempt to prove your superiority to Lady Edelgard. Truly pathetic."
Ferdinand was understandably incensed, but their classmate Bernadetta von Varley spoke up before he could defend himself. "If Edelgard is sick, does that mean someone else here could be, too? M-maybe we should just go back to our rooms to be safe…" the timid girl proposed.
"We cannot be doing that," a classmate named Petra disagreed. She was the presumptive heir to Brigid, an archipelago off the coast of western Fódlan and a recent vassal state of the Adrestian Empire. Though treated well, it was no secret that she was effectively a political hostage. She was still getting accustomed to Fódlan's language, so her phrasing could be idiosyncratic. "We have already been brought together, so there is no reason to be separating now without doing our training. We cannot be worrying about it."
"Petra's right! I didn't come all this way for nothing!" another student yelled with a raised fist. He was Caspar von Bergliez, second son of the Empire's Minister of Military Affairs. What he lacked in stature, he compensated for with boisterousness.
"Well, I will not get in your way, then," Dimitri said, happy to see some enthusiasm. "I know that some of you might not be comfortable using a bow. My understanding is that this training is intended to make sure everyone can at least handle one if an unusual emergency calls for it. This year has already been off to quite a surprising start, after all. So please, take this training seriously, but do not be hard on yourself if it takes some getting used to. Best of luck!"
Dimitri stepped aside as most of the students began to line up at the targets. He was joined by Linhardt von Hevring, son of the Empire's Minister of Domestic Affairs, who appeared to be doing just enough half-hearted stretching to avoid getting in trouble with his supervisor. Hubert lurked behind the pair disconcertingly, which Dimitri did his best to ignore.
"I'm glad to see Bernadetta is here," Dimitri said offhand. "I've been told that she can be quite difficult to bring out of her room."
"It is a rare sight, indeed," Linhardt confirmed. "I was able to coax her out by mentioning that Professor Byleth said she could have tomorrow free if she attended this training."
"Is that true?" Dimitri asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Oh, not at all. But it appears to have done the trick, hasn't it? Archery is Bernadetta's focus, so there would be some logic for the professor to making extra certain she showed up for this."
Dimitri was unsure what to think of Linhardt's deceit, so he turned his attention back to the rest of the class. There seemed to be some disagreements over who would take each position. Bernadetta wanted to distance herself from Petra, muttering something about "prey", while Dorothea was doing everything she could to pry herself away from Ferdinand's presence.
"Are they still setting up?" Dimitri muttered with incredulity. "My instructor once made me and my fellow pupils build our own archery butts in the forest in near-freezing conditions. Not easy, I assure you, but even that involved less complaining than I'm seeing right now."
"This is a typical day in the Black Eagles, unfortunately," Linhardt explained. "Dorothea will probably listen to what you say if you ask kindly, and Petra should follow orders if you give them very clearly. The rest you'll have to watch out for. Ferdinand may get his own ideas on how things should be run, and Caspar is always looking for trouble. As for Bernadetta… well, I think you can grasp the obvious."
"I see. Well, I appreciate your assistance, Linhardt. I believe I can get everything under control, though, so you should be free to join the others."
Linhardt blanched. "What? Oh no, I think you'll find benefit to me staying here at your side, ready to help if things get out of hand. If things don't, though… you won't mind if I nap some, will you?"
"I am quite serious. Unpleasant as it may be, I'll have no choice but to tell Edelgard if you ignore a direct order."
Linhardt sighed. "I suppose there's no avoiding it then. Getting lectured by Edelgard is such a frequent occurrence that I can almost filter the noise out by this point, but if she hears I was disobedient to our esteemed guest? Well… let's just say, Dimitri, that it wouldn't be pretty." He stretched his back one final time as he reviewed the situation. "Looks like the spot next to Bernadetta is open. The shrieking will be distracting, yes, but at least she won't pester me about working harder like Ferdinand or Caspar."
True to form, Bernadetta did in fact shriek a moment later after nearly smacking her arm with her bowstring. Instead of worrying about that, Dimitri faced the final straggler next to him and said, "I'm sorry, but that goes for you as well, Hubert."
Rather than answer, Hubert laughed heartily. Something about it was… deeply uncanny. The effect was so unnerving that Dimitri turned away without pursuing the topic any further.
Dimitri did not have long to think on it before his attention was stolen by someone farther down the line. Caspar was loosing arrows from his bow at a rate double that of the students around him. It was not a display of skill. He was jerking the bow around carelessly and nearly missing the target altogether on every other attempt.
Considering he had nearly lost his life when Mercedes once lost control of her sword during practice, Dimitri was well aware of the dangers of reckless training. He hurried to Caspar's side and delayed his next attempt.
"Please, Caspar… There is no need to hurry so much. Take the time to aim rather than trying to impress with speed."
"Why would I do that? To be super accurate like that, you have to shoot so gently that the arrow will bounce off the enemy's armor! You just got to let it rip!"
"On the contrary, precise aim will allow you to aim for the weak point on the enemy's armor, giving you a key advantage."
"Well, if you're so knowledgeable about it, why don't you try it?" Caspar asked in exasperation as he held out his weapon.
Dimitri eyed the wooden training bow uneasily. "I will not pretend that archery is my specialty, but if we could perhaps find a stronger bow…"
He trailed off as he noticed Petra at work from the corner of his eye. "Ah, your form is excellent, Petra!" Dimitri said enthusiastically, excited that someone was actually doing their assignment as intended. "Caspar, and everyone else, too… please let Petra be your example!"
Petra halted and looked at Dimitri in confusion. "You are… going to make an example of me? I have learned of this phrasing… it is a threat!" She began to lower her bow as she slowly reached towards a sword on her waist with her other hand.
"I…" Dimitri muttered at first, immensely confused at how he was about to be attacked by the one person he trusted to not provide any issues. As he made sense of his situation, he exclaimed, "Oh goodness, no! I only meant to say that-"
He was cut off by Ferdinand's approach. "Ah, Prince Dimitri! I trust you have been following my work closely, yes? I have spent several weeks now honing my skill with a bow. It is a shame Edelgard is not here to compare against, but would you not say that I am the best here?"
"I wouldn't really know…" Dimitri muttered as he watched Petra thankfully relax her grip on her sword.
It was then Dorothea's turn to speak. "Prince Dimitri? Bernadetta is on the verge of tears. Could you please help me with this?"
"I don't think it would make much of a difference," Dimitri groaned as he rubbed his head in exhaustion. Immediately regretful of his rudeness, though, he stuttered, "I-I will of course help. Please allow me a moment to gather my thoughts, though."
Dimitri slumped up against the colonnade beside Hubert.
"You appear to have your hands full," Hubert observed. "I trust your class is not so troublesome? You surely now understand what Lady Edelgard must deal with every day."
"You're right. I thought the Blue Lions were a bit unruly, but they seem ready to enroll into the Knights of Seiros in comparison. I-I mean no offense, of course."
Hubert smiled thinly. "None taken. Truth be told, I am unsure how Lady Edelgard is able to handle them all so patiently. I suppose that is a testament to her character."
"You may have a point. Despite my troubles here, this class did win the mock battle. It would seem I'm just not up to the task of bringing out their best."
"Well, you should still have a few moons to work on your leadership skills. You will need them soon enough."
"What do you mean?" Dimitri asked with some confusion, as well as unease at the tone.
"You will be crowned king soon, won't you? Leadership is a key component of ruling a kingdom, I think you'd agree."
"Ah. Yes. Fair enough," Dimitri noted as he relaxed some. "I will continue to work on it. Like you said, I have a few moons yet. And a lot can change in a few moons, you know."
The Sapphire Gates- Day 15 of the Harpstring Moon, 1186 (Fódlan Calendar)
Even excluding the mishaps incurred while briefly overseeing the Black Eagles, it seemed like much of Dimitri's time at the academy was spent keeping his classmates in line. Sylvain and Felix were the most obvious culprits, but he also had to track Mercedes down after she wandered off right before a lesson on more than one occasion.
As for himself, Dimitri was never recognized as the top student in the academic context, but he always got through his classes without too much trouble. Despite his many other faults, Dimitri liked to believe that he was decent pupil. Perhaps the last five years had dulled his mind, though, as when Khalid spent each day of their voyage to Astane trying to teach him the most basic facts of Almyra, he felt as lost and overwhelmed as Bernadetta doing… well, just about anything.
"Alright, time for today's lesson," Khalid declared as he rolled out a map of Almyra on the lone table in their room for the sixth time.
Dimitri leaned back on his bed until his head thumped against the wall. He had finally begun to absorb the information by this time, but that did not make him any more eager to go through it again. "Is this necessary? My vision is already strained from constantly staring at this map."
"Trust me on this. When we arrive in Astane, you're going to be buffeted by constant new stimuli. You won't be able to digest everything, but the better prepared you are, the quicker you'll pick up on the little things. You don't want to spend the entire time in a haze because you can't remember the context of where you are."
"Perhaps if you have something else to talk about. I've already gleamed everything of importance from this map."
"Let's test that theory, then. Tell me everything you've learned."
Dimitri grunted but moved to sit at the table bearing the map.
One thing that had stood out to Dimitri over the past few days was how the history of Almyra was something of an inversion of Fódlan's. Little of Fódlan's past before the days of Seiros was known, but since that time, it was a story of a unified empire gradually splintering apart. Contrariwise, Almyra began as separate tribes spread across a vast land with their own languages and dialects. Those tribes eventually coalesced into regions resembling kingdoms, which were then unified together under a single monarch. It seemed that as the years went on, these lands were gradually homogenizing their governments while still maintaining their unique flavors.
Khalid had already provided Dimitri with basic introductions to the five primary regions of Almyra. To prove his knowledge, the pupil first pointed to the area just east of Fódlan's Throat, spanning all the way to the seas on both the continent's northern and southern coasts.
"This region is called the Tabarzin," Dimitri said. "It is bound by mountains to the west, of course, which quickly drop off into plains. Much of its eastern edge is covered by the sole great forest of Almyra- the Mikdash- which is centered on the fork of these two large rivers."
"Correct. You should have gotten a good look at the mountains on the Throat when we sailed by."
"If you recall, the seas were rough that day. I was too occupied dealing with my stomach to focus on the scenery. Anyways, the Tabarzin is responsible for the constant raids against the Alliance. It was established after the war with Fódlan a couple of hundred years ago to bolster the western border. It's ruled by your uncle Mirza Ghalib."
"Well, sort of. He really only 'rules' by permission of my father. The tribes of the Tabarzin still technically owe direct allegiance to the king, who selects the mirzas and has the authority to replace them at any time. There's no official law on selecting the mirza, but the privilege has historically been given to a member of the ruler's immediate family whenever the previous mirza dies or takes the throne. Who gets it typically depends on the age of the ruler's children. So, if Ghalib were to die tomorrow, the title would be passed to me or one of my brothers since we are of age rather than my cousin Darius. In the most recent transition, Ghalib was only granted the Tabarzin because my eldest sibling was only ten when my great uncle fell in battle and a new mirza had to be named."
"You haven't said much about your siblings," Dimitri pointed out.
Khalid shrugged. "My two sisters died during a plague that scourged Almyra when I was a toddler. It was almost certainly the same plague that hit Faerghus, probably arriving in Shomal from smugglers. My eldest brother was Shahid. I rarely saw him growing up, as he left the palace to go under my uncle's tutelage. Shahid hated Fódlan and my mother, and he believed he would win the throne if he could conquer our western neighbor. I received word several years ago that Shahid had apparently died in battle outside of Fódlan's Locket."
"Leicester soldiers killed your brother? That... must have been hard to hear."
Khalid shook his head. "It was unwelcome news. But like I said, we hardly knew each other, and the interactions we did have were uniformly rancid. That being said... I'm not convinced that's what actually happened. I received no reports from my own soldiers that a prince had been slain. It's possible they just didn't know, but I think there's a likelier suspect that hasn't gotten enough attention."
"Your uncle?" Dimitri proposed.
"Good guess, though I guess you didn't have many others to pick from. My uncle certainly pretended to care for Shahid, but at the end of the day, he also wanted the throne. If Shahid actually launched a successful campaign over the Throat, it would have jeopardized Ghalib's future prospects. If the invasion failed, my uncle's reputation would have been dragged through the mud by association. Shahid had to be dealt with either way. I can't prove anything, though." Khalid cleared his throat. "As for my surviving brothers… well, there's a lot to go over. It might be best to just let you meet them for yourself and let you form your own opinions."
"Very well," Dimitri allowed. "That's enough for the Tabarzin. That being said… I do find it curious that it is still called Fódlan's Throat in Almyra, rather than something like 'Almyra's Throat'."
"It actually does have another name, but it fell out of popularity when we learned of what Fódlan called it. In Fódlan, 'throat' is used primarily in a geographical sense- a chokepoint. In Almyra, though, it's said mockingly to signify a human neck… as in, the person's greatest vulnerability. Constantly raiding 'Fódlan's Throat' makes the warriors of the Tabarzin feel like they're a constant mortal threat to Fódlan's existence. It's nonsense, really, but a lot of people eat it up." Khalid then leaned back in his chair. "But like you said, let's move on."
Dimitri pointed to center of Almyra. "This is where you are from- Elam. The heart of Almyra, and the second largest region. I was always told that Almyra is full of open rolling prairies as far as the eye can see. Elam is the perfect representative of that. Your father Faruq rules here as king with dominion over all of Almyra. Its capital is Istakhr, so I suppose that is where you grew up."
"Not exactly. Istakhr is the seat of the government, but the main palace the royal family spends most of its time at is a day's ride away. We would not stay more than a few days at a time at the castle in Istakhr unless the palace was deemed unsafe."
"Is there often war in Almyra?"
"More so than Fódlan in the past three centuries… these last five years excluded, at least. Fódlan is far from perfect, but the preserved unity of Almyra has been wrought with blood." Khalid motioned to the far east. "What can you tell me about this area?"
"That is Saba. The Sabaeans portray themselves as the birthplace of the Almyran people. It's the largest region of Almyra, but it's mostly uninhabited outside of the coasts and a few fertile areas. Emir Dizhwar rules there. He is married to your aunt. The emir's bloodline is that of the ancient royal family, but he of course answers to your father."
"All true. 'The Cradle of Almyra' is a bit of a self-indulgent title, but it's not without basis. People have lived in Almyra for as long as our history records, but the Sabaeans were first to organize a coordinated government, probably several hundred years or so before Fódlan's War of Heroes. Unfortunately for the Sabaeans, geography made it difficult for them to hold their power for forever. They managed to unify and then rule Almyra for a few hundred years, but their dynasty was eventually overthrown by the Meteorans."
"Yes… the Meteorans," Dimitri repeated as his gaze turned towards the center of the southern coast. "Their capital is in Metanoiapolis, and they are ruled by the young King Justinian. They speak the same language as us in Fódlan, and it became the predominant form of speaking in Almyra under their rule."
"More or less. It was adopted by many nobles and merchants, but most commoners still speak in the older languages. Its use is more widespread in the far west and major ports dating back to when trade with Fódlan was less restricted, but the tongue was only standardized among central Elam's elite in the past twenty years or so when our relations with Meteora peaked," Khalid explained. He then snorted. "And about their ruler... Justinian likes to live in denial and call himself king, but he's really only a sardar- a chief of his people, of sorts. I don't know too much about him, but what I do know isn't overly positive. I think his uncle is the one running the show behind the scenes, anyways."
"Meteora also has a church of sorts that is influential, correct?"
"Of sorts. Meteora has churches, but there is not necessarily a unified institution like the Church of Seiros. Followers call themselves the Votaries of Nabataea."
Dimitri squinted. "If there is no central power, then how are they as powerful as you made them sound?"
"Partially because many people are all too happy to prostrate themselves before the religion's teachings, and partially because it is enforced in Meteora by an order called the Sentinels of the Empyrean. In theory, the order exists to preserve their religious texts and mediate any theological conflicts between the churches. In practice, they often act as state-sponsored militants. The Sentinels have no formal political power, but the regime in Meteora has always given them significant leeway with what they can do. Many among the Meteoran nobles are members of the order outright."
Khalid paused as he glanced at the map for a moment. "Even so, don't get the idea that they are as powerful as Fódlan's church. Adherents of Nabataea can be found all over Almyra, but they are a minority. Most still follow older beliefs, my family included. Meteora's influence has been on the slide for the past several hundred years. That was accelerated during the plague, since Meteora was hit particularly hard. It took a serious bite out of their population- in other words, their source of tax revenue." Khalid eyed the door behind him suspiciously. "We might not want to talk about that too loudly, though. There are many onboard this ship that are likely not too enthused about the state of their homeland."
"You mentioned a theory you have for Meteora's foundation. If they resemble the people of Fódlan and speak the language, do you suppose they came from there?"
"That's precisely what I think," Khalid replied warmly. "There's an interesting origin story behind the Votaries of Nabataea that I'll need to explain."
Khalid cleared his throat before beginning, "Per the account of the Votaries, a humble merchant lived in a foreign land some twelve hundred years ago. One day, this merchant was approached by a hooded man who freely offered a fig that was said to grant immense power. The man had already eaten a fig of his own, and he was looking for a kind soul to share his spare with. The merchant was deemed worthy when he generously provided the hooded man with some of his wares while the man masqueraded as being destitute. The merchant took the fig and ate. The fig granted him strength as promised, and he followed his benefactor as a disciple. However, the merchant soon learned of a terrible truth- the fig had been stolen from a benevolent goddess named Nabataea. The hooded man had ransacked Nabataea's home and forced her to flee this world. The man then gave all of the goddess's powers to his human friends, who were now plaguing the world with their evil. The Votaries believe that magic itself was born from this event."
Khalid pointed to Metanoiapolis on the map. "The merchant was deeply perturbed by his complicity in the matter. He took his family and closest friends and fled the foreign land, choosing the southern coast of Almyra as his asylum. As penance for his sins, he took on the name Gregorios and devoted his life to gathering followers who would respect the separation of gods and man. Magic was forbidden, and the powers of the fig were suppressed."
The Almyran prince leaned back and supported the posterior of his head with his hands. "So, what do you think? Anything about that sound familiar?"
"Well… how these men received power from a goddess… the fig could almost represent a Crest. Perhaps Gregorios was the owner of a lost Crest?"
"Yes!" Khalid said as he clapped his hands together. "In some statues depicting him, Gregorios holds a staff that is topped with two concentric circles. These circles are then crowned with thorns. As it so happens, I actually uncovered some old research depicting a lost Crest with a similar design while at the monastery. Coincidence? Maybe, maybe not."
Khalid then frowned with annoyance. "Except… there's one obvious hole with merging the stories. According to the Church of Seiros, that power was granted willingly by the goddess. The Votaries would say that it was stolen. Despite their similarities, this difference makes the churches effectively incompatible. One welcomes the use of Crests and magic, while the other does not. I think it's pretty clear that Gregorios came from Fódlan and that he had a Crest. Beyond that, though, it's hard to say which version of the story has more basis in reality. I hoped digging into the Church of Seiros's records might provide some answers, but I never made much progress."
A courtesy knock at their partially ajar door interrupted the conversation. "Prince Khalid… we should reach Astane within an hour," one of the sailors said from the doorway.
"Understood," Khalid answered. He then turned to Dimitri. "The only region we haven't discussed is Shomal. Instead of looking at it on a map, why don't we see the real thing?"
Dimitri followed Khalid outside into the balmy air and looked over the starboard side towards land. The terrain itself was not overly impressive. There were some hills on the coast, but these were mostly dry and barren of significant foliage.
There were two features, however, that were well worth interest. The first was the shoreline. Clean, thick beaches lined most of the waterfront. People could be seen walking about on these golden beaches leisurely- some fishing, other playing. Dimitri had never seen such a sight. In his experience, the shoreline was just a place to board a ship, nothing more. Not in Almyra, it would seem.
Also of interest were the cities themselves. The cities of Faerghus were usually made of stone and wood that left a cold, sterile impression. The cities of Shomal, conversely, were brimming with life. The buildings were covered with plaster in a multitude of colors- many were white, but others were blue, yellow, or even pink. Lines of these structures advanced off of the coast into the hills above in a continuous wave. The neighborhoods appeared to be densely inhabited, but the lively intermingling of the populace in the alleys and rooftops made the compact conditions seem like an opportunity for fellowship rather than being simply unpleasant.
"Shomal," Dimitri finally said to continue his lesson. "'Almyra's Sapphire Gates' as some might say. Shomal maintains a robust trade network with distant lands such as Dagda, Albinea, and even places as far as Morfis… everyone, really, though relations with Fódlan and Sreng are colder. Their greatest general is a Dagdan mercenary, which goes to show the openness of their culture. Sardar Soraya has jurisdiction here."
"Shomal has come a long way since my birth," Khalid said approvingly. "They've been all in on trade for a long time, but they weren't always so receptive to new ideas. My family and the Meteorans had to go to war with them over it when my mother was pregnant with me."
Each time a community materialized on the horizon, Dimitri would speculate if it might be Shomal's capital of Astane. There was no question, however, when he finally set his gaze upon it. The sprawl of the city dwarfed that of the others by leaps and bounds. Many of the buildings also appeared more ornate in design and ornamentation, suggestive of greater affluence.
Dimitri marveled at the city in silence until after they pulled into the harbor and began to dock at a wharf. It was a slow process made even more complicated because the harbor was crowded with other vessels either loading or delivering cargo. When they finally pulled close enough to hop ashore, the captain of the ship ordered several of the sailors to jump onto the wharf. A few conversed with what appeared to be local officials while another bounded into the city without hesitation.
Before Dimitri could ask for an explanation, Sebastian approached and told Khalid, "I've sent a messenger to the sardar explaining your arrival. Hopefully we will have an answer from her soon."
"We'd best gather our belongings, then," Khalid noted. Before doing so, the prince put his hand over his heart and said, "Thank you for your loyal service, Helladius. Especially covering for us on the way out of Derdriu. I will speak highly of you to the king."
The man formerly known as Sebastian similarly put a hand on his heart. Given what Dimitri knew of the Meteorans, he had a good guess on their custom- the Votaries bow for none but Nabataea.
"Thank you for your support, Prince Khalid. I pray Nabataea will make your paths straight," Helladius said as his farewell.
After returning to their room, Dimitri and Khalid agreed to leave the few remaining items scavenged from the battlefield and only take their weapons. Now that no one would recognize them as Hero's Relics, their weapons could finally serve as assets instead of liabilities. Rather than stay on the ship until their escorts arrived, the two passengers debarked and waited on the wharf so that the crew could make preparations for their return to Derdriu.
After confirming that there were no actual sapphire gates to the city, at least on the side facing the ocean, Dimitri scrutinized each person that passed by on the nearby street. He and Khalid still wore clothing befitting of Fódlan commoners, and it immediately became clear that they did not blend in with the crowd. That said, it was difficult to determine what they should have worn to best match the people of Shomal. The attire of the city's denizens was certainly different from what Dimitri was accustomed to, but it was also highly varied from person to person. Dimitri suspected that these people came from all parts of Almyra based on the fact that Astane was a major trade hub, which compounded the difficulty in drawing conclusions about how natives to Shomal dressed. He would need to see parts of the region less travelled to get a better idea.
Even if he was dressed appropriately, Dimitri had anticipated standing out from the multitude with his light skin and fair hair. His suspicion turned out to be mostly justified, though more than one person of comparable appearance did pass the wharf. He was not sure if they were Meteorans or foreigners. Either way, his presence would probably become more atypical once they entered Elam. No one in Astane paid him more than a glance or two.
It would not be long before their hosts arrived. Rather than a line of soldiers or attendants as Dimitri expected, there were only two men.
"I had a feeling it would be him," Khalid groaned as they approached. Khalid's gaze appeared fixated on the man on the left. He was a somewhat short man with very dark skin and full hair that stuck out from beneath a poorly fitted turban. He was likely in his early twenties, and his youthfulness was enhanced by his boyish grin. He wore a gaudy blue coat made of silk with an even gaudier golden sash. A sword with an ornate hilt was at his waist that was probably intended more for spectacle than function.
"Prince Khalid!" this man said after a quick bow. "It's been far too long! We are glad to host you again in Astane."
"It's a pleasure to be back, Khabash," Khalid replied in contradiction with his obvious initial exasperation. "Am I able to see the sardar?"
"Not yet, I'm afraid," the other man said. He was taller and leaner, with facial hair similar to Khalid's. In sharp contrast to Khabash, this man wore a long, black hooded robe made of wool that only had subtle blue and white trimming to offset its harsh appearance. This man was a little soft-spoken, though his sly smile seemed to suggest he had more wit than he let on. "Your entrance came as a surprise. The sardar is currently hosting a group of merchants from Morfis. It goes without saying their visit is a rare opportunity. However, preparations are being made at the palace for your stay. We are to keep you company and guard until your quarters are ready." This man then bowed. "Forgive me for not introducing myself. I am Farjad Al Bazargan."
"Glad to make your acquaintance, Farjad. I believe I met your father when I was last here. He's got a tight hold on the leather market in Astane, correct?"
Farjad bit his lip. "Your memory is sharp, Prince Khalid." Seemingly interested in changing the conversation, he pointed to Dimitri. "And who is this companion of yours?"
"His name is Dimitri. He was a former classmate of mine in Fódlan who is to serve as my retainer," Khalid explained briefly.
Farjad seemed mildly intrigued by the news, while Khabash was unequivocally ecstatic.
"From Fódlan!" Khabash exclaimed. "I can't wait to hear all about the land across the Throat. And to think that Prince Khalid now has years' worth of experience, too! I can't wait to hear all ab-"
"Alright, now hold up, Khabash," Khalid interrupted. "We can talk some about Fódlan, but I'm more interested in getting Dimitri accustomed to his new surroundings. It's rather more urgent."
Khabash nodded in admittance of his mistake. "Sorry about my excitement. It's just that I love learning about new places… new opportunities!" He then turned to Dimitri, who had rarely been directly addressed by anyone other than Khalid over the previous week. "You see, Dimitri, my mother is from a prominent Dagdan family. That makes me the bridge that links these people across vast oceans… a union ordained to greatness!"
Dimitri remained silent. Nothing about Khabash's appearance or demeanor suggested he was appointed for glory.
Khabash's smile waned a little upon Dimitri's cool reception. But only a little. "Anyways… like you said, Prince Khalid, we should familiarize our guest with the city. You will be provided food at the palace, I am certain, but you may wish to eat before then. Do you remember the tagine shop we used to buy from? I've already arranged with the owner to let us use his upper room until the sardar is ready for us."
Farjad added, "Once you are all settled, I will return to the palace. I will rejoin you just as soon as I receive the news that the sardar is ready for your arrival."
No one objected to the plan, so the group made its way into the city. Farjad inquired about the strange weapons wielded by their guests, so Khalid provided them with a vague explanation. Dimitri was free to survey the city in peace.
They first walked through a crowded market on a road that dizzyingly alternated between being open-air and being covered by arched vaults. Seemingly endless of rows of merchants were offering all sorts of dynamic products- golden ornaments, potent spices, and fabrics made from a whole spectrum of bright colors. Some wares did not seem to fit in with the rest, which led Dimitri to believe that they were imported from overseas. On multiple occasions, he had to stop and inspect something that he was certain came from Fódlan. The aisles of merchants were only occasionally separated by communal locales, such as an open plaza and a public bathhouse.
The main street of the market cut directly through the city, seemingly pushing everything else out of its path. Compared most of the roads, this one was relatively wide and straight. However, the boundaries of the market leached from this primary thoroughfare into the surrounding area. Khabash and Farjad soon led them into this maze of alleys.
The overall impression was that the city had expanded faster than its infrastructure could keep up. The main road had likely been carved out to try bringing some order, but there was still much work to be done. These side streets were not designed to handle the current populace. Though Dimitri had already observed Astane's many differences from Fhirdiad, at least in that regard it echoed descriptions of Faerghus's capital prior its overhaul following the plague.
It was on one of these twisting lanes that Khabash and Farjad stopped in front of a building selling food out of rows of pottery. There was a brief wait as Farjad struggled to get the humbly-dressed old man sitting outside to accept the coins he was holding. After finally relenting, the elder waved them inside his house, bowing profusely as they did. He clearly knew of Khalid's status.
The party quickly passed through a short hall into a stone courtyard that was shared with several other households. They then walked up a staircase to a balcony overlooking this yard. In what was perhaps the biggest shock to Dimitri yet, he was greeted by a rug covered with cushions rather than a table with chairs.
Farjad stood still as the other three proceeded towards this arrangement. Khalid asked before sitting, "Are you sure you do not wish to at least eat before leaving? If causes any delays with our arrival at the palace, then so be it."
Farjad shook his head. "As much as I appreciate the offer, I must stay true to my orders. Please enjoy your meals, and I will hopefully return soon."
Shortly after Farjad's departure, the elder from before ascended the stairs while carefully balancing three pots. He set one before each of his guests, who had by this time taken seats on the rug. After handing them spoons, he said a few words in an unfamiliar language while using hand motions that seemed to indicate it was a form of prayer. He then made a final bow before returning to his placement outside.
The pots had very shallow bases and were covered with conical lids. Dimitri had never seen anything quite like it. Why was the lid so large while there was little actual room to hold the food? Once he removed the lid, he was greeted with a pleasant aroma of what appeared to be lamb mixed with apricot. He hypothesized at that point that the lid was designed to contain the steam that was now pouring out. He smiled wistfully. The smell was very promising, but there was no hope for the taste. After all, his sense of taste had been almost entirely lost since Duscur.
"It's a meal, not a piece of art!" Khabash eventually joked. He and Khalid had both begun to eat while Dimitri sat staring at his food.
"I… yes, of course," Dimitri said awkwardly as he finally picked up his spoon. The first bite of his meal was predictably flavorless. "Thank you for the meal. It is very good," he said before his companions could ask.
Khabash was the first to begin a full conversation, which seemed to be a consistent trait with him. "You know, I apologize for boasting of my mission to marry Dagda and Shomal. The two of you… you have the task of closing the divide between Almyra and Fódlan. That's a colossal order."
Khalid tried to hide a smirk. "It had better be. There are two of us, while you are left to walk your destiny alone. I feel a little ashamed to have it so easy."
"Well… If you feel bad about it, I suppose I'm not entirely alone, either. There is my sister Satiah, who may step in should I require the assistance." After swallowing another bite, Khabash pivoted subjects. "So, what are your initial thoughts about Astane?" he asked Dimitri.
"It is a lovely city," Dimitri admitted. "Walking around such a place, you would have no idea of the hemorrhaging occurring across the border."
Khabash frowned for the first time and then looked at Khalid. He was begging the prince with his eyes to finally let him ask about the land across the Throat.
Almyra's prince sighed. "Alright, we can talk about Fódlan… just so long as it means we can finally move on afterwards. Dimitri, do you mind if I do the talking?"
The question was likely only a courtesy, as Dimitri obviously assented. Khalid then delved into an explanation of their recent history. He chose to focus less on the war and more on life in Fódlan in general, tossing in a few comical memories along the way.
"These knights of the Church… they sound a whole lot like the Sentinels," Khabash observed immediately while Khalid caught his breath.
"In some ways. I used the Sentinels to guide my expectations, but overall, the Knights of Seiros are not quite as problematic. I could actually see myself sitting down and having a nice dinner with most of them. The Sentinels? Not so much."
"You referred to them before as militants. What have they actually done to earn your ire?" Dimitri interjected as he finished the last bite of his meal.
Khalid bobbed his head while he thought of the best way to describe his feelings. "If you a Fódlan noble and say a nasty thing about the religion or the archbishop, you're probably only going to be slapped with an excommunication from the Central Church. You'd be publicly ostracized in most of the Kingdom and Alliance for that, but even before the war, there are parts of the Empire that an excommunication would hit with the force of a wet noodle. Whatever the case, though, the Knights of Seiros aren't going to show up at your door and ransack your home unless you threaten actual violence. Not so certain with the Sentinels. They did ransack the homes of people who disagreed with them. Fourteen years ago, they even killed some."
Dimitri shook his head out of both disgust and perplexity. "I don't understand. You said most people in Almyra do not count among the Votaries of Nabataea. So how did they get away with something of that sort?"
"It helped that it solely took place in Meteora. But in general, the Sentinels won't persecute anyone with a completely separate belief system. It's the people that seem similar on the surface but pose a direct threat to their authority that need to watch out. During the incident I referenced, it was a group called the Dékhomai that faced the wrath of the Sentinels. The Dékhomai worshipped Nabataea, but they saw magic as a gift to humanity that should be nurtured. Stolen or not, if a fig has already been torn from its tree, is it not better to give it to the hungry rather than let it rot? With that mindset, they started organizing unofficial schools of magic and developing new spells. They gained a lot of popularity in Meteora, which eventually led the Sentinels to squash the movement. Schools were shuttered, meetings were broken up. After a certain incident occurred, it turned to open bloodshed. Why and how that happened is a long story that's best saved for later, but you get the idea."
Dimitri was glad to be spared the details. The story of the Dékhomai was already beginning to sound much like that of Duscur. It didn't matter the land, the people, the religion, the era, whether or not the people had Crests… evil was always knocking at the door. Perhaps it was best to be reminded of this. He had not earned the right to an untroubled day.
"I think you've scared him into the notion that Almyra is an inhospitable land looking for an excuse for battle," Khabash said with a crooked smile.
"Yeah, sorry about that. Like I said before, the Sentinels aren't influential outside of Meteora. Almyra actually has a wide range of beliefs- besides the Votaries, many people follow the Old Ways. The people of the Mikdash have their own spin on that. Some don't seem to care much about the gods at all. And the best part? Most people won't really care where you land on that gamut. It's one way Almyra can be favorably compared to Fódlan."
"Is there anything else about Almyra that you have more appreciation for now?" Khabash asked.
"Well, I'm glad we don't go lopping people's heads off for everything." Khalid turned to Dimitri. "You've probably been told that Almyra has a warrior culture. That's true, but we also have a deep honor tradition towards the defeated. If a warrior says that they yield, that's the end of it. There will probably be some sort of retribution, and the victor has every right to capital punishment. In practice, though, executions are pretty rare. With the exception of the raids on Fódlan since they don't share our code, fleeing from the middle of a battle is considered an act of egregious cowardice, so perhaps showing mercy towards the defeated developed as a countermeasure to discourage retreat. 'A warrior deserves the right to live and die like a warrior, not like a prisoner', they would say. Compare that to when Archbishop Rhea had those Western Church priests summarily executed after a show trial."
"That… was perhaps rash of the archbishop, I will admit," Dimitri said. "But those men were undoubtedly guilty of more than one crime. I am not sure what they hoped to gain by saying otherwise."
"Even so, I'm not sure what we hoped to gain by ending them like that. How did the Western Church know where to find the Sword of the Creator? Or did they even know it was there? Why would they want to ransack the Holy Mausoleum? After all, they worshipped the same goddess. And then there was the mysterious man with them, whom we later learned to be the Death Knight. Why would they be involved together? So many questions, and exactly zero answers because the archbishop couldn't keep her temper." Khalid tried to calm himself. "I'm getting off topic. But you can see why as someone from Almyra, her decision to execute unarmed prisoners sat a bit uncomfortably with me. Death is a serious matter. It shouldn't be doled out lightly."
On that, Dimitri could certainly agree. Khabash was solemn, having enjoyed fun facts and silly tales of an enigmatic land more than political discourse. Not to mention, he was having a difficult time following what they were arguing over.
"If you don't mind, Prince Khalid, I can take our dishes down to the shop owner since we are all done," he said.
Khalid assented, "Much appreciated, Khabash."
After Khabash scrambled away with the pots, Khalid set his hands on his lap and wrung them uncomfortably. He began after hesitating, "You know, Dimitri, there's something I should have mentioned already. In the coming days, you might hear some things said about me. Some of it might be true, some might not. So, if I can ask a favor… whatever you hear, could you please withhold judgment until I have a chance to explain myself? I promise that I will be able to clear anything up."
Dimitri nodded slowly, but he kept a suspicious eye on his companion. It did not sound like Khalid was scared of people accusing him of being a coward or a fool or anything similar. They were going to make serious charges against his character using evidence that might actually sway Dimitri. Otherwise, the Almyran prince would have no need to explain himself. The defensiveness in Khalid's voice and expression betrayed the gravity of his concern.
Khabash returned and quickly delved into some tale about how he recently bested some of Shomal's strongest men at what sounded like a form of wrestling. The story did not seem particularly believable. Khalid nodded mechanically through most of it, though he occasionally asked for additional details on pieces of the story that seemed especially shaky. Khabash stumbled through his replies with confidence, though perhaps not grace. Khalid only smiled in return.
Khabash was still rambling when footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs. They turned to see Farjad, who made a ceremonious bow.
"I'm sorry to interrupt what I'm sure was a very important story, but I have news from the palace. Sardar Soraya is ready to host you, Prince Khalid."