Mosaics are a collection of Three Houses related one-shots that usually take place from the perspective of one character. This is my way of sharing all those little ideas that aren't long enough to really warrant fics of their own. Each story here will only be about the length of a short chapter.

They follow Three Houses canon unless I mention otherwise. The Part 2 route chosen varies from story to story.

This first one features Rhea and is about her thoughts on the house leaders. The second part is Silver Snow themed.


IN GRONDER FIELDS


Every year, within the fields of Gronder just beyond the Airmid River, students of the Garreg Mach Officer's Academy hold a mock battle between their three houses.

Though the fertile lands here have been fought and bled over innumerable times in Fódlan's long and storied history, the current affair is an annual tradition of peace. A commemoration of the cooperation between the continent's ruling dynasties. Long ago, the Houses of Hresvelg, Blaidydd, and Riegan first cut their teeth in warfare. One by one, their ascensions to power were earned in three of the largest wars this land had ever seen, and the borders marking their contemporary holdings now were built on toil and tears. In the present, however, the violence of the past is just that. Thanks to Garreg Mach, the royal prince, princess, and duke-to-be would grow into adulthood alongside each other. They had trained together. Studied together. Depended on each other. When their graduation and inheritances finally came, they would take their respective thrones with an empathetic understanding of each other's personalities, thoughts, and desires. Fódlan's peaceful new order would be guaranteed for a generation to come, and her people would be free to prosper like never before.

That, thought the Archbishop, would be Garreg Mach's greatest gift to the future.

On a ridge high above the fields stood Archbishop Rhea, the head of Garreg Mach, alongside Seteth, the Church leader's veritable right hand. The mock battle exercise they'd presided over had been in full swing not long ago, filling Gronder with the reverberating sounds of metal, magic, and mounts, but it hadn't been a serious fight. Bruised egos aside, no one was really injured, and every student would go home with takeaways on tactics and personal ability. Now the "armies" were whole again, their focus once more on casual conversations and schoolyard antics. Even a simulated battle could bring no resentment or bitterness here. The student body remained, as ever, a perfect union of Fodlan's three nations.

From her position overlooking the assembled houses, Rhea's gaze was drawn to the sight of the three house leaders meeting up in the field's center. The Black Eagles class, representing the ancient empire of the west, had been the ones to prevail this day. They owed no small part of their victory to the training provided by the academy's newest instructor, but neither the Professor's personal attention nor today's accomplishment seemed to have gone to the head of their young leader. Princess Edelgard retained her imperial cordiality same as ever, and everything was smiles and pleasantries between her and the challengers; Claude of the Leicester Alliance, the youngest nation in Fódlan, and Prince Dimitri of the Faerghus Kingdom, the middle child of Fódlan's political situation.

Rhea flashed a serene smile. She couldn't hear anything from this distance, but the words exchanged between the three weren't responsible for her attention anyway. The entire scene before her brought a warming contentment, and it wasn't just from the sight of the lords speaking with one another.

For the Archbishop, all of Fódlan was like an ever updating history book. The land itself had changed time and time again before her very eyes. She had seen rivers change course, dry up, and surge anew. She had seen glaciers retreating and lakes carved out. Inlets had been reclaimed with settlements built on what had once been the sea. Wild forests had been corralled and turned into prosperous breadbaskets. Villages had become towns. Towns had become cities. Garreg Mach itself had been built atop the mighty Ohgma Mountains, and the Archbishop had been there to see it grow into the center of all Fódlan, geographically, politically, and spiritually.

Taking in the rolling green of the practice fields and the golden sea of wheat that kept Adrestia fed just beyond, Rhea recalled another battle fought long ago, at a plain very much like this one. Memories of her own past, of Tailtean, swept over her. Fódlan had been a stage for slaughter and sorrow then, and the continent's very future had been decided on that day, moment by bloody moment. While a battle had just played out here, this one reflected how much had changed in Rhea's long life. In this new age of peace, the Battle of the Eagle and Lion was just a game. No matter how intense it became, the combatants would always pick themselves up and dust themselves off. They'd share stories with each other. Boast of accomplishments. Vow to do better next time.

They'd have fun.

"Lady Rhea? Are you feeling alright?"

The Archbishop glanced over to find Seteth staring, his stern eyes radiating that same distinctive green shared by every member of their "family".

"You're gazing rather intently at the house leaders. Was there something about their performances you found displeasing?"

"No, Seteth. Nothing like that. The students performed as admirably as ever. The young Hresvelg royal certainly earned her victory." Rhea smiled reassuringly but otherwise brought her focus to the fields below once more. Her eyes fell on Edelgard as her voice trailed into the abstract. "I can't help but think of the history that has unfolded here. It doesn't seem so long ago that Wilhelm was with us. I can remember listening to his report as we observed a battlefield we'd just taken. A field very much like this one. To think of how many Hresvelgs have come and gone since then…"

Seteth thought about it himself. Though generally more grounded than the Archbishop, burdened in the weight of an academy's day to day affairs, the administrator had lived through as much of Fódlan's history as her. He too had been around to see the men and women students like Edelgard, Claude, and Dimitri only learned about in a historical sense. "I suppose it is a little strange when you consider it."

"So many generations of leaders have lived their entire lives within the span of ours. They carve their names within single lines in our grand history book before departing, and all the while, we go on. From their point of view, we might as well have immortality. The privilege of seeing history unfold as each actor contributes their share to its tapestry. Living like this, last of our kind as we are," Rhea took a deep breath. "It can be a lonely existence."

"My lady?"

Then smiled. "But I take pride in them. I'm proud to see what so many students have grown up to become. As for my staring, I suppose I'm caught up in a whimsical moment. Those three students represent the future of Fódlan's nations, and it brings me joy to see them together. Scarred and long mistreated as this land is, a friendship between houses to define our new age of peace might very well have begun here. In this place not so unlike where the Fell King died." And Rhea allowed that normally reserved smile to express itself completely. "That, Seteth, is more than I ever dared to hope for back then."

Rhea needn't look at her aide to see he didn't entirely understand. Long lived though he was, Seteth hadn't been at the monastery as long as her. He also tended to take a cynical, doubting outlook with the students. "Well, that's one way of looking—"

A more familiar seriousness erased his previous expression.

"Or, perhaps we spoke too soon. It seems a certain someone is not as graceful in defeat as you might have hoped."

Snapping back to the present, Rhea noticed the argument that had broken out among the house leaders. Or rather, she saw Edelgard attempting to argue while Claude stood by with a self amused smirk. She could already see it was hardly anything serious. Something apparently involving Edelgard's cape and a rat. Barely suppressed snickers rang out from nearby witnesses. Dimitri seemed to be lecturing Claude on his behavior, but even his lips were fighting off a smile.

"Have faith in them, Seteth." Rhea responded warmly, making it clear she'd agree to disagree. "The tradition maintained today has a long history of forging lasting bonds between the students. I doubt they would be so quick to turn on one another…"


Five years go by.

Rhea's time as Archbishop has ended, and Garreg Mach has gone dark. The era of peace between the nations is over, and Fódlan's people are mobilizing under differing symbols. The tradition of the Eagle and Lion mock battle has been abandoned.

But that is not to say Gronder is quiet.

The clans Hresvelg, Blaidydd, and Riegan earned their positions through warfare in the past, and because of the well hidden ambitions and manipulations of the very princess to prevail at Gronder that day, their histories have now come full circle. With the academy's fall, three houses now represent three armies. The nations entrusted with Fódlan's people and prosperity are now locked in a life and death struggle for sovereignty, and through their melee à trois, Fódlan will be dragged into a new era of its history just as had happened in the War of Heroes centuries before. It was not yet the end of the world the Archbishop had built, but an observer could certainly see it from here.

By chance, by design, by the callous and spiteful humor of fate, the campaigns of each faction have all taken them to Gronder. On this day Fódlan's three lords are reunited, but their old classroom labels of Black Eagle, Blue Lion, and Golden Deer have given way under nationalist banners; Imperial, Royalist, Alliance. This engagement will not end with a meetup by the field's center. Hostilities will not cease with the blaring of horns. Grudges will not be eased by a celebratory feast in a grand dining hall. There will be a winner as there was before, but this time, the losers will endure consequences more severe than a mere lesson learned. They will be lucky to leave at all. The competition between classrooms has become a clash between civilizations.

And this battle is very real.

Gronder is alive with the sounds of warfare once more, but the intensity is beyond any Eagle and Lion exercise. Pyro-specialized mages have set the hills alight. Military grade ballistas have carved miniature trenches into the soil. Bristling walls of pikes rise like hedges as far as the eye can see, and just out of reach, squadrons of pegasi and wyverns streak across the sky in unending chases. In the center, where the fighting is thickest, organized formations and battle doctrines have given way to chaotic mobs of soldiers, surging forward and grappling with anyone they manage to catch. The fields themselves are not the objective of the fighting but simply the stage for it, and in the absence of real geographic objectives, the only goal for each side is to kill as many enemy soldiers as possible.

And through the heat of this fighting, coming together in the very climax of both this conflict and their careers, burns the enduring legacy of Garreg Mach. Edelgard, Claude, and Dimitri reconvene this day, but no longer as students. Any relationship that might once have existed between them has become but fuel for war, and they know this full well.

The three couldn't possibly have heard the conversation shared between Rhea and Seteth on a ridge overlooking their current battleground those five long years ago, but if they had, the Archbishop's comments might very well have come back to them now as a final, ironic echo.

"I admit I've taken a special interest in those three, and as I watch them learn and grow, I often find myself wondering,"

"What will become of them all?"