Pegasus Moon, Imperial Year 1171

A creak in the floorboards woke Jeralt and he erupted from bed lance in hand and aimed at—

His son.

His son illuminated by moonlight stared impassively at his death.

Jeralt relaxed his lance with a breath of relief. "What are you doing up?"

"I was dreaming."

"The war or the girl?"

"The girl."

Eight years or more dreaming of some war or some girl on a throne. Neither with any real details. "Maybe you'll find someone like her in the Kingdom." Byleth slowly nodded. "Is it still snowing?"

"Yes."

Lousy blizzard sent them galloping for shelter in old Remire Village before they even hit Kingdom territory. If it was this bad in the Empire, the Kingdom would be hills of white. "It might delay our travel plans. Still, try and get some sleep." He put his lance back in position and sat back down.

"Why did we leave?"

Why was he asking this now? "We—I have a very important mission to undertake in the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus."

"Will it be dangerous?"

"It shouldn't be." Still... "What do you do when you encounter danger?"

"I run, hide or get help."

"If you can't?"

"Defend myself. Do anything."

"And…?"

"By hurting."

Jeralt nodded at his son's answers and patted down the mattress. Byleth came over and sat down and Jeralt pulled him into a hug. "I won't lie and say there won't be any danger. But I will do everything in my power to protect you."

"You're strong. It'll be fine."

Jeralt wished he had that kind of confidence. "Yeah. Anyway…" Jeralt pulled open a nearby rucksack and took out a small dagger. "Here."

Byleth took the gift and looked it over before looking back up. "Why?"

"There's an old Kingdom saying about daggers. It means, 'to cut your own future'." Or something like that.

Byleth glanced down at the blue-handled gift. "What does that mean?"

"One day, you'll make choices of your own. To make your own path. Not mine, or Rhea's or the church's."

"No rules?"

"Your own rules. Or someone else you trust. Don't let anyone take your future from you."

Byleth drew the little dagger out. A small reflection on moonlit night. "Thank you."

"OK, that's enough night chat. We're gonna have a hard ride tomorrow so you really need your sleep."

This time Byleth actually complied and slipped off into the other bed in the small room. Before long, Jeralt drifted off to his light sleep.

Next thing he heard was a scratching noise against wood. Right out of bed, lance in hand aimed at—Byleth again, now fully visible in daylight. His son was on the floor with the knife and… cutting his coat? Two long gashes were opened in the upper sleeves.

Jeralt lowered his lance. "I… what are you doing?"

"The sleeves were too long." Not a flinch at the lance again.

Of all the —"Why didn't you just cut them shorter?"

Byleth looked down at his tattered coat. "Oh, huh."

"We'll find a seamstress to get those sewed up later, then."

Byleth stood up, put his coat on, and stuck his arms through the holes he made. "I like this better." The lower sleeves flapped behind him as he moved.

Jeralt burst out laughing and couldn't cover his mouth fast enough. It was so utterly childish and beautiful to see his kid being a kid. "OK then, we'll get you a thicker shirt then so you don't freeze." It was nice to see some random destruction from the kid for a change.

The blizzard never broke, forcing them to dredge the snapping cold and face the chance of illness on the way north. But Remire wasn't equipped to handle horses, and they couldn't let them die out. A few lodges along the way had some proper accommodations for the animals, even if they were far from ideal.

It was a fool's dream for the Kingdom to declare war in weather such as this. But sometimes stupid worked. Thankfully sickness skipped both of them and their horses on the journey north and the roads near Fhirdiad were almost clear. Only a foot of snow instead of a knee-high.

It took most of Pegasus Moon for the two of them to actually reach the Kingdom's capital of Fhirdiad. The city of stone retained the chill entombed in his ancient memories, but these days the townsfolk were shoveling more snow than corpses. Disease had plagued the northern country so long it was a miracle Faerghus still existed in any form. Nobody they passed on the streets looked happy, but that was generally better than death.

Only a light snowfall accompanied them as they made their way to Ward Street and settled into a local inn. It was a good deal more illustrious than the emergency shelter they'd taken in Remire and the other lodgings along the way. Their quarters alone were probably half the size of Remire's inn and their horses had actual furnished stables instead of a ramshackle outbuilding.

That wealth extended to the rest of the building too. The innkeeper declared them lucky to get a room at all. In the bar, dining hall and main hall were merchants in fine clothes, modestly wealthy nobles and even a few visiting soldiers. Jeralt spared a few moments to pick up on chatter which revealed nothing new (complaints against king and country were never new). But that lack of something new was important in itself. A new queen should be a big deal.

Church intelligence wouldn't get something like that wrong. Which meant it was being kept quiet intentionally and any foreknowledge he showed would be even more suspicious.

So he'd cut out all subterfuge entirely and just go straight at it.

After he learned where to go first.

Which meant contacting the local church well ahead of plans.

He checked back in with Byleth to tell him he was stepping out for a bit, and Jeralt headed down the still snowing Ward Street. It didn't take long to reach the old church, which had eroded with time more than Jeralt had. The stonework was crumbling in parts, patched in others. The statues of famous holy men and women were chipped and damaged, one of them was even missing its hand. The front doors had lost a handle among scratch marks. Place wasn't doing well, despite its position.

Made it perfect for shadow work though.

Jeralt headed inside, wiped off his boots, and checked around the vestibule. No one came to greet him in the low candlelight so he went deeper. A few visitors were standing or sitting in prayer, and a handful of monks were attending the grounds. Some of the stained glass up above had been replaced with clear panes.

One of the monks, a grayed, bearded fellow with thick robes came up to him ahead of any of the younger staff. "We weren't expecting visitors today, while the silver snow fell."

That was the pass code from Seteth's letter. This cloak and dagger nonsense just wasn't for him. "Can't wait for silver skies to return."

"Most would prefer blue skies and golden sun."

"I've always preferred silver, myself."

"Greetings, Sir. If you would?" The monk led them to a secluded corner.

"What do you have for me?"

The monk pulled out a burlap bundle. "Here is the location of all relevant parties and their adobes." Jeralt took the information packet and slipped it into his coat. "Brother and Sister reside in separate estates, neither have been seen visiting the other building. However, the husband has been seen at both locations."

Odd. Why was (presumably) Volkhard being kept out of the castle? Why weren't they meeting? The more layers this had the worse it got. "I'll make an approach as soon as possible. I'll be back the night I do."

"I hope all goes well. May the goddess protect you."

Jeralt left after a nod. Back into the cold, then back into the warmth of the inn and warmth of family. Byleth was practicing dagger thrusts by the time Jeralt returned. "Good, you gotta get under armor with a dagger." Byleth nodded and continued.

Jeralt leaned against the wall (the last thing he wanted was a wet bed) and opened up the report. It mostly explained in detail what he knew in broad strokes. Their arrival date. A list of servants by name and those who had relevant family back in the Empire. A few were marked out as being particularly devout. But nothing as to how any of this was gathered. For the good, of course.

A few pages in was the location of both Anselma and Volkhard. To his actual surprise, Anselma wasn't in Fhirdiad Castle. She was located in a secluded vista on the far side of the capital. Something else was going on other than trying to keep a new paramour secret. There'd been no public appearances of her whatsoever. Coupled with the earlier lack of rumor mongering it made Jeralt wonder if she was here at all.

Volkhard was simpler, at least. His presence seemed to to be an open secret among the elites of the Kingdom. He, along with his servants from the Empire, were quartered within Grand Duke Rufus's villa. Which was almost entirely on the opposite side from Anselma's lodging. Curious. Either way, the king's older brother couldn't have been happy about that. Though most Kingdom nobles stayed in their territory, so the villa was more of a guest estate than anything, but it was still another source of division between brothers. The grand duke had been passed over for the throne because he didn't have a Crest and his younger brother did. Every year there wasn't a civil war surprised Jeralt.

Directions to the estate were laid out in the papers, though a building that important would have been easy to spot anyway. Jeralt memorized what he needed then ignited the papers and let them all burn to ash. No sense taking any risk on that.

"I'm gonna be heading out again," he said to Byleth, who'd switched to stabs. "I should be back before it gets dark, but just in case I've left plenty of money in case you need anything. Remember what I taught you."

"Always." His motions did not even budge.

Jeralt left again, getting an earful from inn staff about tracking water everywhere, and went back outside. Snow was still falling. People were still shoveling. Small wonder Loog could stop the Imperial army with weather this constantly bad. Bigger wonder why anyone settled here in the first place.

His walk should have been occupied with making a convincing story for why he was meeting with Imperial royalty in exile. But Rhea sent him knowing full well that it was a fool's errand. He'd do what he did best.

The estate Volkhard was occupying was practically a fortress. It had castle walls, actual towers, both stocked full with archers, and was patrolled by at least fifty knights. Elites too, from the shine of their kit . Another seven were on guard duty at the gate, and a hundred more could have fit inside the castle building.

Jeralt walked up, introduced himself and handed over one of Seteth's letters. "Get this to His Grace right away."

The knights exchanged excited chatter before sending one of their number off to deliver it.

"So," one of the remaining said, "you're Jeralt the Blade Breaker."

"That's what I said."

"You defeated my brother."

"And my sister."

"My brother and sister."

"Everyone in my family but me."

"I still feel sore from where you hit me."

This was turning out to be a really bad idea. "Uh… yeah…" That was the reality of fighting for over a hundred years. If he didn't have a kid he'd probably be rotated into the holy knights by now.

The stifling silence was thankfully interrupted by the messenger quickly returning "His Grace has agreed to an immediate meeting," he said. "What of the child following you?"

Don't tell me… Jeralt turned around to see his kid trailing in his wake completely against orders. Good grief. That was the price for letting his mind wander on the way over. He knelt down into the snow. "What did I say?"

"To cut my own path."

Not the best time for a wild youth. Jeralt stood back up and said, "Let me escort him back before I head inside."

"His Grace is already expecting other visitors. Your invitation has already put a strain on his schedule."

Doubtful. "Fine, then make arrangements for him to stay inside for the duration." Any attempt to use Byleth against him would be brazen to the point of suicide. "I'm sure there's some servants' kids to play with."

"Then, please, relinquish your weapons."

"Right, right." Jeralt handed over his lance, his javelin, his hidden daggers and spare sword.

"And your son?"

"Huh?" Oh, right, the dagger . "I just gave that to him for his birthday."

"It's still a weapon, Sir."

"He's twelve. Are the brave knights of Faerghus scared of a twelve-year-old?"

"He is the Blade Breaker's son…" That knight earned seven hard glares and he retreated back three steps.

"It's not in his hands that weapon is dangerous. What if one of the other children takes it?"

They couldn't, but that was at least a point. "Fine." He was saying that an awful lot these days. Byleth unhitched the dagger and handed it over. "Now that the scary child is disarmed, I want to see Volkhard." To hell with hiding his name.

"Right this way, Sir."

Steeping inside was practically a warm bath. Both from the heat and all the snow melting soaking him wet. A pair of maid servants in blue already had towels, and one of them led Byleth off, with permission. After getting half dry, Jeralt was led down the lavishly furnished corridors, up three flights of circular stairs, down another corridor containing paintings and statues and art that probably had more money put into it than some peasant villages, and finally to a door carved from Imperial oak and latched with gold.

And the Kingdom was a frugal country.

The maid servant made the introductions and Jeralt stepped inside, the maid closing the door behind him. The heat went up again, sweat now starting to drop from Jeralt's brow. Sitting in a chair next to the fireplace and flanked by full bookcases was Volkhard von Arundel in the flesh.

Hair, stark black reaching to his shoulders, impeccably maintained. Beard and goatee a perfect match. His shoulders had gotten a good deal broader since they last met. Those piercing purple eyes not even feigning surprise. He rose, thick beige robes shifting and ruby earring dangling. "My, my, I was shocked when I heard the news but it's true. Jeralt Eisner himself." In stark contrast to his appearance, his voice was as warm as the room.

"Volkhard," Jeralt said. "Interesting place to find you in."

"But not surprising, I'd wager."

He scoffed. "No."

Volkhard smiled a little. "After the drudgery that was the Empire's politics a little bluntness is refreshing, really."

Sure it is. "So, then let's get down to blunt. Why are you here?" Jeralt took a few more steps into the room.

"Certainly an important question, but one better off asked with our next guest present."

Great. Anselma? The door opened again and in came King Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd, armored neck to toe. "Is that, Jeralt Eisner? My word you look the same as you did on my graduation! Looks like living close to the goddess has helped preserve your youth."

"And it looks like you're finally grown-up enough to get a decent beard going," Jeralt replied. The man's blonde hair was exquisite. And more importantly utterly dry. "Though, my back would disagree with the whole youth thing."

Lambert chuckled. "Certainly the only way you'd ever get injured."

"You'd be surprised these days. Cassandra Charon's trying to send me to the floor."

"Spirited girl, isn't she? Has she succeeded?"

"Not yet."

"You used to say the same to me, remember? Didn't make it before graduation though."

"I'm sure Areadbhar would tip the scales these days."

"Please, if I need to use a Hero's Relic in a spar the loss is already mine."

"You never know. Maybe the years have been kinder to you than I."

"Hardly. Most of the training I get these days is only because I head out fully armored." That explained that. "Between government affairs, military affairs, civil affairs, and family affairs, I've little time for personal affairs."

"And I take it you're here for family affairs?"

"Heard, haven't you? Well, I suppose reminiscing has taken up enough time." Lambert put on a weak looking smile. "Your familiarity comes as quite a surprise considering only a handful are supposed to know." His blue eyes flickered over to Volkhard for a moment before refocusing on Jeralt.

"It would seem my gold to the church has funded quite the excellent spy ring," Volkhard said. "Rather peculiarly, they didn't send anyone more… eloquent."

"That's what I said." Jeralt put a palm on his head. Whoever leaked was likely to get a trip to the dungeon. "But what Rhea wants, Rhea gets. So, unless you want me hanging around for a few months disrupting your plans, I think we should get the details out in the open."

"Enlighten us to what you do know."

Or half of it at least. "A group of powerful and important Imperial nobles got scared the emperor was gonna take away their power, so they launched a coup. Which was a raging success. In the confusion, a border noble and his sister, who just so happened to be one of the emperor's consorts, flee to the nearby Kingdom. There, said sister just so happens to get married to the king. Some would call that mighty suspicious."

"What a fascinating story." The look he exchanged with Volkhard's steel-strong eyes gave it all away. "But, I almost feel insulted by the accusation that I couldn't find a wife on my own," Lambert said, with a surprising smile. "I fully understand your concern, my old teacher."

"As unpleasant as I find this cold of Faerghus," said Volkhard, "dealing with Aegir and his ilk turned my stomach even worse."

"And yet they didn't rescind your land rights despite that," said Jeralt.

"Replace the lord of a critical border territory right after a coup? That would invite rebellion and instability they couldn't afford. Aegir is many foul things but he's a political animal at its deadliest. If he started stripping lands and titles for petty slights he'd have open rebellion for doing the same things he rebelled against Ionius for."

That wasn't anything close to petty, but it did have some sense to it.

"Let me assure you, I've no intention of instigating a war," said Lambert.

Jeralt had to fight off a glare. "Wouldn't surprise me after Sreng."

Not a frown or furrowed brow at the accusation. "I'm sure you're well aware of how bitter the conflict with Sreng has been. I would not have pursued conquest had they not returned so many of my envoys sans their heads. I made my choice. A quick, decisive campaign rather than continuing a long, fruitless war," he said with an ease that only came from a thousand times of practice.

That kind of thinking could be debated until the goddess returned without anyone budging. So he'd just ignore that. "Church didn't do anything to stop you so I've no right to judge." Jeralt crossed his arms. "But would Aegir see it like that?"

"Let me dispel any thoughts regarding my loyalty to the Aegir's Empire. He and his cohorts would not dare make a move until his power is consolidated utterly. Even amongst their circle Vestra is still looked upon with suspicion despite betraying the emperor for Aegir. Bergliz, for all his successes during the coup, still has internal affairs of his own to deal with. Hevring, meanwhile, has little care beyond management of his ministry but frequently clashes with the others over finances, and Gerth offered only token support so that it was not harmed in the power transfer. The only member of this cabal to be concerned with is Varley. The man is little more than a rabid dog attempting to bite off as much power off as he can. Because he has little power to actually wield."

Varley… Varley… He was religious affairs, right? Not a surprise, thinking about it. The Southern Church was nothing more than a memory for most these days. "I'm surprised you're being this forthright with me." Meant he was trying to hide something. But what?

"I've no desire to spare quarter for men who have wronged my family."

"That's what people are concerned with."

"I admit," said Lambert, "the circumstances are strange. But I see little to gain in war and much more to lose."

"I dunno, if the nobles are as unsteady as Volkhard claims it wouldn't be difficult to take a big chunk of the Empire for yourself."

"Conquest for its own sake benefits nobody."

"Plenty of good farmland. It may not be Gronder, but Nuvelle's still richer than everywhere around here save Tailtean and Itha."

"And where would we get the farmers for so much land after we run off the imperials? Better to simply buy imports during shortages. Even should we have the populace, that would only lead to an enormous border with the Empire. One that benefits their army more than ours."

"Go far enough south and you can keep your flanks secure with the sea and Oghma Mountains. Force them into a narrow choke."

"And leave our backs exposed to the Imperial Navy."

"Not with Nuvelle taken out."

"Aye, but then they'll shift the eastern fleet over to compensate, and our ships would lose in an open engagement."

"That's why you get help from Brigid. They've got three wars to get revenge upon."

"Not with Brigid a Dagdan puppet," said Volkhard. "Gerth may try, but even he can't dislodge their grip. And they've no reason to believe the Kingdom after years of neglecting their plight."

"You know, your answers sure are quick for someone with no intention of war…"

Lambert chuckled. "You're not the first to suggest leveraging my new family for expansion. Nor the last, I suspect. Though certainly none were as bursque as you."

"I have my job. Just as you have yours."

"No, it's… refreshing, to be honest. Many are advocating for expansion. My brother and Baron Kleimen among them. For the greater good they say. To call it the blatant power grabbing such a move would be is... most welcome." The man had steel in his eyes as he spoke.

"You've become a good king, Lambert."

"Good enough to let a "your majesty" slide," he smirked. "Does this end your investigation?" A frown already forming.

Jeralt had to ask it anyway. "Not until I have a word with Anselma."

"She is ill at the moment. But when her health recovers I will send for you post-haste." So smooth. A practiced smooth. Not the first time he'd told that lie.

"What from?"

"This ill-blasted weather," spat Volkhard. "She cannot even leave the castle without her health failing."

The castle, huh? Anselma was healthy as healthy got. Something wasn't right here. "Well, until I hear from her personally, I'll be sticking around. Catching up with all my old students." Learning just why Brother wasn't visiting Sister.

"How unfortunate. I had hoped to accommodate somewhere more temperament soon, but it seems I should remain in Fhirdiad until your curiosity is fully sated."

"It could take many months before she recovers," said Lambert. Months to get their story straight, but he had little choice. "Surely the Captain of the Knights of Seiros has more important undertakings to pursue?"

"Stopping a war is exactly what the Captain of the Knights of Seiros should be doing. Besides, I could certainly use some relaxation myself," said Jeralt. "It's been a few years since I've gone ice fishing. And it's about time the brats at the monastery learned to live without me."

"Brats, eh?" Lambert smirked. "I'll make sure the castle guard are aware of the possibility of a visit then. Ah, and where will you be staying? Once Anselma recovers I'll need to know where to send word. There are some vacancies nearby if you've not found a place to your liking."

"Thanks for the offer, but I'll be fine where I am. Place seemed decent, dunno where it is exactly though." Jeralt shook his head. "But I'll be bothering you plenty in person, don't worry about it."

"And here I was hoping to clear my schedule before departure too," Volkhard said. "But Lambert and I have many important matters to discuss that you unfortunately interrupted." The look he was giving wasn't reassuring in the least.

But whatever it was he couldn't interfere. "Then I'll get out of your hair for now."

"I wish I could offer a cure for illness so this matter could be settled sooner," said Lambert. "But, until again. May the goddess protect you, Jeralt."

"You as well."

Jeralt left, the servant making sure to escort him away before he could get any good eavesdropping in. He had to wait in the foyer until Byleth was retrieved, and the maid who looked quite flustered when they came back. The two of them retrieved their coats, and then retrieved their weaponry and walked back towards the Inn. Still snowing all the while. No one seemed to be following them.

"Did you make any little friends?" A longshot he never gave out hope of hitting.

"They called me creepy."

Sadly not a surprise. "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"I wasn't there to stop them."

"That hasn't stopped them before."

Dammit, Rhea, what did you do? "Did you say anything back?" If there was an incident he would have been informed, but that maid looked plenty embarrassed about something.

"No. She got real annoying when the boy couldn't dance though."

"Did you show them how it was done?"

"She stopped calling me creepy after that."

Jeralt tousled his hair. "That's my boy." All those dance sessions were finally paying off. "Maybe you'll see them again." Maybe they'll stop calling him creepy too.

"You're not done?"

"No. Maybe not for a while."

"OK."

That blithe acceptance of everything. Not a blink when at lance point. No fuss when the dagger was taken. He made no noise following him in the crunching snow. Some days he was like a ghost. "Why did you follow me?"

"I wanted to see where you were going."

"And why…?"

"In case I needed to reach you."

That… was frankly more mature than Jeralt had been. "I could have been going somewhere dangerous."

"Then why am I here?"

Because the monastery might be more dangerous. "Because you're my son."

"What does that mean?"

"It means we're gonna go ice fishing, one of these days. And pick out some nice flowers for your mother."

"There was a flower shop on the way."

Jeralt smiled a bit. Flowers were one of the few things Mother and Son bonded over. Even apart, as they were. "Well then we can scout it out so we know what we want to bring when we leave."

Night had fallen and the snow outside had started to pile up. Jeralt dreaded trudging through the piling snow to report in so he'd taken to the bar and treated himself to some whisky. Long and hard, until well after everyone, including the bartender had left. Jeralt had put down enough money to buy out the entire stock if he felt like it. One of the benefits to staying with the church.

A man entered the bar room. Familiar. The monk from the church, looking a good deal more common man than holy man. He looked around before pulling up a seat next to Jeralt.

Jeralt performed a thorough look around himself before asking, "You must have some dire portent to come to me rather than wait in this weather."

"We've learned there's a third member exiled with your targets," his whisper was barely above breathing.

Besides the servants, at least. "This can't be good."

"It is Anselma's daughter with Emperor Ionius."

Great. Great, great, great. "You're positive?" The most anyone could offer on the status of the Imperial heirs after the coup was speculation they were incarcerated in Enbarr.

"Yes, it is confirmed to be Edelgard von Hresvelg herself."

Jeralt ignored his whisky and instead took a long swig from his hip flask. The harder burn keeping him nice and focused. "Now we have a problem." A fleeing consort was one thing. But an actual heir to the throne? One political marriage and the Kingdom could march right in under the banner of "freedom" and extort whatever they wanted from their own puppet emperor.

No wonder his questions had been answered so promptly. Yet a lingering doubt still furrowed his brow.

AN: Originally this would have had Patricia but it was getting too long in the tooth so I split it.

Thanks for the Reviews, Favorites and Follows.

October 13th, 2021 Update: Fixed all the Patricias, some capitalization and grammar errors. Also changed some of the lines to account for CS's information that Volkhard and Anselma weren't aware of one another without changing the gist of things overall. Thankfully I was vague enough when I wrote it I can get away with that.