Lone Moon, Imperial Year 1175
Stone and fire and arrow and smoke engulfed the sky and pushed aside any cloud. Thunder of combat, of lightning, of death.
The siege on the outer walls was led by teams of fortress knights. Massive, towering infantry clad in armor thick as a house wall, with shields as large as they and twice as thick as their armor. Arrows bounced futilely off the protection they clad in but the defenders had little choice as the heavy infantry were pushing a ram. Attempts to set it ablaze failed, treated in hide and soaked in water not a wisp of flame caught. The lack of magic within the invading armies would prove their downfall.
At the gates desperate shots of ballista and stone were sent at the ram but it rebuffed it as surely as the knights did. The reinforced tree trunk was pulled back, and slammed with a force great enough to be heard even over the sounds of all other combat. The fortress knights added their own damage to the mighty iron gates barring their path. Hammers and axes tore at the barrier with great ferocity.
The gates broke and then came the second wave. Assault infantry, ax fighters and warriors with their deadly edge and tough armor. Alois among them. Orders were orders. The warriors charged into the breach where the fortress knights fought their pitched battle against waves of Dagdan infantry in thick armor all their own. The archers atop the wall set their sights on stopping the reinforcements but as they did lighter infantry, guarded by small shields began their advance on their walls.
As Alois reached the gate and vanished from Jeralt's sight into that carnage… so did Glenn and Cassandra go up the walls. The defenders above tried to cut and dislodge the grapples. Some succeeded, most failed. The missile cover coming from the Imperial army was too thick by then. Soon they left his sight as well. But so did the Dagdans and Brigid get pushed aside. Ladders followed and cheers of victory rang loud.
It was midday when Jeralt was finally called in. All the cavalry units sent inside the cleared gate square. A tight fit at first, the bodies so thick they needed to be pushed to the sides. Alois lived. Head awash in red but the nod he gave all the sign he was fine. On the open roads and stable cobbles the horses of the Imperial army did their bloody work.
The defenders had spent most of their force distribution trying to hold the walls. The groups inside were few and isolated, easy prey for the superior mobility of the horses. They ran down hundreds of Dagdans with significant ease and broke into the inner layers of the city. So many of the buildings inside damaged from battle new and old. Far in the distance, with smoke dominating the bay, were the Dagdan ships ablaze. Byleth was there. Winning. Jeralt would do the same.
The cavalry divided and took key crossroads within the city. Enemy forces were driving into them, or forced down longer paths. Few bothered to surrender now. The battle wore on as the city and ships and people burned. Slowly the sun began its descent. Soon the fires engulfing the city provided more light than it.
Exhaustion wore at them worse than any Dagdan blade and soon the invaders from the sea began to surrender in droves. Jeralt put them with a guard detail and continued through the streets.
Down one street Count Bergliez marched, the banner of his house carried behind him. A hundred-odd troops among the best the Empire had. Bloodied and beaten even in victory of their own.
"Good work, Jeralt," Bergliez said. "The final push is underway. Clear the path to the port."
With a firm acknowledgement the cavalry turned about and charged towards the open sea. Only a handful of troops bothered to stall them. This wouldn't last until night.
Along the way they came across some sort of public park. Trees and bushes and a little pond for days without war. In the distance a few Dagdan ships still held in the docks but the fleet at sea was sinking beneath the waves. The many wings of pegasus and wyvern dominating the horizon as much as smoke. Byleth was there, somewhere, victorious as ever.
Bergliez and his troop followed in, regrouping their forces in the center of the area. Then from the trees dropped Brigid soldiers. A fair number, seventy maybe. Not enough to win, but enough to kill. Assassinate the count and throw the battle into disarray.
Then why didn't they ambush? Instead they stood with their bows notched as one among their number strode forward. A familiar someone, even after all this time. The High One. The Prince of Brigid.
"Empire man," he spoke with a thick accent on all the wrong syllables. "You and me: fight." His swords pointed at the count. "I win: Brigid free. You win: Brigid fight no more."
"What… proof, you are a man of your word?"
"My word is king's word." he pulled down his hood. The dark purple braids of his hair falling out. "Mark of rule." He touched his cheek, where a circle with points was tattooed. The rest of the Brigid lowered their hoods. Others had tattoos of their own, but none with the same distinct mark.
"So you're the 'High One', eh?" Bergliez grinned at the threat. "Why should I accept this, rather than run you through?"
"You: man of word. Good to Brigid you hold."
"The prisoners, I take it?" The High One nodded. "Well…" Bergliez raised his fists and raised his smile to a full-blown eagerness. "I was hoping for a proper fight before this was over!"
This was incredibly stupid and Jeralt wasn't stupid enough to talk someone who looked like a little kid out of it. But for the sake of curbing some of the stupid, Jeralt said to the count, "I winged his right shoulder pretty bad in an earlier engagement. Maybe it's healed. Maybe it hasn't."
"Think I need the help, do you?"
"No. But take whatever advantage you can get anyway."
Bergliez smirked and strode forward. In response so did the Brigid prince. The twin swords of silver matched by the two silver gauntlets of the count. In reserve the count had a pair of sharp hand axes, a wonderful little surprise. While the prince held behind a short bow and a quiver of five arrows.
Bergliez exploded with a war cry that deafened the whole of combat and ran outward with a burst of speed that could match a horse for the briefest of moments. His fists flung fast and precise and the Brigid prince had no choice but to give ground. His propes with blades blocked expertly by the count. Bergliez went in low with an uppercut and broke through both blade's defense and landed a swift blow to the chest.
The prince rolled back and bounded on his feet to give momentum to a forward swing. Bergliez blocked with his gauntlets but the scrap let the second blade swing in and land a hit to the side. The armor took the hit, but a rent was formed.
Bergliez stepped in and hammered in both fists from the side. The prince again blocking with both blades but the impact knocking him back. His right lagging behind. He attempted to bounce back, but it was countered by the count running in with a quick jab to the face. The prince fell down—kicked at Bergliez's leg. It didn't drop him but he had to shuffle about, letting the Brigid raise back up.
"You're not bad."
"Empire man: you strong."
Both of them were smiling now. Friends across the battlefield. He'd heard worse tales.
The two continued their furious exchange of blows. Neither relenting, or making progress for a solid minute. Bergliez's thicker armor was fatiguing him faster in light of the extreme combat he'd already done. The Brigid prince slowly wearing him out until the count's defense on the left faltered. The prince propped with a number of attacks and Bergliez's defense eroded—gone entirely. A swift strike at the joints rendered Bergliez unable to raise his left arm and one alone couldn't fend off attacks from both blades. He was pushed back, wounds on every part of his body but his spirit never faltered and his guard held.
The Brigid prince drove his left-hand blade forward and locked with the right gauntlet. His left came low and stabbed into the rut he'd made in the early part of their duel. The sword went in deep and ran red down its length. He grinned like he was a hunter finishing off his prey.
But Bergliez grinned too. The deception complete, he lashed out with his left fist into the right shoulder of the Brigid. Forced back, both swords slipped from his grip. One still in the count's gut as he advanced and unleashed a full swing. The prince barely rose a guard but the mighty fists of the count hammered past and struck hard against the face. The Brigid prince spun backwards, and fell.
Bergliez removed the sword and struck it in the ground while the prince forced himself up. Their bodies swayed and shook from all their injuries. For all the difference in wounds they'd received it looked near even. Bergliez's strike was as huge as damaging to the prince as the blade to the count's gut was. The next exchange would decide it.
Bergliez slammed his fists together. Some of the damage he'd taken fading away from his healing focus. Not something to rely on in a war, but endlessly useful for a duel like this. The Brigid prince had to attack or lose on sheer vigor.
He bolted forward, low and fast. Bergliez readied his arms like pillars, leaving his middle open to a jab the prince could not throw. Just as the prince wanted. Five steps out he threw an arrow and Bergliez was forced to protect his head. The prince slide in, retrieved his lost sword and stabbed at Bergliez's weak spot!
But it was too slow. A wince of pain flashed across the Brigid's face. The wound to his shoulder slowed the swing and Bergliez caught him. He twisted the sword aside, locked fists across both and the two men slammed their heads together. Bloody grins at the sight.
The prince lost ground on his right side, Bergliez overpowering him despite the stab to the count's side. He pushed the Brigid prince to the ground and brought an ax to his neck. "Surrender."
He shook his head so slightly it drew blood. "Brigid pride. Prey does not survive hunter. Empire man: keep promise."
Bergliez leaned down, low and quiet. Whatever he said sent shock and wide eyes across the prince. In his tongue he shouted and all the soldiers of his country laid down their arms. "I surrender."
"Good." Bergliez had too sinister a smirk to have said anything positive to him. "Good."
Cleanup didn't take much longer after that. The Brigid forces all surrendering in good order once their prince was prisoner. The Dagdans were a harder fought, but the eventual bleak hopelessness of their cause set in once the last of their ships were aflame. The commanders tried to keep them fighting but their threats could only do so much.
The sun was setting when the last vestiges surrendered. Everything still bright with the city ablaze. Firefighting efforts continued late into the night. Even the prisoners press ganged into providing aid.
Jeralt exhausted to near collapse after an entire straight day's worth of combat but he kept on working until every member of the Broken Blade was accounted for. Byleth had made it without a single scratch, the aerial wing he'd accompanied practically praying to him in light of his impromptu leadership. Glenn had gone up the walls, learning firsthand the brutality of key point fighting. He was wracked and wounded but the exhaustion had a smile on his lips all the same. Christophe had led another of the cavalry detachments inside the city to great success. At one point he'd even saved a townhouse full of residents from the Dagdans taking them hostage. Cassandra had come out as wounded as she always got and as cheery as ever. She'd fought all over without an idea of specifics. Alois had been part of the group breaking down the defenses on the other side of the gate. He'd made one hell of an impression chopping through his enemies and there were plenty of singing his praises and groaning at puns.
Reo, Seth and Sain were found with stories their own. Imperials like Joshua and Natasha thankful for the help of their countrymen. But for the first time in a while there were dead among the Blade. He never forgot it was a possibility, but any commander wanted to come out with none. Ten more now joined the funeral detail. Able, Marty, Ronin. If the Imperials left there'd only be thirteen or so returning to Garreg Mach. Ten, once Cassandra, Christophe and Glenn left. There'd been worse loses in history. Didn't mean it didn't sting after all the years.
He poured a bottle out for the fallen as the flames raged onwards.
Lone Moon, Imperial Year 1175
It felt like the longest Lone Moon of his life. Like all the fighting and celebration in the entire war only lasted these thirty days.
The celebration lasted the last days of the year as the victorious Imperial army reclaimed the land it had lost. Soldiers whooping with victory, conquered people running through the streets . The incredible number of prisoners captured by the offensive were moved outside and rounded up in the tents that once housed the very army that captured them. The soldiers assigned to guard duty were less happy, until they got a pay increase.
Eventually after a week Jeralt was called up to Count Bergliez. He'd set up his new billet in the manor of House Nuvelle but still looked like he'd just dragged himself across the battlefield. There came a simple order: "You're going to Enbarr."
—-
The Imperial Capital was just as impressive as he once remembered it. The ancient buildings of the Empire imposing and large. The new replacements molded with the same care and blue-white stonework. The banner of the nation hung from every other building as even after two weeks the celebration saw no end. A massive parade for the conquering heroes that Jeralt and the Broken Blade had no part with. Even the prisoners from Dagda and Brigid were "part" of the festivities as Count Bergliez had them march. The chief prize being the Prince of Brigid. Clad in as much dignity as they let him.
While not part of the victory march, the chests full of pay certainly lent themselves well to spending and the Broken Blade enjoyed themselves with a ferocity that paled the celebration in Nuvelle.
Jeralt received a new message from Count Bergliez during a round of drinking and it made him slap himself sober. He was to stand before the emperor.
A thousand reasons ran why but none rose above the crowd. This was gonna be difficult, and even worse was Byleth's invitation at well. But he could not refuse an invitation of royalty. Even shadowed by another's hand.
He had to buy Byleth a new coat despite his early statement. He couldn't let his son go in unprepared. This meant new dress clothes for himself too, even if he felt like a fool. It exhausted enough gold to pay for a month's supplies but they had new clothes, trimmed in gold and deep red with a luxurious black base. Alike the Academy uniforms in some ways.
They weren't the only ones who had to get cleaned. When they met with Count Bergliez in the Imperial Palace the wild soldier had been completely changed. His beard was shaved completely, his hair cut to a fine shortage that did not even reach his ears. The dress jacket long in its tail, dark red in color and trimmed with gold. Black plants and boots so dark they'd never seen a scuff of dirt. All the burseque nature turned into dreadful noble etiquette.
"So," said Jeralt, "what's this all about? The message was pretty vague."
Bergliez grinned a tad. "That little shoulder trick of yours was why I was able to take the prince alive. With him Gerth's wringing Brigid dry. So we're here to thank you."
Not something he wanted to be thanked for. "I don't see why it deserves a royal audience."
That cheer on the count's face faded fast. "Neither do I. Duke Aegir set the meeting. I don't know why, but be careful. There's always a plan behind his lips." With that warning he walked down the halls of the Imperial Palace.
It was Byleth who broke the odd silence. "Should we do this?" Byleth asked.
It was the closest they'd gotten to Volkhard. Damn straight they were doing this. "Be on your best behaviour."
They were announced and escorted into the throne room of the Empire. The carpet rich in red leading its way up the steps to where the emperor sat on his plain throne. Every arm's length aside the carpet was elite Imperial Guard, each one armed and ready to dispatch any who threatened their liege. Save his usurpers.
Bergliez and Hevring were in the audience of nobles beyond them. Each within their own cliques of soldiers and officials. Other men in similar fancy dress presiding along. Vestra, Gerth and Varley in assumption. And standing by the side of the throne was a bulging man who could only be the prime minister. Six of those responsible for taking the emperor's power. The seventh, the very one he came for, absent. Where was Volkhard?
Jeralt and Byleth knelt at the stairs that led to the throne, to the emperor. The mighty emperor of the strongest nation in Fódlan. Standing tall over a war won in a year. A man who looked more corpse than living being.
Emperor Ionious von Hresvelg IX looked down with tired grey eyes. His skin was near grey from some condition, his hair and beard still well-groomed despite the domination of white, but thinning enough to see skin beneath. Every breath seemed to labor him, even from a distance. "Rise, Sir Jeralt." His voice hoarse as if he'd never gone a day without coughing. "I would commend your bravery on the field of battle personally."
"You do me great honor, Your Majesty."
Against all his pain the man smiled. "I remember well our time at the Officers Academy. Those memories a welcome refuge from these days of now."
"Your Majesty," the bulbous man next to him spoke up. His voice was high-pitched yet whiny and weasley. How this man overthrew Ionious he'd never know. "It would be best for your health if you rewarded these… men," he barely restrained his disgust, "as soon as possible."
A personal reward from the emperor?
"Indeed," though his face contorted nothing like he agreed. "Count Bergliez has informed me that your actions were commendable in the safeguarding of our dear nation. For that, a reward of 50,000 gold has been prepared. To be shared at your discretion."
That was less than his salary if he stayed at the monastery. Nothing compared to the money the Broken Blade had lost in total. "I am honored, Your Majesty."
"Go. And live well." The emperor was rocked with a restrained cough beyond his words.
Jeralt and Byleth bowed and moved to leave.
"Jeralt." All eyes turned to the emperor who spoke beyond his strings. Duke Aegir's beady little eyes flaring with a threat. "Take care of your son."
"I will, Your Majesty."
And they left. The message clear, but impossible to carry out. He thought too highly of him. Everyone did.
And no Volkhard meant no truth. Dammit, it was a long shot, but it was all he had.
"Why are you mad?" Byleth asked.
"I… I was hoping for more." It would have been stupid for Volkhard to show his face. Stupid to try and provoke the situation like he did with Lambert and Patricia. But maybe he should have done more. Between him and Byleth there was a shot of coming out on top.
"More what?"
Jeralt looked around for spies or eavesdroppers. None that he could tell. He leaned in and whispered, "I wanted to find out who stabbed you in Fhirdiad."
The question brought no change to Byleth's face. "They're here?"
"Maybe." He looked around at the halls. "Or maybe I'm just thinking too hard."
"Then we should find out." Not emotional, but interested. That was good, at least.
"I'd love to but…" then what? Make an enemy of the whole Empire? Bring the Kingdom to war? How many thousands would die for his son? What was he doing here in the first place, pursuing this? Would he have charged into Brigid or Dagda had they done harm to him? "We should just go back. Back to Garreg Mach." Away from it all. The answer could rot.
"Why are you scared?"
For you. "I don't want you to become like Ionious. A prisoner in his own palace. Having his family used as hostages to ensure his cooperation." Bitterness at the ugliness of it all exited his mouth without restraint or care.
"Then let's rescue them." What an utterly ridiculous idea. Lucky no one overheard him.
"Want to save a pretty, pretty princess for yourself?" Heh. "Never lose your heart, kid." Even if it didn't beat.
"My, my, is that not Jeralt I see before me?"
Every sense of dread and reflection fell as Jeralt turned to see Volkhard von Arundel standing before him. "I was wondering where you were."
"What can I say?" Volkhard hobbled forward using a cane to balance a sluggish left leg. "These days all the stairs make it hard to be on time for ceremony."
Three more years hadn't done much to change the man's looks beyond that cane and leg. His hair raven-black and smoothed long. His goatee cut sharp. His clothes a bright red with beige patches around it but expertly tailored and adorned with rubies around his collar.
"My apologies," he faked it, "I wasn't aware of your loss."
"Hardly worth a comment." He stopped arms length in front of them. "With how many we just lost in this war, this is below consideration."
"So, you did fight on the front?"
"Alas, no, this injury is many years old now."
That was peculiar. He'd been fine when Jeralt left and there'd been no interception on his way back to the Empire. Did someone here, do it? Ensure he never ran from the Empire again? "I'm surprised to see you, considering the last conversation we had."
Volkhard's brow went flat. "Yes. That. It is regrettable, but in light of such baseless accusations I had to do what was best for my niece and me."
Her being locked up here certainly wasn't for her best. "Her being locked up here certainly wasn't for her best." What the hell did he just say?
His nostrils flared, eyes went narrow and cheeks burned red. If he hadn't been infirm he was certain Volkhard would have slapped him. "After your odious failure protecting my sister you've no room to talk."
This was the exact sort of diplomatic disaster he wanted to prevent in the throne room and here he was running into it head first. "You weren't with her either."
"I am not like Lambert, dragging a child into a warzone."
Son of a bitch knew exactly what was going to happen, didn't he?
"What?" Byleth's sudden outburst drew attention… to him actually looking confused.
"Does something ail you young man?"
Yes. "It's been a long war without a lot of food. I'd better get him back to his room before he does anything unseemly."
"Oh? Really Jeralt, bringing children on the battlefield now? Very well. I do hope we get to chat further in the future, Jeralt. There is much to discuss." Volkhard circled around them and left towards the throne room.
"You all right kid?"
"Yes." But he was gripping his head like it'd been smashed with a hammer. And his face… His brows were narrowed, his eyes half-closed and his cheeks raised.
He was angry.
He was actually angry.
"Do you… remember?"
"Remember what?"
No. But his body did. "That he may be the man who stabbed you."
"No, I don't remember."
Kid didn't lie. "Come on, let's get you back to your room."
That brief stint of anger faded away before they left the palace. But that level of emotion pushed even further that Volkhard was behind the stabbing. Why he did it was another story.
But what could he do about it, in the heart of the Empire? That kind of thing was for the church's shadow divisions. Would Rhea care enough to assassinate a regent because he harmed Byleth?
No, it was a stupid thought. This whole thing had been stupid. But they needed to do it. If ever there was a way to get at Volkhard at least they knew.
Back at the big stone inn Alois was waiting for them. "Good news, Captain," the man said. "Lady Rhea's arrived in Enbarr."
That was quick. "Is she meeting with the emperor?" There wasn't nearly enough security on the streets for a public visit.
"No, she's actually taken a relief corps to the injured."
People over politics. She deserved pure praise for that. "Is there that many injured in the Imperial army over here, though?" Most of them should have remained at Nuvelle or whatever base they were in in western Adrestia.
"That's the thing, she's actually tending to the prisoners from Brigid and Dagda."
Smart. The Empire might not want to waste resources on tending to commoner prisoners but letting Rhea do it was nothing but a benefit to them.
"Let's go," said Byleth.
"Easy now, you just recovered."
"Err, recovered?" Alois was half-confused.
"Imperial politics are a nasty business."
"I've trained for situations like these. I can help Rhea with the wounded."
Well, it was the best situation to meet with her and come up with something subtle. "All right. But if you start feeling light-headed again I want you to stop."
"Right."
"Alois, get the rest of the Broken Blade to join us."
"Right away, Captain."
A few minutes later and they were heading out of the city to the enormous prison camps dug out on the outside of the city. Far out of the way of trade routes, but still enough to be a giant eyesore while looking out from the walls.
Getting there was easy. Getting in proved slightly more difficult The whole perimeter was guards and dirt walls with a few spikes and ditches. Something easy to break out of if they tried anything, so a band of heavily armed mercenaries showing up and looking for access was something to pause about.
Until Professor Manuela came out and insisted they were with the church. That changed the guard's position right quick.
"Thanks, Manuela," he said as they walked inside the environs. "I didn't expect you to be here."
"Of course," she said. "Even if I've left it behind I've still plenty of friends in the Empire. I just wanted to make sure my talents were used the best they can."
"Can't be easy helping the people who ransacked your country."
"No. But the war's over. We're all just people now. Whether it's from the Empire or not."
"You're a good woman, Manuela."
"Good enough for a date?"
There was classic Manuela back. "Sorry, still spoken for."
"Really, Jeralt. Getting a woman's hopes up like that. I hope you weren't such a tease with your wife."
"Heh, maybe." He'd spent more years beyond her than with now. Everything he'd committed to memory would fog over one day. Just like his parents.
Manuela led them passed all of the prisoners. Too many, really. The Empire would have trouble feeding this many people. Why had they been dragged halfway across Fódlan to here? Didn't make much sense to him.
Either way, they reached a wooden bunkhouse. The Crest of Seiros on a banner above it. Inside was filled with shouts and screams and blood as all sorts of medical personnel attempted to help the injured prisoners. Lady Rhea among the caregivers. Her hands touched with healing as she went from one patient to the other without rest. As much as the tenants derided other countries, she still wasn't willing to leave people in need like this if she could help it.
Jeralt couldn't help with the injuries beyond some bandaging he'd learned over the lifetime. Byleth and a few others could though and went to making sure Lady Rhea didn't exhaust herself taking care of everyone. The rest of the Broken Blade contributed by helping make sure violent prisoners were made less violent and bringing in medical supplies or escorting new injured prisoners in.
It was exhausting work and even by the time dusk settled in they hadn't helped half the camp. And a good chunk ended up dead anyway. It wasn't a disaster yet but so many wounded and dying and dead in one place like this could invite disease that could reach the city. Even if the Empire had no desire to save these men they could at least care about themselves.
But that was the work for people with authority. Which didn't include him at the moment.
When everyone was pushed past their limits Jeralt insisted on a return to the city. The Broken Blade escorted the church detachment back to the city itself. Then he got as much rest and relaxation could be afforded before Lady Rhea summoned him.
It was a lavish room, filled with too much furniture, too large a bed and too huge a fireplace. "I am glad to see you well, Jeralt."
"Please forgive my impudence in leaving the Knights of Seiros, Your Grace."
"That is quite all right in light of your valiance upon the field of battle." Song and dance as expected. "How fares your son?"
"He is well. His skill in battle may even surpass my own, at this point."
She shared with him a wide smile. "That is a relief to hear. And the others?" Jeralt and Rhea exchanged a conversation of the state of the war, and their participation in it. "Though my heart grieves for all whom we have lost, I welcome the end of this conflict and those who have endured its hardships."
"We'll be glad to return to the flock." Much as the freedom agreed with him. It would be nice to have some stability for a year or two again.
"The preparations will begin in earnest. Now," her facade dropped, "has your other purpose been fulfilled?"
"I think so," he answered. "I can't be absolutely certain, but I strongly believe that the Empire's Lord Arundel is responsible for the attack on my son." But Lambert and Duscur? Difficult to say. The way he snapped about Duscur. About his sister. That wound was still raw, even after these years. If he knew about it in advance like the timing suggested, things hadn't gone as he expected. "Duscur is unclear, but my suspicions are still on him as a perpetrating party." He'd escaped from the Empire and bartered his sister royalty within months. Killing her, and practicing that anger would entirely be within his skillset.
"That is a troubling truth. What led you to this conclusion?"
"A small confrontation, directly before our reunion. Byleth acted strangely around the man."
"How strange?" she reacted quickly.
"Like he was remembering the trauma, but not the source."
"Oh." Whatever eagerness she wanted faded away. "I prayed for more, even if your judgment is trusted."
That left one question. "What are we going to do about it?"
"There is little we can do."
The answer he didn't want to hear. "I don't want him to get away with this."
"If you reveal his culpability, it will only lead to another war."
"I know." A frustrated sigh escaped him. "But he has to be planning something. The Empire didn't take advantage of Lambert's death like they should have if they were responsible for it. If we don't stop him, or his cohorts, there may be a bigger war coming entirely."
"Your frustrations resonate. Should his guilt be beyond doubt the church would pass punishment regardless but without it…"
Maybe there was some document detailing all his plans in full sitting and waiting somewhere in the palace. Or that was just wishful thinking.
"I'll see what I can do. Unofficially, of course."
It was about the best it was gonna get. No matter what her intent for Byleth, she truly cared for his well being. "Thank you, Lady Rhea."
"Thank you, for always being by my side, Jeralt."
How easily that could not have been.
Great Tree Moon, Imperial Year 1176
It took a few weeks to settle their affairs in Enbarr. Unofficially reintegrating the Broken Blade with the church and spreading the news to the remaining members. To his surprise, everyone wanted to stay on board. Official or not, they'd gotten through the war together. Unlike so many others.
Still had to make sure Glenn, Christophe and Cassandra were removed though, despite the latter's protests. A few commoners and minor noblemen were fine. Heirs to some of the most prestigious houses in Faerghus were a bit out of affair.
There was some other rumors spreading out regarding the negotiations with Brigid and Dagda. Brigid capitulated instantly, even before Lone Moon was over. Having their crown prince under thumb sure expedited that. Dagda on the other hand, completely shut off all communication. They were leaving tens of thousands of their own people to rot and die in a foreign land. Pretty scummy.
What to do with them was a fierce debate that didn't really matter to Jeralt, even as Lady Rhea continued to take care of the injured. Some of them even started to get fervently devoted to her. Siding with her over their own people when fights erupted. That was her greatest strength, in the end. How easily she got people to believe in her. Like him, once upon that time.
Before they headed back he checked in with his people, old and new and borrowed. Glenn and Cassandra meeting over the edge of some canal, already in a heavy debate.
"—if they invade we can't count on the weather to stop them," said Glenn when Jeralt came within earshot.
"The weather stops us cold as much as them. Or did, anyway," Cassandra replied. "Maybe we can use what we saw here."
"Our snows aren't as kind as theirs."
"Just means it will stop them and—hey, Jeralt! Never figured you for a sneak."
"Well, I wanted to find the right time to interrupt," he said back. "Thinking of your chances if the countries go to war?"
"Fighting's what we're best at," said Cassandra with a grin and an attitude that cared nothing if anyone overheard. "Won't stop now."
"Faerghus has always partially relied on the idea of the winter stopping any Imperial advance, like it affected the War of the Eagle and Lion. But Count Bergliez's tactics have shown otherwise," said Glenn. "They've been preparing for this."
"We'll just have to make up for it ourselves," said Cassandra.
But Glenn was looking mighty grim at it all. "I'd rather avoid another continental war."
"Your loss."
"Indeed." His smile indicated otherwise.
Looks like he got some good lessons out of this. "Here's hoping someone like you can keep the warmongers in check."
Glenn forced a chuckle at the thought. "It'll be difficult enough convincing my father this was for the benefit of Faerghus. Honestly, I'm surprised he didn't make attempts south to retrieve me. Still, vile as the circumstances have been, if good comes from it, so be it."
"Now you're talking," said Cassandra. "And speaking of good, you should be getting Aegis Shield once you get back? Perfect time to test out which Relic is better."
"You're incorrigible."
Jeralt cleared things with a few other members of the Broken Blade before finding Christophe and Alois together in a nearby restaurant. They were already well and done but they invited him to dine anyway.
"Something the matter, Captain?" Alois asked before food even arrived.
"Nah, just checking up on everyone before we head back to Garreg Mach."
Alois nodded like he'd said some wise thing. "That's the captain for you. Always caring about the men."
"Something to aspire too," said Christophe. "I think I'd like to take time as an official knight of Seiros, sometime in the future."
"Ha! What a wonderful idea! I've always wanted a squire of myself!"
"Errr…
"I'll show you the finest ax-work in the knights. Show you how to get up close and hit hard with your fists. The enemy will never know what hit them."
"Well…"
"And then we'll get you some real armor. You'll be a 'great' knight before you know it."
Christophe just stared at him. "Yes. Sometime in the future. A long, long time in the future."
"I'm looking forward to it!"
Alois laughed. And Jeralt laughed. And the food came and it was laudable.
Byleth he found last, more because he was in the last place Jeralt expected with the last person he did.
He and Manuela were taking a tour of the city and it was only by chance Jeralt found them in front of some big building.
"Oh, Jeralt, interrupting your son on my wonderful tour," her tone at odds with her words. "Really, you have to let your son leave the nest sometime."
"I didn't even know you were with him."
"Oh, so you'd be fine with knowing I was with him?" A hungry smile developed across her lips.
"I do trust you, Manuela."
"Good to know I still have a chance." She winked at him. "But really, I was just showing your son around my old home town. In case he ever wanted to take a girl for a tour himself."
"If that ever happened he'd have my blessing." But as Byleth stood there dead-eyed it seemed impossible.
"You say that now... But… well, maybe you would be fine with it," she said, looking back at the building behind her. "The Mittelfrank Opera House. It's still magnificent, even after all these years."
Mittelfrank? "Isn't this where you used to sing?"
Manuela giggled. "You do care. Yes, I was the diva who took the opera world by storm! And within my protégé still sings as divine as ever."
"Pleasant meeting, I hope?"
"She's a brilliant girl. Maybe you'll see her on stage on day. They'll be preparing an end-of-war celebration soon. I could get us tickets…"
"Thanks, but we're all gonna be heading back to Garreg Mach soon enough."
"Ah, a shame. But the offer will still be there."
"Thank you, Manuela."
Byleth didn't seem much interested in conversation anyway so he left the two alone and headed back.
A few days later the majority of the church's personnel in Enbarr packed up and headed back home to Garreg Mach. Their numbers higher than when they arrived. Their spirits hardened and forged anew.
And the dark truth of what happened in Fhirdiad ever closer to the light.
AN: Butterfly wings, my friends.