Horsebow Moon, Imperial Year 1178
Jeralt had to insist on staying a few days extra days to make sure the people of Sauin were nice and settled in. The Broken Blade were used to providing aid like this by now, but a few of the other knights were slightly hesitant. Shamir didn't have much interest in ensuring everyone's homes were patched but. Though Gilbert did. Man had quite the skill in woodwork it seemed.
"Going around playing carpenter isn't exactly in the knights skillset, now is it?" Shamir came up to him at the end of the week. "We're wasting too much time here."
"We'll just cut our visit with Count Gloucester short." Which would be welcome after dealing with his son. "Besides, it's in the tenants somewhere to help out your fellow man."
"Most of what I've seen is retribution and punishment."
"Eh, don't abuse your power is in there somewhere."
"For being the captain you're not that learned in the church's teachings."
"Didn't we just have this conversation?"
"Something close to it." Shamir glanced down the street. "That Leonie girl seems more faithful than you are and she's been stuck here her whole life."
"Belief in the goddess is sometimes the only thing commoners have. More than faith in the nobility at any rate."
Shamir had a slight smirk as a response. "You think that noble brat wouldn't have sufficed for a few bandits."
Jeralt just shrugged. "No use thinking about what didn't happen." He'd smacked himself with guilt over not leaving plenty enough. "How'd you learn she's so faithful, anyway?" Shamir wasn't exactly the most social.
"She wanted me to show her some shooting techniques, thanked the goddess under her breath every time she hit. She's actually pretty good. Not a surprise considering she's a hunter's daughter. I'm surprised she hasn't come up to ask you."
"She has. She wanted some lance tips too. Think I'd thrown in a few horse-riding lessons too."
"Teaching a commoner-girl a noble's thing, eh? You really aren't typical. Guess I shouldn't be surprised that's how your son turned out."
What's that supposed to me? "That sounded insulting."
"It wasn't, trust me." Her smile was too genuine to be a lie. But something about it still sat off. "I've got business elsewhere. It's been interesting chatting with you, Jeralt."
"You too, Shamir."
Jeralt finished his haul and headed over to the old animal pens the Broken Blade were using as stables for their mounts. The overgrown grass had been pulled up free and the ramshackle outbuildings had gotten new boards, doors and stalls. It was also where leonie, and Byleth too, were waiting.
They were already engaged in some conversation. Leonie had her back to him, while Byleth gave no indication he saw his father arriving.
"So, if you could give me a few pointers on how to ask him I'd be really grateful," said Leonie.
"He won't say no if you ask outright," answered Byleth.
Sounded like this was about him. "After all you guys have done for us, I don't want to seem ungrateful by asking for more."
"He likes drinking."
"I got that after seeing themarks in the town hall." They wanted to see the ax trick. "But ugh, I can't get my hands on alcohol. Or anything fancy like weapons or armor or books. Oh, does he like any cuts of meat? I'm a pretty good cook."
"We don't usually eat together." Byleth looked past her. "Is there anything you like."
"Oh no."
Leonie turned around with all the red-faced embarrassment of a kid having a parent overhear talks about a secret birthday present. "Ha-ha, that was just… a joke."
"Rule one of any lessons I give. Be aware of your surroundings." He gave her a smile. "Rule two: I like beast meat teppanyaki."
"Me too!" That embarrassment forced away by common ground. "Noa fruit's so expensive though."
"We have a few in our bags. I'll loan it to you."
"I can't keep taking things from you."
"Really you're just giving it back."
"Still doesn't feel like I'm paying my fair share."
Jerlat shook his head. "You can worry about paying your fair share when you have a fair share."
"Wish I was that optimistic about my future."
"Hey, you stood up to your territorial lord's son in a way most commoners would faint from. You keep up that level of determination and I could see you at the Officers Academy in two or so years."
Leonie sighed with a bitter laugh. "Even with all that tax money coming back we wouldn't be able to afford something like that. Unless the whole village pitched in or something and I can't ask them about that."
Jeralt had the clout to give her a referral if she really wanted it. But that would just mark her as a target of favoritism. That hurt Byleth enough. Someone even worse off would be hurt even worse. "Well, we'll be waiting if you ever do make it."
"Don't think I'll ever get that lucky."
"Lucky enough for us to come by."
She suddenly had a look as if she was seeing for the first time. "You know, you're right. The goddess sent you to help us, so maybe one day she'll help me again."
"That's the spirit. Now, I think you were planning on asking me something?"
Over the next few days Jeralt helped the girl along with some rudimentary training. She had a good handle on lances, a killer aim with the bow and took to a horse real well. Even a few little basics on magic she grasped. She was a natural at anything she tried. A lot better than most nobles he'd met over his life.
She was even as good a cook as she said. Sure, she had Byleth helping her in the kitchen, but his tongue could tell his son's cooking apart from anyone else's these days. What she delivered was certainly her own blend of spices, and tasty all the same.
She looked pretty happy when he gave her praise for it.
Another week and the village was looking much better. Even as their timetable looked much worse. It was finally time to leave. The Broken Blade gathered up. Plenty of waves, plenty of good-byes and plenty of tears. And not all of the last from the villagers.
Wyvern Moon, Imperial Year 1178
None the rest of their trip was remotely as eventful as the time spent in Sauin village. A few rough encounters along the way but nothing beyond a few bruises. Even the time spent with Count Gloucester wasn't difficult. Mostly because the man refused to see him, citing illness and other, more pressing government concerns. Not like Jeralt wanted to deal with him anyway so he let it slide and they continued east. Because of that, they made good time to Fódlan's Locket, the Alliance army in charge of defense welcoming them with open arms.
Fódlan's Locket was a fortress far beyond what its delicate name indicated. The walls were thick, with enough arrow slits that every single knight of Seiros with them could have manned a bow and still not filled them all. The ramparts were roofed and wide. The ballistas were huge enough to kill a wyvern in a single shot and covered half the field afar. Three drawbridges connected the mighty fortress to the land on the east over deep chasms. The greenery on the opposite shore had signs of being cleared away, scorched in some spots, but the endurance of nature always won out.
Was it brave of the Almyrans to fight against a fortress this strong? or foolish? The few he'd met over his life hadn't been any sort of monstrous scourge this fortress was designed to defend against. But they weren't here for musing on the nature of diplomacy. They were here for an inspection. Had to make sure the church's finances were going to a good cause, after all. Even if the majority of the fortress's maintenance was maintained by the Alliance the other nations were pact-bound to help provide financial aid.
All in all, it seemed on the level. The barracks was large and well-furnished. The armory was filled with top quality armaments. The blacksmiths were cooperating and forging new equipment all the time. The local farmers were providing their fair share of crops and then some. The men and women of local settlements receiving militia training in case any Almyran raiding party somehow snuck around the Locket entirely.
He'd rarely seen a place so finely honed and beyond reproach.
"They're hiding something," Shamir said to him at one point. "Anyplace this clean has the dirtiest secrets."
He agreed, but Jeralt just couldn't figure out what. The soldiers were all courteous and answered the questions promptly and accurately. The servants were mild-mannered and kept it well well. The commanders wouldn't gossip even when drunk. Whatever they were hiding, they were adept at keeping it.
He sent off a message to Garreg Mach about the situation and just waited. There wasn't much else beyond some light inspections or making sure the Broken Blade were kept in fighting trim. Things were so peaceful it was almost boring. Even the patrols reported that there wasn't a single sign of Almyra in the Throat.
Which made him just as suspicious as the Locket being too clean. It was the kind of gut feeling that had saved his life a dozen times.
He was about to send a request to General Goneril when the man summoned him first.
He didn't keep the man waiting.
General Holst Patrick Goneril was broad-chested, strong-jawed with a big smile that never seemed to leave his lips nor did his hands ever seem to leave his hips. His pink hair was pulled back with a tie and thin but groomed beard graced his cheeks. His deep pink eyes settled on him when he entered. "Jeralt, my good man, glad of you to join us." His voice had a natural weight to it.
"I presume you're thinking the Almyrans are planning an attack like I am."
"Right indeed." He responded with a booming laugh. "We're right on the cusp of winter—best time for them to attack."
There were a dozen others in the chairs surrounding the high table in the middle. "Sir," one of them said, "attacking before winter is foolhardy. Even if they stole the Locket they would have no ability to transfer supplies through the Throat." He'd never been, but traveling Fódlan's Throat during winter was one of the most dangerous things to do in life.
"Exactly what they want you to think." He gripped the edge of the table. "Militia will be home for the harvest and making sure they have stockpiles for winter. Everyone here will be nice and content, let their guard down. Patrols will get lazy until one day—" he slammed the table "—Nader is right there with an army without anyone seeing him!"
"Even if our patrols grow complacent," another said, "we'll still have enough warning."
"To say nothing of them still having no supplies," said a third.
"How thin do you think our stocks are for winter?" Goneril shook his head. "I'll remind you we have enough food here to ensure everyone is fed solely on the unlikely basis all the roads are snowed in and we can't receive outside trade. If Nader can take the Locket he'll be sitting easy until the snow melts and he can get the supplies he's stockpiled through the Throat."
"That seems awfully presumptuous, sir," the third said.
"Even should he overtake Fódlan's Locket," a fourth chimed in, "the fortress is designed facing towards Almyra. We would have no trouble retaking it from Alliance-side."
"Retaking rubble you mean?" Goneril nodded. "If he sees his position as untenable he'll sack what he can and withdraw. We'd have half a fort to face a man who'd taken it at full."
"This seems… worst case scenario, sir."
Goneril leaned in. "Indeed it does, gentleman. That's why we ensure it doesn't come to pass. I want a scouting team going deep into Almyra's side of the Throat. Today."
"Is this why my patrols were given leave, sir?" a fifth asked.
"Correct, Guther."
Guther buried his head in his hands. "I'll make sure Jakob is aware of his mission then."
"Good man." Goneril looked back at Jeralt silently watching. "Now, Jeralt, you up for an adventure of your own?"
"I may be a bit restless, but riding around in mountain passes I'm unfamiliar with isn't my idea of a good time."
"A shame. But I'll respect your decision then. You might want to tell the archbishop of this crisis."
Was he exaggerating it to stop the inspection? No, the man was too serious for that. "I will."
"Good, good."
The rest of the meeting turned to debating the status of the defenses so Jeralt took the moment to excuse himself and go inform the Broken Blade of the slight chance of an attack. They were out in the courtyard on the frontier of the fortress, some light drills paired with the Alliance soldiers on duty. Since they were busy he changed to sending out a new message to Rhea. She would be just about entering Goneril territory, if he had his travel itinerary correct. Informing her couldn't really affect much but the intent was what mattered.
Back to the Broken Blade—"Almyrans off the pass! They're coming in fast!"
There went that idea.
AN: Thank you all for the Reviews, favorites and follows. Got quite a lot last week!
For reasons, this chapter did not receive the proofreading it should have so please point out any errors you spot. Thank you.