Ashton watched as Garreg Mach prepared for war.
From his understanding, the academy suffered an attack almost five years prior, instigated by the current Emperor of the Adrestian Empire, Edelgard von Hresvelg. During the fighting, the archbishop of the Church went missing, and all of Fódlan was thrown into a chaotic war. No one knew where the archbishop disappeared to, although rumors were abound that she was being held captive by the Empire within Enbarr.
How ironic.
To Ashton, it hadn't been more than a month since he had last seen the Imperial capital in all its glory. The Church was strong back then, new and fresh in the people's minds as they turned to Saint Seiros for hope, to guide them through Nemesis' constant assaults. In the present, they were assaulting the very foundation of their old religion, crippling it by stealing away the head of the Church and conquering most of northern Fódlan.
The more things changed, the more they stayed the same, Ashton supposed. In the meantime, he devoted his time to helping bolster the defenses of the monastery and academy. The damage was extensive; blackened holes from catapult and magic fire left behind in the protective walls, the occasional human bone from those who were not recovered, and the town nearby bore the distinctive scars of Seiros' aurora beam. Ashton had been told that she held a majority of the Adrestian forces back as those within the academy and the town escaped.
One day, Ashton would find her. And he would make good on his promise.
And then there was his son, Arawn. Seteth claimed that while he did not know much of what transpired after his withdrawal from the war, he was certain that Arawn was alive somewhere. Whenever he spoke with Rhea behind closed doors, she, in the rare moments she acknowledged his existence, would always speak of him as if he was still alive. Ashton clung to that small hope, ignoring the implications of such a statement in the hopes that whatever had been broken in his absence could potentially be mended.
In the end, he shoved his thoughts and emotions to the side, and instead threw his all into the defense of Garreg Mach. After a few days, however, he was eventually approached by someone.
They were not normal. At least, not to Ashton's senses. He could feel the crest on them, almost as assuredly as he felt his own in his veins. They were not shy about letting him know that they were approaching, what with them walking toward him in broad daylight, at the gates of the academy.
Ashton was browsing the wares of the newly remade marketplace when they arrived, though of course, Ashton was aware of them before then. They had long lavender-colored hair with matching eyes, and they wore a white and purple outfit consisting of a long cloak that trailed behind them, several belts, and curved-toed boots. Ashton raised a brow at their approach, and when eye contact was established there was little doubt in his mind that the person was there for him.
"You're Ashton, right?" the person asked, and Ashton could tell that they were a man. A very pretty man, but a man nonetheless. "You're a little difficult to track down, you know that? I suppose someone of your circumstances would want to see what's changed since the last time you were awake."
Ashton grunted, taking a step back before turning his head to look at the man. "You are well-informed. I suppose it was only a matter of time before word got around."
"It's a profession of mine. Rest assured, it's not known among the rank-and-file yet," the pretty man said, rubbing his chin. "Otherwise, I have a feeling you'd be swarmed by eager fans, asking questions about the past."
"They likely know more than I could tell them. The histories cannot be too inaccurate," Ashton replied.
The man let out a short laugh at that, and Ashton tilted his head. "I wouldn't put too much stock in them, friend. History can be changed in just a few scribbles. But I'm not here to talk about all of that. I'm more interested in you."
Ashton snorted, crossing his arms. "And what can this old fossil do for you?"
The man beckoned Ashton. "Let's go somewhere a little more private. What we'll be discussing isn't meant for others to hear."
The duo settled in a small corner of the dining hall, largely bereft of people as it was after lunch. Ashton sat in front of the strange man, staring at him while he stared back. The dining hall itself was nothing to write home about; it had several dozen tables for the army to eat at, and the stonework was as worn and battle-damaged as everything else within the former Officer's Academy.
Finally, Ashton spoke first.
"Before we begin, I want to know your name," he said, his gaze unwavering. "You know mine. It is only fair that I know yours as well."
"Yuri. Yuri Leclerc," the man replied. "And if we're going to start with an exchange, how about we up the bargaining price? I ask a question, you ask a question. Does that sound fair to you?"
Ashton snorted, leaning in his chair. "I did not mean to imply that this is a serious conversation. I just wished to know who you were."
"Why not have a little fun with it? I'll go first," Yuri said, coughing into his fist once before mimicking Ashton's slouched posture. "Are you the Champion of the Church of Seiros?"
Blinking, Ashton spoke slowly, "I was a high-ranking Knight of Seiros, but I was not a champion by any means."
"Did you wield a hammer? Possessed the Crest of Seiros?" Yuri continued, eyes narrowing.
"I did use a hammer, yes, and I do have the Crest of Seiros, but I am no champion," Ashton said, "that was three questions, so I expect to ask three uninterrupted."
Yuri chuckled. "Fair enough. Ask away. I am an open book."
Ashton snorted. "Somehow, I doubt that. But, anyway, who are you? I have not seen you around before, and your skin is- Ah, this might be a bit rude of me but your skin is rather pale."
"Let's just say I don't see the sun very often, yeah?" Yuri replied, hiding his mouth behind his hand. "As I said, my name is Yuri Leclerc. I'm afraid you may have wasted your question, friend."
Shrugging, Ashton said, "You know what I meant, so I suppose you either cannot or will not tell me who you truly are. You live in a place without sunlight, perhaps below the academy itself? I have not been around here for very long, but something must explain your complexion. Or maybe I am simply grasping at straws."
"Hmm," Yuri hummed. "You are sharper than a regular soldier, although considering who you are, I shouldn't be surprised."
"And who am I? I am not a champion, that is for sure," Ashton grunted. "As to how I attained the things you asked of me, I do not feel comfortable explaining."
"The Champion of Seiros, that's what I thought you were," Yuri said, placing both of his hands on the table and clasping them together. "Patron of the Knights of Seiros, hero of the, well, the War of Heroes. Seiros' own personal attack hound, to some people. He, or they, were a foreigner who saw the goddess' light, and was granted power by Saint Seiros to do her bidding in battles she could not participate in for one reason or another. They say he was the first Knight-Captain, and that he mysteriously vanished after the war's end."
Ashton's brow furrowed. "The Knight-Captain of the Knights of Seiros, when I was there, was Wilhelm Paul Hresvelg's son, Lycaon. I knew him. He was a capable warrior and bureaucrat, but he was not a champion, and he was not a foreigner. I was never the Knight-Captain, so it cannot be me, either."
"You must have had some importance, to be frozen beneath the earth, eh?" Yuri said.
"Less important than you likely think in the grand scheme of things, Yuri Leclerc," Ashton replied somberly, rubbing his forehead. "It has been over a thousand years since I last walked through these lands. There was not a monastery in this area in my time, let alone an Officer's Academy for the noble youths."
"Older than the dirt we all walk upon, then, are you?" Yuri said, a small smile gracing his gentle features. "You should be careful, then, if what you say is true. Once word spreads around, people will start thinking you're the champion. I wouldn't be surprised if Alois tried to thrust his position on you, when he finds out."
"I will refuse. I am not a leader. I fought under someone else's banner; I have never been one for ambition. I am a simple soldier, who just so happens to have a Crest. I take it that such things are commonplace, now?"
Yuri stared at Ashton for a few seconds as if Ashton had suddenly grown a second head. "Commonplace? Maybe. All noble houses seek it, whether their children want it or not."
Roland…
"Are noble houses decided by… Crest?" Ashton asked, a deep frown settling on his face. "That should not be. Such things were frowned upon by the noble youth of my day. Something must have happened."
"I can't speak for what things were like in your time, my ancient friend," Yuri said smoothly, leaning back. "But as to what they are now, the greatest of Fódlan's noble houses all have individuals with Crests as their heirs. House Gautier to the far north, all the way down to Hresvelg in Enbarr, all of them are highly encouraged to produce at least one Crest-bearing child, who can either lead the house for another generation, or be sold to the highest bidder. I couldn't come up with a more twisted game if I tried."
Ashton shook his head, as if disbelieving such a thing was possible. "No. That is not right. They would not be so callous. Even the nobles of the Empire of my day knew their children, and did not willfully send them away for such petty reasons. My friend Roland was thrust into an arranged marriage, and while the pairing went well, he was angered. He would not have let things remain the way they were."
"Tell you what, ancient one," Yuri said, gesturing with his hand to one of the doors within the dining hall. "Ask around about a woman named Mercedes, and tell her that her hardships do not exist because someone a thousand years ago got a bit upset about being married to someone. I'm sorry I got to break it to you, friend, but whatever your friend tried to change, hasn't changed."
"I…"
Ashton slumped in his chair, his shoulders slouched forward as if the entire world was weighing him down.
"I didn't want to say it to you so harshly, but there it is. Could always change it, though, after all of this is over with," Yuri added, crossing his arms. "But that involves winning this war, something I'm diverting all my resources to."
"...Someone important, then," Ashton mumbled, looking up slightly. "Someone who works from the shadows, all for the greater good, or to whoever they have sworn fealty to. A spymaster?"
Yuri chuckled. "Not far off. This little game of ours didn't get very far, did it?"
"That does tend to happen when people become sidetracked," Ashton agreed, slowly nodding. "I just have one more question, Yuri. What did you hope to accomplish with this meeting? Why did you seek me out? What was the point?"
"Now it's your turn to ask three questions, hmm?" Yuri hummed, "but, fine, I will indulge you. Consider this one a token of my appreciation for enlightening me. I wanted to know who you are, plain and simple. You don't get to be in my position without getting to know people, and you are the biggest wildcard I think I have ever seen. You're not who I thought you were, and hopefully for your sake, everyone else realizes that too. Don't worry, I'll put the word in. Even then, though, you are as sharp as a freshly made dagger and have a Crest directly from the source; you're dangerous, but also a good ally, for those who you deem worthy."
"And how lucky for you that we seem to be on the same side, huh?" Ashton sighed, standing up. "Fair enough. That makes sense. I think I'd… I think I'd rather be alone right now, if it is all the same to you."
"I understand," Yuri replied, "For what it's worth, I didn't go into this thinking I'd drag you down, unfortunately, life is a funny thing, yeah?"
Ashton snorted. "Undeniably."
The conversation with Yuri inspired Ashton to leave the monastery for a while.
He wasn't about to go out and mope around, though; he was on a mission to see a statue that had apparently been erected at the start of the path that led to Garreg Mach. After only about thirty minutes of travel, he was standing in front of it, at the threshold between the trail and the town of Mach. There, surrounded by dense forest, sat a podium upon which a worn statue stood.
The figure was clad in similar armor to his own, though the pauldrons were larger, and the helmet was custom-made, it seemed; Ashton wore a helmet similar to the ones that the Knights of Seiros still seemingly wore, while the one in front of him was similar to Seiros' dragon wing crown. The figure had its hands resting upon the pommel of a large hammer, and that, Ashton could recognize anywhere, no matter how worn the statue had become.
While on the statue it was almost as long as he was tall, Ashton could almost feel the hammer in his hands as he looked up at the statue. To him, it had been less than a week since he had used it. To the waking world, however, it had been long enough for kingdoms to rise and fall. Ashton doubted he would ever get used to the fact that he was older than the already ancient building that he could see built into the mountain.
This place… it was the mountain pass we traveled through.
Ashton could still clearly remember the journey from Fhirdiad in that fateful year. He could remember the wind upon his face and the people he walked beside. All of them were dust, except for a handful.
"Who are you?" Ashton quietly asked, looking up at the statue. "Because you are most certainly not me."
It didn't take long for Ashton to come to a conclusion. There were very few people who could have even come close to mimicking him with that hammer, although he didn't completely rule out that it was a complete fabrication made up by later scholars.
Arawn…
It was at that moment that Ashton came to a decision: soon, he would set out to find his son, no matter the cost. And if he could not find him, then he would break through Adrestia itself, besiege Enbarr, and release Seiros so that they could look together. Whatever the case, his destiny was not with Byleth's forces. He would help them in the siege and the coming battles; he had made a promise, and he intended to keep it. But the mutterings he heard about Prince Dimitri did not bode well.
Truthfully, such a rabid fool would only lead his forces to utter ruination.
Ashton was, of course, not a leader. He had never fashioned himself as such, while Byleth and Dimitri, if he could get a handle on his bloodlust, were. A part of him did not want to leave, but Ashton knew he did not belong. Not really. He could see it in the way the common folk and former students stared at him, in the reverence the current Knights of Seiros gave him, according to Yuri.
He also did not plan to go alone, but such things could wait until the siege of Garreg Mach was over. He would not leave until that point, and if things proved better than they seemed, he mightn't leave at all.
Byleth was running himself ragged with everything that had been going on.
It hadn't been more than two months since he had returned, and already he yearned for the days when he was a simple mercenary. His father would take care of most things back then, and all Byleth had to worry about were the injuries he received and battle and keeping his sword arm loose. Once he had been granted a professorship though, in some ways his life had gone downhill.
He would never regret the bonds he had forged with the staff and his students, but he could do so without all the barking orders and paperwork he needed to fill out. He wondered how, exactly, Seteth could stand such idle work.
Byleth had taken up residence in Rhea's old office, just to the left of the altar on the second floor of the Officer's Academy. It wasn't as glamorous as it had been while she had occupied it, unsurprisingly; five years of unchecked looting would do that, with most of her documents save the single letter that directed him into the Holy Tomb having been either destroyed or taken.
Still, it was a better place to do his work than most others.
"I never took you for a bureaucrat, professor."
Byleth snorted. He would recognize that voice anywhere. Looking up, he saw Shamir leaning against the doorway, flashing him a small, sardonic grin.
"Neither did I, and yet here I sit, filling out requisition orders," Byleth replied, signing his signature before pushing the paper in front of him away.
"This is what happens when you declare war on an Empire," Shamir replied, walking into the room proper. Her footsteps echoing in Byleth's ears. "Dagda and Brigid felt this first. And if we fail, we will not be the last."
Byleth shook his head. "I do not think Edelgard plans to invade other lands. Her foremost concern appears to be Fódlan, and even if she did…"
Losing his train of thought, Byleth groaned and had to resist the urge to slam his head into his desk.
"Wasn't so long ago that you barely showed emotion, now you're acting like Seteth," Shamir commented, sitting on Byleth's desk. Byleth looked up to her curiously. "It's refreshing."
"Months ago, for me, I would not have minded this so much, it is true," Byleth sighed, "I would have seen it as just another job. That is how I approached my teachership when I was inexplicably put into that position. I still do not understand why Lady Rhea did such a thing, but it definitely has something to do with my hair, and what Ashton said; perhaps I am related to her."
Shamir closed her eyes and nodded, turning away. "Catherine was wondering about him, you know."
Byleth tilted his head. "Our new arrival? I am surprised word of him has not spread as far as Remire."
"Oh, it will. It's not everyday you pick up someone from the Holy Tomb. Does he still have the Seiros Shield?" Shamir asked.
Nodding, Byleth laid his chin down on his palm. "I thought he would receive more use out of it than me. I have never grown used to shields, and considering his history, it has sentimental value that I simply cannot understand. I have heard whispering among some of the Knights of Seiros, however, referring to him as the Champion. Do you know anything about that, Shamir?"
Shamir let out a breath. "We're the only people who know about him."
"So I see. I do not hear the artisans or craftsmen speaking about him with such reverence," Byleth noted, "I know very little about the Champion, but even then, I doubt Ashton is he. The stories don't line up. It's more likely than not referring to his son."
Shamir opened her eyes and raised a brow. "Interesting. It won't stop them from gossiping, though."
"And it could help morale, so I'm tempted to let them keep speculating," Byleth replied, lacing his hands together and looking forward. "But that would be unfair to Ashton, so… Well, perhaps it would be best to put those rumors to rest. And you have distracted me for long enough. What did you want to talk about, Shamir?"
Shamir shrugged. "I can't just visit you?"
"I suppose you can, since you are here," Byleth admitted, hiding his mouth behind his laced hands. "Though I am wondering why that is the case in the first place."
"You were gone for five years and then came back. Maybe I just wanted to finally have some one-on-one time," Shamir answered. "It's not every day a friend of mine comes back from the dead."
Byleth let out a small laugh. "I doubt I was truly dead. It was more like a… slumber, I suppose. A dreamless slumber."
"Some would call that death," Shamir pointed out, crossing her arms.
"Now that you mention it, yes, but I still do not think I was dead. And if I was, then there is nothing else to it. I am back now, and I intend to put an end to this, once and for all," Byleth finished, placing his hands down on his desk. "I have had enough paperwork to last several lifetimes. Perhaps I should leave this to Seteth."
"I'm sure he'd relish the chance to get back to writing, but he's a bit occupied," Shamir said. "Apparently Flayn has been running herself into the ground trying to help fortify Garreg Mach. I assume you have a plan for that?"
"A plan, yes," Byleth confirmed, standing up. "It involves just a small amount of cohesion, and a lot of fire."
"Some would call you a crazy fool for that. Me? I would probably still call you a crazy fool but at least I know that it would work, considering your luck," Shamir replied, standing up as well. "Going somewhere?"
"To the training grounds," Byleth said, stretching his arms. "Care to join me?"
Shamir lightly laughed, and followed Byleth out of the office.
It wasn't until the day before the first battle with the Empire that Ashton had a conversation with anyone who was not Byleth, Seteth, Flayn, or some shady pretty man. Unfortunately, it wasn't exactly a pleasant interaction.
Ashton had been idly exploring the monastery and Officer's Academy, marveling at the architecture, ruined though it was, and trying to temper himself with the knowledge that he was older than everything within said academy and monastery.
It would never cease to be a sobering thought, looking upon such marvels of stonework with the knowledge that he was born before they were ever even planned to exist.
It was not long before his wandering got Ashton into trouble, however, as he pushed the giant double doors into what he assumed was a training ground. It was a simple stone square surrounded on all sides by ornate pillars and walls. Even the amount of effort to build a simple training ground was enough to stump Ashton.
There was only one other person within the training ground, an average-sized, lithe man who practiced swinging his sword, his dark blue hair tied behind his head. Ashton was too busy looking upon everything else within the training ground to notice that the man had seen him come in, and had turned to him.
"It's you," the man said.
Ashton blinked, snapped out of his trance as he regarded the warrior with narrowed eyes. "I am me, yes. Can I help you?"
"You can," the warrior answered. "Pick up a sword and spar with me. I have wanted to test you ever since I saw you within that tomb."
It dawned on Ashton, then, as to who exactly he was talking to.
"You were the one who carried that shield," Ashton said, crossing his arms. "One of the ancient relics."
"And you fought the professor evenly with the Seiros Shield. Would you like to fight shield against shield instead?" the man asked, eyebrow twitching. "Answer quickly."
"For someone asking someone else whether or not they want to beat each other up with sticks, you're rather crude about it," Ashton sighed, rubbing his forehead. "But I suppose I have nothing else to pass the time until the siege begins. So, yes, by all means, let us hit each other with sticks."
When Ashton accepted the warrior's invitation, he readily admitted to himself that he did not know what he was getting into.
He knew from the onset that the man, whose name was Felix, he remembered, had a Crest. And considering his last name, Ashton had a decent idea whose Crest it was. He was looking at a descendent of Jasmin, however indirectly, just as well as he was looking at a descendent of the Elites. It was a surprising state of affairs, he knew; Seteth had informed him of such, but to see it in the flesh was another matter. Almost all the Elites had been dubbed 'heroes' and their descendants integrated into the former Empire, though Ashton did not know what happened to the Elites themselves.
Ashton would never call them 'heroes' though. They did not deserve such a reverent title.
Even so, as he traded blows with Felix, he could feel some of his old spirit come back. His fighting style was not so different from Jasmin's although while Jasmin had been even-tempered to a fault, Felix proved to be quite different; his blows were almost frenzied, but still struck with a grace almost unsurpassed.
In the end, it was a draw. Ashton could continuously weather Felix's blows, but Felix's offense made up for his lack of defense; while Ashton took no strikes, Felix ensured that Ashton could not fight back.
They were at it for almost an hour before they both decided to call it a draw.
"I knew you were strong, but you barely look as if we have been sparring," Felix said, planting the blade of his wooden sword into the ground. "I should not have expected anything different from the Champion, though. I suppose the stories are true, in that regard."
Ashton scoffed, letting his sword fall to the ground. "I am no Champion, and anyone who says so has been fed nothing but lies. Lies the Church seems to have permitted."
Lies that Seiros permitted.
Felix grunted. "Maybe so. I have never cared for doctrine, but I know an able warrior when I see one. It is clear that you are no swordsman, however. I can tell that much from your stance. You are used to a different weapon."
"I used blunt weapons, like warhammers or mauls," Ashton replied. "Together with my plate armor and the occasional bit of Faith, I was not so bad on the battlefield. You are… you resemble an ancestor of yours, a great deal. At least in appearance."
Felix raised a brow. "Do I? Which one?"
"I doubt Faerghus kept records of them. They did long before Fhirdiad gained independence," Ashton whispered. "Her name was Jasmin, for what it is worth, daughter of Fraldarius."
Felix's eyes narrowed. "I do not put much stock in the dead. Not after Duscur."
There was that name, on the lips of every native of Faerghus. Duscur. Ashton still had no idea what had happened there, and he was not in a position to find out.
"If you ever want to spar again, Felix," Ashton said, "I will be around. We should probably wait until after this coming battle, though. I do not wish to sprain a muscle sparring with you and then fight to the death the next day."
Felix nodded silently, and the two went their separate ways.
There were still many questions on Ashton's mind, so many inconsistencies and issues he saw. However numerous they were, though, they would have to wait. The battle would begin soon, and he needed to put his all into it, with no distractions.
Ashton only hoped that Byleth, and the savage Prince Dimitri, would be up to the task.
This chapter wasn't supposed to be released until next week, but the shit we learned from the Three Hopes demo made me impatient.
Spoiler alert!
Lots of interesting info in there, especially in the datamines, such as information on Maurice, who is suspiciously similar to how I wrote him in this story.
Hey, guy at IS, how're ya doin'? Hope you're enjoying the story.
Jokes aside, this chapter is a bit of a nothing burger, and there's a reason for that: I've drastically altered where this story is headed, if it's not obvious from Ashton's lil' headspace bit there. I realized that I was basically retreading canon with a small twist, and decided that the best thing to do is get as far the fuck away from the main plot as possible. For now, at least, I just really wanna diverge this from regular 3H and I think I've found a way to do it. Unfortunately, that means scrapping a shit ton of plans and made me pretty unhappy with this chapter. As useless as it seems, though, it was kinda necessary so I could get into the kinda headspace I need to keep going.
On the upside, this means a certain someone will show up a lot sooner than they did in canon, so a plus I suppose?
Anyway, here's a link to our Discord server: discord .gg/9XG3U7a
Probably won't be an update next week, and I wouldn't be surprised if I start doing uploads on a bi-weekly basis for a while. So, until two weeks from now, hopefully I'll have something more spicy. lol.