Chapter 31: The Burdens of Leadership
25th of the Red Wolf Moon 1180. Fortified Church camp, Aillel.
Jeralt was not a happy camper at the moment. Rhea had broken the news to him that the big battle in the Alliance had been lost on the day before his last sparring session with Anselma. It wasn't a pleasant thing to think about. That front was now in a precarious position. He was worried about his son, even though he'd been informed that Byleth was in good health. He feared that the kid's remaining forces would soon be flushed out and destroyed. It made him anxious.
Sadly, he could not allow himself to think much of this. Every available Knight of Seiros had been dispatched in the late hours of the 21st to protect the Valley of Torment. Not only was there the threat of the Agarthan army which would soon besiege Daphnel territory but also the danger posed by an attack force which had circumvented Count Galatea's troops. The Church's supply base in Aillel was in peril as a result. As such, Jeralt had been sent here with about 6'000 soldiers to defend it.
It was clear that the enemy was attempting to pincer them. The numbers hadn't been quite clear at the time of dispatch, but by now, everyone knew that the Church forces were roughly equal in numbers compared to the hostiles approaching from the north. Even though the attackers didn't know that the Church had sent an army to Aillel, the 20'000 soldiers strong attack from the south was likely meant to be the one do the garrison in. Hopefully, Judith would be able to keep the Agarthans busy long enough for Jeralt to defeat the northern attackers. After that, he could always turn around and reinforce her troops.
Troop movement at this speed would have been impossible without the warp stations employed by the Church and the other countries of Fodlan. That did not only include the Knights of Seiros in this situation, however. The hostile force approaching Aillel had moved fa too fast to not have access to them as well. That meant that there were either traitors operation warp stations in Galatea territory or that the enemy had access to hidden warp stations in that region. It was practically a given that Count Galatea would send out scouting and raiding parties.
To be completely fair, the strategic thought behind the attack was sound. Since quite a bit of snow had already fallen, nobody was expecting any offensive actions to happen in the north, except maybe for a few skirmishes between Baron Ochs and "Lord Arundel." Had the attack been undetected, it would have struck a serious blow both to the Church of Seiros and the Alliance. Unfortunately for the attackers, their approach had been detected. Word from the SIC had arrived in time for a response force to be assembled and dispatched before the enemy could cause catastrophic damage to the war effort. The enemy's admittedly smart decision was about to cost them.
"Is everyone in position?" asked Jeralt.
"Everyone is where they should be, Cap- er, Vice-Captain," came Alois' boisterous voice.
While Jeralt really wished that he didn't have to deal with the man's attitude, he couldn't dispute that Alois was a competent knight. His former squire's sense of humour was in dire need of improvement and his excited manner was often irritating, but he had a talent for fighting and for command. Jeralt was pleased to note that this talent had been honed and refined over the course of the twenty years they had been separated for. There was a lot of eye-rolling whenever Alois made a joke, but his orders were followed because the soldiers trusted him to give the right ones. His track record spoke of lower-than-average casualties. Therefore, he was more than tolerable as a companion in this battle, bad jokes or no.
"Good," said Jeralt. "Send scouts and have them retreat immediately once they spot the enemy."
Alois raised his fist in the air as he declared, "Right away, Vice-Captain! We'll execute the plan to perfection."
The plan in question was as simple as it was ingenious. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book, actually. They would pretend to be surprised to lure in the enemy. A poorly defended supply base was an incredibly juicy target for any army. It remained to be hoped that the enemy thought so as well. The main force of the Church troops only needed to remain undetected until the bait had been swallowed. Fortunately, there were enough rock formations and camouflage clothing – a suggestion made by Sothis of all people – to hide the majority of Jeralt's forces. The trap would be sprung at that point. The timing of it all would be of the essence.
The scouts were doing their job right now. As they flew on their pegasi, they surveyed the land and spotted the approach of the enemy army. Said army flew the banner of House Rowe, a grey lion on a field of blue. Considering the current political context, it was practically an insult to House Blaiddyd, but, more worryingly, it also indicated that the enemy force was led by Gwendal the Grey Lion. The scouts immediately turned around after having ascertained the likely identity of the enemy commander, and beelined for the centre of the Church's base.
Gwendal's band of traitors took up pursuit as soon as they spotted the scouts. They weren't exactly rushing, but they were definitely picking up speed. Naturally, they also sent out their own scouts in order to figure out what they were dealing with. Unfortunately for them, the scene they came across was one they were meant to see. There were about a thousand soldiers within the base, all of whom were running around in an effort to hastily prepare for a defence. Messengers were leaving to the south and to the west, clearly heading for Daphnel territory and Garreg Mach. So, when the scouts reported back to Gwendal, they painted a picture of a significant but easily overwhelmed force of Church troops taken off-guard by their ruse.
It did not take too long for Gwendal's host to reach the outer defences of the base. The assault was fierce, but the attackers couldn't bring the full force of their numbers to bear due to the palisades. To circumvent this problem, they sent in the pegasus riders. It was known that both the Adrestian military and the Church of Seiros fielded large numbers of mages in their armies. They were a weak target for flying troops. As such, Gwendal followed tried and true combat doctrine by ordering the flyers to attack the mages behind the palisades while the main body of the army surrounded the base. The archers were a problem, of course, but those were few enough in number to not matter.
As soon as the pegasus riders had made it into the Church base, however, Alois, who was in command of the base, sprung the first part of the trap. Trumpets gave the signal to the flying contingent of Jeralt's forces. A thousand pegasus riders and half that many wyvern riders emerged from their hiding spots. Naturally, Gwendal, playing by the book as always, ordered his host to cover his mages while the archers moved up. While smarter commanders would have already known that this was the wrong choice, Gwendal had always been a stickler for tradition. This proved to be a mistake, for the Church's flying troops were not meant to attack the main body of the army. Instead, they headed straight for the base.
Inside of it, Gwendal's flyers were wreaking havoc, though they were met with less success than they had hoped. Of course, they prevented the mages and archers from reinforcing the defenders on the palisades, but the mages themselves were not the soft targets they had been believed to be. An unnaturally large number of them knew the Excalibur spell, and it had cost the attacking flyers dearly. That was not to say that they hadn't suffered either, but the match-up was more of a slog than a straight-forward clean sweep. The matter was complicated further when the sound of horns reached them. And then, all hell broke loose.
The Church's own contingent of pegasus and wyvern riders fell upon Gwendal's like a swarm of locusts. Mounts and riders alike fell from the air as they were skewered by spears and hewed by axes. Those below had to dive for cover, lest they be crushed by the falling bodies. They put down those who survived the fall nevertheless. It was a bloody slaughter, all told. The Fearghus traitors were being obliterated in the air. Before long, the Church's flyers emerged victorious nearly unscathed.
In the meantime, however, the outer defences had suffered greatly. The first banners flying the colours of House Rowe had begun to ascend ladders on contested sections of the palisade. It was no longer tenable. As if on cue, Alois ordered his forces to pull back to the inner palisade. Said orders were relayed by the loudest available instruments, making it hard to miss and reducing casualties. The flyers, meanwhile, took to the skies again to put some distance between themselves and Gwendal's approaching line of archers. Gwendal was clearly out for blood, seeing as an entire section of his army had been destroyed.
Seeing the bait swallowed completely, Jeralt allowed himself a grim smile from his hidden position. It was time. He took his horn in his hand and blew it. Dozens more answered his call, and the voices of his soldiers rose with it. They left their covers and rushed at the surprised and surrounded enemy. The archers were the first to taste Jeralt's lance as he and his cavalry rode them down. The light infantry attacked the traitorous Fearghus mages. The mages in the ranks of the Knights of Seiros bombarded the heavy infantry of Gwendal's forces. The old Lord's elite cavalry were being picked apart by flyers. And, finally, whatever remained of the Grey Lion's forces were crushed by the small but elite contingent of heavy infantry consisting entirely of knighted individuals.
In conclusion, Gwendal's army was crushed in between Alois' defence and Jeralt's offence. Few chose to surrender, most preferring to die with their Lord. By the end of it, even the victors felt unsatisfied with the battle. The heat of Aillel combined with the bitter taste of the butchery they had had to commit to attain victory left them in a less than jubilant mood. The only one to actually be content with the day's happenings was Gwendal himself.
"Ah… I can finally die in battle," he'd said before Alois' axe had claimed his head.
After his death, his soldiers had finally surrendered. Jeralt was displeased with the self-satisfied actions of the old Lord. Hundreds had died for no good reason because of it. He sighed.
"Casualty report?" he asked one of the soldiers.
"About 1'600 on our side. Over 5'000 on the opposing side," answered the soldier in question.
Jeralt nodded grimly. "Alright. See about identifying them. Alois and I will start writing letters of condolences once we know who their next of kin are."
29th day of the Red Wolf Moon. Fodlan's Throat, courtyard of Fodlan's Locket.
The air was tense as people began to gather in the courtyard. There would, hopefully, not be a battle on this day, but there were plenty of reasons to be nervous about. Just a few hours ago, a delegation from Almyra had arrived with an army in tow. Their chief representative, General Nader the Undefeated, was here to make contact. If that were not enough, there was also the trial of Count Goneril, his brother and all known associates. Byleth had insisted that the trial take place with the Almyran representatives present, and Claude had agreed.
Holst was incredibly unhappy about the whole affair, as was Hilda, but she had convinced him that it was necessary. That she was an eye-witness to one of the crimes had lessened Holst's resistance to the situation sufficiently for him to allow it and also follow Duke Riegan's orders. He was far from happy about it, however. This did not mean that he approved of what his family were accused of, but it was his family nonetheless. He was, in a word, upset.
"What's the big commotion?" asked Nader with a grin. "Everyone's so damn nervous because of little old me, ha!"
"I wish it were that way, old friend, but not everyone is as relaxed about doing battle as you are, nor is the reason as simple as your presence," replied Claude.
Nader turned to him. "Ha, if it isn't Kha- Claude," he said with an embarrassed edge towards the end.
Claude only laughed. "No need to pretend. The cat's out of the bag. It came to light a few days ago during an emergency. It's part of why we've put on this circus here."
That startled Nader and his personal guards. They looked at him strangely. "How are you still alive and free?" asked Nader.
"Let's just say that the Professor here is… very persuasive," answered Claude with a smirk. Then, he shuddered. "Nobody wants to get disciplined by him."
Nader looked surprised at that. "You want to tell me that he cowed an entire army?"
"Well, they owe him their lives and they saw him obliterate a good chunk of the enemy force in the last battle," retorted Claude.
"You can't be serious," countered Nader.
Byleth, who was present as well, finally spoke up. "It was a matter of preparation," he said.
Nader snorted. "You still lost."
Byleth stared directly into his eyes. "A great general not only knows how to win but also when victory is impossible," he quoted one of the texts Hyperion had shown him.
There was a tense silence that lasted for a few seconds. Then, Nader threw his head back and laughed loudly. "So there is someone who understands why I've remained undefeated! And he's from Fodlan, too! Comical!" He calmed down a bit and asked, "So you knew you'd lose. What did you do?"
"I ensured that our army would retreat in an orderly fashion," said Byleth.
A snort was the response he received. "You've got to give me more than that."
Byleth inclined his head and continued, "I had hidden a weapon beneath our feet. Once the enemy had pushed us back, I triggered it. The death toll likely exceeds 10'000, plus irreplaceable strategic assets."
Nader and his companions stilled. "How?" he asked after some time.
The Golden Deer's teacher kept staring at Nader and simply answered, "Knowledge and ability." He refused to elaborate further.
"You're one scary man," said Nader finally. He turned back to Claude. "If he's the one teaching you, I feel a lot more confident about taking orders from you than before, my Prince."
Claude noted the formality that was usually absent when Nader addressed him, though there was still a sense of familiarity in the wording. It appeared that the time for grandstanding and diplomatic gestures was about to begin. "I'm glad to hear that, General," replied Claude. "But first, gather you Lieutenants. There's a matter of justice which involves Almyra, and the Professor and I have decided that Almyran representatives should be present for it."
Said representatives were once again stumped by that. None had any idea what could possibly have been the matter. There hadn't been any Almyran incursion into Fodlan for over a year now, nor had there been any raids by either side of their long conflict. The questioning glances they were shooting each other did not go unnoticed, and so, it fell to Byleth to explain.
"The case involves two Almyrans who were captured during the last battle here," he said.
That earned him unfriendly looks. "You wish to bring up an incident so old? Do not think you can leverage something over us!" exclaimed one of the representatives.
Byleth shook his head. "You misunderstand," he said. "The Almyrans in question are not the accused party."
"Teach- I mean Prof- No, that's not quite right either," began Claude. "In this case, I should probably call him Sir Eisner. Anyway, what he meant to say was that the trial scheduled for today has been called on behalf of Farud and Jasmina, a pair of siblings from our homeland. Crimes have been committed against them."
Another Almyran dignitary spoke up, "Excuse me, but is it not more appropriate to say that crimes have allegedly been committed against them? I was under the impression that Fodlan's legal system operated on the basis of presumed innocence. Queen Tiana was very insistent that we understood this."
"Yes, that would normally be the case, but when the Goddess of Fodlan and the God of the Underworld tell you that someone is guilty, it tends to be true," said Claude. Before that statement could be questioned, he continued, "Nonetheless, a proper investigation was performed and a proper trial will be held in case that they were wrong. The trial also still operates on the basis of presumed innocence. It's just that nobody really expects the defendants to win the case."
"So much for 'presumed,'" said a chuckling Nader.
Claude winked as he laughed, "Well, that's why 'assume' and 'presume' are different words."
"I think we should resume with the actual purpose of this meeting," interjected Byleth.
"My, my, your continued attempts at humour are indeed improving your skill in it, Teach," commented Claude, ignoring formality. "You're right, though. Let's get to the training yard. The trial will take place there."
"How will it be organised?" asked one of the Almyran dignitaries who had remained silent so far.
"It will be presided by a tribunal," answered Byleth. "I will represent the Church. Lady Bresco, a minor noble from Leicester, will represent the Alliance. Since the case involves Almyrans, a spot on the tribunal is open for whoever among you has the greatest knowledge of Almyra's and Fodlan's legal systems."
Honestly, Byleth disliked talking this much, but teaching had driven home the necessity of doing so, seeing as difficult concepts could not be summarised in short sentences. Command above the company level was similar, and, as he was quickly discovering, so were diplomacy and justice. He'd mostly given up on conveying the complexity of his thoughts to others when he'd been a child because no-one had understood him. It was, therefore, grating that he had to go back to doing so. At least he was being understood in this instance.
"Alright," said Nader. "Aisha, you get our seat on that tribunal."
"As you wish, General," replied the dignitary from before.
Byleth then said, "Let's go." He turned around and gestured at the others to follow him.
A few minutes later, they found themselves again in the training yard. A podium had been raised there and a table placed on top of it. There were three chairs for the members of the tribunal. Another chair and a small desk were situated on the right side of the podium. They were occupied by a scribe who was busily preparing the protocol for this day's proceedings. There was also a bench upon which sat a number of shackled individuals. Naturally, there was also a set of benches for witnesses. And finally, curious soldiers and castle staff alike had come to watch the trial.
The tribunal was seated in short order, and a monk acting as chief of proceedings called out, "Silence all for the trial on this day, the 29th of the Red Wolf Moon 1180, of the Church of Seiros and House Riegan, on behalf of House Riegan and Almyran folk allegedly mistreated by the accused party, versus Count Erhard Roberto Goneril and accomplices. Sitting on the tribunal are the following individuals: Representing the Church of Seiros, His Eminence Sir Byleth Eisner; acting as representative of the Leicester Alliance and House Riegan, Lady Helena Bresco; representing the Kingdom of Almyra, the esteemed Aisha Khennari. Speaking for the accused parties: Count Erhard Roberto Goneril. The trial shall now commence!"
"Count Goneril," began Byleth, "You are accused of dereliction of duty and insubordination to your rightful liege, Duke Riegan. Furthermore, you, your brother, your brother's wife as well as numerous household guards in your employ are accused of unlawful imprisonment of Almyran captives, the gross mistreatment of said captives, of which many have been enslaved, tortured, raped and murdered, as well as disobeying a previous judgement rendered upon you by the Archbishop herself in direct response to the mistreatment you have visited upon an Almyran child. How do you plead?"
Count Goneril rose to his feet and declared with a stony expression, "For myself: guilty on the charges of dereliction of duty, gross mistreatment of captives and disobedience to the Archbishop's judgement; not guilty on the charges of slavery, torture, rape and murder. For my brother and his wife: guilty on all applicable charges. For the household guards: all accused bar Simon, Hannah and Armin guilty of all charges; not guilty for the three specified. They didn't know what was in the boxes they were transporting."
On the hastily erected spectator stands stood the Golden Deer. They watched the proceedings with careful eyes and, in Hilda's case, a heavy heart. There were grim expressions all around. However, there was also a learning opportunity, no matter how unpalatable the occasion for it was. There was insight to be gained into how Fodlan's legal system worked.
"Why is Count Goneril admitting guilt so easily?" asked Leonie. "The way he resisted arrest nearly caused a battle. It doesn't make sense for him to surrender like this."
It was Lorenz who answered. "He has likely concluded that he will lose this case. Admitting guilt on at least some accounts will lessen the punishment. Execution is a foregone conclusion in this case, but he might be able to salvage his House."
"Huh? What do you mean?" asked Raphael.
"I think I read about that some time ago, after Nuvelle and all" said Ignatz, "But being caught engaging in slavery can cost a noble House their nobility, depending on the scale of the crime."
"Yes," said Marianne from the side. "Slavery is a grave insult to the Goddess. The minimal penalty is death."
Eyes all around were directed at her. "How do you know that?" asked Lysithea.
Marianne looked at them strangely. "I studied Church law extensively and pray to the Goddess every day. She is very vocal about such matters."
"Oh," was the general response.
The trial proceeded much like many had predicted, though some ended up being surprised. The guards, except for the three whom Count Goneril had pointed out, were sentenced to death. That a similar end awaited Count Goneril's brother and his wife was more shocking. Nobles were not usually subjected to the same punishment as commoners. Count Goneril himself was also slated for execution, having been convicted of the charges he had pleaded guilty to plus the enablement of the crimes the others had been convicted for. Naturally, this led to outrage.
"How dare you, you two-bit commoner?!" roared the Count's brother. "Those Almyrans weren't good for anything else! No Almyran is!"
"How is my ancestry relevant to this?" asked Byleth.
"You're mere rabble! We're nobles. We're above mere commoners like you, and far above the filth that are the Almyrans!" shouted the man in reply.
Byleth stared at him. "To be in charge is to cause greater damage with one's mistakes. Your punishment should not be lesser on the grounds of you being a noble; it should be greater. Fortunately for you, it is equal," he said. "Guards, take him and those condemned to the execution platform."
Many of the soon-to-be executed wailed at that pronouncement. The Count's brother, however, continued with anger. "We're better than you!" he screamed in hysteria.
Despite the protestations from him and his fellows, they were all led to the platform. Rather than waste any time on last words and fancy rituals, Byleth led them to the block where, one by one, he decapitated them with swift, clean strokes. This shocked the Almyran delegation, as executioner's work was seen as dishonourable in Almyra. They would learn that the sentiment was the same in Fodlan, but Byleth's argument that there was no honour in letting other people do one's dirty work would end up being irrefutable.
"I thought this would be more drawn-out," commented Nader
"Nah," said Claude, who was once more by his side. "Count Goneril's daughter is in our class. Teach wasn't going to prolong her family's suffering. Besides, the real punishment awaits them on the other side."
"The other side," questioned Nader.
Claude nodded. "Whatever Gods you believe in, there are two here that absolutely do exist. The Goddess of Fodlan is widely known, of course, but recently, there's also been activity from a new God. He rules the Underworld, where the dead go. He's a pretty relaxed guy, to be honest, but he can make the afterlife very uncomfortable when his sensibilities are offended, which crimes like these do."
Nader huffed. "Never believed you'd end up religious."
This statement caused Claude to laugh. "Oh no, never that. I'll stay irreverent to the end. Doesn't mean I can't have a nice chat with a few deities."
"Crazy," said the gruff man.
"Say, Nader, do you think this is going to work? Almyrans and Fodlanese working together?" asked Claude.
Nader hummed. "Good question. I think it'll work out so long as that Professor of yours keeps a lid on everyone's tempers. He's shown everyone that he means business and that he respects Almyra enough to step up for its people, despite our differences. And you need to step up and lead. My soldiers came here to follow their Prince, not some random guy from Fodlan."
"Fair enough," responded Claude. "We've actually discussed that. Overall command of the Alliance front still rests with Judith, but this part of the army is under Teach's command. That hierarchy gives him a convenient excuse to not take command of the Almyran host, so long as he is there to supervise it. If he just gives us directives and lets me give the orders to the Almyran host, it'll work out."
"Well, you know how we are," said Nader. "The sooner we get to bash in some heads, the sooner we get to bond."
"I know all too well!" laughed Claude. "There's more than enough skull-bashing in our near future."
3rd day of the Ethereal Moon 1180. Enbarr, the Emperor's office in the Imperial Palace.
Ionius was tired. The stress of rulership had always been tiring to him, but it had become unbearable after the Insurrection. Even now, with his authority somewhat restored, there was more than just an old, familiar ache. So, he was tired of ruling, yet he was also tired of living. He had failed his family and his beloved Adrestia too much for him to be comfortable ever again. His age and general health were also worthy of consideration. He knew that he was not long for this world. However, there was still enough vigour left in him to conclude the disappointing story that had been his life with a bang. He was tired, but for his country and for his daughter, this tired eagle would embark on one last flight and show the world its majesty before all his remaining strength failed him.
To that end, he had shaped the laws and the organisation of the Empire into a state that would not only endure the war but also see his daughter succeed. Thanks to the torture inflicted upon her, Edelgard was bound to live a short life and had most likely been rendered sterile according to the research notes a loyal scribe had preserved. That meant that certain laws had to be changed or reinterpreted. Particularly helpful in this case was the laws concerning Knights of the Covenant. Ionius knew well that, according to his informants, his daughter held affections for the only holder of that title. The law specified that a Knight of the Covenant was automatically a high-ranking member of the Hresvelg household. The text implied membership in the guard, but it could be reinterpreted to mean that such a Knight could be named a member or even head of a branch of the House. As such, Sir Eisner could be named Emperor if he unified the claims by marrying Edelgard. Emperors were known to often have several spouses, which meant that, combined with the Law of Imperial Succession, the future of House Hresvelg was secure.
Of course, that scenario would only come to fruition if Edelgard and this Sir Eisner did marry and neither were offended by the notion of him taking another spouse. Ionius was not going to force his daughter down one path; he merely created another opportunity for her to consider exploiting. It was why there were other plans and reforms in motion. For example, he had drafted a proposal for an amendment to the Law of Imperial Succession which would allow an Emperor to designate an adopted child as heir. He would probably have to include that a council of nobles would have to ratify such an appointment, but it was one more option for the future of the Empire. He was thinking of more potential solutions, although any others he had had so far had been dismissed as unfeasible.
Another adjustment to certain laws concerned the coronation of a new Emperor. Per the new law, a Knight of the Covenant, counting both as a member of the Church and Imperial nobility was able to crown an heir to the throne if the current Emperor was unable to perform the ceremony, either due to sickness or death. The caveat that said Knight could not crown themselves was included. Ionius might have had faith in Sir Eisner, but he had never met the man, and there was the potential that precautions would be wise in case such a situation ever emerged in the future. That way, if Ionius was dead or otherwise unable to reach Edelgard, there was a way to legitimately crown a new Emperor that did not involve the full cabinet of Ministers.
To further strengthen his daughter's future rule and to preserve the Empire, Ionius had also begun to implement sweeping military reforms. For this task, he used the new tactical and strategic doctrines of the Church of Seiros as a guideline. While air superiority was not feasible for the Imperial Army, naval supremacy and a focus on highly mobile attack forces was relatively easy by comparison. The small treatise on "defence in depth" had also intrigued him and he had acted accordingly. The traitor troops currently trying to penetrate Rusalka and Boramas lands were suffering horrendous casualties as a result and would soon have to retreat back across the river. The increased training time the new doctrines and tactics required were somewhat of a burden, but Fort Merceus was holding for now, buying the time necessary for most of the army and its new recruits to finish their training.
Food, goods, trade and finance presented another problem of governance the aged Emperor was dealing with. With Gronder field inaccessible, the threat of famine was high. As such, Ionius had let diplomacy work. Brigid, an island kingdom under vassalage of the Adrestian Empire, was exempt from the duty of supplying troops to the war effort in exchange for delivering food and other crucial supplies, as well as serving as a logistical centre for the Imperial Military. The King of Brigid had been happy to agree to these terms, especially since this would also make Brigid a trade hub for the flow of food and goods from Fodlan, Albinea and even Dagda. It would also cut down on the costs for the acquisition of Food for the Adrestian Empire. The small tax gained from the increase in trade would also serve to benefit both Brigid and Adrestia in the long term. While the Empire was still running a loss due to the war, it would balance itself out in time as commerce increased.
With that particular trade agreement/treaty, Ionius had also outmanoeuvred the traitors, who had sent missives to Brigid, promising to end the vassalage of Brigid in exchange for military support. The offer showcased that none of them possessed Duke Gerth's diplomatic ability. The traitors had failed to take into account that one of their core members, Count Bergliez, had led the assault on Brigid, killed the current king's son and looted the archipelago for all it had been worth. Furthermore, Petra, the king's daughter, was both in the custody of and friendly with Edelgard. In addition to that, Edelgard had at several points in the past expressed her firm desire to end the vassalage of Brigid anyway. When one further considered that Brigid had become a vassal state of the Empire by the will of the very nobles who now sought their allegiance, it was no wonder that the island kingdom was firmly on Ionius' side.
There were also other diplomatic ventures to think about. The talks with the delegates from the Dagdan Republic had concluded positively. Although there would not be anything called a friendship between the two countries, an amelioration of relations was taking place. Already, there had been shipments of repatriated former slaves sold to Dagdan nobles. The information on such individuals from Nuvelle had clearly come to fruition. Regular trade was also established, mostly for goods such as clothes and spices. Food was a bit scarcer and was difficult to get a hold of, but there was some. The other great venture of the last few months was the new and historic treaty with Albinea. In exchange for exclusive access to certain luxuries from the Empire, such as paintings, sculptures and other art, Albinea put a ban on mercenary contracts with anyone but the Adrestian Empire. Such exclusivity was under a time limit for both countries, but it served well as a precedent for future treaties. A trade agreement had also been established. Food, clothes, steel and even finished weapons and armour would find their way to Nuvelle and Brigid while traders from the Adrestian Empire now enjoyed additional benefits when trading in Albinea. As such, both the traitors and the Agarthans were now deprived of two more potential allies while Ionius and his allies had only gained.
All that success had a price, however. The war, the politics and the diplomacy were all becoming too much for old Ionius. It was will more than strength that kept him going these days, and it would soon be over. This level of focus could not be maintained for too much longer, and he hurried to lay all the groundwork so Edelgard would not have to exert herself as much when her time to sit on the throne came. Already, he could feel his coughing fits intensify in both severity and frequency. Little could be done for him at this point, but he would only allow himself to enter his final rest when he had broken the backs of as many of the problems his last living child would face as he could upon his knee. He was satisfied with the knowledge that he was making good progress on that front. Indeed, his end was nigh, but his legacy had only just begun.
5th day of the Ethereal Moon 1180, early night. Hyperion's prayer space.
"Well, this Is a surprise," I said as I looked at just who had shown up, "But it's a pleasant one. What can I do for you?"
Rhea scowled at me. "Don't lie. You don't like me," she said.
I stared flatly at her. "Why do you think that? Sure, we're not exactly best friends, but there's no reason for me to dislike you," I told her.
"Why else would you seek to undo all that I have done this past millennium?" she asked with a bitter tone.
"First off," I began, "I don't seek to undo everything. I'm only tying to do away with what I know is most likely wrong. Second, get off your high horse. You know just as well as I do that you've made mistakes over the years. Third, you should start to listen to what I'm saying." I paused for a second before I resumed. "I've said many times that you've done much better than many others. Over the course of a thousand years, you've managed to fuck up as much as your regular ruler would in fifty. Think about what that means. You've done a better job at guiding Fodlan than any other except maybe Cichol could have done. I don't dislike you. Hell, I'm amazed you've managed to screw up so little!" There was exasperation in my tone since I was kind of running out of ideas about how to make her understand.
Rhea stopped the heated retort I was expecting before it could leave her mouth, and visibly forced herself to think about it. I calmed myself down as well. I had always had a problem with my temper, and I was getting closer to losing it than I wanted to. This was supposed to be our chance to reconcile. I had promised to myself that I would do my best to find the reason behind her animosity to me and do something about it. It appeared that Rhea was also at least making an attempt at trying to bury that hatchet. I'd never thought she'd actually pray to me sincerely enough to end up in prayer space, after all. I didn't know if she had done so of her own volition or because Sothis had talked to her, but the fact that she had done it in the first place was worthy of my respect.
"You intend to lift several bans I have made. Why? They were put in place to prevent war and strive. The things I have banned have led to such previously," she finally said after a minute of consideration.
It was a fair question, and I was giddy that she had asked. It was a sign that she was willing to at least hear my explanation. I obliged readily. "Several reasons," I began, "The foremost of which is that the Church's enemies can legitimately claim that it is deliberately hindering the development of human society and technology. Connected to that is the fact that the Church's influence does not extend beyond Fodlan. Sooner or later, the outside world will begin to make advancements despite the Church's policies on the matter. Fodlan will be eclipsed and eventually conquered by a more advanced faction from beyond its borders. I am obviously opposed to this. I wish to see the future we are building protected from opportunistic warmongers from the outside world."
I could see Rhea nod hesitantly, which I took as a sign to continue. I did so: "I don't claim to be the smartest person around. In fact, I think you're probably smarter than I am. However, even a genius can come to the wrong conclusion with faulty information. Several of your bans, such as the ban on lenses, which has been abolished some time ago, and the ban on the printing press, are examples of that."
"How so?" asked Rhea with a frown. "I have relented on my position regarding lenses because the Dagdan and Morfian navies would have posed too big a threat to Fodlan otherwise, but… Oh," she paused in realisation. "I… can see your point about the advancement of outside forces." She went back to her previous argument after that concession. "Nevertheless, I am certain that you of all people should know the numerous wars which were fought in the wake of the first time the printing press was invented," she said.
I nodded in understanding. "Of course," I responded, "But you looked at the superficial causes while missing the underlining ones. I do not blame you for this since there were probably no accurate accounts of those times around anymore when you studied them. These religious wars, especially the thirty years' war did not take place because of the printing press itself but because it helped expose the corruption and lies the Catholic Church had been engaging in for centuries. It is easy for the Church of Seiros to avoid religious wars like that if it simply comes clean about the affairs it lied about and adequately explains why such lies were told."
The frown on Rhea's face deepened. "I admit that I was not privy to that piece of information. The summary of wars I perused only mentioned the printing press as the cause for the thirty years' war. I am also hesitant to expose the whole truth of what happened. It could cause panic and unrest, which we really do not need right now. It would be folly to do so," she said with some reluctance.
"What you need to understand, Seiros," I said, using her real name to drive the point home, "Is that I'm not belittling you. With the incomplete information you had, you made the right decision back then. Additionally, based on what you knew at the time of the War of Heroes, suppressing all knowledge of the truth was wise at the time the war was going on. You saw a cause for war – you still see one – and you wish to avoid further strife and bloodshed. However, you went wrong when you continued to suppress that information. Sothis is awake and responding to prayers. Soon enough, the truth will come out. You need to be prepared for that. Still, let me say that despite all that I think you have done wrong, you have done a splendid job at upholding her legacy and following her wishes."
She flinched at the mention of her mother and sent me glare. "What would you know of Mother? Has your desire for her allowed you to delude yourself into thinking that you know her? You speak of her wishes, yet you do whatever you want, and you take her for yourself while you do so! You know nothing! You don't deserve her!" By the end, her tone had risen to a forceful level, and her glare had intensified. We had come to the root of the problem between us.
"I know I don't," I said while glaring back. "The one who deludes herself here is you. I'm not good enough for her. I will never be. She'll never leave you because of me, Seiros."
That admission took the wind out of her sails. "What?" she asked. There was still a glare on her face, but a hint of confusion had entered it.
I continued, "She loves you. You're her daughter, created out of her own blood and lovingly raised until her duties forced her to leave that task to your siblings. She hates herself for not being able to raise you in times of peace. What hope do I have of measuring up to that? If I tried to take her away from you, she'd discard me in a heartbeat, and rightly so. There are enough reasons for me to hate myself without adding that particular stain to my soul. No, Seiros. Your mother loves me, but she will never love me as much as she loves you, let alone more."
Wonderful. I'd managed to make myself depressed again. I really didn't need that right now. It was an irrational frustration at always being second best – or even lower than that. What really hurt was that I had felt Sothis' soul in its entirety and knew my statement to be true. Her love for her family was absolute, and anyone outside of that would be lucky to get the barest glimpse of it. I couldn't blame Sothis for that, and I wouldn't. Honestly, the one only one to blame on that front was myself. Playing the blame game now was not conducive to the current conversation, however.
Seiros' glare had disappeared. A frown adorned her face instead. "You seem so sure of that," she said.
I chuckled in a way I hoped did not sound hollow. "I am," I admitted. "We gazed into each other's souls. She loves family above all else. Stop thinking of me of as competition. You've already won." I was starting to choke up. This was not a good time for a damn pity party! Second best was still good enough!
Seiros looked like she was about to respond, but I interrupted her. "Sorry, I'm not thinking clearly," I said, tears tickling at the corners of my eyes. My speech would be starting to slur soon. "We should stop here."
Without even waiting for an acknowledgement from her side, I let the prayer space collapse, evicting both of us from it. There was a seamless transition from the colourful insides of that place to my bed in Byleth's mindscape. The drapes surrounded me, giving off an air of comforting darkness, and I tried to draw some of that comfort into my being. It did not work.
The dam broke and I started to sob. "Why am I like this?" I whispered to myself. Sothis already gave me her love, and here I was, unhappy about not receiving as much of it as her own child. "I'm so fucking pathetic," I added.
Had the curtains been thinner, I might have seen the outline of a person on the other side.
At the same time. Private chambers of the Archbishop.
Rhea's lips were turned downward in a thoughtful frown. That had been more abrupt than she had expected. The pleasure she derived from hearing the man who took away her mother's attention say that Mother loved her more than him rang hollow. She had thought that it would feel better to prove herself a more worthy subject of her mother's love, but something about it rubbed her the wrong way.
Was I mistaken about him? she asked herself.
AN: Greetings, my dear readers!
Here I am, hopefully a day ahead of schedule with my latest chapter. I will not be able to write a lot over the next few days, so I wanted to get this out on time. Because of this, there might be a few places that aren't that well edited. Sorry about that.
I admit that the last part of the chapter ran away from me. I wanted it to be the start of the resolution of Rhea and Hyperion's troubles with getting along. It is still that, but it also mutated into a display of one of Hyperion's flaws: his pity parties. They have only been alluded to so far, but "show, don't tell" has reared its ugly head here. I know that some of you won't like that, and I'm sorry, but this is how the text developed.
A big thank you to everyone who has followed, favourited and reviewed. A special thanks to Faranon423, who has, to my knowledge, reviewed every single chapter since he or she started following. Really, thanks a lot. Your continued support is appreciated.
This chapter's recommended story is Ásgarðrian Galdr by Valerie Vancollie. It is one of the very few MCU stories that I actually like. It features a Loki struggling with the regency of Asgard and with himself, and the only help he really has is himself as well. Really, it's superbly written, and I can only recommend you check it out.