AUTHOR'S NOTES: The premise of this story is simple: story elements from Three Houses, but from Petra's point of view. As one of the few students who "makes sense" joining any faction due to her unique motive compared the others, she will likely have interactions with most other students from each House, at some point or another. There will also be characters and elements from Three Hopes & Cindered Shadows, but not for a while. The first few chapters ("Grey Skies") are mostly foundational to help set the stage for this story, primarily from Petra's perspective. She had to grow up fast, which is the primary cause for the way she behaves this early in life.
Also of note, Petra speaks "normally" in these early chapters because she's still speaking her native language. As she starts learning the language of Fódlan, she will gain her trademark style of speech that we're all familiar with, and it too will develop and change as Petra's skill and fluency does the same.
Happy Reading!

PART ONE: GREY SKIES

CHAPTER ONE: THE VASSAL'S DAUGHTER

=Brigid Archipelago, 2nd of Wyvern Moon, Imperial Year 1174…=

The setting sun turned the sparkling seas a tantalizing shade of gold and scarlet, the waning light dancing off the gentle waves lapping at the shimmering sand beneath the feet of a large and strapping man, arms crossed behind his back as he gazed out over the waves. What he lacked in height he made up for in breadth, a strong and resilient man, in what might have been amusing contrast to the small, lithe pre-teen girl at his side, curling her bare toes into the damp sand as she imitated his stance and posture with her little hands behind her back and her head held high, her long thick hair fluttering in the breeze.

Petra Macneary had spent her entire childhood hearing about the beauty of her homeland, and each new day further reaffirmed that belief as she saw sights that affirmed every word of what her fellow countrymen spoke of. The Brigid Archipelago had always seemed so enormous to such a small child, with the oceans between each isle seeming that much more expansive, and her endless curiosity always had her itching to explore more of her beloved home.

However, even with the setting sun lighting the waves up in red and gold, today they had gone to a different part of the island—tonight they were gazing out to the east.

"The sun is to our backs…" Petra looked up, "why did we come here tonight, papa?"

"Because war is on the horizon, Petra." her father answered solemnly, "and that war will take us to the east with our allies from Dagda… to the Adrestian Empire in the land of Fódlan."

Fódlan… Petra had heard that name many times in her early childhood, often as a reminder that Brigid's disadvantageous geographical location between it and Dagda made it a prime target or foothold for one or both continents in their long-lasting rivalry with one another. She had never seen such people,but she heard that they spoke funny, and looked to a figure called the goddess instead of the spirits that were around them—and that the land was much colder than Brigid. For some reason, that was the part that had always intimidated Petra as a little girl, but the older she grew, the more she began to wrap her head around the differences of the people across the sea—whether to the east or to the west.

"Will I fight in wars with you someday, papa?" Petra looked up again before looking out, squinting as if trying to see the shores of the distant land across the sea. The question struck him like a javelin to the heart—the question no parent ever wanted to hear from their child, and yet a question that for a warrior of Brigid, was inevitable.

"You're the eldest daughter of the Prince of Brigid," he replied, deciding after a swift but calculated internal battle that it was better to simply tell her the truth regardless of her age. "If you are to rule in my stead someday you must be strong enough—or as your mother used to say, you must be the most difficult to kill."

"You told me that she died, but you never told me how." Petra looked up again with those fierce but inquisitive eyes of hers.

"I have told you about assassins before, have I not?"

"You have. They are like hunters, except they hunt people, yes?"

"It is not something I wanted to have to discuss with my 10-year-old," the lines that appeared on the man's face suddenly made him look a decade older as he sighed, "but with war on the horizon, there is always a chance I may not come home."

"You will come home though," Petra took her father's hand, looking him in the eye with earnest, "like mama said, you must be the most difficult to kill… and you are one of the most difficult to kill. That is why you will be ruling when grandpa is finished."

"Ha," the prince chuckled as he ruffled Petra's hair, "wise beyond your years, aren't you, Petra?"

"Now you are asking me questions," Petra giggled, "Is this why you say I am wise beyond my years, papa?"

"An inquisitive spirit has the makings of a wise woman," he smiled, "never be afraid to ask, especially if you don't know something. Understanding the people and the world around you is a strength too—not just strength of arms."

"That's how I know you'll come home from the war," Petra declared, "you are strong and wise, and that is why you will sit on the throne someday."

"And then when I'm as old as your Grandpa Ruadan, you will one day take my place, my sweet Petra." he smiled, "you'll become a beautiful and powerful queen, and the task of leading this people through trial and turmoil to peace and prosperity will fall to you."

"So I must devote my life to my people… not to myself." Petra nodded, staring off to her left at the lush trees, leaves rustling in the evening breeze as the fading light of the setting sun bounced off the myriad surfaces. "I understand."

"Yes and no…" Petra looked up when her father corrected her, before clearing his throat.

Remember my dear princess, that when you ascend the throne…
You will be the Queen of Brigid, but your life is still your own.

"My life is still my own." Petra whispered, as if letting the words flow over her tongue to better process them. "That is reassuring."

"As it should be, Petra. Brigid has faced occupation by enemy powers in the past, but no matter how relentless these hostile powers are, they cannot take who we are from us. Whether you're here with your feet in the warm sands of home, or off in the frigid north of Fódlan's Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, you are still a daughter of Brigid. No matter how they take you from Brigid, they cannot take Brigid from you without your consent."

"They won't take you from me either." Petra turned and opened her arms, only to find herself swept off her feet and into the warm embrace of her father's large strong arms.

"And they won't take you from me." he assured her. "Not as long as I live."

=Brigid Archipelago, 9th of Harpstring Moon, Imperial Year 1175…=

Petra's optimism persisted even as her father and many others set sail towards Fódlan alongside allies from Dagda to strike at the Adrestian Empire. A recent insurrection from less than 5 years prior had left the Empire vulnerable, and with the help of Brigid, both as a geographical checkpoint and as support due to their martial skill, the people of Dagda had presumed to strike while their enemy was weak.

Petra was not sure how she felt about foreigners on Brigid soil, but at the same time, they did not linger long, only stopping to trade for more supplies before continuing their trek eastward towards Adrestia. It was here that she said goodbye to her father as well. She did not lament his departure, but instead celebrated with the confidence of her fellow countrymen that they would return home triumphant after a brief sojourn in an Empire locked in conflict with its own nobles. Their force seemed inferior in size to the Dagdan forces, but there were whispers among the Brigidi people about how a single Brigid Hunter or Warrior was worth a dozen Dagdans. They did not say such things out loud to their allies who were coaxing them to war, but in their hearts, they believed it—and were determined to show it.

Apart from a last goodbye, Petra's father left her with a familiar old folk tune that had always been one of her favorites as a little girl. What Petra did not realize at the time was just how closely these words would stick with her, later in life.

We are the proud sun-blessed isles, placed on the seas;
Steadfast and unwavering will, dancing in the breeze.
A force of nature so strong, sent from the sky;
Where spirits lead the way, the winds will never die.

As Petra stood at her grandparents' side alongside her younger twin siblings, smiling and waving her father's ship off, there was no way she could have known that this goodbye between the two of them would be their last.

News from the war started out positive, with reports from the war front indicating that they had successfully caught Adrestia off guard and were wreaking havoc in at least two major territories on the western coast. Word had it that the Empire was mounting a counterattack, but whether or not they would be successful was something that only time would tell.

Despite not even being 11 years old, Petra kept abreast of these developments, always keeping an open ear for any news about her father. Not exactly an insignificant figure, she figured she would hear if anything had happened to the Prince of Brigid, whether in terms of successes and failures. Hearing that the war campaign had toppled the head of a region called Ochs improved morale back home, and even Petra was thrilled to hear about the conquests of Brigid and Dagda in nearly wiping out an entire region known as Nuvelle. What were they but names of a faceless enemy that stood in their path to conquest and glory, after all?

What was the Prince of Brigid but an obstacle standing in the way of the safety of Adrestia?

The 27th day of the Garland Moon was a day that Petra would never forget. The grey skies and heavy rains were almost a portent of things to come, even if the middle of the year being the wet season was a completely normal yearly phenomenon.

Grim news of an Adrestian victory reached the throne room where King Ruadan attended to his administrative duties, and in this report were reports of an "Imperial War Hero" being lauded by Adrestia for his part in slaying the Prince of Brigid.

Petra did not know who "Leopold von Bergliez" was other than that he was the hero of her enemy—the man who took her father's life, and at the time, that was all she needed to know. It crushed her own morale almost as hard as it crushed the morale of the Brigidi troops on Adrestian soil. The reports that followed in the proceeding weeks were grimmer and grimmer. The low morale of Brigid and the increasing defeats and setbacks Dagda faced were all signs pointing to a brutal Adrestian victory that soon became inevitable.

Within a month, Adrestian warships were at Brigid's door, to deliver the news personally that the invading forces Brigid had sent against them had been routed, and that submission or death were their only options. Of course, Petra did not actually know what they were saying—the language her grandfather was speaking to the men from the east was not one she understood, but she knew that when a lesser power was defeated, that it almost always meant submission or death. In that moment, Petra wondered to herself: was she ready to die? Would her grandparents resist the subjugation to the last man, woman, and child, or was there a longer game to play, at the cost of some pride and dignity?

Being skilled at not being seen, however, she eavesdropped on the conversation, but was quietly frustrated that she couldn't understand it. She listened for names; she listened for mentions of Brigid, of her parents, or her grandparents, her siblings, and herself. She heard her name exactly three times, although she could not understand the context, and did not want to give away her vantage point.

She wondered what it would be like if she had a bow or a throwing knife. She stared at the head of the man staring down her grandfather, wondering what would happen if she lodged an arrow into the back of his skull.

However, no weapons were drawn. The hostile men from the east left without fanfare, and no one was hurt that day. However, the grim expression on Ruadan's face as he pulled Petra aside later that evening told the young girl that something terrible was about to happen.

"What did they tell you, grandpa?" Petra demanded almost immediately, "What did those men want from us?"

"As you know, Petra…" Ruadan sighed, "The war was lost, and your father was slain. Adrestia gave us two options, and I think you know what they are."

"Death or submission…" Petra pursed her lips.

"Aye," Ruadan nodded, "we can either continue this battle with the Empire of Adrestia bringing their full might to bear against the Isles, or we submit to them as a vassal state."

"What does that mean?" Petra narrowed her eyes.

"A technical allegiance, but at our expense." Ruadan explained, "we are at their beck and call… and if we opt for that decision, they demand a tribute—a symbol of our vassalage."

"What kind of symbol?" Petra tilted her head. The rulers of Fódlan were strange to her; using words and talking instead of their strength.

"They want you." Ruadan spoke slowly, as Petra's eyes widened. "They want you on the doorsteps of their Capital in Enbarr within a month's time or they will assume that we have chosen to fight to our deaths."

"Why do we not fight to the death!?" Petra demanded, "do not submit! Do not give these monsters the satisfaction of controlling us after taking our family and friends from us!"

"Because…" Ruadan sighed, "vassalage does not have to last forever, dear Petra. We are the proud isles, placed upon the seas by the spirits, who watch over us to this day. No matter how far they take you from Brigid, they cannot take Brigid from you without your consent."

"I will never consent!" Petra growled. "Ever!"

"And there is nothing—absolutely nothing—that Adrestia can do about that." Petra felt the warmth of her grandfather's hands on her shoulders.

"How long do I have to stay with them?" Petra frowned, and the way the king's face sank told Petra everything she did not want to hear.

"I wish I had an answer for that, Petra." he sighed, "I truly do, but know this: it will not last forever. I would take your place in an instant if I were able, but I am forced to remain, and I must continue to lead our people until your time to take the throne comes."

It had never really dawned on her until she heard it from her grandfather's lips. Without her parents to succeed King Ruadan, the throne of Brigid would fall to her, and it suddenly made sense why the people of Fódlan wanted her away from home.

"I will go." Petra declared with a facade of resolve on her face which melted away a few moments later. "Although… I am scared."

"It's okay to be scared, but do not lose sight of who you are in that fear." Ruadan looked her in the eyes. "You are a daughter of Brigid, and nothing that Adrestia can do to you will ever change that. Hold that close to your heart, Petra—and you will become twice the ruler that anyone in Fódlan could ever dream of being."

Petra took those words to heart, although the following month had her grow more distant towards everyone as she realized she would be saying her goodbyes for what could very well be eternity—at least that was how it felt for a girl not even 11 years of age. This was wrong. Everything that had happened since the day Leopold von Bergliez had taken her father's life had all been wrong. None of this was supposed to happen, and Petra didn't even know how to explain it to any of her old friends or even her younger siblings. She was barely old enough to even understand it herself.

Petra's fears and sense of dread of being inevitably ripped from her home could not be so easily assuaged by any single word or action, although with the help of her grandmother Ophelia, Petra found comfort in the spirits that watched over her homeland. While normally these were rituals that were held off until someone had turned 14 and come of age, even Petra understood that hers had suddenly become a very unique case.

"To the sky spirit, to always watch over you." Ophelia carefully applied purple ink to Petra's back just below the base of her neck, in the form of a crescent with a pair of triangular marks on either side. Petra winced as she was tattooed, but she understood the cultural significance of these markings and so despite the pain, she was eager to proceed, and to wear these marks with pride. They were symbolic prayers to the spirits, and nothing the people of Fódlan could do to her would ever strip her of her prayers.

"To the wind spirit, for protection…" The same ink was applied around the corners of Petra's eyes, as well as in a small crescent beneath her right eye.

"To the flame spirit, for victory, and may every shot and every swing find its mark." The last marking was in the shape of a band, with dots and diagonal lines between two parallel lines that spanned the circumference of her upper right arm. It did not absolve Petra of her fear and dread, but it assuaged the problem enough insomuch that Petra knew no matter what material things they deprived her of in Fódlan, that she would always have a piece of Brigid with her.

Inevitably however, the day of reckoning came. A trio of ships appeared on the horizon from the east, while they waved banners of peace, Petra could not help but feel more threatened by them now than by the fleet that had delivered the Empire's ultimatum to Brigid a month earlier. She knew the truth, and no amount of denial could hide it—they were here for her.

There was another conversational exchange between the men of Adrestia and her grandfather, but like before, Petra could not understand what was being said. It was only after the exchange finished that Petra spoke up.

"What did they tell you, grandpa?" She was firm in her tone to try and conceal her fear.

"They assured me that you would be safe with them." Ruadan replied, before one of the men spoke up. Hearing the language of Brigid from the mouth of her enemy made Petra's skin crawl.

"You will be safe in the arms of the Empire, little princess," the dignitary explained, "it would be unbecoming for us to mistreat our honored guest, after all. You will not need to bring much with you—you will be fed, clothed, and sheltered in the Royal Palace in Enbarr, the capital of Adrestia. You are royalty, after all, and so where else to bring a royal princess than the seat of the Adrestian Royal Family?"

"I am ready." Petra slung a small bag over her shoulders. "I…" she paused, turning one last time to her grandfather, before running and throwing her arms around him.

"Stay strong, dear Petra." he whispered, "Do not let them see your tears. You will return one day, and when you do, you will be strong… and you will be Queen."

Petra kept a straight face all the way to the ship that she boarded. She had sailed between islands or out on fishing excursions with the people of Brigid, but the dark wood and bleak-looking construction of this vessel seemed so much colder and more unwelcoming than anything she had ever been on before. She kept a stoic face and fought back a legion of tears as she raced to the rear deck of the ship, watching her beloved isles grow smaller and smaller, before finally disappearing over the horizon within a couple of hours. The moment Brigid was gone from her view, Petra asked to be shown her quarters, where she immediately locked herself in her room and cried herself to sleep, even if it was only early afternoon.

Due to her unusual choice of sleep time, Petra woke up in the dead of night to find the ship quiet again. The soft bed and fluffy pillow were so strange to her, and she missed the woven rug that she was so familiar with sleeping on at home. Thankfully, she had thought to pack it, as well as a set of clothes from home, and her favorite hunting knife—a prized tool from her father, that had previously belonged to her mother, who Petra had been told had been a formidable huntress in her day. Despite its size and genuine ability to be used as a weapon, the Adrestians had not confiscated it from her. Perhaps they trusted that she would not try to attack them. Petra had wrapped her little hand around it, and rose to her feet with a surprisingly solid stance for a 10-year-old. She knew this blade well—how it balanced, how it swung, how it slashed. She could definitely take a life with it under the right circumstances.

But even if she managed to slaughter every Adrestian on the ship, then what? She could not pilot a vessel this size, even if she knew where they were. If she killed only some of the people on board, the others would subdue her, and word would get back that the "symbol of Brigid's vassalage" had gone rogue and declared war… or worse. Petra did not want to think about what might be worse than the retribution of an empire that had not only slain her father, but had managed to repel and completely wipe out the invading force. As much as it hurt her pride as princess of Brigid, she knew that her home was outmatched by the military machine that was the Adrestian Empire. Someday though; someday she swore that she would become strong enough to be respected by the Emperor of this cruel and hostile land, and would be viewed and respected as an equal—and that Brigid would not be a vassal state to Adrestia, but an ally.

Other fantasies she had that evening included wanting to learn of Adrestia's enemies. Were any of them strong enough to topple the mighty Empire? Without the boot of Adrestia on Brigid's neck, Brigid could be free… right? Adrestia, Faerghus, or anything in between, Petra had no interest in their own conflicts. To her, all that mattered was finding the swiftest way to free Brigid from the shackles of vassaldom, and she would not cease her efforts until either she succeeded or she was killed in the process.

"For Brigid…" she muttered to herself in the solitude of her cabin. "I find strength to carry on."

AFTERTHOUGHTS: Ruadan and Ophelia are the names of Petra's grandfather and grandmother (respectively), since they were never given canonical names in any material.