The next day, Cyril and I don't have much to do. Many of our usual rotations of tasks are shifted to prepare for the new year's festival, but given the considerable progress we made with the students yesterday, most of the docket is already finished.
I make sure to tell Cyril about Hanneman's offer to teach me magic, in the hopes that he'll agree to let me take off early and get that going. After all, given that the final exams are wrapping up if not completely done, maybe the professors have a bit of free time before the new school year starts in earnest.
Cyril hesitates at first, but when I tell him that Hanneman conditioned the lessons on me cleaning Manuela's office, he comes around to the idea. "I think that's more than a fair trade," Cyril says. "Even I don't want to touch her office."
I can't help but laugh, but I'm worried about what might come in the course of helping poor Manuela.
Sometime in the mid-afternoon, a few hours before I'd normally wrap up with Cyril, we finish for the day and I head over to Manuela's office with broom, mop, and bucket in hand. I walk in through the infirmary entrance, past a few unoccupied beds. Manuela sits at a small desk, leaning back in her chair and putting her feet up. When she sees me, she immediately straightens out and puts on a bright smile.
"Oh, hello there," she says. "You're Cyril's friend—Harrison, was it?"
"Hi, Professor Manuela," I reply. "Yes, that's me."
Manuela puts her elbow on the desk and leans forward. "Well, how can I help you, dear? Not feeling well?"
"No, no, I'm feeling fine," I say, shaking my head. "I'm not sure how exactly to say this, but… I need to clean your office."
She laughs. "Oh, there's no need for that, you know." She waves her hand dismissively. "I can handle it myself."
"Professor Manuela, I mean no offense, but you know that's not true," I say, gesturing to the unkempt state of the infirmary beds. "I've seen the place myself, when I dropped off the final exams."
Her expression instantly sours. "I don't see what's so wrong about being a little… you know, disorganized," she says defensively. "I get all my work done on time, and I certainly don't come around organizing your things. Who put you up to this—Seteth? Hanneman?"
"Who do you think?" I reply.
"Hanneman, then," she says. "Ugh. I can't believe that stuck-up fool would actually try to use you to impose himself on me like this! And that you'd go along with it! You seemed like a nice kid—"
"Professor, I'm really sorry," I cut in, sighing. "Trust me, it isn't personal. But let me explain. Professor Hanneman said he might want to try teaching me magic. After I helped him out in his office we started talking and he said he likes the way I think, or something like that."
"Oh, great," Manuela groans. "You indulged him about Crests, so he just wants someone to rant and rave to it about."
"Maybe he does, but if he can teach me magic, that would be—" I don't know any word to say other than 'awesome' "—well, I really want to give it a try. I haven't had the opportunity," I explain. "But his condition was that I take the time to clean up your office. Those were his terms, not mine."
Manuela looks into my eyes for a moment, then looks away and sighs, clasping her hands and shaking her head.
"Oh, all right," she says. "I don't want to hold you back from learning. I am a professor, after all. But if Hanneman thinks he can mold you into his little scholarly darling protege—if he thinks he's so clever—he ought to know that two can play at that game! I'll just have to teach you what I know about healing, and teach it better than anything he can." She smiles again and gives me a wink. "Though I might ask you to ransack his neat and tidy office before we get started. That should make things even, huh?"
Wait, now Manuela's offering to teach me faith magic, if I screw up Hanneman's office a little, just to spite him?
I laugh. "That's funny, Professor."
"I'm not joking," she replies. "I mean, I do think I'm quite funny, but I'm open to any opportunity to give Hanneman a piece of my mind. And this seems as good as any."
Oh, shit. I don't know how tenable this is. I mean, learning healing magic would actually be great, too. I'm not trying to get ahead of myself, though. I still don't know if I can do magic at all. Besides, do you need to believe in the Goddess to use faith magic? I know anyone could learn it in the game, but that is cold comfort knowing that I'm still different.
"We'll see," I say. "Not that I'm not interested. But I've got to take things one at a time."
"All right, then. Well, the offer still stands," she replies. "Let me take you around the office, if you're going to get started."
Manuela's office is, unsurprisingly, just as bad as I remember from the other day, but I roll up my sleeves and get down to business. Step one is clearing out the straight up garbage that litters the floor and shelves. Scraps of paper are the least of the problems. I suppress a violent urge to gag as I dispose of more half-eaten sandwiches and nigh-petrified apple cores than I've seen in one place in my life. There's even an empty bottle of wine that, for Manuela's sake, I try to get rid of somewhat discreetly. The bottle has a piece of string wrapped around it with a small card on the other end. "Morgaine Ravine Reserve—Select Red Blend, 1174." So that's what she's drinking, I guess.
Once most of the macroscopic garbage is cleared, I sweep away the dust, crumbs, and God knows what else that's settled on every square inch of floor and shelf space. Manuela has a small collection of statues of the Goddess on one shelf, that I make sure to clean carefully around. The whole thing takes a little while, but I get it done. When that's finished, I take a look around. There's still a lot of disorganized papers, books, and so on.
I turn over my shoulder and see Manuela standing in the doorway, watching. She folds her arms. "I suppose you've made some improvements," she says begrudgingly. "Are you close to being done?"
"Not quite," I reply. "I think we should work on organizing some of your materials here. It'll be a little more effort now, but you can maintain it more easily in the future." And I don't want Hanneman thinking I left the job half-done.
She sighs. "I can hear it in your voice—Hanneman's already infected your mind," she says. "Well, we're already here. There's no sense in stopping the show at intermission, is there?"
I get to work organizing her files alphabetically—she's got papers on both the past and present Black Eagles, and while I try to avoid gawking, I can't help but notice two particularly thick files. One is in the class of 1179—von Ochs, Monica—and the other in 1180—von Hresvelg, Edelgard.
All things considered, it makes sense. There probably would be plenty of reports and information about Monica given her "disappearance", and the same for Edelgard given her status as the Imperial heir. I don't know how much of the political situation in the Empire is common knowledge, but judging by my memory of the library books in the game, the Church isn't completely clueless. Even without suspecting Edelgard of anything, or being aware of her trauma, there's a lot of moving parts to be keeping track of.
And I wonder, given the events of the past few days, if she's keeping track of me. I sigh as I file the folder in with the rest. Nothing much I can do about it now.
Manuela and I spend another hour straightening the place up, organizing the rest of her books and papers along with a host of other trinkets. As we're wrapping up, there's a knock at the door. Manuela gets it.
Caius Goneril is standing at the door.
"Is there something I can help you with?" she asks.
"As a matter of fact, yes," he says. "The Headmaster insisted that I inform you that we will be having a faculty meeting tomorrow morning. As I understand it, there are to be some unusual curriculum procedures during the Great Tree Moon."
Unusual procedures? What could he be talking about? I look over my shoulder to take a glance at Caius. His eyes wander from Manuela to me, and for the brief moment we make eye contact, he furrows his brow. I turn away.
"What's all this about?" Manuela asks. My thoughts exactly.
"There have been discussions of having an inter-house training mission near Remire Village, over in Imperial territory. The Archbishop herself suggested the idea, I believe. The illustrious heritage of the house leaders this year is apparently the reason for them to learn to work together."
So that's what he's talking about. Well at least that explains why Edelgard, Dimitri, and Claude end up at Remire without any of the other students in tow—it's a special mission just so they get to know each other, or something like that.
I just keep my head down as I clean.
"Well, that sounds like a simply wonderful idea," Manuela replies. It does, in theory, if you don't know anything. "Start those kids off on the right foot, and get them to play nice now."
Caius bristles at the comment. "Do bear in mind that those 'kids' are the rightful heirs to the throne of the three sovereign nations of Fódlan," he says.
"They're still teenagers, Caius," she replies.
He shakes his head. "That is neither here nor there," he mutters. "At any rate, tomorrow morning, meet at the Headmaster's office. And please refrain from showing up hungover again."
"That happened once!" Manuela protests.
Caius ignores her and turns to me. "And you," he says. "Shouldn't you be working with that Almyran rat on preparing for the festival? I seem to understand that is his responsibility."
"The students helped us with most of the work yesterday," I explain. "So I had some free time to help Professor Manuela today."
"The students!" he exclaims. "The students are not here to help you with your labor. I see you are slow to learn lessons you ought to know."
I don't say anything. I don't want to.
Manuela folds her arms and frowns. "Don't take it out on Harrison. This whole thing of him cleaning my office was Hanneman's idea, anyway. Still, he really worked wonders on the place. Hey—maybe you should let him organize your office sometime!"
Caius furrows his brow again, and his voice wavers ever so slightly. "I do not think that will be necessary," he says. Is he angry? Insulted?
"Oh, come on, it's going to be the new year," Manuela replies. I can feel the passive-aggression slip into her voice as she continues. "Start your year off right, with a clean office. I was hesitant about it too, but look at all this! He's done a great job. A proud and proper noble like you shouldn't be burdened with the grunt work of cleaning. I mean, I hate to do it, and I'm a commoner."
He looks around the office, and then looks at me again, to which I turn away. Best not to respond, and focus on my work. I don't quite understand why Manuela's talking me up like this. Is she trying to pawn me off on him? Is she trying to just fuck with Caius the same way she gets all spiteful with Hanneman? I genuinely can't tell what's going on with these two.
"I suppose I will consider it," he says quietly.
"Wonderful!" Manuela says. "Now, we've got a little more work to do, so, I'll see you tomorrow, okay? Bye-bye!" She practically shoos him away and closes the door.
Once she shuts the door, she waits a few moments. Manuela is silent and still, as if holding her breath. I hold my breath too. Then, she relaxes, and I exhale with her.
When she speaks again, it's as if her entire demeanor changes. "He's gone," she whispers, placing a hand on her forehead. "Goddess, I cannot."
"Uh, is everything okay?" I ask. "And, pardon me for asking, but what was that all about?"
"Oh, don't worry. Everything's fine. It's just, if you haven't been able to tell, we don't exactly get along," she explains. "Hanneman and I don't usually see eye to eye either, but this is different—"
"I mean with you volunteering me to clean his office."
"Oh, that," Manuela says. She shakes her head. "I don't know what came over me, dear. When he kept insulting me, and then insulting you, I just—I wanted to catch him off guard with something he wouldn't expect. And that's just the first thing that came to mind. Kill 'em with kindness. Don't worry, I don't think he'll actually take up the offer."
"I sure hope not," I mutter. "I sure hope not."
"I'm sorry," she says. She puts her head in her hands for a moment. "I really shouldn't have done that."
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. "It's okay, Professor," I say. I look into her eyes, and something seems to give way inside me. My fears come spilling out. "I just—I don't want to make enemies here, and I don't want Professor Goneril to be upset at me—"
She puts a hand on my shoulder—gentle, yet firm. "It'll be okay," she says. "I promise. You and Cyril are good kids. Even though I can't stop him from saying those things, if he were to try something, I wouldn't let him. He's all bark and no bite; he hasn't seen one-tenth of what I have."
I nod. I don't doubt it.
"I can take the rest from here," she says. "Don't worry about it. You've done a great job—go report back to Hanneman or whatever else you were doing to do."
"Okay," I reply, exhaling once more. "Thank you, Professor."
"There's no need to call me Professor," she says, shooting me a wink. "Just Manuela is fine. After all, it's not like you're one of my students."
I try to ignore the flirting—is it flirting? I can't tell with her. "Alright, then, Manuela. If you're sure you're okay, I'll see you later."
"Take care, Harrison," she says, and smiles one last time as I turn away and exit her office.
I head over to Hanneman's office and knock on the door before entering.
"Ah, Harrison!" he says as I enter. He sits at his desk, poring over a book. "There you are."
"Hi, Professor," I say. "I just finished cleaning Professor Manuela's office, like you asked the other day."
His eyebrows jump. "Already?" he asks. "My, that is rather impressive. Do you mind if I have a look? Not that I doubt your handiwork, of course. I merely wish to see the sight of Manuela's office clean myself!"
"I mean, you'll have to ask her, but sure," I reply.
"I will be back shortly," Hanneman says. He gets up and heads out, leaving me to wait in his office for a few minutes. I can hear Manuela and Hanneman exchange a few sharp words, but I can't quite make out what they're saying. When he returns, he comes in, shaking his head.
"Harrison, I do not dare to fathom how you have done it," he says as he walks back to his desk, "but getting Manuela to help take care of it herself? Given how she normally conducts herself, I doubt that was a small feat."
I furrow my brow. I feel like I should defend Manuela here. She's trying her best here too, and it meant a lot that she's willing to stand up against Caius.
"It wasn't, but with all due respect, Professor, I don't think you give Professor Manuela enough credit," I say carefully.
Hanneman stops on a dime and turns around. "What's that?"
I feel my face heating up. This is why I shouldn't play at being Byleth. Maybe those two need more time before they're ready to start getting along. "I know you two have your differences," I begin, "but I just think that you are both skilled at what you do, and more importantly, care about other people at the monastery, unlike some other individuals I can think of. And it just doesn't seem right that you don't respect each other."
He nods. "Ah, I believe I understand what you are saying," he says, sighing. "Very well. You make fair points, all things considered. But that does not mean I will forgive her carelessness and disorganization so readily."
"I would be worried if you did," I reply.
"Now, are you prepared to commence your study of magic?"
I can't help but crack an excited grin. "Ready as I'll ever be."
"Then let us begin," Hanneman says. "Let me start by giving you some introductory materials."
He walks over to the bookshelves and combs through them, muttering to himself as he does. "No, not this…" he mutters. "Not that one either… aha!"
He pulls out a handful of thick books and places them in a stack on his desk. He slaps the stack with his palm, giving a satisfying thud. "You'll need to start working your way through these," he says. "A strong foundation in magical theory is essential to making the most out of any magic study. Naturally, there are far more advanced texts, but this should get you off to a running start, as it were. And then, we can discuss how our known magic may relate to Crests—"
I clear my throat. "Slow down, Professor," I cut in. "Let's take things one at a time."
"Right, right," he says, nodding. "Forgive me."
"So do I need to get through all of those books before I can start using magic?" I ask. "I don't mean to sound impatient, but I was kind of hoping we could get down to actually doing stuff, you know?"
As discomfiting as it is, I need to find out if I can. I need to find out how fucked up my blood is. And how much explaining I'll need to do to Hanneman.
Hanneman chuckles. "What you call impatience, I see as enthusiasm, and enthusiasm is always appreciated," he replies. "Of course, a detailed theoretical foundation is necessary to handle more advanced spells, and for improving your command of simpler ones. But let's see if we can't get you started with something elementary.
"You will find a much more thorough treatment of the subject in these books, of course, but as a starting lesson, we will begin with the conjuring and control of the magic circle," he begins. "The magic circle is, in equal measure, the canvas upon which spells are painted, the rudder that guides and steers them, and the bowstring that launches them at a target."
Hanneman heads over to the chalkboard and draws out a large circle, interposing it with a triangle and a hexagon and several smaller circles. It looks exactly like the magic circles from the animations in the game. But where the battle cinematics would have strange symbols and lines written in esoteric scripts all around the circle, Hanneman's diagram is blank. There are gaps where those things would go. "Look at it for as long as you like, but keep this image in your mind. Are you ready?"
I nod.
"Now, I want you to sit on the floor and close your eyes. Breathe deeply. Magic is a temperamental beast to control, and it requires the utmost concentration, clarity of mind, and strength of will to do so."
I do as he asks. I close my eyes. I breathe slowly, deeply. I empty my mind as best I can.
Hanneman continues. "Call upon that image of the magic circle in your mind. Visualize it, then hold out your hands and bring it into reality."
I do my best to focus on recalling the circle. When I think I've got it, I hold out my hands in what I imagine casting a spell is like.
"Do you feel the magic?" Hanneman asks, his voice gaining a skeptical undertone.
I don't feel anything. Suddenly, I am reminded that I'm sitting in a room on the floor with my eyes closed holding out my hands, and I really don't feel the magic. I feel like an idiot.
"No," I reply.
"Open your eyes, then," he says.
As expected, there's nothing in front of me. Nothing has happened. I really was just holding out my hands like an idiot.
I sigh. "I guess I can't do it," I mutter.
"Nonsense!" Hanneman exclaims. "Conjuring the blank magic circle is the hardest aspect for new students. Try again."
I do as he asks. I close my eyes, focus harder on the magic circle, trying to sear the image into my mind. Hanneman doesn't say anything as I hold out my hands, attempting once more to evoke the circle.
I hold my hands out for a minute but feel nothing. I open my eyes and curse under my breath. I find Hanneman looking at me expectantly.
"Still nothing," I say. "Maybe there's just something wrong with me." I can't bring myself to suggest, out loud, that it has something to do with my weird Crest result. I wait for Hanneman to put two and two together, but he doesn't.
"Focus," Hanneman says. "Ignore your doubts and your fears. You must be calm and collected. If you are not the master of your own mind, you cannot hope to use it to direct magic. If you are not the master of your own body, you cannot hope to flow magic through it. But you must take care not to force it, either. Your grasp must be firm, but not too tight."
I take a deep breath. "Okay, Professor. I'll try again. Just give me a minute."
Hanneman nods, and I turn to stare at the magic circle on the board again.
Ignore my doubts. Ignore my fears. Let them go. I am calm, collected, and in control. I close my eyes and breathe deeply again, feeling how my lungs expand and contract, and how my heart beats. But this is not fear—this is just my body working, and I am in command, and I will conjure this magic circle. That is not a statement of determination, it is a statement of fact.
I call the image of the circle in my mind and hold out my hands again.
Suddenly, I feel something. An invisible force, a tactile sensation that my whole body responds to. It feels a little like swimming in the ocean—the way the water obeys forces beyond your control, and you are along for the ride.
I open my eyes.
Stretched out before me, in a shimmering translucent white, is the magic circle Hanneman sketched on the board—blank and devoid of any symbols—about three feet in diameter.
I can't help but gasp, and at the slightest shift of my bodily movement, the circle becomes unsteady, until it dissipates and vanishes.
"I—I got it!"
Hanneman laughs. "Ah, it never gets old to see a student accomplish it for the first time," he says.
I laugh too, swept up in the exhilaration and triumph of success. "So how do I get it to shoot fire, or lightning, or—you know, magic stuff? Do I have to learn different kinds of circles, or what?"
Hanneman nods, heading back over to the chalkboard. He points to the empty spaces within and around the circle. "Observe how this magic circle is blank. There are numerous locations into which symbols or glyphs can be inserted. It is by combining and recombining these symbols, changing their relationships to one another, and modulating our magical input into the circle, that spells are given form."
He sketches characters that I've never seen before in the small concentric circles, and writes in some script along the arcs connecting them. "This is a circle for Fire," he explains. "Now, I do not expect you to cast this immediately, no. You will need more practice conjuring and controlling the blank circle while you begin to familiarize yourself with the glyphs and their applications. These books will help you with that. Any questions?"
"Not right now," I reply. "I'm sure I will have a lot more once I start reading."
"That is the intellectual curiosity I wish to see!" Hanneman says, beaming. "Now, it is getting rather late, so I ought to send you on your way. Practice the circle, and come back to see me when you have some free time."
"Will do, Professor."
He sends me off with the stack of textbooks, along with materials for taking notes should I wish—a quill pen, a vial of ink, and a small leatherbound notebook. I thank him once again for teaching me and loaning me all the goods, then bid him goodnight. I make sure to check in with Seteth as usual before calling it a day.
That night, I can barely contain my excitement. I can cast magic. I can cast magic! Maybe it means my Crest isn't as fucked up as I thought. I legitimately thought I might not be able to do it, but I can. Maybe there really was just a problem with the machine and I can fit in just fine here. I hope so, anyway. But being able to cast magic normally happens to be a great sign.
I find a drawing of the circle in the first chapter of one of the books—Elements of Black Magical Circle Construction—and practice a few more times in my room, each time conjuring the circle with more ease and more control than the last. Still, just like the ocean to which I compared it, it doesn't take long before I'm quite tired out, and get some quality rest in for the next day.
The next few days pass similarly. Hanneman is somewhat busy, though, and doesn't have too much time for me. Still, that's fine for letting me get to grips with practicing the magic circle on my own. Without much work to do, I have plenty of time to get the intuition for it.
On the last day of the week, I decide to check in with Seteth early, so I can take some time to read in the evening. I head over to his office and knock on the door.
No noise comes from within.
Huh. That's weird. Usually, Seteth asks me to come in, or tells me to wait. Where could he be? Certainly not here. Without really thinking about it, my hand reaches for the doorknob and turns it.
To my surprise, the door is unlocked. "Hello?" I call out as I open the door and step inside.
Sitting in a chair across from Seteth's desk is someone with a long cascade of green hair. No, no. It can't be. I feel my heart clench as the person turns around to face me.
Archbishop Rhea—Saint Seiros—looks back at me with her seafoam green eyes.
I freeze like a deer in headlights, and a sound escapes my lips that's somewhere between a gasp and a cry. "I'm sorry!" I manage to get out. "I'll be going!"
Rhea smiles before I can turn around. "Do not be afraid, child," she says.
Who's afraid? Me? I'm not afraid. Fear is the mind-killer. I let out another undefined sound, this time between a nervous laugh and a sharp exhale. "Archbishop Rhea," I say. "My apologies."
This is fine. This is fine.
She just maintains her serene smile. "There is no need to apologize," she says. "I presume you are here to meet with the Holy Chamberlain."
I want to stand my ground, or just run and hide. Fight or flight. My sympathetic nervous system is doubtlessly recognizing the predator in front of me and wants to do what it does best—survive, not talk. I might have been able to let go of fear in order to cast magic, but this is another story.
"That's right," I reply, forcing the words out.
"An urgent matter required his immediate attention, though he will return shortly," Rhea replies.
I nod. "I'll come back, then. I don't want to intrude."
Rhea laughs softly, and I fear I've said something wrong. She gestures around the empty office with a hand, the embroidered sleeve of her vestment elegantly following her movement. "There is nothing into which you are intruding," she says. She turns back to look at me.
I bite my lip.
"For someone who works so closely under Seteth," Rhea begins, "I am surprised that we have not yet met. What is your name, child?"
As my mind debates how to respond (the clear answer being: it's too late and I should have already bolted), Rhea wins the dance of predator and prey. As firmly as I want to stand, it's not on any solid ground. Like the undertow of the sea, her gentle tone has this involuntary effect on me, sapping my resistance and drawing out the response she wants. I can imagine how this magnetism works for people who don't know everything I know.
"My name is Harrison," I answer, the words practically falling out of my mouth. "I just started recently."
"Ah, Harrison," Rhea says. I don't like hearing her say my name. "You may wish to know, your reputation precedes you."
I feel my heart leap into my throat. "It does?" I manage to choke out.
"Yes," she says, nodding. "I've heard that you led the students in helping to finish the preparations for the new years' festivals ahead of schedule."
I guess I really couldn't hide for that long, could I? It was a mistake to even think about interacting with the students. Even when I first spoke to Annette, that was a mistake, too. I should have known it would all get back to Rhea.
"Ah, I did, I guess," I reply. "I hope that wasn't out of line, Lady Archbishop. I apologize—"
Her smile grows wider. "Archbishop Rhea or Lady Rhea is fine, child," she says.
I nod, barely able to speak as I await further judgement.
"And again, there is no need to apologize," she continues. "While your actions may have been irregular, I suppose no harm was done, given that those students have not yet begun their education. But once the new year passes, you would do well not to interfere with their studies."
"Understood, Lady Rhea," I reply. "Um, if that's all, then I'll get going. I'll, you know, meet with the Holy Chamberlain later."
"Very well," Rhea says. "I will let him know you stopped by. It was a pleasure to meet you, Harrison. I hope your time at Garreg Mach has been a blessing."
"It has," I reply, doing my best not to betray the fact that it's been a curse, if nothing else. "And it is an honor to meet you, Lady Rhea."
She nods. "May the blessings of the Goddess be with you."
I hesitate. I don't want Seteth to know Rhea and I ever crossed paths. But I can't tell the fucking Archbishop what to do. I just nod. "Her blessings, always," I reply.
I slip away out the door like I just committed a crime and gingerly shut it behind me. A shuddering breath escapes my lips as I place my back to the door. My chest is wound-up, taut, my vision narrow. I put my hand over my solar plexus and feel my heart pounding. That was just so sudden and I didn't know what to do and does she suspect anything and—
I force myself to breathe. I didn't fuck that up too bad. She really doesn't have reason to suspect anything. I was polite, told her my name, followed the conventions, and took my leave. If my strange behavior ever gets brought up, I'll just say I was completely and utterly starstruck by her presence. Not terrified, but awed.
Maybe if I keep telling myself that's what it was, it will become true. Get the Schachter-Singer theory of emotions working for me. The physiological indicators of fear—pounding heart, clammy hands, heavy breaths, all of it—are no different than the ones for excitement, or even attraction. What creates the subjective experience is how we, consciously or not, label the biological feedback our brains get from our bodies. Still, try as I might, I'm not sure I can effect some kind of manual override. Rhea merely existing in the same space as me, looking at me—I don't care what the literature says, there is something so viscerally uncomfortable about it all that I just cannot overcome.
I slink down the hall, trying to maintain my composure as best I can. A fair while later, once I've regained my composure—and, more importantly, feel confident that Rhea has left—I return to Seteth's office and enter.
Given the events of not too long ago, I am unsurprised to see the man scowling at me. He folds his arms, and I can't help but sigh and look at my feet.
"So I understand you have met the Archbishop," he says, his voice sounding like he's fighting to keep his tone in check.
"I'm sorry," I say, and feel the fear swelling up in my chest once again, even though she's gone. The next words take real effort to speak. "Did I handle it badly? Do you think she—does she—"
Seteth shakes his head. "I do not believe so," he says. He exhales deeply. "She does not seem to have any suspicions. I suppose you handled the interaction well enough."
I breathe a sigh of relief. "Good," is all I can say.
"But," he continues, his voice dropping in volume, "now that the Archbishop knows your name and your face, we ought to take certain precautions."
"Precautions—"
"Precautions against others learning of the true circumstances under which you arrived here," Seteth says.
"Right," I reply. "So we'll need a cover story. A cover identity."
"Precisely," Seteth says. He sighs and shakes his head. "In truth, we probably should have sat down to think of it earlier. I was already behind on my work when you came along, so I had hoped to have a bit more time before this became necessary."
"I'm sorry," I say. "But, better now than later."
We get to work coming up with a cover story. Since it's obvious I'm not a Fódlan native, the first order of business is to come up with an alternate origin that's at least on the map. Most of them are quickly ruled out by process of elimination. I don't have the complexion of an Almyran or Brigidian native, neither do I speak their languages. While my features mean I would have an easier time passing for Dagdan, I don't speak that tongue, either, and Shamir would know what was up. Albinea is, as far as anyone knows, nigh-uninhabited, which makes that a pretty bad choice, too. I don't look the part of the Sreng hordes, either, stereotype though that image may be.
That leaves only one real option, Morfis. Seteth tells me that even with the Church's vast reach of information, its intelligence on Morfis is limited, which means we have some room for invention without most people knowing any better. Apparently, while the capital City of Illusion is rather isolated, there is a thriving, wide-reaching black market for its magical goods, despite the efforts of the Church and sovereign governments of Fódlan, and Almyra's predisposition against most kinds of magic. That gives us the opening we need.
Of course, the challenge is going to be explaining my apparent education and command of Adrestian. The best we've got is that my father was a mid-level government clerk who worked Morfis's limited foreign service. He spent his life walked over by the smuggling cartels that held the prosperous city-state in their grip. So, he called in every favor he had, pulled every string he could, to get me out of there, to get me to somewhere new—an Alliance port. We specifically settle on Edmund since that is a noted entry point of Morfis contraband.
Now, challenge number two: how I got to Garreg Mach. Once I got to the Edmund port, I fell in with a group of pilgrims on their way to the monastery, helping them out with odd jobs for meals and a spot at camp. And when I got here, I explained my situation to Seteth who granted me asylum in exchange for my labor.
"That seems to be reasonable enough," Seteth says once we've worked it all out. He writes down two copies of the notes and hands me one. "Keep this in a very safe place."
The note is written in a simplified shorthand that makes it unclear exactly who or what it's all referring to. Perfect. I fold it up and slip it into my pocket.
Seteth does the same. He gets up from his desk and walks over to one of the bookshelves and pulls out a thick, leather-bound volume. "This is the Church registry for monastery staff," he says as he returns to the desk. He flips through the book, stopping at a particular page. "I filled out a provisional entry for you, but we'll need to go over a few details, especially in light of our new understandings."
I just nod.
Seteth mutters to himself as he moves his finger across the ledger. "Given name: Harrison, we have established. Surname: I have gathered yours from those cards you carried around. To be honest, it does not quite sound—well, native—even if you are to be from Morfis. May I propose some kind of modification?"
"Would it be easier if I just didn't have one?"
Seteth almost scoffs. A little hypocritical, given the fact that he doesn't use a surname himself.
"Only the most backward, rural commoners go without a family name," he explains. "It would stretch belief that the son of a government official did not have a surname. You need not shout it from the rooftops, but you ought to prepare an answer if someone were to ask you."
I put a hand on my chin. "I've got an idea," I say. "Weiszmann." It's a much older, much more Germanic or Eastern European spelling of my last name, one among many different variants my ancestors tried out when they immigrated to the United States, before they settled on a full Anglicization.
"Weiszmann," Seteth repeats, nodding. "It sounds rather Adrestian. It will do nicely."
Back when I learned this, uncovered through dusty old binders my dad and I went through for my elementary-school family genealogy projects, it was strange for me to imagine changing your name to fit in somewhere different. It's part of who you are. But it makes so much more sense now. I'm doing the same thing my ancestors did, only in the opposite direction, to keep out of trouble and beneath notice in a very scary new world. Would my family be ashamed of me? I hope not. I hope they'd be proud of me adapting and surviving.
It doesn't take much longer to finish the form. One of the only other important things is my date of birth. June, month of the summer solstice, carries cleanly over to the Garland Moon, and we determine that I should have been born in 1158, given that I'll be turning 22 soon enough.
Then, after paying me for this week's work, Seteth pretty quickly shoos me out of his office. I don't doubt he's frustrated about what happened with Rhea. I am too. But I know I need to ignore my doubts and my fears, and remain in control.
Praesday morning services come and go a little better than last week. I sit with Cyril and Catherine again and stay just as silent as last time, save for getting the call-and-response greetings correct—which Catherine greets with an approving nod. I run into Mercedes and Annette again and have a friendly, if brief chat, about the upcoming festival. Even though I'm sure they would be interested to know I'm studying magic with Hanneman, I'm worried it would be awkward to explain, so I just don't bother. On my way out of services, I find Edelgard watching me. I bite my lip, keep my head down, and move on.
Armed with my knowledge about money from last week, I head to the market, and spend ten of my eleven brass pieces on a cheap leather satchel. It's no great shakes, but it's enough to carry around those books Hanneman bought me, and that's what I intend to use it for.
With a few books, pen, and ink in hand, I head to the library. I even bring along The History of Fódlan in my satchel in case I get bored of dense magical textbooks. As I enter, Tomas regards me with a restrained smile and a nod, which I return. Knowing his true identity and his true intentions is terrifying. But despite how much I wish to avoid interacting with him, I can't let him realize I know what's really going on. Somehow, that makes it even worse.
On the first floor, there are a few students here in addition to Tomas. Linhardt is napping in a comfortable chair, as usual, and a few tables over from him, Ignatz is flipping through what looks like an illuminated manuscript. I decide to head upstairs, to the quieter loft of the library. Luckily, no one else is here. Perfect. This means I can read and take notes without turning any heads.
I sit down at a table, and open my satchel. I take out one of the magical theory books, crack it open, and start reading while taking notes. It's dry and vague, but the introductory chapter lays out a lot of what Hanneman told me in more precise terms: black magic is all about careful choices regarding the interplay of the glyphs that give the spell its character, intensity, form, and trajectory, as opposed to white magic, which requires more personal intuition, a je ne sais quoi that the obviously biased author of this book seems to abhor. Taking notes with a quill pen is tricky to get used to, but as I start to get the hang of it, it reminds me of college—something I've been away from for nearly two weeks, I realize. Yet without the pressure of an exam or a test on the line, it feels more relaxed. It feels familiar, and almost comforting.
Still, as I predicted, I do get a little sick of it after a while, and decide to take a break with The History of Fódlan. I move onto the next chapter, reading about the origins of Saint Seiros. You know, it's not a terrible idea to take notes on this, either. These are things I'm expected to know, after all. I start writing important events and people in the order they're relevant in the back of the little leather notebook.
My thoughts are interrupted when I hear footsteps. Someone's walking up the stairs. Shit! The ink on the paper isn't dry yet, so I can't just close the notebook and put it away. Maybe I'll just slide it under the—
"Good evening," a voice says, just barely above a whisper.
I look up at who is addressing me. It's Edelgard, standing across the table from me. Figures after everything I've done in front of her that she has reason to confront me. And I did tell the house leaders I could tell them something later—Edelgard was the only one who took the initiative to take me up on it.
"I'm sorry," I reply. "I'll get up and—"
"Don't move," she says. She shakes her head and sighs. "I'm sorry. That came out wrong. What I mean is that I want to talk to you."
"I thought I told you I wasn't a very interesting person," I explain.
"I will be the judge of that," she says. "And given our previous encounters, I suspect you know this to be untrue as well."
I sigh. She must have bought into Hubert's theories of me being her enemy. She could be trying to set me up to kill me, or have him kill me. I try to call up as much as I can of the Morfis cover story into my memory—just in case it helps. But I still do my best to buy some time.
"Look, Edelgard—can I call you Edelgard?—what do you want?"
"I told you: to talk," she says. "We don't have to, naturally."
"But if we don't, I bet Hubert is going to give me a hard time. Just like before, yeah?"
She shrugs. "I doubt he would be pleased to hear you refused my invitation for a friendly chat."
I exhale again. She's got a point, at the very least. But whatever happens, I know I don't want Tomas, perhaps more accurately known as Solon, overhearing it. Even though I know they're in league with one another, the thought is still discomfiting.
"Fine. Why don't we do this somewhere else?" I reply. "A library is not the best place for conversation."
"My thoughts exactly," she says. "Let us reunite by the stables. That area is usually quite free of others at this time of the evening. You depart first, and I will leave here soon and meet you there. This way, we will not attract any undue suspicion."
I nod. "Wait a minute. How do I know you aren't setting me up for Hubert to slit my throat? Shouldn't I meet you there?"
She quirks an eyebrow. "You are awfully concerned about Hubert, aren't you? Do not worry. This is between us, not him," she replies. "Though if I were going to allow him to slit your throat, he already would have done so. The order of our departure has naught to do with it."
I can't help but laugh and shake my head. "You got me there," I say. "Guess we're going with your plan."
I furrow my brow a bit as I mull it over, because her plan is a little weird. The only reason she could be doing this is if even she doesn't want Tomas to know we're associated. I mean, I guess it makes some sense given her attitudes towards his ilk, but I'm not sure where I come in there.
Could she think I'm one of them? Maybe that's why she wants me to go first, to see if I try to signal to Tomas or anything like that. That's what makes the most sense to me.
I quickly pack away my things, not caring anymore for the state of my notes. I head down the stairs and out the library. Tomas doesn't even look up from whatever he's reading, and neither does Ignatz. Linhardt remains fast asleep. I'm jealous. I can't catch a fucking break.
I dutifully head out to the stables. I don't run into anyone on the way. As the last throes of the twilight give way to evening, all I can hear is crickets chirping and my heart pounding between my ears. Edelgard is no more scary than Rhea on her own, but while Rhea may be satisfied by Seteth and Flayn vouching for me, there is no one but me who can satisfy whatever Edelgard is looking for. And thanks to everything that's happened, there's already blood in the water. I just have to stem the bleeding before I lose all nine pints.
I find an isolated corner. I put my back against it in a perhaps futile attempt to prevent someone from sneaking up with me. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself once again.
I end up waiting a few minutes, but it doesn't take long for Edelgard to find me. The burning intensity in her lilac eyes shines through the dusky night. She's about six inches shorter than me, but her energy and her poise make me feel small in comparison.
Edelgard doesn't say anything for a moment, and neither do I. I look to my left and to my right.
She gives me a curious glance. "Are you actually expecting Hubert to materialize from the shadows?" she asks sarcastically.
I fold my arms. "In my defense, the first time I met him, it certainly felt like it," I reply.
Edelgard sighs. "I understand," she says. "Allow me to once again apologize for the events of that night. Hubert can certainly be a bit overzealous in his efforts to protect me. I hope you understand that the incident was not personal—I do not know if my words can speak louder than his actions, but I hope we can have a fresh start."
"I accept your apology, and I think we can have a fresh start," I say. "But I'd like to remind you with your own words: this is about you and me, not him. So what is it that you want with me?"
Edelgard nods. "I appreciate you getting right to the heart of the matter, so I will do the same. I'm sure you are aware that your presence at Garreg Mach is rather unusual," she begins. "Your role at the monastery is that of a simple laborer, yet you defy all expectations for someone in such a role."
I knew this was coming, but I can't give in easily. "I don't know what you mean," I reply.
"Oh, come off it," she says with a dismissive wave of the hand. "You know exactly what I am talking about. You clearly are well-educated, have a predisposition for leading others in defiance of your social standing, and disregard many of the customs and norms of this land. In fact, I would venture to suggest that you are a foreigner to Fódlan."
I bite my lip for a moment. I mean, I knew she had caught on to all of that, but it's another thing to hear it spoken back at you like that. "Those are some interesting conclusions," I reply. "But what gives you that idea? It's not like I have a particular accent or anything."
"Your Adrestian may be excellent indeed, but besides the generally unusual situation you seem to be in," she begins, "there are certain tells as to your behavior. For example, you referred to me once as Lady von Hresvelg—but in proper usage, that is incorrect. Lady Hresvelg would be correct."
"Duly noted," I mutter with an exasperated sigh.
"Do bear in mind that I don't care for that title," she replies pointedly. "But that is irrelevant. I bring this up because someone of your apparent education, able to assist the professors as you do, and read treatises on political philosophy, should be aware of the basic customs surrounding the institution of nobility. And let us not forget that you so clearly have appeared, as Dimitri said, to be a 'fish out of water' at Church services—also rather telling."
I curl my hand into a fist, frustrated, but I do my best to keep my words tempered and measured. I sigh. "What does all this matter to you?"
"You may remember that Hubert said I have many enemies. I simply wish to make sure you are not one of them. Where are you from, Harrison, and why are you here?" she asks, furrowing her brow. She leans just a bit closer to me. "Who are you, really?"
The last question is a twist of the knife.
I take another breath to steady myself. "If it means it will put your—and Hubert's—suspicions of me to rest, I am willing to answer your questions, Edelgard," I say. "But you have to promise me something. You have to promise me you won't tell anyone you know this. You can tell Hubert so he doesn't pull that shit on me again. But no one else. No one else. The Holy Chamberlain—your Headmaster—knows this, and he is prepared to back me up. So don't try anything smart, okay?"
She nods. "I understand," she replies. "The truth is not something I take lightly."
"Your deductions were right. I am not from Fódlan. I'm from Morfis," I begin, my words growing stronger and more authoritative with each sentence. Edelgard's eyes widen at that. "I don't want to talk much about how exactly I got here. You must know that Fódlan isn't the most welcoming to foreigners."
"I'm aware," she replies. "Still, if that's true, I have many questions. How do you know Adrestian so well? And how did you get here?"
"I learned Adrestian from my father. He's a mid-level government official in the foreign service department—yes, Morfis has a foreign service department, even if it's small—so knowing languages was pretty important. That's how I got a good education from a young age, too, but why I'm not very familiar with the specific customs of Fódlan." I nod as I finish. That was pretty good, I thought, for the first time reciting everything.
"Fascinating," Edelgard says. She puts her hand on her chin. "If you and your father were skilled in languages, do you speak any Dagdan, or Brigid? Perhaps Almyran?"
"I'm afraid I've lost the limited knowledge I have of those tongues," I say.
Edelgard gives me a sidelong, almost dubious glance. "Are you sure you couldn't try a sentence or two?"
I laugh nervously. "I'd rather not embarrass myself."
She sighs. "Very well," she says. Thank God I dodged that bullet. "I am sure there is a rich and fascinating story behind your life in Morfis and your arrival here at Garreg Mach."
I take another deep breath. "Listen, Edelgard. There's not much more I can tell you right now. It's not personal. I'm not going to unload my entire life story on someone I've met for a few minutes. I'm sure you understand, right? I bet you have a crazy story as the heir to the throne. All powerful people do. But you wouldn't dump it on me without knowing if you could trust me first. Right?"
Edelgard doesn't say anything for a moment. Her brow furrows. "I admit, you have a point, and I do understand. But you being so evasive only makes me more curious. If there's one thing you should know about me, Harrison, it's that I don't give up so easily. When others tell me to stand down, I press on ahead. So don't think you can deflect my questions that simply."
"I don't intend to," I reply. "I admire your determination and persistence. But I'm not saying I won't ever tell you, or anyone else. I'm just saying we have to get there eventually."
Edelgard sighs. "I am a bit disappointed, to be honest. I still have lingering questions. But from what I've learned so far, your story holds up. For one thing, it explains why you're taking notes on The History of Fódlan despite not being a student or instructor yourself."
"You saw that? Ugh…." I mutter.
"You're studying it like a textbook on fitting into your new environment, are you not?"
"What's wrong with that?" I ask defensively. "Understanding history is a good way to understand why the world is the way it is. I want to understand where I am and what's going on around me."
"Nothing is wrong with it," Edelgard says. "And I wholeheartedly agree with your statement. In fact, I'd be interested to hear an outsiders' perspective on our history. Our institutions. And how they ought to change."
All I can do is offer an emphatic nod.
"Well, I suppose that is all I have to ask for now," she says. "Have a good night, Harrison. Take care."
"You too, Edelgard."
I can't let my doubts and my fears take control.
Edelgard finishes summarizing the situation to Hubert. Her vassal had made his distrust of that strange monastery worker, Harrison, clear from the beginning. Hubert, concerned that Harrison's unusual characteristics were signs of association with Those Who Slither in the Dark, insisted that he go to confront Harrison, to learn more about his identity and purpose at Garreg Mach, though Edelgard was able to talk him down from this foolhardy act. She wanted to avoid a repeat of their first meeting and minimize the risk of escalating the situation unnecessarily, and so went to do it herself. But given what she discovered, that same distrust from Hubert is coming home to roost.
Hubert wears a sly smirk on his face. "I see, Lady Edelgard," he says. "I am relieved to hear he has not tried to harm you. But, with all due respect, I believe I told you he was hiding something."
Edelgard shakes her head. "Hubert, you can't claim victory if you doubt every person we meet and then one of them happens to be more interesting than meets the eye," she says. "It's hardly sporting."
"My service to you is no sport, my lady."
Edelgard sighs. It figures Hubert would say something like that. "At any rate, what do you make of his story, in light of everything else we have observed?"
"It is dubious," Hubert replies. "You must realize this Morfis alibi is absurd. How can he speak such fluent Adrestian, yet refuse to venture a word of another language? I maintain my position that he is an agent of our associates, who simply does not wish to reveal himself."
Edelgard nods. "His story explains some things to a certain level of satisfaction, but leaves others curious as ever. Still, I am not so certain I agree with your conclusion. Such a bold claim needs to be supported by reason, not baseless paranoia."
Hubert holds his chin with a gloved hand. "It explains many things about him more convincingly than the alternative: his education, irreverence, and his fluency in Adrestian," he says. "As well as his apparent fear of me, and interest in you."
Edelgard scoffs. "Given how you have treated him, his fear of you is not exactly surprising. But what do you mean by an interest in me?"
"Do you think it was a coincidence that he studied your book so closely?" he asks. "Or that he insisted that you help him in preparing for the festival?"
"If he is one of them, he is doing an especially poor job of maintaining appearances," she rebuts. "He would know better than to try the Morfis story on me, or to invoke Seteth in doing so. And besides, wouldn't they have informed us of the situation? After all, they are nothing without us. Without me."
"I am not so convinced they would rush to inform you, my lady." Hubert says. "We view our cooperation as temporary and out of necessity. There are secrets we keep from them. Who is to say they do not feel the same?"
Edelgard folds her arms. "You have a point, I suppose. But still, my argument stands. If he was an infiltrator, he is being quite conspicuous about it, and I believe our associates are far more competent than that. They may be dastards, but they are good at what they do. And I neglected to mention that when he walked in full view of Tomas, neither seemed to signal any concern for the other."
Hubert remains silent for a moment, then matches Edelgard's intent glare. "So what is your alternative suggestion, Your Highness?" Hubert asks. "I do not suppose you buy into this business with Morfis."
"Of course not," Edelgard says. "Harrison admitted as much himself by saying that there is more to tell. Perhaps he is a bastard son, raised under unusual and changing circumstances. But I suspect, as strange as it may be, that he is a foreigner—but not from Morfis."
"I assume you mean that he is of origins unknown, then," Hubert replies. "But how could he speak Adrestian?"
"There is much that the institutions of this land have kept from us," Edelgard says. "It is entirely possible that there are distant lands that Fódlan at large has simply not made contact with—or lost contact with, given the issue of language. No explanation accounts for everything, but I do not think he is a threat." She smiles. "On the contrary, perhaps, with time he could prove helpful. An outsider would be well-poised to understand our cause, and with his education and potential… well, the Empire could always use loyal administrators."
Hubert shakes his head. "Putting aside the question of if that is even the case, consider that he works for the Church," Hubert rebuts. "How likely is he to join us?"
"If he is an outsider, then he is working for the Church out of necessity," Edelgard says. "He hasn't been dyed in the wool like the natives of this continent."
"I do not mean to dishearten you, Lady Edelgard, but I must stress that this may be all wishful thinking. Do not let it distract you from our objectives."
Edelgard nods soberly. "Certainly not. But where there is truth, I will uncover it. Do you have any objections?"
Hubert shakes his head. "I would not dream of it."
"Then that will be all for tonight. Rest well, Hubert."
As Hubert leaves and quietly closes the door behind him, Edelgard finds herself looking forward to speaking to Harrison again. Just as she is prepared to cut through the lies and deception of the Church, she is ready to unravel the mystery of Harrison as well. Perhaps, if her intuition is correct, behind that mystery there will be someone who is able to see what she sees—to see this twisted continent for what it truly is.
A/N: Well things should be starting to be getting exciting! Thanks to ThreeDollarBratwurst as always for beta-reading, with special help from RedXEagle3, Tyrux, DestructionDragon360, and Stormtide Leviathan, so a big thank you to all of them. For TDB's out of context quote, we have "If you're playing in NG+ there's a decent chance you actually have nothing better to do."
Come hang out on our Discord server with TDB and Syn and me: discord . gg / A27Ngyj (remove spaces). I can also be found occasionally at the Fanfiction Treehouse server, discord . gg / 9XG3U7a - Hope to see you guys around!
And now, some review responses:
Ghep - Thank you so much for the review! Not sure how this chapter changes your stance on Edelgard.
patattack - Thank you for the review!
DestructionDragon360 - Yes, each of the three house leaders sees something different in Harrison, and that will define their relationships going forward.
Sonikah - So, what you're saying is that Seteth isn't a cool Nabatean?
Petra Anderson - Those are very good points. No matter what happens in this fic, I hope to give all four of the leaders a fair spotlight.
Nooneimportant - Thank you for the review. You make a good point that in the long run, Harrison probably should seriously avoid talking to any of the main characters, but he did want to get the work done efficiently (so he could get to practicing magic with Hanneman) and as he suggested in his narration, trying to make friends isn't the worst thing in the world even if it does backfire. As for Earthborne, I'll try to get around to updating it soon. That story has a lot of problems which makes writing for it not easy.
V01dSw0rd - I can't answer that question yet! But thanks for reviewing!
Sieg Warheidt - Flayn is an interesting choice, for sure. There's a lot I could say on that but we'll just have to see where the romance goes, though.
heavenschoir - Thank you so much for reviewing!
Morrowing - Thank you for the review! I'm glad everyone was in character!
DeadalusFlights - Thanks for reviewing!
Stormtide Leviathan - Thank you for the review! One of the things I wanted to get across was that even if you try to fit in, still, some details slipping through are inevitable, and for people who are invested in looking into those differences, the truth will become ever more obvious.
LowerBlack - Thank you for the detailed review! As this chapter hopefully showed, Edelgard is indeed very much onto Harrison. Your point that he didn't focus enough on Claude is well noted, but in his defense, Claude is less... immediately dangerous than the other two? Anyway, Claude will be more relevant soon enough. As for Sylvain and Felix... just assume they spent the better part of the day accomplishing nothing much of note.
Guest - Thank you for the detailed review! You make very good points about how Harrison stood out and that's exactly what Edelgard and Hubert (among others) have caught onto. As far as an older brother, well, he is 21-going-on-22, so for a lot of the students, yeah, that might seem to be what the relationship is, though he's still something of a kid to the faculty and knights.
CaptainSidekick - Thank you! And yes, I love Bernadetta too. She's a lot of fun to write.
Caellach Tiger Eye - As always, thank you for the detailed and insightful review. I know we discussed some of these points in PM, but for the sake of anyone else who might be interested, I appreciate the nuanced take on the conflict with Harrison's identity in addition to the interactions with the three house leaders. Given that you identified the Black Eagles as a house you wanted to see him interact with more with... well, I hope this chapter satisfies that, haha. And yeah, there's definitely no rush for shipping, but you know I always like to stir the pot a little bit. As always, looking forward to your next review and keeping in touch by PM!
Information Broker - That's an interesting hypothesis, but if I said more than that, it would be spoilers! I'd be curious to hear how the events of this chapter play into your perception of Harrison and Edelgard's dynamic. Thank you once again for the detailed review!
NihthKuro - As I said for Information Broker, you've got an interesting theory here, but time will tell if you are correct.
Scoolio - Thanks! I had a lot of fun writing Petra.
mad thought - Thanks for the review! To be honest, I don't expect to introduce these specific sorts of crossover elements in the fic, but they're definitely cool ideas!
Tindle - Thanks for the heads up. I'll keep this in mind. I want to write this faithfully to canon, but I just want to caution people that this won't be the same story arc that is in Earthborne; that's all I meant by coming out so strongly against gunpowder in the beginning of the story. Thank you for understanding.
The Dragon Lover - Thank you so much for your detailed reviews! There's a lot to reply to and we've already discussed a lot of it over Discord, so, I'll just say, I eagerly await your next review!