Chapter Two
1.
There are three stand-out good things to being Leonie Pinelli.
One: She is not born in the Empire.
(But that didn't help Lysithea- I'm still in danger- got to- where's the- helpless against-)
Two: She is so blunt no one would never dream that she'd be a threat they didn't see coming.
(I'm not her- not blunt or crass or- no matter how much the words beg to be released- I'm changed- not her-)
Three: No weaknesses.
(I'm weak, weak, weakweakweakweak-)
There is a fourth, but normal people won't see it as a good thing. She has no unreal expectations about her role. There are things a nineteen-year-old could do, but the cards were stacked against Leonie on that route from the moment she was born.
Four: Leonie is not a hero.
She is a survivor.
(I am alive.)
2.
The wolves in the forest wait until she's removed her arrow before descending on the poacher. She is ten years old again, and her father is sick. The other hunters are closer to town, but she's been sneaking out long enough to practice magic and knows where the good game and forge is. All one must do is watch out for the poachers.
Slimy thieves on my territory.
It is easier working with the body than straining against it. Nudge it to fixate on healthier things. The territorial feelings are pushed towards land rather than people, the hyperfixation on weapons, and obsession towards hoarding money. Her hands no longer shake before an attack, her mind no longer rebels at the immorality of killing. Children are meant to be blank slates to survive, and if she didn't let go of her first-life morals and social norms then she would have fought the natural instincts unto a second death. If starving didn't do her in, the chemical upheaval her underdeveloped body was unprepared for would have.
Leonie fixes the dead squirrels to her belt, face blank. She looks for signs of others, but it seems the poachers are getting the message. Either that, or they're preparing to try and trap her.
A flicker of dread comes and goes from her eyes. She hopes it isn't going to be a trap but resigns herself to it happening eventually. Returning to the dead poacher, this time void of wolves and their easy feast, she picks up the few coins on the ground. With a sigh at the meager amount, she flicks one in the air for the quick pleasure of shiny.
The money gets pocketed. She moves to the trees, climbing up to avoid any straggler hungry wolves that may just come back. Never going to make that mistake again.
She slinks and leaps over branches, wishing she could have had the strength to carry larger game while in the treetops. Leonie is already tall, starving some days as the calories she loses outweigh those needed for her growth spirts. There are more mouths to feed in the village now, and not enough to keep up in seasons where crops are minimal. The fat on her is gone, sadly. No insulation against biting winds and not strong enough to fight the other predators for large prey.
This is all ignoring how the Monastery's admittance fee for commoners without a noble's recommendation is three times the amount of a noble's fee.
A tree branch breaks in her hand. Leonie smiles sharply as she hisses, taking a deep breath to swallow the scream at the unfairness. They haven't had a merchant stop by in months. The House Gloucester won't help them, their village was thought doomed and left to rot as the poultry industry they excelled in dried up. The Country of Gloucester is a large mass in the Alliance territory, Sauin Village less than a blip on the map.
Yes, as much as she enjoys these days away from the darkness of the Monastery, Empire, and Kingdom, Leonie is bitter towards no one assisting her territory. They are mostly isolated from other villages, being full day walks one way or another. News about politics comes and goes so slowly, she isn't sure how the timeline of events is looking. Worst of all…
Leonie lands on a fruit tree. She unties the sack around her belt and gets to picking.
Worst of all, the only thing tying her to this place is the freedom it offers. Her body and emotions have rejected ties to the villagers – even to her father – and has placed them as no name, weak, prey. She cannot force respect or trust towards them, it feels distasteful to even think of requesting their aid in her future schooling because of this. Canon Leonie had talked about how their support meant a lot to her, so maybe it is a mix of new Leonie and the easy killer's body that causes this.
Rip. Tear. So hungry.
Leonie takes a deep breath and plasters on her truest smile before re-entering the village. Maybe she could try a levitating spell at home; if her father sees it then she'll pass it off as a dream of his.
Magic really is a wonderful thing. Too bad her Faith can't even conjure up a minor heal spell.
3.
It is in a bush, cursing her luck and stealthily trying to draw back an arrow, that Leonie watches in awe as a buck comes flying out of nowhere and destroys the poachers carving up a fawn. It'd be a beautiful karmic vengeance, if she weren't ten feet away from it. At first, her bow and arrow stay up. Then she realizes what's before her.
A golden deer.
Something in her body yearns to go for it, to assist with its destruction. The buck seems to have it all handled, horns causing untold damage to the screaming men and woman who thought to prey on his kind. Leonie watches with bated breath as the calm settles, the buck standing there panting and alert until he realizes no one is left. Then he walks over to the body of his young and lets out a cry.
The wanting in her heart turns quickly to grief. For the first time since this rebirth, Leonie feels empathy for another. It is startling, hand quickly covering her chest as she feels like crying as well. She looks down at the ground, unable to handle to sight of her future house's animal and the raw emotions this body has refused to generate on its own.
She only leaves long after he's gone, not sticking around the area. Her heart feels stretched and stretched, until finally hours later something snaps and she's back to normal. Back to lone focus on weapons, no longer thinking of the golden deer and its emotion-educing self.
Even if the whole event was confusing, one thing is for certain: the deer here are no longer her prey.
4.
She is eleven and – even if their village doesn't get much news, this spreads everywhere – Emperor Ionius IX of the Adrestian Empire loses nearly all the power he's ever held. Truly, all he is now is a figurehead, likely to be the final monarch to ever hold political power in his kingdom. The people can look to him, still recognize his authority, and he and his family can remain in their castle, but any dip into the governing system may in fact have him killed by one of the seven who threw coup.
Really though, Leonie wonders as she holds out a hand, alone in the forest once more, did he have any power before, or were those slithering in the dark puppeteering him already?
If Edelgard and any remaining siblings haven't been experimented on already, then they will when the they're taken back to the Empire in a few years. How ironic, the Emperor's true love ends up married to the King. Leonie's wondering if she'll ever feel love again, or if it's all distant chess pieces forevermore. If she ran now, maybe she'd make it before something big happened. Who would believe her? If she could give a sign, who could figure it out?
If she could get her hands on two books, oh what a security risk she'd cause.
Shaking her head, Leonie grits her teeth and focuses. Pushes the all her energy, the magic and calories she can afford to burn, and thinks bow.
It's all in her head, sleek yet easy grip. Smooth and sturdy. The mechanics, shifting and correcting until finally hard white light forms under her hand. It crackles, black reason magic like lightening and glyphs appearing and disappearing over the white. The forest is silent as she grits out a scream, forcing the magic to her will. To her belief.
The bowstring snaps together, looking like glass. Her mind still whirling, magic still zapping, she flicks it. It thrums the air as though it's real, the leaves stirring by her feet from the vibrations. The next part is easier. The dark magic crackles as she reaches forward, shielding her, hiding her, and Leonie holds her fingers as if placing an arrow. As she draws back, it forms. Light, plasma, magic.
I am betrayal.
She lets go.
The bow dissipates from her hands in her unfocused waver. Leonie drops her hands, magic dying down and falling silent within her, leaving behind the empty burn of using too much. Her stomach growls. She stumbles forward.
Seven trees have perfect holes burned through them. The last one has sparks around it, as though something exploded. That will need to be fixed, the arrow was supposed to stay after release. Leonie collapses against the tree, writhing as her body calls for sustenance. Her fat stores depleted, the third stage of starvation beginning. She needs to eat.
The energy had to come from somewhere. Lesson learned.
It's a long crawl back, but rebuilding muscle mass is always the worst.
5.
Puberty begins (again) around the age of twelve, and being a young commoner female who's spent her whole life scavenging the forest to feed a village means it goes as well as expected. There's a talk, mentions about how she'll have to find someone who can put up with her lest she goes for an older widower in the village, and finally starts to think about S Ranks.
The asexuality would be more of a surprise if Leonie wasn't an asexual her past life. There's no touch aversion this time, and no qualms that she is aromantic. Sometimes, even when the body is in chemical turmoil, egged on by the healing via Reason magic, personal preferences will shine through. Unfortunately, the lack of wanting to take an arrow to the knee or further populate the country are not something one politely speaks about in Fódlan. It's all duty this and your role that.
By the time she's thirteen, Leonie's flipflopping between swearing loyalty to the first person she can respect or becoming a killer for hire. What she'd really like to do is have a museum of weapons, but that's a little too unrealistic and dangerous in a world that thrives on stealing and adding durability points to weapons. For now, she's content dealing with the poachers that have moved too close with the animals after a landslide took out part of the forest.
She has a quarter of the tuition fee after all these years of stealing from corpses. It sucks.
At thirteen, Leonie's still paranoid about the future when the present arrives with all its gruff, immortal-looking, mercenary father vibes.
6.
When Leonie first lays eyes on him, she's in the forest carefully gathering mushrooms. Being on high alert for poachers means she hears him before they spot each other. The girl who debates killing people for a living lays eyes on the Blade Breaker, the greatest captain of one of the largest band of mercenaries, and once the greatest Captain of the Knights of Seiros, father of the main character, Jeralt Reus Eisner.
And she freezes. Emotions flood through her, begging her to go to him. Forcing thoughts of safety, ideas of strength, and wanting to serve into her very being. If she had truly been a child in mind and body, this would have been enough for her obsessive tendencies to latch onto and never let go.
What, Leonie scrambles to recollect her independence, to remember what it was like when she always felt the full and expressive range of emotions, is happening?
He sees her orange hair first, a beacon in the greens and browns of the forestry, and lowers his sword a bit with a forced smile. "Hello there, kid. Are you Leonie?"
"Yes, sir," she forces out, limbs locked in place as she fights the need to run to him. Fights the himhimhim thoughts.
"Your old man was worried about you," Jeralt strides near, gaze flickering around until they land on her rucksack of mushrooms. "Said he had told you not to go hunting with all the poachers around."
Leonie snorts, face turning defensive. Leeches back the obsession to turn it into familiar distaste of the prey back in the village. It makes a good shield between the growing pull to the man she shouldn't know. "He didn't tell me anything. Too busy with his tongue down my teacher's throat."
Jeralt pauses for a second, mere feet away. Then holds out a hand. "Is that a common occurrence?"
Leonie hesitates. Some part of her knows that if she takes it, she'll be doomed to obsess over the man. To support him at all costs, preach praise about his deeds. To want to do everything she can to protect him from the fate she knows the future holds, even if it means screwing up the plans she has now. Her every nerve is on fire from withholding, from staying as still as possible. "More common then this. What are you doing to me?"
He frowns, sceptic. "Helping you up."
"No," she grits her teeth. "Why do I feel like I need to be with you?"
His arm falls, steps away. In moments, the feeling stops. Leonie starts panting as pain turns to longing ache, emotions falling back to neutral distaste. There's a hint of respect, though. Somehow, he's earned her respect, something no one in the village has ever managed before. After a long instant, filled by her harsh breath, Jeralt asks, "Have you ever been around someone with a Crest before?"
"No?" Leonie responds, finally able to move. Gathering her things to at least stand and face him. "Everyone with a Crest died when I was a kid, and I'm usually out when merchants or travellers stop by."
He swears, returning his sword to his sheath. "You never-" he swears a bit more, looking older than his normal appearance. Tired. "We'll talk about this back in the village. Let me go first, so I can warn my men not to be idiots."
A smile tugs at her lips and Leonie follows. A quick run through her short hair – fire magic and a bear once got hold, she'll never have it longer than her neck again – before she finally feels somewhat more centered. Somewhat more ready to face fate.
Always ready to break it.
7.
"Have you never seen a whetstone before?"
With his men patrolling, keeping the other villagers away, it is just Jeralt – they were finally introduced – and Leonie sitting on opposite stumps in the chopping yard. She rolls the beautiful gift between fingers, "Nothing this perfect."
"Then you know how to sharpen a blade," he hands her a silver sword. Their village could never afford something of this quality, how can they afford this man's company? "Sharpen this while we talk?"
"Yes sir," Leonie does her best to hold in the purr. The weapon and sharpening tool are enough to bliss out her obsession, she feels the most satisfied she has since her personal bow was carved. It's taking a lot of effort not to fall into hyperfixation mode at the sight of her reflection in the silver.
"My kid likes to sharpen tools when we do heavy talks," he sighs slumping back. "Wasn't sure that was a thing or not."
"Your child must have excellent coping skills," Leonie can't believe she says it with a straight face. "My father won't let me assist with the town's weapon upkeep." Not since he spotted her cooing to the lances. Not that it stops her from hoarding and repairing the broken, thrown away supplies.
"Right, well, he probably just wants what's best for you and you shouldn't make it harder for him."
That sounds so rehearsed. Leonie pauses after the air around them reverberates with sword on stone. Takes a little pleasure she can deadpan at him, "What did you want to talk about, Jeralt?"
"Right, right," he sighs. "Well, straight to the point, I think you're suffering from Crest-bond trauma and Crest sensory."
The questions are on her tongue, wanting to blurt out. Leonie clenches her jaw and thinks for a moment, methodically moving the sword and whetstone. "And those are…?"
"Well, Crests are uncommon, right? A long time ago, they used to be even rarer. A Crest sensor was someone who could sense if another had an active Crest or affinity to a Crest, but as Crests grew more common, born Crest sensors grew rarer. My kid's a Crest sensor, so that's how I know all this. That's why I think you have the skill."
A trade off, Leonie ponders. More Crests, less reason to need to pick up on them. That begs the question, why would sensors have been needed? Worse, what if they less died out and were more killed because of their ability? They are a lot of old people on Fódlan who wouldn't want to be detected, after all. "So, does being a sensor have to do with the attraction?"
Jeralt makes a pained face. "No, no kid. That's probably amplifying what you feel, but it isn't why you feel it." He does a long look around, making sure no one can hear as he leans closer, gets quieter. "Do you know why commoners follow the leaders of their land without question?"
"…Because we have to?"
"It's because most leaders have stronger Crests," Jeralt leans back, pulling out another whetstone to toy with himself. "It's… look, I used to not have a Crest. Did the commoner stuff before I got hired by- doesn't matter. Point is, I know what you're dealing with. Crest-bond trauma. It happens when someone close to you who has a Crest, dies. You said your entire village lost everyone with a Crest?"
"Well, yah," Leonie rests the sharpened sword in her lap, fingers copying Jeralt in trying to do the tricks he's got with the whetstone. "There was an illness, it went through most of the south, south-middle, and western-middle of the Alliance. I'm the only survivor of my village, and word is that everyone infected who had a Crest died quicker. I think it's the plague that hit the Kingdom we heard about, but since we heard the news a year later it could have been something else."
"I… don't remember hearing about the Alliance getting hit."
Leonie rolls her eyes. "Of course you didn't. No one in the Alliance wants to admit they lost tons of people. We aren't even on the map anymore, so I think Gloucester's made it pretty clear they're not going to support us."
There's a spark of recognition in the man's eyes. "Okay, that makes more sense. Back to my point about Crest-bonds, it's a pretty hush hush thing the Church doesn't tell anyone since sensors stopped appearing. And, uh, don't tell anyone you're a sensor. There's some heavy stigma against them."
"Make sure you tell me why before you go," Leonie holds her chin high, stroking the silver. "But what are Crest-bonds?"
"They're the reasons why commoners don't rebel against their lords, lords against then country's leaders, and so on. Every person forms a bond with someone who has a Crest, one bond for every different Crest. House Gloucester should have sent someone into your village at least once a year to make sure every child and adult in their territory is bonded to them. The stronger the person's Crest, the stronger the bond. The stronger the bond… the less likely people will cause problems for the landlord."
"And since I can sense Crests, it will be a very strong bond anyways, won't it?"
"Yes," Jeralt doesn't sugar-coat it. "And, since you sense bonds, you can choose not to create them. That's why there's stigma about it. If no one else can have a choice, why do you get to?"
"That's why heirs need to have Crests," Leonie groans. "Or else there's a larger chance the people won't like them and rebel. Oh gees, is that why no one here is mad Gloucester left us to rot for years?"
"Probably."
Leonie curses a string of words that have Jeralt laughing and reminding her not to speak treason. "So, Crest-bond trauma is from everyone dying. What does that mean for me, though?"
"Your body is trying to force you into bonding again," Jeralt loses his humor, "filling the void. Whatever bond you create next will be overpowering, which is why I'm shocked you managed to stop an attachment from forming to me. Great job, Leonie."
"Thanks," she musters up her sweet angel smile mask. "Can you teach me? The Crest sensor and Crest-bond and everything? I don't want to go through this for the rest of my life, and I don't want to have forced allegiance to anyone."
"Of course," he breaks into a smile, "and I won't leave until I'm sure you're ready to take the world by storm."
He has trust in her to learn it all before his time limit here is up and he returns to the child of indeterminate gender he's weirdly closed lip about. Leonie is fine with that, she doesn't want to interfere with the main character's family life more than necessary. Does not want to bond with anyone and then drink the rest of her life away when it inevitably breaks.
New Leonie cannot stand the thought of facing Seiros or the Agarthans and becoming obsessed with them. Even just the thought of them sends her reaching for a weapon.
Maybe this training will also curb some of her fixation tendencies. Leonie can only wish.
8.
Meditation, he suggests. Like she doesn't meditate already. It doesn't help with Faith magic, barely keeps her predispositions in line, but putting it towards Crest sensory changes everything. Leonie opens her eyes and sees the glowing veins that carry Jeralt's Crest. A light switch in her head, ready to turn on and off the power with a blink. She gazes around the forest, memorized by the black and white that signal solid-no-Crest and leftover dragon-magic respectively.
"Not going to lie, kid, that's creepy," the Blade Breaker interrupts. Leonie blinks, shutting off the world and squinting at all the normal colours. "Your eyes went black there. Any idea why?"
"No clue," she shrugs, "but your insides were the only thing really bright when I sensed for Crests, so…"
"Another reason not to broadcast your ability," he grunts. "Think you're up to fighting a bond?"
Leonie smirks, shuffling to straighten and center. One of the few good things about no regrets, no ties, it is very easy to find herself. Switch. Her eyes must be black again as he doubletakes. Keeping watch on his silver light, she snipes, "Bring it on!"
When he lets go of the power, it's nearly blinding. Major Crest of Seiros. It reaches far past his body, silver light strands curling through the air. Where it touches her skin, the power burns and prickles. Then come the small, broken rainbow of wisps from her body, causing the yearning and begging her to accept the offer. Now that she can see it, watch it, she can reason it.
There is a ward on her tongue behind grinding, clenched teeth. Leonie's first reaction is to throw up a wall, block it out. To keep that though, requires energy. To be immovable, equal or greater force must be offered, and just touching could initiate a bond. If it can't go through, why not send it around? Why not hide?
Jeralt jerks back as she releases a stressed breath, her colours falling away and leaving her as dark as the world around her. The silver flows around her like mist, searching the air but never touching things it deems worthless.
"Leonie, what did you do?"
"Made myself invisible to your Crest," she blinks back into colour. Even grey is a nice thing to see after so long in Crest-vision. "I think I can keep it up indefinitely since it doesn't use too much magic. Did you feel something?"
He squints. "Now that I think about it, it does feel like you're… well, like I shouldn't pay mind to you. If you have to take it down for any reason, then you shouldn't put it until you're alone. It's a bit of a jolt when you fade into the background."
"Gotcha, sir!"
"That said, you really should learn to resist. If you ever run out of energy and that drops, you don't want to be bonding to the enemy."
He makes a very good point. "So, do we go again?"
"Until you can confidently resist, yah. Get ready."
9.
The poachers are dealt with by the end of the week. The band of mercenaries cart back the prizes of smugglers they dealt with the same day. Cows, sheep, chicken, horses.
"You ever ride one before?" Jeralt asks, watching her climb on with ease.
"No," Leonie answers honestly, knowing this is supposed to be one of her strengths. She is a bit awed to be up so high, body automatically adjusting as the horse begins to walk. A beautiful, piebald colouring, fitting so well with the theme of the week. A few of Jeralt's men and women bring colour to Crest-vision, none as bright as him but enough to know her ward keeps up as she walks past. Some don't even appear to see her.
Morbid curiosity has her wondering about Jeralt's unnamed, unknown gender child. What will it look like, gazing at their Crest?
"Now this, I know how to teach," Jeralt walks up on his horse next to her. "I can even show you have to fight on horseback."
Even if they aren't bonded through spirit, not by his Crest or her body's obsessive tendencies, Leonie still finds herself respecting him. A part of her that's still a child wishes he was her father. She'll settle for a mentor, since it's the first real middle finger she's giving the future. "Teach me!"
10.
Ten people from the Empire.
Edelgard, Hubert, Ferdinand, Bernadetta, Linhardt, Caspar, Dorothea, Petra – has Brigid been taken over yet; doesn't matter – and Manuela, Monica.
Nine people from the Kingdom.
Dimitri, Dedue, Sylvain, Ingrid, Felix, Ashe, Annette, Mercedes, Rodrigue, and… and… Miklan.
Eight Crest names.
Seiros, Flames, B- Blaiddyd, Riegan… who are the saints? Right. Cethleann, Cichol, Indech… the guy who lives in the Alliance… Macuil.
My seven classmates.
Claude, Hilda, Lysithea, Lorenz, Ignatz, Raphael, Marianne.
Six different classes.
Nobel, commoner, assassin, thief, paladin, warlock.
Five Church-certified weapon types.
Sword, lance, axe, bow, gauntlets.
Four Church devoted.
Cassandra, Cyril, Gilbert, Seteth.
Three people to kill.
Kronya, Solon, Edelgard's uncle.
Two types of magic.
Faith and Reason.
And the one girl writing her name in the dirt.
Leonie Pinelli shakes her dominant hand while rubbing out her work with the other. She looks forward to having paper once again, to not have to practice in secret on the ground with a sharpened stick. Real ink, maybe even graphite. A girl can dream.
She'll have a few more years before she can start taking mercenary quests or hunt for other villages. Better sharpen the school-required skills now.
Maybe also inform her father her plans for the future. The country will be embroiled in war anyways. If she doesn't die trying to get into Garreg Mach Monastery, she'll probably die from not having connections to the main character. Getting into the Monastery really is the best way to screw with the future possibilities, even if it's also playing into fate's hands.
And… maybe secretly, Leonie is just hoping for a friend.
Where better to find one, then the den of predators?