Shade Emblem: Hunger Eternal Part Five [Fire Emblem: Three Houses]
The monastery's tea-party gardens were beautiful. The breeze that came from the mountain was gentle. It was the month of sowing fields and songs; a nice month, a gentle one. I had outdone myself. The cookies were a mixture of vanilla pastries and chocolate droplets. They were fashioned in spirals, with tiny beads of caramelized honey atop them.
I wasn't a great master of tea brewing, but then again it was grass left to boil in hot water; how hard could it be? The coffee, on the other hand, was my soothing and gentle blend.
Jeralt was nervous. I was nervous. Archbishop Rhea had no idea what was going on. Then again, how could she? Regardless, I was sure that a single tea party wouldn't be enough, and depending on what was said, it might just be the very last one we both participated in.
"I must admit," Rhea said as she sat on her side of the tea table, "I am surprised," she added, her fingers delicately touching the porcelain cup, her smile still there as she smelled the faint odor of the tea in question. "I would not have thought you'd want to enjoy tea with the likes of me, Jeralt."
"I simply realized that if I'm going to be stuck here," Jeralt retorted, "I will just have to get over my problems with the Knights."
I wasn't seated. I could have, but I really didn't want to be anywhere where my mobility could be impaired. If I needed to bolt, I wanted a clear path to the monastery's main doors.
I remained standing, slightly behind Jeralt's left side.
Unspoken, it did look like I was there to protect him from retaliations. Protecting someone's left side was a bodyguard's job, and I was a Captain of his mercenary forces. Rhea was probably suspecting there was something odd going on, but she reckoned it was simply Jeralt's suspicious nature still working its magic.
"I see," Rhea said with a hint of a rueful smile, "am I such a scary person, that you need a bodyguard?" she asked.
"You will have to tell me that yourself," Jeralt retorted, taking a small sniff of the coffee served in front of him. He took a sip. "There are many things I dislike about this situation. Reacquiring my services is one thing, forcing my child to fight alone yet one more, and there's always the secrets you keep from me, and from everybody else," he looked at her. "How can you expect someone to trust you, if you don't trust them to begin with?"
Rhea sighed, she had probably heard it a hundred times already. "It is not a matter of trust," she said. "I speak the truth, but you merely do not wish to hear it."
"Then," Jeralt said, "when others reveal more, should I take their words over yours?"
That stopped Rhea slightly. One of her hands had grabbed on to one cookie, and she was holding on to it as her eyes settled on Jeralt. "Who would these others be?"
"Their identity will remain secret," Jeralt acquiesced. "But I have been told a great deal of things, and I want corroboration." He stared at her, firmly. "Archbishop...you...you are not human, are you?"
Rhea chuckled, ever so slowly bringing the biscuit into her mouth and munching on it, perhaps trying to understand just what Jeralt could have possibly been told. "The Crest of Seiros does give one a prolonged life, as you well know," she softly said, "It might make one believe that I am something more than human, but I assure you, I have the same heart as you do."
"I am not so sure about that," Jeralt pointed out. "My heart cannot be made into a Crest."
Silence settled. This time, the tension was thick. Rhea's eyes widened ever so briefly. "Someone told you this," she accused, her voice firm and unwavering, steel undertone beneath it all. "Who could have? This is a secret known to very few." Her eyes darted down to her reflection in the tea cup, "how could you have convinced them to speak to you? Cethleann is young, and naïve; it must have been her."
Jeralt looked straight at Rhea. "What did you do to my wife and my child, Rhea?" he asked. "That is what I want to know. In exchange for my silence, tell me, what did you do to them?"
"I see, this is not a chat, this is a blackmail," Rhea shook her head. "It works poorly for you then, Jeralt. My words were true back then, and they are true once more now. Sitri was of frail health, and she died during childbirth. I saved your child by doing the best I could," she clenched her hands into fists, "by implanting in them the Crest of Flames," she bitterly shook her head, "But then your child died in the flames, did they not?" she stared at him once more, "Or did you fake their death, and disappear with them?"
It was Jeralt's turn to tense. "With what you've hidden, were you expecting something different?" he retorted. "Are we nothing more than tools to you?"
The Archbishop shook her head. "Tools...no, if humans were tools, they would be the kind that bites the hand that wields them." She placed her tea cup down on the porcelain plate. "Jeralt." She then looked up at me. "You have already told this to him, but no further." She narrowed her eyes, "I will take action if this information spreads."
"Enemies of the church will be executed," Jeralt pointed out, "But truly, it's just a convenient excuse to kill your own enemies." He stood up, "If you hurt my child, I will not stop until I have avenged them."
"I have no intentions to harm them," Rhea said succinctly. "On the contrary," she added, "as Sitri's child, they are most precious to me."
"I wish I could believe that," Jeralt concluded, and then walked off. I followed after him, and as he pretty much stormed into his office, he slammed his armored fist against the nearby wall. He gritted his teeth, and cursed under his breath.
"Damn it," he growled.
"Was your plan of introducing the Agarthan situation based on getting her angrier over something else entirely?" I asked softly.
"I-" he shuddered, and then took a deep breath. "I am sorry," he said. "I saw the chance, and I took it." He shook his head. "I'm-I promise you, Shade. Your people, I will help you protect them."
I nodded at that, but then showed him a bitter smile, "If only you were the leader of a nation and not of a mercenary group," I sighed, "But...well, let us hope Rhea doesn't do something foolish. We're both in her sights now."
"She mentioned the saint Cethleann," Jeralt said, "why would she think that the saint would tell me this?"
"Perhaps because they are alive, somewhere in the monastery," I replied, turning thoughtful. "The Nabateans have been mostly destroyed, but some still survive. Cethleann must have survived too, under a false name perhaps."
"They're probably going to be punished for something they haven't done then," Jeralt said. "But this also means that perhaps they can be convinced to help us."
"You think so?" I asked. "True, if some Nabateans were willing to put aside their past history with the Agarthans...they might perhaps convince Rhea in turn," I grimaced. "But it is a risky proposition. If we near them, and they aren't receptive, they might just turn us over to Rhea. You've heard her. She will have us executed if we persist."
"I have," Jeralt nodded, "And I also do not like her interests in my daughter," he clenched his fists, "Protect her, Shade."
I chuckled, "I think that she can protect herself pretty well, and as the canyon battle showed, she really doesn't like to be babysat."
Jeralt snorted, "I wonder whom she took that determination from."
"I wouldn't know," I said dryly, "I know of only one other hard-headed fool who would launch themselves straight into battle. Wonder where she might have picked that up from."
Jeralt chuckled at that, and then extended his hand towards me. I clasped his arm, as he did mine.
"We'll need more allies," he said. "Do you think you'll be able to find receptive people?"
"I can try," I acquiesced. "I know at least one who might follow with little hesitation, but we'll need a few more."
It was with that sentiment of budding hope that I left Jeralt's office, and made my way into the courtyard of the monastery, and to the training fields themselves.
I knew the person that I was looking for was going to be easy to find; I just had to follow the sounds of arrows impacting against targets, and the determined burning fires of youth. The orange-haired Leonie was, indeed, practicing her aim.
She nocked arrow after arrow into a target, looking positively elated when she hit the bullseye and deflating whenever she missed. "I don't get it," she grumbled as she noticed my presence slightly behind her. "I'm aiming at the same spot, but the arrow goes elsewhere. There's no wind, so what could it be?"
"The arrows themselves," I pointed out, "They're handmade," I added, "The fletching and the shaft, as skillfully made as they can be, hold minor differences between one another. That determines their behavior in flight."
"Ah! Thanks for answering, Captain," she said, grinning in my direction. "You've come to train too?"
"Yes," I said. "You mentioned you wanted some tips with the lance?"
Leonie smiled, "I did-but didn't you mention you weren't that great of a lancer?"
"I'm a bit rusty, but I've been dusting my knowledge off," I replied. "I used to be a lance rider, but I lost too many horses and risked my neck way too often for me to keep that up," I smiled. "Still, if you want my help, I'll gladly help you out."
Leonie's beaming smile told me volumes.
Half an hour later, we were both on a horse with our lances in hand, their blunted tips covered with a thick cloth filled with straw and feathers, so we wouldn't actually hurt one another in case of contant. "So, the lance is a simple weapon to use, but a different story to master," I remarked from the saddle. "First things first, aim center-mass if the enemy's lightly armored, but try to hit their weapon arm if they're knights. Breaking their wrists may not kill them, but it will push them out of the battle."
Leonie nodded, holding the lance up by her side. "Couch the weapon," I said, "it will make it easier in prolonged engagements, and ensure it's the horse who's helping you drive it into the enemy. Also, lances tend to break fairly easily when they're facing tough opponents, so always carry a spare, or know where the supply wagon is to quickly replenish it. If you're without a lance, you're useless on the battlefield."
"I still have my bow," she retorted. "And I guess, I could get a sword?"
"You do, but if you're looking for lessons in horse archers, you'll have to ask someone else," I quipped. "As for the sword...yes, but if you stop moving with your horse, you'll end up with nasty surprises. Stabbing the horse makes it fall. You fall on the side with your feet in the stirrups, your legs will be crushed and then they'll just plunge a dagger in the slit of your helmet, killing you on the spot-" I quietly glanced away, "Further, stay still long enough and an enemy mage may slam fire into the horse's face, making it lose control and fall."
I pointed my index finger at her, "You are on a horse. Keep moving. If you stop, you will be targeted."
Leonie nodded at that, absorbing my words like a sponge.
"But you can also help your comrades out," I added, my mind trailing off. "When someone's fallen, there's a technique where you can slide to the side of your horse, extend your hand and grab hold of the wounded. You can then drag them away. It's not going to be an easy thing, and they might get hurt further in the process, but it beats leaving them behind to die."
"I guess being entrusted with a lance and a horse means being responsible for a lot of things at once," Leonie acquiesced.
"It is," I nodded. "We Spears of..." my voice trailed off, "well, enough speaking. Let's start with getting you accustomed to couching the lance and aiming at a stationary target." I pointed at a target at midrange. "Go get them, Orange."
"H-hey!" Leonie exclaimed, "Not again with the nicknames, Captain!"
"I'm sorry, did I stutter, Orange Lion?"
With a huff and a snicker, Leonie complied.
---
"Teach them the foolishness of pointing their blades at the church," had been the Archbishop's orders to Byleth for the end of the month. Lord Lonato was raising a rebellion, and I had little doubts on whom had been providing him with extra resources and men for it.
We were on thin ice with Rhea however; it was pretty clear by how the air in the monastery was starting to reek of hidden tensions.
"We could hire more people," I muttered, "But we'd need more gold for that. And a build-up would be noticed."
I was busying myself with cooking lunch for the troops, and as the large pan was a multicolored ensemble of freshly cut tiny tomatoes, basil leaves, and mozzarella cubes, the boiling large bathtub of water meant for the pasta was nearly ready.
A copious amount of olive oil later, and the freshly prepared Three-Colored Pasta was ready, gingerly served with some grated cheese atop.
"Get it while it's warm!" I bellowed to the line of men readying themselves for yet another one of my fulfilling five-stars meals. As I proceeded to serve them, I noticed both Leonie and a tall, broad-shouldered boy by her side. Both belonged to the same House, and judging by the young man's size, he was going to become a force to be reckoned with.
"You look like you need an extra to grow up big and strong," I mused, before grabbing hold of a larger plate for him. "Here ya go. Burn it off training!"
"Will do, sir," the boy said, looking vividly pleased.
"What did I tell you, Raphael? Captain Shade loves giving food around," Leonie said with a smile, accepting her own portion.
"Little Lion's right about that," I said pleasantly, "After I've finished serving everybody, if something remains and you're still hungry come around for seconds."
"I'd love to," Raphael said. "But I don't think anything's going to be left," he glanced behind him, at the still long line. "We're lucky we got here early."
It was indeed a matter of luck. The rest of Jeralt's company was served, and I managed to wriggle in some extra portions for both Depth-Perception guy and Eddie the Flaming Ax, who had apparently been captivated by the line and the smells.
And then, Byleth arrived as the last people of the line had to unfortunately go eat the normal meals in the dining halls, as I was all out of pasta.
She looked at me, at the empty pots and pans. She stared right into my soul. The look of absolute hurt in her eyes was so vivid, I could empathize with her pain.
"Listen," I said, "Just...just bring me the ingredients-"
From her backpack, which she apparently had brought along, small cherry-tomatoes, tiny cubes of mozzarella, basil leaves and uncooked pasta came out. She had come prepared, apparently.
"You really have no shame, uh," I mused.
"None," Byleth agreed wholeheartedly, not even bothering to doubt my words or feel offended at them.
"At least you're honest enough about that," I mused. Once I was done preparing the food, I placed the warm plate in front of her. She sat down by the kitchen's staff table, and began to eat with methodical precision. With a roll of my eyes, I quietly uncorked a cheap red wine usually meant for the cooking, and filled myself a small glass.
The privileges of being a chef were that if you wanted to drink some cheap wine, you could always find it.
"Father told me there's trouble brewing," Byleth said after she was finished eating, her hand raising the empty plate for me to fill up once more. She placed it down in front of her, but this time didn't touch it. "He said not to trust the archbishop," she added. "But still, we are not leaving the monastery."
"There's little in Fodlan that the Church cannot reach with its influence," I pointed out. "And the people themselves...they're sometimes rash, and prone to slaughters, the tragedy of Duscur being one such example," I sighed. "We humans, we all too easily kill one another, rather than talk to one another. It's as if we believe that violence is the final answer, but all too easily, it simply renews a cycle of vengeance, and hate."
I chuckled, "Then again, it's easier for the strong to forgive, than for the weak."
Byleth, while I was talking, had meanwhile finished her second plate. "I never stopped to consider that," she said. "On the battlefield, I have fought and killed, does that make me weak?"
I shrugged. "It makes you a soldier. Yet, sometimes, a soldier needs to know when to disobey his superior officers' orders," my voice trailed off, "So much tragedy would be avoided, if soldiers were allowed to disobey cruel or heinous orders."
Byleth quietly glanced at her empty plate. "Is there...any order you regret following?"
"From Jeralt? No. He is a good man, and a good commander," I mused. "From...whom I served in the past? Far...far too many."
I shook my head, "But that's not important. Get your students in top shape for the upcoming fight. Easy as it may be, it wouldn't be a problem if it was truly such a done and closed deal."
Hopefully, there would be less regrets in the upcoming trials.
But the fires of war seldom cared for whom they scorched.
One could but keep on fighting, hoping their fight to be their last one.
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