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“Decided you like the spear better than the old rod and line, Teach?” Claude asked as he lay on a hammock, one leg out to gently rock himself back and forth.
Byleth did not reply, just continued to stand nearly waist-deep in the water with her fishing spear at the ready.
“Or are you using it just because we’re in Brigid, Teach?” Claude continued. “Doing as the locals are doing? Or just trying to learn some new techniques to add to your repertoire?”
Yet again, no reply; Byleth did not move, except for the steady rising and falling of her chest, her eyes tracking the shadows beneath the surface.
Claude stopped rocking. “You know, I bet this is probably part of some new combat arts training, learn a secret technique passed down through generations upon generations of Brigid tribesmen, which you, the Ashen Demon, Hero of Fódland, have the incredible honour of learning, because even if you’re an outsider, they recognize and respect your might, your greatness, and your sheer inherent awesomeness.
“What’s it called, if you can tell me, Teach? I bet it’d be something badass, like ‘Tsunami Slash,’ or ‘Gale Strike,’ or—ooh--’Magma Crash’? I know you have trouble using magic these days, but hey, you’re always full of surprises!”
Splash!
Fast as lighting, Byleth now had a flapping and struggling fish on the end of her spear. She slid it into the woven basket on her back, before she turned back to Claude. “I still prefer a fishing rod,” she said as she waded back to shore. “Yes, it is in respect to the people of Brigid. No, it is not part of training for combat arts, native to Brigid or otherwise: I’m just fishing because I want to.”
Claude sighed in exaggerated fashion, and moved to sit down on the edge of his hammock. “They were jokes, Teach. You know, it wouldn’t hurt to develop a sense of humour, especially since you’re joining Edelgard on so many diplomatic missions.
“You’ll be encountering all kinds of folks, and I’d bet anything a good chunk of them aren’t exactly overflowing with loyalty and admiration for Edelgard, you, or anyone else closely related to her court. It might help to have a universal tool for breaking the ice, you know?”
“That’s what the ambassadors are for,” Byleth said as she stepped back onto the sand, she set her basket down by a long, flat rock with the rest of her tools.
Claude watched her lay out her catches and hone her blade, an idea sparked in his mind. “Hey, Teach, I just realized: that’s a lot of fish you’ve just caught. Last I saw, you still can’t clean plates like Raphael does, so I’m guessing most or all of that isn’t for you?”
“It’s for the village where I’m currently staying,” Byleth replied as she worked. “It’s considered polite for guests to help provide food and other goods to their hosts, if they can.”
“Sure you’re not trying to impress someone…?” Claude asked. “Add a little fuel to that fire burning between you and our dear Emperor?”
“No.” Byleth said as she began to scrape the scales off her fish.
Claude nodded. “Right, right… I suppose you’d need to do that forgotten Brigid fishing technique for anyone to be impressed.”
Byleth paused. “What special technique?” she asked as she put down the fish she was holding.
Hook set, Claude began to carefully reel her in. “Oh, it’s an old tradition from one of the ‘lost’ tribes here in Brigid. I was having drinks with one of the historians from the mainland, and at some point he just started going on and on about all the things his editor was cutting out of his drafts for being ‘too obscure and uninteresting.’
“Anyway, you know how the people here really pride themselves on their ability to swim, and like to compete to see who’s the best?”
“Yes?” Byleth nodded, putting her knife down and looking intently at Claude.
“Well, there was one tribe that did that by having a bunch of people jump into a fishing spot all at once, and the first person to return with a fish was declared the winner.”
Byleth blinked. “That doesn’t seem very difficult.”
“Right? Until you learn the special condition: you have to catch the fish with just your teeth.”
Byleth blinked again. “Ah. That makes sense.”
“I know!” Claude said, smiling. “The guy said that nowadays, barely anyone knows about it, because so few tribes heard of it, or decided to adopt it into their traditions; I’m guessing there were far too few winners each time, and no one likes losers across the board.”
Byleth nodded, and returned to gutting her fish.
Claude hoisted his leg back up, and resumed his relaxed rocking on his hammock. That wasn’t quite as much entertainment as he was hoping to get out of Byleth, but he’d take it—after all, he was lucky he even got to see her again, without her pointing her sword at him.
Claude soon fell asleep, unaware of what he’d just set in motion.
Days later, Claude was roused awake by the guards of his little bungalow. “Presentable!” one of them barked as she yanked him up off his cot, dragged him to the mirror and the wash basin in his room. “Be presentable!”
“Alright, alright!” Claude said, holding his free arm up in surrender. “Geeze, is the Emperor visiting or something?”
As it turned out, it was actually the Queen of Brigid. With all the guards watching him like hawks, Claude made triply sure to follow all the proper protocol for greeting Petra, and keep the wisecracks to an absolute minimum—all of them were armed, and he’d seen and already experienced just how brutally effective those sticks could be.
“You may raise your head,” Petra said as she loomed over him, barely holding back the venom in her voice.
“Thank you, Queen Petra,” Claude said, before he slowly got up from the floor. “To what do I owe the honour of a visit from you?”
“I require information from you, Claude, and as Hubert is still bedridden, I decided it would be best if I collect it myself.” Petra replied.
“Okay…?” Claude asked uneasily. “What do you need to know?”
“Are you aware that the Professor has been acting possessed this past week?”
Claude’s eyes widened. “Possessed?! What happened? How is she?!”
“Exhausted and aching, Claude, from constantly traveling to every single fishing spot in all these islands, or trying to meet with every single living expert on fishing.” Petra replied.
Claude blinked. “That’s all? You know Teach loves her fishing, right?”
“I do,” Petra said. “But, and here is the important part: she has not been returning with fish—not even once.”
Claude’s face and body betrayed nothing. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.” Petra said. “She has not even been taking a basket, a spear, a net, or a rod and line with her, and yet every time someone has dared to ask, she says she still intends to catch a fish.”
“Maybe she’s trying to learn how to use magic again, and she’s practicing with the fish?” Claude offered.
The pleasantly warm afternoon turned icy cold and ominous as Petra glared at Claude, and her guards happily joined their Queen in the intimidation. “The Professor was bewitched on the day you and her went on an outing together; she kept searching for and speaking to fishermen the moment she returned, and they all agreed that her questions seemed most unusual, even before anyone had consumed any rum.”
“And you think I have something to do with this…?” Claude asked, feigning hurt.
Petra nodded. “I would very much like to believe the best of you, Claude, as the Emperor is taking such a massive risk welcoming you back to Fódland, and you are an esteemed guest in my country. But, I cannot ignore this feeling in my stomach, trying to convince me you had a guiding hand in all this.”
“Pardon me, Queen Petra, but I believe you meant ‘this feeling in my gut.’” Claude replied.
“Thank you.” Petra said calmly. “Now, what do you know of the Professor’s affliction?” she barked, her gaze and tone sharp once more.
“About as much as you do—less, even!” Claude replied. “I swear, this is the very first time I’ve heard of Teach doing any of this.”
Petra peered at Claude, her eyes slowly boring into him, trying to extract even the slightest hint of dishonesty if it existed. Claude began to sweat, feeling drops form on his forehead, trickle down his back, drip from his palms and down his fingers. The guards continued to stand by the sides, still lending the weight of their gazes to their Queen.
“It seems my instincts were mistaken,” Petra said, relaxing. “I am very sorry for disturbing you from your sleep and accosting you like this, Claude.”
“It is no trouble at all, Queen Petra.” Claude replied. “If you will be so kind, I would like to return to sleep now.”
“You may,” Petra said, motioning for her guards to relax. “And if you happen to hear anything involving the Professor’s mysterious condition--”
“--I will inform you right away,” Claude finished, nodding.
Petra nodded back. “I will take my leave now, Claude. Thank you for receiving me.”
“Thank you also for your visit, Queen Petra.” Claude said.
The room quickly warmed back up, the tension and heaviness dissipated, and Claude was once more laying on his cot. He wondered if he should find Byleth, explain to her that the “forgotten Brigid fishing technique” was nothing more than a fabrication for the sake of a laugh, and stop her from exhausting herself and worrying the others because of a wild goose chase…
… Then he decided not to, because this was just too fucking funny.
Claude drifted off to sleep with a smile, dreaming of what kind of zany, fun story this would be once all was said and done.
“What a time for Hubert to take ill…” Edelgard thought as she rode through the thick, lush jungles of Brigid on horseback.
If Hubert hadn’t been bitten by that damned mosquito, Edelgard might not have spent almost all of this week fruitlessly trying to gather information about Byleth’s whereabouts and activities, and struggling through her duties and appearances as Emperor as a result. Hell, he might have even have solved this mystery already, and was actively working on the other items on his lists by the time he reported it to her.
Edelgard sighed, and wondered what might have been behind Byleth’s strange behaviour.
Was it the work of the Empire’s enemies, resorting to dark magics and horrific technologies once more? Was it sickness from the flora and fauna and/or delirium from the heat, as Petra oft warned of in her letters? Or was it just some strange new hobby of Byleth’s, undertaken because she had so much free time these days?
“I see her!” cried their pegasus-riding scout.
It seemed Edelgard was about to find out.
To her dismay, she could not dismount and immediately go to Byleth; instead, she was forced to wait as her guards and their native guides scouted the immediate area, and made sure it was completely safe. “The jungle is a beautiful but treacherous place,” Petra warned, and no one wanted the Emperor of all of Fódland to be felled by an assassin lurking in the trees, or a poisonous snake slithering in the undergrowth.
Mercifully, the area was small and they were quick.
“Your Majesty, we have confirmed it is indeed Lady Eisner,” said one of the guards. “She is alone and appears to be repeatedly diving beneath the surface of a nearby lake; we could not figure out what she was doing for the distance, she appears too engrossed to have noticed any of us, and we did not alert her to our presence, as requested.”
“Good work, all of you.” Edelgard replied, before she dismounted.
“Shall we accompany you, your Majesty?” the guard asked.
“Form a perimeter and stand guard, I will approach her myself.” Edelgard replied.
The guard’s eyes widened. “Your Majesty? I really must object--”
“And I really must insist.” Edelgard said, glaring at him. “If my beloved wife has indeed been cursed with madness, I will be the first and the last to try to pull her back into the realm of sanity. Now, step aside!” she cried with a sweep of her arm.
The guards quickly did, Edelgard pulled out her machete and started hacking a path towards Byleth. She emerged to a completely empty lake, no sign of Byleth but her belongings and most of her clothes sitting neatly under a tree. “She must be underwater again,” Edelgard thought as she made her way to the shore.
Splash!
Edelgard stopped, reflexively throwing her arms up as she was hit by a spray of water. She stepped backward, her body instinctively tensing up and readying for combat, before her eyes widened, her jaw fell slack as she struggled to process the sight before her.
It was Byleth, completely naked and soaking wet, water trickling down the hardened edges of her abs and her well-defined arms and legs, her skin sparkling from the late-morning sun above her; her long, blue hair had been braided so tightly not a single strand could go stray; and her teeth were firmly sunken into a fish.
It was still alive, Edelgard realized, violently, desperately twisting and flapping, repeatedly smacking Byleth in the face, but she did not let it go as she approached Edelgard.
Edelgard watched as Byleth dropped to her knees, planting her palms on the ground so she wouldn’t collapse entirely. She dropped the fish by Edelgard’s feet, looked up at her, and with a hoarse, weak voice whispered:
“For you.”
The guards all stared, dumbstruck, while Edelgard blushed red, an indescribably complex series of emotions roiling within her, and a similarly complex series of expressions playing out on her face. “B-Byleth, did-did you just catch this fish… with your teeth?!” she asked, her voice nearly failing at the end.
Byleth nodded—she was exhausted, Edelgard realized, pushed nearly to her limits.
“Oh. Oh. Oh, my goodness, Byleth, I, um, thank you, sincerely, I will make sure this fish is cleaned, gutted, and made into a wonderful meal!” Edelgard stammered as she bent down to pick Byleth up. “But first, I really think you require plenty of water and rest—guards! See that Lady Eisner is taken care of—
“—Oh, and the fish, also!”
Hubert absolutely despised getting sick.
Aside from the obvious pain and other unpleasantness, it meant he had to delay, restructure, or abandon the many plans, ongoing projects, and endeavours he undertook for Edelgard and the Empire’s sake. After all, even a few hours delay could cost months of hardship down the line, it only took a single unfortunate moment for Edelgard’s life to come to an untimely end, and apparently, two weeks was all it took for all of Brigid to collectively go insane.
“They’re fishing by jumping into the water, swimming towards their prey, and then attempting to catch them with their teeth, and only their teeth, like some aquatic predator.” Hubert repeated flatly.
His agent nodded. “That’s the gist of it, Sir. There have been new developments, but--”
“Tell me.”
The agent paused, before she picked up a different parchment. “We have reports that many of the local craftsmen are capitalizing on this new trend by creating dummy fish, which are attached to conventional fishing rods, so the, ah, prospective fish-biters may train with an easy, predictable target.”
Hubert nodded.
The moment he had received the “well enough” from the physicians, he had resolved he would not lay his head down until hours later, when he had caught up on everything that he had missed and adjusted his future-proofing should he happen to fall ill again.
Now, he wondered if he really should have just laid back down and rested some more.
Hubert ultimately decided not to. “You said all of this started because Lady Eisner had done this feat herself, and Emperor Edelgard and a number of credible, trustworthy guards had borne witness to it?” he asked.
“Yes,” the agent replied. “Reports and informal questioning say the Emperor was… quite confused and concerned, but ultimately flattered and impressed by the act. The fish was delicious also, she said.”
“So now everyone else is trying to impress their love interests with the same act?”
“Not entirely, Sir,” the agent replied. “Some see it as a new test of might, to prove that they are on a similar level to Lady Eisner, or that they are extremely skilled swimmers and fishermen. Some see it as a potential new sport for Brigid. And others still seem to just find it terribly strange yet amusing.”
Hubert nodded. “Pray tell, has there been any investigating of Sir von Riegan? This reeks of his usual whimsies.”
“There has, but nothing conclusive has been found,” the agent said. “He seems particularly amused by this recent turn of events, but then again, so have a number of others, locals of Brigid or otherwise.”
“And of Lady Eisner?”
“She, ah...” the agent hesitated “… she still stands by her claim that she wanted to catch the Emperor a fish, with her teeth, by using what she specifically calls a ‘forgotten Brigid fishing technique.'”
“That’s all…?” Hubert asked.
“That’s all.”
Hubert nodded. “You have served your country well; please just leave the documents for me to peruse, you are dismissed.”
“Thank you, Lord von Bestra,” the agent said, bowing before she left.
As Hubert gathered the papers in his hands, he wondered if he could wipe all mosquitoes from the land.