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“Don’t. Even. Bother,” Count Gunnar Galatea barked down at the approaching Faerghan army. They were close enough that they would have to pause to wait for the gate to ascend to allow them entry were he inclined to. As it was, he would much prefer them not to.
“Count Galatea, the Adrestians have almost pincered us! Empress Edelgard and General Eisner have swept up the forces at Charon, while General Judith has called for an advance through Ailell. We need your permission and assistance to stop the two armies uniting!” Rodrigue asked.
“This is not my fight. I will not take to the field. My decision will not change,” Gunnar insisted.
“Now listen here, Galatea, that is no way to respond to a direct order from your king-” Rodrigue started.
“And yet I don’t see my king in front of me. I see a disgrace of a man with a poor sense of hygiene and no sense of honour or dignity. And Dimitri, too,” Galatea said.
“But Ingrid-” Rodrigue started.
“Leave, or I will make you,” Gunnar roared. Crossbowmen fired a warning shot at the feet of the vagrants, an act Gunnar had threatened countless times but never wanted to follow through on until today. After what he heard about Felix’s last stand in Charon territory, however, Gunnar was almost half a mind to skip the warning shot next time. Almost. Reckless and foolhardy as the men claiming to be his liege were, they were technically his liege, and also beholden to a greater power.
With the pair chased off, Gunnar returned to his study, and took down the piece of paper he read most. The last letter Ingrid ever sent him. She had chosen her path with the Adrestians, fighting for a world in which strength of character and blade won out over historic lineage and Crests. She had readied herself in the knowledge that, one day, she might have to strike him down in the name of Edelgard and Bethany. And she wanted to assure him that, though she appreciated all that he had done for her, she would not back down.
That last comment had changed something in the count. Once upon a time, he was all about currying favour with the other Faerghan nobles to get every coin and seed he could, to try and keep the infertile Galatean territory alive. Rodrigue’s eldest son had been promised his Crest-bearing daughter. But then Glenn died, and Ingrid focused on her goal of becoming a knight. He had thought himself encouraging, as any proper father ought to be, but she did not share his view. The pressure he had placed on her to find an alternative suitor to Glenn had pushed her away. He had always thought the best of both of them, that Ingrid’s refusal to accept another was a bid to find a better husband- Glenn was practically one step short of Dimitri himself as a choice. But now? He knew Ingrid hated the men, but more than that, hated being forced to marry.
He couldn’t bear knowing that seeing Ingrid on the Adrestian side was his fault. But beyond that, he could not bear knowing that he had failed in his most important duty- as a father.
“You got some courage, Galatea,” a drawl sounded from the door. Gunnar looked up from her daughter’s bitter thoughts and saw General Sylvain, the Lance of Ruin on his back and one of his more comforting expressions on his face. He had counted out Sylvain as a choice for his darling Ingrid immediately on hearing of his promiscuity, but he had been a friend to Ingrid for years- for a certain definition of the term- and no reports of salacious behaviour from the man had surfaced throughout the war. Gunnar trusted him in a way he no longer trusted Rodrigue or Dimitri.
“She was your friend, Sylvain. You know the two of you must fight one day,” Gunnar said. Sylvain shrugged.
“She made her choice when she chose to side against Faerghus. I’d hate to disappoint her and hold back,” Sylvain said.
“You too?” Gunnar asked.
“Come, Galatea. Ingrid’s gone. She hates you. She said to your face- or at least wrote it down and sent it to you- that if the two of you were to get into a fight, she would sooner kill you than retreat. Why hesitate to respond in kind?” Sylvain asked. Gunnar stepped back. Perhaps his judgement was misplaced.
“You don’t know what it’s like to have your own child hate you. Not until you have children of your own. Perhaps I’d be better off making amends and raising the Adrestian standard instead,” Gunnar snarled. Sylvain chuckled, moving to block more of the door.
“We can’t have that, can we? As fun as it has been watching Faerghan loyalties fight one another and allow the Adrestian forces momentum, I’m afraid we have to strike a balance. If the Adrestians get too powerful, they might just crush us,” Sylvain said. Gunnar wasn’t particularly fond of Sylvain’s tone or his exact words.
“When you put it like that, son, you don’t sound like you’re fighting for Faerghus,” Gunnar told him. Sylvain’s next smile was distinctly not like Sylvain- it was sadistically gleeful.
“Caught on, have you? Well then no sense beating around the bush. I fly the Agarthan banner. We will crush Seiros by any means necessary, and resume our rightful place among the surface world. Adrestia will be a big help in doing step one. Almost seems a shame that we have to contain them to keep step two a reality,” Sylvain laughed.
“And what’s stopping me letting all this information slip to Ingrid?” Gunnar asked.
“Oh, Edelgard already knows about us. But we can still stop you from talking,” Sylvain said, pulling out a black stone and shoving it into his chest.
“You will find yourself fighting for the Agarthan cause now. For your first task, you will kill your Ingrid,” Sylvain ordered.