Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Once you lived in Belhalla long enough, you became numb to the screaming.

Ishtar von Freege was distantly aware of this as she watched a too-young boy with a ill-fitted sword hack away at his opponent – no skill, no grace, just pure anguished desperation – while the dying man feebly tried to push him away. This nevertheless being something of a fact of life for her, she chose to focus on clutching Tine's hand and shifting her posture so her cousin had the option of occasionally burying her face in her shoulder; to hide away from the gruesome scene. Fortunately Julius had insisted on giving the three of them a place at his side as the Guests of Honor, and he was happily absorbed in the scene before him; it gave her more opportunities than usual to do so.

More didn't mean that many, though. Ishtar could hear Tine choking down on hysterical sobs beneath the chanting of the bishops, the outraged and/or gleeful cheers of the crowd, and the tortured cries of the gladiators. It was another skill she'd quickly learned to pick up.

I shouldn't have brought her here, she thought with a long-familiar mix of frustration and resignation. I knew that Julius would have something planned for my birthday.

You would have left her behind with Mother? A sarcastic voice interjected. It sounded like Aunt Tailtiu...or rather, Aunt Tailtiu in the first few weeks after she'd been brought back to the household.

Ishtar didn't have an answer to that. She rarely did, when she imagined what her rebel aunt would think or say to her (about her) these days.

She rubbed her thumb along the side of Tine's wrist three times. In their carefully hidden sign language, the gesture said it's almost over without the risk of being heard whispering it. Her cousin let go of her hand and grabbed her arm near the elbow, signaling that she understood...the tightness of her grip and the involuntary flinch caused by Archbishop Manfroy announcing the final round of the tournament.

“What do you think, Ishtar?” Julius flopped back down in the red velvet chair that had once been the sole property of the king and the bloodline of Heim. His father was nowhere to be seen, the Emperor having begged off with an illness. (At least, that's what Julius told her. She wondered if something else had happened, but only briefly. Wondering was useless.) “I was so sure he was going to die in the second round, yet here he is! Do you think someone is cheating? Helping him on the side in between bouts?”

“I don't imagine so, my lord,” Ishtar responded, peering down at the field where the boy was limping toward the healers. (she almost couldn't bear to look at him when he was in this sort of mood.) “The bishops have been carefully monitoring the arena for you, after all.”

Julius clapped his hands together. “That's right. I didn't want the slightest thing to wrong on your special day, so there have been extra precaution enacted.” That could mean anything between arresting the usual black-market fixers and nobles with an eye for social climbing – the only ones still desperate or stupid enough to interfere with Empire business – or rounding up anyone who seemed vaguely suspicious and putting their heads on pikes all around the coliseum as a warning. Ishtar didn't know – she hadn't seen any pikes coming in, but Julius might have steered her away from them – and she didn't have the desire (the strength) to ask. “Hm, I wonder if he was a hunter before he was Hunted.” Her prince chuckled a bit at his unintentional rhyme; Ishtar forced herself to do the same.

She felt Tine cringe and squeezed her wrist apologetically. “I'd say so. He has a working grasp on how to approach a kill,” She offered. “I think he'll fit into the army just fine.”

“Perhaps you're right,” Julius said thoughtfully. He sat still for a moment, then abruptly leaned over and pinned Tine with a curious look. “What do you think, Tine?” Ishtar felt the physical jolt of terror rush through her cousin. “Do you think he'll make it past the final around?”

“...I-I...” Tine stammered, staring back at him with wide eyes. Her was pale and her eyes were tellingly red-rimmed. Julius frowned at the sight, waiting impatiently.

“She's speechless, Lord Julius,” Ishtar intervened, giving her prince her warmest smile when he sat back and looked curiously at her. “She thought he was going to die in round two, just you did. I told her that he would make it, but she was convinced he would simply die later on. To see someone continue to win in spite of everything...” she shrugged delicately. “There's something magical to that, isn't there?”

As quickly as he'd become annoyed, Julius's body language softened. He reached over and ruffled Tine's hair. (He'd always done that when he first met her, bothered by how sad and scared she seemed. That had always annoyed Julia, so he did it to make Tine get up and chase him, to do something other than cower and look so upset. But now-) “Well, of course! You're always right, Ishtar.” He leaned over and smiled at Tine again. “Remember that when Hilda finds a lord for you to marry, okay Tine? You are a beautiful lady and you are always right.”

“O-of course!” Tine bobbled her head vigorously. “I-I'll remember that, Julius.”

Satisfied, Julius went back to lounging in his throne, though not before waving a hand to summon one of the servers. Ishtar smiled wanly at the trembling woman who stumbled forward, shaking all over except for her hands – which were rock steady on the tray. Smart, very smart. She accepted the wine glass offered and took a sip from it, shifting a bit so Julius could sling an arm around her shoulder and hold her close.

That left Tine to cling instead to the armrests of her chair – a warm, cushioned seat that had been hastily brought in to accommodate for her – as the boy and his opponent squared off against each other, and the bell rang for the final fight.

I wish I didn't have to bring her to this place, Ishtar thought, taking another sip. There had been a time when she couldn't keep anything down while watching these spectacles. Now she just felt numb, aside from the desire to take something to settle her stomach after all the vomiting she'd done in the morning.

She still felt sparks. Maybe it was because she'd inherited from Thrud, but there were little moments when an inkling of the righteous girl who had wanted to be a perfect, just queen would roar back into the forefront of her mind. It was how she could discreetly let children escape the claws of the cult, it was how she could still try and stand up to Archbishop Manfroy, it was how she could go into a town her mother planned to 'visit' and deliberately linger until something else demanded the attention of the ruling lady.

But sparks burned out. Ishtar was not a fool like her father, deluding herself into believing that they were building a righteous empire out of all these corpses, one purified of deceit and the machinations of the old court that had caused “Sigurd's War”. She knew exactly what had happened the day Sigurd died, Avris took the reigns and brought the Loptous Cult into the heart of Gravelle – it was the death of joy, and the death of hope.

There was no justice here. No honored dead were buried here. Hell was empty, and its gates were rattling in the wind. If the gods themselves were not dead, they had abandoned the people in disgust over what they had accepted as 'just' when they made Arvis their emperor. The only thing left was to try and mitigate the horrors that now had an unstoppable stranglehold on the lives of every person in Jugdral.

The crowd's enthusiastic roar pierced through the haze over Ishtar's mind. She glanced to her right and saw that Tine was now sitting at the edge of her seat, her hands over her mouth. Looking down at the arena below, she saw the boy tank a spear hit to his shoulder in order to get close enough to ram his blade through the heart of his opponent, killing him. Tine slumped with relief, while Ishtar quickly stood up and started clapping in approval; to do what was expected of her...and perhaps to let the boy imagine, just for a moment, that someone was on his side. Julius shot of his seat to join her, and the boy was carried off the floor to the healers.

To join the Cult of Loptous.

Don't forget to smile, Aunt Tailtiu's voice warned her.

That had been the last thing she'd said to her daughter and her niece before she was murdered. Ishtar, who just barely remembered how cheerful and happy she'd used to be, was no longer certain what she'd meant by saying those words that night.

Ishtar manufactured a smile when the crowd's attention was turned to her by the announcer's voice. It brought a familiar dull pain to her cheeks.

You're almost through the day, Ishtar tried to communicate to Tine by clasping her hand as Julius grandly lead them towards the dining hall. It's just one more meal. It will feel horribly long and tense but it will end and then we'll be able to retire. Hang in there, my cousin...

She half-wished Ishtore was here, though an equally large part of her was grateful that he was in Melgen and about as far away from this madness as he could get without being assigned to Issach. She tugged slightly at her ponytail, making sure it hadn't slipped, and cast a quick glance at Tine. Her cousin was properly dolled up for the occasion, dressed in a splendid silver gown with emerald jewelry to proclaim her minor Forseti blood; her expression, however, had settled into a familiar look of serene resignation. (She wore that expression every time she had to eat dinner with Mother and Father.) Ishtar wanted to give her an encouraging smile, but she couldn't quite seem to form the expression.

Tine squeezed her hand anyway. She always seemed to know when Ishtar was 'disappearing inside herself', as she called it. Then she raised her head, jutting her chin out a bit. That did made Ishtar smile just a bit. Maybe we can make it through this unscathed.

“I warned father and Archbishop Manfroy not to discuss any droll politics and the like for tonight,” Julius promised, grabbing the door handles and pulling the white wood open. “There will be fruit and cake among other good things as well. I told the kitchen I expected nothing but the best for you, my dear princess.”

“You're too kind, my love,” Ishtar whispered, seizing on the familiar warmth of his hand when he grasped her fingers.

This is Julius, her warm, loving Julius, who'd been her best friend ever since the day she met him. (her Julius was disappearing beneath the shadow of something she couldn't name and greatly feared) Whatever else would come to be, he would protect her. (as long as he continued to exist) He would protect Tine, too, because she loved Tine and he cared about her being happy. (he'd proved that in the most terrifying ways possible before) He had been friends with her too, not as close, but Julius had loved easily back then, back before his mother had been brutally murdered and Julia had vanished into the night. (back before the Book before he changed before everything went so so wrong-) She was safe with him. She would be happy when they were finally married.

There were a couple of nobles already sitting along the massive long table, all of whom stood up when Julius entered the room. Ishtar recognized a few of them from her father's court, and that of Dozel (whom she often saw when she was in Belhalla), and a few who were new (and by new, that meant that they were child hunt survivors.) Some of the food was already laid out, and everything looked and smelled spectacular. It was almost enough to settle Ishtar's stomach, which was trying to stage a revolt – the most recent of many she'd been having over the past month. She heard Tine's breath hitch a bit behind her and hoped the girl's poker face hadn't broken.

“Where are the rest of the guests?” Julius asked, annoyed.

One of the servants swallowed and hesitantly said, “T-There was a disturbance at the gate that t-they left to tend to, y-your highness. T-they instructed me to t-tell you that they would return here shortly.”

Julius let out a snort of annoyance, but thankfully made no other movements. “What a nuisance.” He pulled out his chair and sat down nonetheless, grabbing his cup and swirling it lightly.

Ishtar took a step forward, then another one before taking her place at Julius's right. Unfortunately, she quickly realized with a sinking heart that the lords weren't looking at her in spite of the occasion. They were all staring at Tine. She wished that she hadn't let Julius talk her into those emeralds, that she'd been able to convince her cousin to go without her beloved red ribbons and to wear the 'mourning veil' to hide her face. Even though no one here would know what King Lewyn looked like, everyone knew he had a daughter who had been 'rescued' by Freege mages and brought into the household.

“Why is the traitor's daughter here?” One of the Freege nobles growled when Tine nervously sat down at the place of honor by Ishtar's right.

“My cousin is my guest,” Ishtar responded as firmly as she could manage while Tine flinched and pressed her back against the chair, trying to make herself seem smaller. “I would have you address her as lady Freege.”

“She is the symbol of your family's shame! She should not be allowed within the sacred halls of the family her kin so defied.”

Ishtar didn't get more than a second to marvel at the man's stupidity before Julius snapped his fingers.

Hel was a spell that hit fast and hard, but burned itself into the retina of anyone who witnessed it be cast. Ishtar saw it in her sleep. In an instant, an array of blood red spikes burst out of the floor and rammed straight through the insolent lord with a sickening crackle and squelch. He didn't even get to scream...not that he could have, seeing as his lungs would have been thoroughly punctured by the impalement. Blood sprayed everywhere, on the floor, on the white pillars, on the back of the chair he'd been standing in front of.

Julius glared at the place where the man had been standing without saying a word, then slowly looked around the room, daring anyone else to address her that way or object to Tine's presence. No one did; the men all flinched or cowered when his eyes passed over them.

Ishtar might have laughed at the complete nonchalance at of the servants who had come in with the food; they glanced at the moaning, dying man, then at each other. Then they placed the food on the table, put gloves on, and carried the body away for disposal without needing to be instructed to. But she was not a fool, and even the bleak hilarity of moments like this had long since lost what little charm they had.

She glanced at Tine. Her cousin was very green in the face, but she didn't vomit, didn't start crying, didn't even make a sound. She very studiously kept her eyes on her plate as the other guests started to file in.

Just another hour, Ishtar thought, gripping her fork and knife. Just one more hour. Don't forget to smile.

Smiling when Julius gently lead her to bed wasn't hard.

These moments he seemed completely like himself, as if nothing had ever happened to him. She could lie in his arms and loose herself, drown in the image of a world where love conquered all, where Arvis had never uplifted the cult, a world where her prince's smile had never been tainted. When she fell asleep, her dreams were peaceful.

But...it didn't last. She woke in the dead of night and the first thing she saw when she turned her head on Julius's chest was the sickly purple glow of that Book.

Ishtar stared at it for the longest time, before carefully sitting up, moving Julius's arm from her shoulder. (She'd tried to destroy it a few times, after the first few manic episodes really sank in. But it wouldn't tear, wouldn't burn, and the ink didn't run when she threw it in a boiling pot. After a while, Julius always kept it close, confirming that it was the reason he changed. Was changing.)

She sat quite still, listening for the sound of footsteps in the hallway (you could never be too careful when there were cultists in the house) while her stomach roiled and growled in discomfort. Her head ached, and her fingers were numb. Numb, numb, numb. When had she started becoming numb? When had this blanket of exhaustion that she wore like a favorite coat started to drown out everything, even her pain?

Will you listen to yourself, girl?, she could vividly her hear mother snap. Archbishop Manfroy is an old bat, and when he kicks it, who will have sway over the prince if not you? Endure it until the snake is dead, then you will be the one steering this kingdom as you see fit. What else could possibly matter more?

Ishtar looked down at Julius. He seemed at peace in his sleep, lying still and relaxed, his red hair covering the silken pillows. I can still save him, she thought once again. He's weak, he's having more episodes, but he's not gone, he's not gone...not yet. I can still... Trembling, she reached down and gently stroked his face. He murmured her name in his sleep and leaned into her hand. Julius...

Soft footsteps outside their door dragged her from their thoughts. Someone was walking carefully, light on their feet, and paused just outside. Ishtar wondered if something had happened, if some poor servant had been sent in the archbishop's stead to ask something of Julius...but they never knocked. After a long minute of silence, the footsteps carried onward, careful and quick.

Tine often walked like that.

Ishtar inhaled a short, harsh breath, wondering in alarm what was keeping her cousin awake in the castle. (In this castle.) Had someone tried to accost her while she slept? She wouldn't put it past most of the inhabitants, that's why she had wanted her to have a room close to them...

She carefully got up off the bed, walking on tip toes to avoid making sounds as she grabbed a heavy dark cloak off of the hook, throwing it on over her nightgown. She opened the door slowly, wincing at the creaking sound it made and cast a quick glance over at Julius; thankfully, he was still asleep. Then she slipped out of the room and looked to the left just in time to see a flash of silver and red disappear around the corner.

Cursing, Ishtar hurried down the hall; she was about halfway across before it occurred to her that she had not picked up a tome, and would have to rely on innate magic if she came across someone accosting Tine. She shook it off, though – she was not the Thrud Major for nothing, and she would smite anyone who hurt Tine. (she was the only unambiguously good thing in her life, in Ishtore's life, pawns of the Empire that they were) she turned the corner, reached the end of the hall and came skidding to a halt at the open doors to a balcony.

This balcony had been the place where Emperor Arvis had shown off his wife Deirdre to a cheering crowd, the place where newly crowned kings of Granvelle had greeted their subjects. Now, it was bare and lonely, cast in the moonlight with only one person standing within it, looking down at an empty, bloodstained courtyard.

Tine stood up on the handrail, her back to the hall. Aunt Tailtiu's ribbon was back in her hair, along with the emerald earrings Ishtore had bought her. (to remind her of her father, in defiance of Mother's anger when she saw them). She wore a black coat and no shoes, and her arms hung limply at her side. She was staring at the sky, the wind whipping through her hair as if it was trying to speak to her. (or maybe Ishtar's sleep-deprived mind was seeking some kind of support, someone to help her find the words she would need) Tine was standing straighter than she'd ever remembered seeing her.

“Tine,” Ishtar said. She'd meant to cry out, but her throat was raw and so tight she could barely breathe, so the name came out hardly more than a whisper.

“Ishtar...” Tine seemed to have heard her regardless. “...I'm sorry...”

“Don't be sorry,” Ishtar said, stepping out onto the balcony. Dull fear kept her from simply running and trying to grab her, said that if Tine heard she would fall before she had the chance to reach her. “Come down from there.”

“...Ishtar, I love you. I don't blame you for wanting to save Julius.” Tine still didn't turn around, but she rocked on her heels a bit. It was enough to freeze Ishtar in place for a moment. “But how long do you think we can live like this?”

“...I...” Ishtar fumbled, a violent bout of nausea rising up in her throat. What could she say to that?

“Do you remember what Ishtore said about those little rebellion groups that fell a while back? About killing people with hope?” Tine let out a little, hollow laugh. “How can hope kill people, when living without it is to be already dead? ...There's nothing to wish for. Nothing to to strive for. Nothing to wait for, no sign of even a dream of things getting better. ...There's nothing left for anyone here. Especially not for me.”

“I'm still here. Ishtore is still here.”

“You're dying too,” Tine said quietly, so quietly the wind almost took it away. “Do you think I can't see it? You die a little more every day, along with Julius. Because you're not like your mother, or Arvis, or Manfroy. You're good, and no one good can live in Hell.” She looked up at the sky again. “Mother...I wonder if mother had realized that right before she died? Her eyes were so sad...I always remember them being sad, now. Did she ever smile? Ever, even once, after being brought to this place?”

“She smiled at you. At me. It wasn't often, but it happened.” Ishtar took another few steps forward. She was close, could she lunge and grab her before she could jump?

“...I'd forgotten that...isn't that terrible of me? Though...I suppose I don't remember my father at all...” Tine crossed one arm across her stomach, staring at the sky. “There's a little that I associate with him. Flashes of warmth, of laughter, of good food and singing and happy cheers. But I don't remember it...I don't remember the taste of food or the glow of happy, fearless smiles, the warmth of a loving home.” She was silent for a moment. “There's nothing for me here. You won't be able to protect me forever, and then Hilda will...isn't this quicker? Isn't this gentler? If you're high enough up, you pass out before you hit the ground.”

“Tine, no.” Ishtar's voice cracked. “Please, don't leave me...”

Tine tilted her head, but didn't look back at her cousin. “I'm sorry...I've always caused you pain, haven't I? I wish I could have given you more happiness.”

Naga...please, please, I have no right to ask you for anything, but this is not for me, but for her! She's good, and kind, and she can't die here, please, save her! Save us!

Ishtar hadn't expected an answer. She hadn't expected anything but the sight of Tine falling, the sound of the impact, the feeling of her cousin's slender wrist slipping out of her hand.

But instead there was a halo of golden light surrounding them, filling her vision until it went a painful white. She heard Tine cry in surprise and scrambled forward, taking the mysterious perfect opportunity to wrap her arms around her cousin's waist. The light didn't go away; instead it grew even brighter, like they were standing in front of someone using the Book of Naga, and suddenly the ground seemed to fall away from beneath her feet. There was a mighty rush of wind, a song that Ishtar could hear but couldn't make out the words to, and the two of them were flying through the sky -

- and then there was nothing.

Grass. Dirt. Wind whistling through branches. The distant roar of thunder. Ishtar's fingers twitched as her faculties slowly returned to her, and the first thing she became aware of was a heavy weight on top of her. She tried to move, blinking languidly in an attempt to clear her vision. Stars flickered in a blurry haze that showed her dark green blobs against a dark blue sky; there was some light in the distance (torches?) but it was a ways away. Ishtar groaned, shakily moving her hand and feeling soft fabric and cool skin beneath her fingertips.

Was it a nightmare? She blinked a few more times, trying to will her vision to focus. It was dark still, but as her eyes cleared up, she saw a canopy of tree branches above her, and just beyond that a sky full of dark, rolling thunderclouds. No, that can't... Startled, she tried to sit up and winced; looking down, she saw Tine sprawled halfway across her chest and lap, moaning and pressing one hand against her head.

“Ow...” Her cousin whimpered, trying to prop herself up by her elbow. Ishtar hissed in pain when she inadvertently dug into her ribs; Tine yelped and fully scrambled off her, eyes wide. She was a little hard to see in the dark, but as Ishtar examined her, she realized with a rush of relief that there was no blood on her that she could see – nothing staining her hair, no sign of her legs or ankles being bent the wrong way. We...didn't fall? No, something happened. Did I manage to take the brunt of it? No, surely not. I wouldn't be conscious if I fell that far... “W-What was that?”

“I don't know,” Ishtar muttered, rubbing her eyes fervently. “That was...something out of the ordinary, to be certain. Was it warp? Rewarp? Gods, that can't be right. I don't remember warp ever feeling like that...” She looked around and balked. “That's...”

Tine looked left and right, and despite the low light, the gasp suggested she immediately realized the same thing that Ishtar had.

This was not the castle courtyard. This...was a roadside in a forest. A single, wide dirt road extended out to the east and the west directly in front of them, an occasional lamp lit by a magic torch lighting the way. The forest was dark, too dark to see anything more than a couple dozen arms-lengths away, and while there was no sign of any people the road was well worn and bore the signs of wheel tracks. Ishtar got to her feet, staring, her fingers clenching and unclenching as her mind buzzed frantically.

Julius would go on a rampage if she vanished.

“Ishtar? W-Where are we?” Tine asked hesitantly.

“I don't know,” Ishtar responded flatly, too exhausted, confused and dazed to say much else. “What is this place?” She looked up and frowned. “And how can it be sunset? It was the middle of the night mere moments ago...have we been unconscious for an entire day?” That couldn't be right, though. There was no way the many wandering brigands of Jugdral would have just ignored two unconscious noble girls lying on the side of a less-traveled road. “What in Naga's name...”

“I-Ishtar...Ishtar, look, look!” Tine tugged hard on her arm, pointing at something a few feet away. Blinking, she followed her cousin's finger...

...And saw a familiar blue book lying in the grass, glittering with blue light. Ishtar sucked in a sharp, disbelieving breath, and took a few hesitant steps towards it. When it didn't disappear when she touched the cover, she picked it up, and was instantly flooded with a warm wave of power and the smell of ozone filled her senses.

“Mjolnir...” She said numbly. Impossible. Father was keeping the tome with him in Alster. He would never let it out of his sight. It can't possibly be here! Yet there was no denying the power she felt within the book, the singing of her major blood. “This can't be an accident.”

A thought struck her, one that she banished immediately. It can't be so. The gods have left us to our fate. Still, a chill went down her spine.

“What's happened to us?” Tine asked quietly.

Ishtar shook her head hard, forcing herself to think and be practical. “We'll find out later. For now, we have to get off this road somehow.” She looked back and forth, her stomach sinking. “We have to follow this road and pray that we're not far from the city. There's a storm coming, and likely bandits prowling about.”

“O-Okay...” Tine walked over to her and looked across the road. Ishtar's chest uncoiled a bit at the acceptance, the agreement to keep moving rather than waiting to die. “But which way should we go?”

Ishtar grimaced and looked first to the left, then the right. “Mm...do you remember how we used to climb trees, years back?”

There was a spark of light in Tine's eyes, and she nodded. Ishtar slid Mjolnir into the large pocket of her overcoat and hurried over to the nearest tree. She jumped up and grabbed a branch, walking her feet up the tree trunk until she could swing one leg over and pull herself up fully. Tine was right on her heels as she kept climbing up, wincing when her bare feet, legs and arms scraped against the bark. The upper canopy of leaves was hard to push through, but eventually they were both somewhat precariously balancing on one of the uppermost branches, poking their heads through the top of the tree and looking out across the forest.

It was a miracle – the first Ishtar had experienced in a long, long time. There, not too far in the distance (at least, from this altitude it didn't look too far away) was a huge blaze of golden light that could only come from a highly populated town. “Thank goodness,” She said in relief. Then she gave her head a shake and matter-of-factly said, “Do you have anything in your coat pockets? A handkerchief, slippers, anything?”

“W-Wha? I think so...w-why?”

“So your feet can have at least minimal protection,” Ishtar explained as she started making her way down. Having something to concentrate on, as usual, allowed her to violently push all her emotions aside and lock them away. “Likely this little run is going to hurt quite a bit, but we can try and mitigate damage as much as possible. I'm afraid I don't know anything about healing, so if we get rocks or wooden fragments stuck in our feet...” She let the sentence hang; Tine let out a low whine and scrambled to follow her.

Between them, they had two handkerchiefs and one slipper that Tine had stuck in her coat pocket. Ishtar patiently tied the articles around her cousin's feet, securing it as best she could. After a bit of deliberation (ruefully wishing she'd chosen to wear slippers, and gently but firmly refusing Tine's offer of Aunt Tailtiu's ribbons) she wrapped the slipper around one foot and tied it tightly. “Alright,” She said, getting back to her feet and pulling Tine up. “Let's go.”

They took off down the road, running as fast as they could manage with their legs still stiff from the...whatever-it-was that brought them here. The harsh wind reminded Ishtar with every step that she was wearing nothing but a long nightgown, and that had her constantly looking over her shoulder for bandits or other highwaymen. The bloody streaks of rose in the sky were fading with every moment as the moon rose, leaving their only real light in the spaced-out lanterns. Tine panted harshly and raised her hand into the wind, murmuring something. There was a flicker of green light and then the wind stopped battering Ishtar's face, allowing her to look straight ahead without having her eyes battered close by the wind. Don't do that, she thought in exasperation, don't wear yourself out, conserve your strength... It was good to be able to clearly see the path ahead, though.

They ran, and ran, and ran, only their harsh breathing and the crash of thunder breaking the silence. At some point, the slipper fell off of Ishtar's foot and vanished behind them, leaving her feeling occasional stabs through both her feet instead of just one. She was pretty sure that she had a stone embedded in her left foot, because she felt a spike of pain in the same place every time she took another step. Pain's an old friend, she thought darkly, and didn't make a sound.

She caught Tine's hand at some point and held onto it, the feeling of her cousin's pulse racing under her finger a source of comfort and determination. Tine didn't protest, didn't cry out at any point, though she stumbled a few times and tripped over a fallen branch at one point. Ishtar steadied her and carried her forward, onward, toward the light in the distance that was growing a bit brighter the further along they ran.

Thunder cracked, and Ishtar began to feel drops of rain against her face. She glanced at Tine and saw her looking up at the cloud, panting and looking pained. “Focus...on...running,” She panted. Her lungs were starting to burn, but she ignored it.

The rain was slow at first, but it picked up with an unforgiving rapidness. It quickly soaked into Ishtar's robe, which wasn't meant to provide more than warmth in a cool indoor castle. She had to blink water out of her eyes occasionally as they turned the corner of the road, then another one, as the cold began to sink into her skin.

The sun set, darkness surrounded them except for the lanterns and the approaching city, and the pain in Ishtar's foot was turning blinding. Tine's breath came out in harsh, tortured gasps, and her hand trembled as she fought to keep clinging. The little wind barrier kept surrounding them, providing them some protection from the sheets of rain falling heavily on the ground. Ishtar's legs nearly fell out from under her when she slipped in the mud; this time, Tine caught her, carrying her forward until she managed to regain her sense of balance.

It was dark enough that they nearly ran face-first into the iron gates of the city; thankfully, Ishtar managed to pull them up short at the last second. Her head was spinning from lack of air, she was fairly certain both her feet were bleeding despite how numb they felt, and a chill was starting to creep up on her. Tine was shaking, her hair stuck to her neck and her clothes clinging to her skin. Ishtar looked for guards, but it was hard to see, so she grabbed the gates and ratted them as hard as she could.

She had to do it about three times before someone finally came over to see what the fuss was. It was guard, a young man who's eyes grew really wide when he started to ready his lance only to see two rain-soaked teenage girls before him. “Please help us,” Tine gasped out, reaching a hand through the gate and gazing beseechingly at her. “We're l-lost, w-we've got nowhere else to go. P-please.”

Ishtar expected to be extorted. Expected the guard to leer at them, to require some sort of 'toll' before he allowed them entrance. She expected to have to threaten him. She was more than a little startled when the man hastily put his lance away and unlocked the gate without hesitation. “Of course. Come, this way; the priestess at the church should still be awake.”

Baffled but unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth (and perhaps the 'request' for 'payment' would come later), Ishtar let the man lead them across a couple of streets and through an alley, warning them of pieces of wood and glass scattered about so they wouldn't step on them. He led them to a tall, elegant-looking church and hammered on the door. Minutes later, a woman in white opened it and gasped the moment her eyes settled on them.

“Blessed Sothis have mercy,” She whispered, before whirling around. “Gustav, get some water and come back, quickly; Aimee, go and get some towels and blankets.” She turned around and gently took Ishtar's hands in her own. “Here, lean on my shoulder, child. Keep as much weight off of your feet as you can. Please, guardsman, help her the same way.”

Ishtar nodded distantly, trying to focus just on breathing as they were carefully guided over to a pew and set down upon the cushioned wood. The guardsman hurried over to one of the pillars and brought down the torch from its holster, returning and kneeling on the ground so the priestess could better see what damage had been done to her feet. As she examined first Ishtar, then Tine, a long string of worried and sympathetic murmuring falling from her lips as she looked, blankets were wrapped around Ishtar's shoulders from behind. She blinked and looked up, trying to focus on another girl in robes as she hurried over to do the same to Tine in the pew across from her.

A few moments later, as the priestess began picking stones out of the bottom of her foot, a man appeared with a mug of water which he gave to Ishtar – urging her to drink slowly from it. Ishtar took three sips, enough to soothe her burning throat, than quietly insisted he pass it to Tine. She only relaxed a bit when she saw her cousin take a big, deep gulp.

“Go ahead and lie down,” the priestess told her, touching her wrist. “Sleep, child, sleep. The church of Serios always has an open room for lost souls. You are safe here. You will be protected.”

Church...of Serios? Sothis? What were these names?

Ishtar lay back on the cushions, lightly clinging to the warm towel. Perhaps...perhaps she could figure it out in the morning. The last thing she heard before falling asleep was the continued work and promises of the kindest priestess she'd ever met.

Chapter Text

The church was peaceful and comfortable, the bed she had been provided was soft and the blankets fluffy. No one lingered threateningly outside her door, there was no distant but still audible sound of people being dragged from their beds – only the singing of the choir in the morning's service and the distant sounds of a busy marketplace.

It was all so bizarre.

Ishtar woke early to the pink rays of sunlight streaming through the window. Instinctively her hand grasped at the sheets next to her, searching for Julius. It took a moment of not finding him – of blearily wondering if she'd forgotten something important, if another batch of Hunted children had been brought in so soon after the last ones, if he had gone to court early to make an example of some traitors – before she remembered where she was.

Wherever that happened to be.

She lay in bed, carefully still, listening for sounds in the hallway. For the creaking of floorboards that would indicate that guards stood outside their door, that a patrol was keeping an eye on them. It was what Manfroy would have done; no one in Belhalla except for Julius slept without a watchman. For safety purposes, of course – who knew what sort of trickery those filthy rebels would employ? And after the beloved Empress was murdered within the confines of her own castle, this was clearly a common sense measure to ensure the continued safety of her only remaining heir. The Priests of Loptous would see to it.

Yet for as carefully as she listened for many long, uneasy moments...she heard nothing. The hallway was quiet and peaceful.

So strange.

I wonder how far out from Belhalla we are. They must be quite confident that there won't be trouble to be so relaxed... Ishtar sat up slowly, wincing at her stiff muscles. Clearly her body didn't appreciate how hard she had pushed it the previous night.

She quickly looked about, and let out a sigh of relief when her eyes settled upon a familiar figure. Tine was curled up in a bed right across from her, burrowing deeply in the silk blankets. Her cousin's breathing was even; the running they'd done had tired her out to the point that she was sleeping without nightmares. A small blessing in the midst of this strangeness.

Ishtar looked about the room. It was small, modestly appointed and bearing soft yellow wallpaper. On the desk that was propped up against the opposite wall lay two pairs of flesh clothes, and Mjolnir. Oh, thank the gods...they didn't confiscate it. That would have been a foolhardy decision to make overall, but it would have weakened her not insignificantly and thus make refusing any demands a more dangerous game.

Who could afford to be so trusting of strangers in these times?

Let's play a game, Ishtar, Tine, Aunt Tailtiu's soft, wavering voice drifted through her memory. I'm going to describe the marketplace of a city to you, and you're going to see if you know which kingdom it belongs to. Do you think you can do that?

Yes! I've read aaalllll the maps in papa's study; I'm gonna blow you away, Tine!

No way! Ishtore's told me all about the places he's going to see when he's made a squire, I won't loose easily!

Hehe...well, we'll see, shall we?

Ishtar blew out a soft breath and pushed the comforter covering her aside. She was still wrapped in blankets from head to toe, hiding her soft skin from any prying eyes. Her feet were covered in bandages; she propped her right leg up on her knees and cautiously probed the curve of her foot, judging how well they had been tended to.

Other than a slight discomfort, she felt perfectly fine – as if rocks and twigs hadn't been embedded into her flesh mere hours ago. They had enough healing staffs to spend charges on any frantic stranger who came to them for sanctuary? Ishtar added highly placed favors to her list of possible explanations to the odd peace that was lingering over this abbey; it made about as much sense as anything else.

Experimentally, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up slowly. Once it was clear that even that didn't cause anything more than mild discomfort, she made her way over to the window and pushed the silk curtains aside.

Sunlight blazed across a clear blue sky, warming her skin as she lay her hands against the glass. The massive expanse of the ocean greeted her eyes, glittering like a priceless jewel, reaching further than vision could follow. A large port rested at the edge of the waters, holding both small fishing boats and larger trade ships. From her vantage point – they'd been placed in a room fairly high up in the building, a third or fourth floor, if she estimated correctly. The city below her was bustling; it was a modest place of one-story houses, winding streets and the smell of good food. Modest, yes...but full of cheer and ease. Comfort. It was well cared for and well maintained.

Nothing like anything Ishtar had seen in years.

There's so many people out and about... Ishtar thought in wonder. Even lower Belhalla hasn't been this active in the middle of the day for some time. Where are we? She leaned forward on the windowsill, scanning the area she could see for anything that looked familiar. Is this some remote corner of Issach? An island that refugees fled to that has managed to go undiscovered all this time?

It was the closest comparison that came to mind – despite how long Issach had been occupied by the Granvelle army, they'd never been able to fully cover its territory. The dense forests and mountains played many tricks on would-be mapmakers, and there seemed to be no end of secret villages not unlike Verdane's Spirit Forest that hunted civilians could disappear into.

That was the most widely accepted reason they'd yet to find and capture Prince Shannan, anyway. Ishtar rather suspected that the young royal had a network of supporters that Dannan wasn't willing to admit existed. He was on thin ice with Emperor Arvis was it was.

...There must be guards on the roads down there, she reasoned after a moment, attempting to find some sense in this tranquility. Mercenaries meant to keep the peace, if not bishops of Loptous. I must not be able to see them from this vantage point. She gave her head a shake. Hired hands who prefer peace, quiet and comfort to exerting their authority to petty ends...I suppose it's not impossible. Ishtore has a knack for finding people like that.

It was odd. Theoretically it made sense for there to be some hidden corners of Judgral that the Cult had been unable to penetrate, but she would have thought she'd have heard Manfroy grumbling about not having men in a clearly profitable city. For there to be this many people out and about, trade and commerce had to be very strong.

“...Ngh...”

The sound of Tine stirring pulled Ishtar from her whirling thoughts. Ishtar twisted to look at over at her bed; Tine's form was shivering slightly, her hands jerking as if trying to reach someone. Are you having that dream again? The soldiers who had brought her and Aunt Tailtiu to the family all those years ago claimed that they had been abandoned in the mountains, speaking solemnly even as Tailtiu railed and screamed at them for attacking her maids and guards and leaving them to die. Tine had been too young to truly remember that night, only flashes and cries that had haunted her sleep ever since.

Hastening to her cousins' beside, she carefully sat next to her and shook the slender girl's shoulder. “I'm here, Tine,” She whispered, running her fingers over the soft red ribbon tangled in the strands of her silver hair. “I'm here. Wake up.”

Mother hated it when Tine screamed from night terrors. (Mother hated it when Tine did much of anything aside from blink or breathe.) Ishtar did her best to soothe her cousin (her sister, really) and wake her slowly so no one would know of her distress.

Tine's shivering abated slowly under the touch. After a few moments, she blinked heavily a few times before her emerald green eyes fluttered opened. There was wetness in the corners of her eyes. “...Tari?” She mumbled, reaching up with one hand up from under the blankets.

“It's me,” Ishtar assured her, brushing her bangs aside. “We're safe, for the moment.”

Tine's brow furrowed a little as her sleepiness continued to slowly drain away, letting that thought settle for a moment before its inherit oddness sank in. Those emerald pools widened as the memories asserted themselves and she scrambled to sit up, looking around the room and wiggling her feet; the blankets rustled from her efforts. “Oh...! W-Where are we?” She mumbled.

“I – I'm not sure,” It was a hard admission to make; knowing that she was the sole source of protection Tine could count on with Ishtore away running Melgen meant she could very rarely afford to fail. “I don't recognize the town at all...and there's no sign we're being guarded.” Yet, anyway.

Tine pushed herself up on her elbows and stared anxiously back at her. “T-Then what should we do?”

Ishtar took a deep breath and contemplated that for a moment. Frankly, it was fair question. “We should find out where we are,” she said with a calm she didn't quite feel. “And see if we can get some food and water. I don't think the priestess would begrudge us that much, seeing as she was willing to spend staff charges to heal our injuries last night.”

“She did?” Tine repeated, backing up against the head of the bed. She pulled one of her legs up and placed her ankle across her knee, goggling at the pristine white bandages binding her injuries. “W-Why? I didn't have anything to pay her with...”

“Neither did I,” Ishtar muttered. “And she left Mjolnir with us. This is an odd abbey...that's why I think we're safe here for now.” She stood up. “In any case, we should get dressed and try to get a grasp on the situation we're in. Come, there have been clothes laid out for us.”

Tine slowly slid out of bed, shaking her head disbelievingly. Ishtar walked to the dresser, shaking her hair out and critically eyeing the outfits offered. They were modest and simple enough...actually, they rather looked like old military academy uniforms. At least, that's the impression she got looking at them. How odd for something like that to be here. Expelling a long breath, Ishtar gave the closed door one final wary look before beginning to change.

It felt odd; to not be wearing silk and satin. Oh, the outfit wasn't uncomfortable by any means, far from it – but she could just imagine the looks on her parents faces to see her dressed so casually. Mother might actually have a stroke; unless she got her hands on the one who gifted them to me first... Ishtar turned the sleeves back a bit and straightened the collar before picking up the jacket that completed the ensemble. The leather was warm in her hands, and it had deep pockets. Not enough to entirely envelope Mjolnir, but close.

Tine was fumbling her way into the clothes with much more confidence than she herself felt. Then she snagged the hairbrush after carefully working the precious ribbons out of her hair. “There's really no one outside waiting for us?” She asked dubiously as she went to work.

“Unless they can walk on wood without making a sound, yes.”

“...Then this isn't a Loptous Abbey? Do you think someone took us to one of Father Claude's old churches in Edda?”

“Edda is too highly policed for our arrival to go unnoticed.”

“But if we're not in Edda, were are we?”

Ishtar, her own hair drawn back in a ponytail once more, stepped over to help Tine with her ribbons. “We'll find out, don't worry.”

A few moments later they were both as presentable as possible under the circumstances; Ishtar grabbed the doorhandle and twisted it. “Hello?” She called as she pushed the door open. An empty hallway greeted the two of them.

“...Is this some kind of trick?” Tine wondered as she cautiously peeked out. “Even the small abbeys must have guards to check travelers for smuggled goods or poaching.”

“It's hard to universally enforce such broad regulations. No doubt that many of the less traveled places have been ignoring them for some time now. Let's be cautious, but proceed anyway.” Ishtar turned and placed a hand on the top of her head. “Don't worry. I'll protect you.”

Tine nodded meekly. Guilt flashed in her eyes and her shoulders slumped again. No doubt remembering...Ishtar felt her smile grow stiff and quickly turned her head away. Just forget about that night, Tine. Thrud knows I'm trying to.

Forget everything except that strange light effect. That must have been a spell of some sort, and a very powerful one at that. But who would have had that power and a grudge against the Empire in Belhalla? And if they were that strong, why didn't they kill us? Why bother with...whatever this is?

Ishtar found the spiral staircase and lead Tine down them. Service seemed to have ended, judging by the general babble that was drifting up to them; there had been a large turnout too, found the sounds of things. When they reached the ground floor, Ishtar nudged her cousin up against the wall and peered carefully through the window in the door. Peasants and those she'd tentatively call middle class (which was odd because it was hard to find people who were neither starving nor rich beyond measure in Jugdral) were streaming through the hall, chattering amicably with each other. Aside from a few tired individuals, here and there, she didn't see slumped shoulders or wrists rubbed raw from chains of forced labor; none wore rags or prison clothes. Ishtar gasped when she saw children as young as five, six and seven bouncing about and running underfoot without a care in the world.

Why were they not hidden away?! Why would their parents bring them to an abbey in broad daylight?!

Yet...none of the parents looked worried, not in the slightest. All of them had relaxed posture, some of them seeming utterly at peace; no one who walked into a Loptous church outside of the cult wore such expressions.

Tine saw it too; she goggled at the children scampering all over the hall, her mouth hanging open slightly. After a second, she twisted and stared up at her, clearly in hopes of an explanation. Ishtar could only shrug in helpless confusion.

A child tripped and stumbled onto the floor near them; upon getting up, the girl with her hair tied back in golden pigtails blinked up at them through the window she could just barely see through. After a second, she beamed without restraint or suspicion, waved, and rushed off again, leading her exasperated mother to chase after her.

Ishtar raised one hand to her lips, shaken. A warm, carefree smile... How long had it been since she saw something like that?

After a minute or so, the last of the worshipers had dispersed, and Ishtar pushed the door open leading Tine into the hall. She looked about in wonder; the stain glass window above the door depicted a dragon flying overhead of a woman in robes who knelt with a sword held in front of her. Is...that some sort of image of Naga? A depiction of her duality, a divine dragon who chose to take human form out of love for us? I've never seen something comparable...

“Ah, you're awake.”

Ishtar's attention snapped forward again at the faintly familiar voice. Tine instinctively darted behind her, one hand on her elbow as she nervously stared at the priestess who had emerged from the cathedral, smiling kindly at them.

She was an older woman, judging by the wrinkles in her face. Yet she was healthy, round in the belly and skin free of scars or blemishes, her hair smooth and well-maintained. It was so bizarre, to see a humble woman of faith (she didn't have the ornate wear of a Bishop) in such a good state.

“You were in quite the state when you arrived,” She said, what looked like concern in her eyes. Ishtar had learned to be wary of the sincerity of such sentiments...she wrinkled her brow, reading the woman's face for any tells that might warn her of the contrary. “Without shoes or proper cloaks...Are you fleeing from someone?”

So you don't recognize me off-hand...that makes sense, if this town is isolated. What to say... Ishtar thought rapidly for a moment, going through her options. Asking for sanctuary would be out of the question; Julius might misinterpret that as her and Tine being held captive here, and that would be a poor way to repay the kindness this abbey and shown them. Introducing herself and Tine properly could leave them at the mercy of angry civilians clever enough to ambush them somehow...that wasn't a huge threat to Ishtar herself, but Tine was somewhat more vulnerable. Of course, that didn't mean she had to lie very much to give her a story close to the truth.

“Not from anyone we know. We were abducted from our homes and woke up on a roadside we were unfamiliar with,” Ishtar invented. She was wary of mentioning the light and the song; even a woman of the cloth might well find that too much to swallow. “Fortunately, they stepped away from us for some reason, giving us a chance to escape. We followed the road to this village as fast as we could...we seemed to have lost them, but now we ourselves are quite lost.”

The priestess seemed to accept this at face value; her expression grew solemn. “Banditry has been plaguing the lands all over for years now,” She said. “The church has been dispatching more and more knights to combat it, but they're simply spread too thin. I'm glad that you two managed to escape before they were able to do you any further harm.”

“T-thank you,” Tine mumbled, bowing deeply.

“How are you feeling now? Are you experiencing any phantom pain in your feet?” The priestess asked, looking them both over. The gesture was oddly non-invasive, unlike the Loptous bishops Ishtar was used to dealing with. Odd, very odd...I'll have to ask the village lord where he found the people of this abbey...

“No, not hardly; your healing was very skillful. I hope it wasn't a burden upon you.” Staffs are expensive to maintain, after all.

“Oh, please.” The priestess almost looked affronted by the words, which was...unexpected. “I assure you, tending to your wounds cost me nothing. It is my duty to help those who are lost and in trouble.”

“I...see,” Ishtar said, slightly on the back foot.

“I was going to send someone to check on you, but now that you're here...are you hungry? You must be; it's nearly noon now.” The older woman gestured down the hall toward another set of doors. “We don't have a great variety here in this small church, but I hope we'll have something you'll enjoy.”

This is a small church? But it's three stories tall at the least, Ishtar thought in bewilderment. What on earth would you consider a big church, if this is small? “Thank you,” She said politely. A thought struck her, and she quickly added, “If it were at all possible, might I also be granted a map of the local lands? I wish to get a better sense of where we are at the moment.”

“That is not a problem,” The priestess assured her, starting to walk off in the direction of the room. Tine gave Ishtar a questioning look; the princess did her best to smile reassuringly.

“Don't worry,” She said. “I'll make a plan.”

“For what?” Tine asked uneasily. “What if your m-mother t-t-thinks we ran a-away?”

“Julius will dissuade her,” Ishtar responded with dull confidence. (After all, he'd attacked her mother for making her sad before.) “Aren't you hungry?”

That made Tine smile just a little bit. The sight warmed the older girl's heart – just a little bit. “Yeah.”

They followed the priestess down the hall and into a side room past the cathedral. It was a humble study, with two tables placed next to each other and covered with various fruit and bread delicacies. Tine let out a startled, happy sound at the sight of the bowls of grapes and apples; she hurried to a chair and grabbed her favorite food in both hands, momentarily forgetting her manners at the sight of the rate delicacies. Ishtar would have apologized on her behalf, but the priestess – once again displaying her oddness – just smiled indulgently at the sight and urged her to join her cousin before stepping out of the room to get the map.

Bemused, Ishtar sat down herself and studied the table, unsure where to start. The amount of fruit on the table amazed her; unless you were in Belhalla, fruit was comparatively harder to come by these days. (After all so many farmers were being murdered and their children stolen away for the hunts, so who was there to till the fields?) The sight was legitimately mouth-watering; if she hadn't been hungry when she woke, she was now.

Taking a handful of grapes, Ishtar started to snack on one at a time. “It's good, isn't it?” She asked teasingly, watching Tine devour the food with gusto.

Tine, tears at the edges of her eyes as she stuffed her face, nodded vehemently. Ishtar was struck with the horrible sinking feeling that her mother had been starving her cousin – again – while she had been out on deployment...

“Here you go, my lady,” The priestess said again, handing her a well-worn role of parchment.

“Thank you kindly,” Ishtar said, accepting it and carefully clearing a place on the table for it. Nodding, the priestess stepped out again as Tine leaned over to see it.

Ishtar unrolled the parchment...and stared.

Because what she saw made no sense. There wasn't a single familiar landmark or duchy name that she could point to. There were three kingdoms drawn across it instead of one, a 'heart' in the middle of the land that had no equivalent on any map she remembered looking at. There was no sign of her home of Alster.

The map was titled “Fodlan”.

“Ishtar?” Tine asked nervously. “What...what's wrong?”

Ishtar let out a shuddering breath, still staring uncomprehendingly at the map. Unbidden, her mind went back to that moment on the balcony – the blazing white light, the song she had heard all around her, the feeling of being carried away.

Naga...are you playing a grand trick on me?

Chapter Text

Whenever there was joy and hope in a place, Tine von Silesse stood on her toes and waited for the other shoe to drop.

It felt like a trap, wandering through the streets of this seaside town and watching farmers and tradesmen cheerfully interact in a bustling market without a hint of suspicion. It played on her nerves even worse than if they'd woken up in a Loptous Abbey; at least then she would know what to expect. This? This...quiet, happy place? What was she supposed to do here? How could she possibly accept this place as real?

You know, hope is a mistake, Ishtore's had mused once, swirling the wine in his glass idly. If you can't fix what's broken, you'll go insane.

Even now Tine wasn't certain if he'd been talking to her or himself. Either made sense; Ishtar had just helped him ensure a handful of children escaped from the child hunts, after all.

Everything about the town she was in made her anxious. It was bright and warm, full of laughter and music from buskers playing at street corners. Children darted to and fro, utterly unafraid, getting underfoot as they played games of war with sticks and wooden swords. Young couples laughed without a care in the world, waving cheerfully to guards who waved back and called them by name. Vendors and shopkeepers offered discounts and there were carts of fruits and vegetables for sale at what she presumed to be decent prices given how many people were going to and from the carts. There wasn't a cloud in the sky; the sun shone brightly down on them as if the gods themselves were watching with approval. This just couldn't be real. 

Yet even as the hours ticked on, she couldn't find a catch. She kept waiting to see what had to be sold for this peace and comfort to exist; even Belhalla, the rich and powerful heart of Judgral, didn't have such a warm and carefree atmosphere.

She couldn't find anything.

Tine was beginning to seriously consider if she was dead.

She fell from that balcony, the light and song had been Naga spiriting her soul away, and this was some sort of strange purgatory that she had to navigate in penance for taking her own life. The fact that she still slept and felt pain were sticking points in this theory, but Tine was at a loss for what else this might be.

“-Finest silk to be found in the Alliance! Wouldn't you agree, young lady?”

Tine's heart jumped into her chest; she twisted to stare over her shoulder at the vendor who had called out to her. The older man waved her over with enthusiasm, which spiked her nerves rather than soothed them out of habit. “Might I have a moment of your time?”

Ishtar squeezed her wrist reassuringly; Tine blew out a small breath. I'm safe as long as she's with me, she reminded herself, before tentatively walking across the road to the vendor's stall. “I wouldn't know, sir,” She said demurely. “We've only just arrived here a little while ago; I haven't gotten to see all it has to offer.”

“Ah, you're a traveler then?” The merchant beamed at her, his expression warm and friendly. His eyes kept to her face as he asked, “Have the sights impressed you so far?”

“It's quite beautiful,” Tine said in all sincerity – the atmosphere and the healthy forest was unlike anything she could remember seeing. “We haven't been here long, but even what little I've seen has left me in awe.”

These people were so happy. Were the people in Belhalla this happy?

“Well, perhaps you can find something here to comfort you through your travels?” The merchant picked up one of the brightly colored scarves from his display and offered it to her. Tine tentatively accepted, marveling at how smooth and soft it was beneath her fingers. It was a remarkable shade of crimson red. “The further north you travel, the cooler it will get. Many colors could play off your hair beautifully, but this one in particular would match your ribbons.”

“It's very fine,” Tine murmured. “I'm afraid I don't have much in the way of local currency...” She and Ishtar both had gold from home, of course, but merchants and innkeepers would likely find coins with Emperor Arvis's head on them odd at the least.

“That's all right; I'll sell it at a discount.”

Tine blinked rapidly. “T-That won't hurt your coffers, will it?” Surely material this fine couldn't be sold short on a whim, even in a comfortable place like this?

“Ah, it's kind of you to be concerned, but it's no trouble! Trade in the Leicester Alliance is rich and fruitful, and the day is still young.” He smiled kindly at her. She couldn't see any deception in him; it was wide-eyed earnestness. Some of the new servants would come to Alster with that look in their eyes; it never stayed long. “Every young woman should feel beautiful. Being able to gift that feeling to a stranger is priceless.”

Tine felt her cheeks turn slightly red; she glanced back at Ishtar, who looked a little taken aback before quickly schooling her face back into friendly neutrality. Her cousin nodded lightly at her, giving her a little smile, and she counted out the coins the abbess had so kindly given them. Thankfully, she did have enough to pay for it without dipping into their gold from home.

Red reminded her of mother. Mother had given her the ribbons...maybe she would have given her a scarf too, if they'd stayed in Silesse...if...if...

She thanked the man profusely as she wrapped the scarf around her neck and started walking away; he seemed surprised by the depths of her reaction, responding warmly if a little confused.

“So the merchants as odd as the priestess...” Ishtar mused as they walked through the square. Two boys playing with wooden swords crashed into her leg; one of them paused long enough to apologize before tearing after his friend, who'd rushed off not out of fear from having contact with Isthar but simply being too absorbed in the game. “I wonder who's protecting this village for it to be so peaceful.”

“Ishtar? ...What do you think happened to us?” Tine glanced up at her from beneath her bangs. She took a deep breath, the cool salty tang of a sea breeze hitting the back of her throat. “They call this place the Leicester Alliance, and this town is under the rule of a local lord who doesn't answer to a king.” They'd done a bit of asking around in the church before stepping outside – awkward questions, to hide how little they truly knew – yet they'd left the building no less confused than when they'd entered it. “Do you think we've been transported across the ocean? They say there's nothing beyond the shores of Judgral, but – but what if they're wrong?”

“...That makes about as much sense as any of my theories,” Ishtar acknowledged, grasping her arm with one hand and tapping her fingers against her elbow. It was a nervous tick of hers that had grown much more pronounced as she spent more and more time leading alongside Hilda and visiting Julius in Belhalla. “I...I have to admit, I'm not certain how to proceed.”

That made Tine's stomach sink a bit. Ishtar and Ishtore had never failed to give her useful advice or come up with some sort of plan to put her in the safest positions possible. Realizing that neither of them, stuck as they were in a completely foreign location with nothing but Thrud's ancestral weapon and the clothes on their backs, knew what to do was alarming.

However, Ishtar also never gave up without a fight. “At least we can count on the church to provide shelter for us,” she murmured, “but I don't know how long sanctuary lasts in these parts. I think the best course of action right now is for me to find work of some kind while we try to plan our next move. To have lands this peaceful, the lord and his local retainers must be hiring mercenaries by the hundreds.”

“I...I can fight too. Shouldn't I also try to sign up?” Tine asked.

“I'd rather you stayed safe,” Ishtar said reluctantly. “Though I suppose if we're to have any hope of securing accommodations outside the church, both of us will need to find jobs. Are you sure you wouldn't first find work as a delivery girl or assistant shopkeeper? I know it's hardly work fit for a princess, but I doubt either of our royal credentials count for much out here.”

“It's worth considering, and I'm hardly too proud to apply for them,” Tine promised her, “I just – I want to stay close to you, Ishtar. Even if you're armed with Mjolnir, mercenary work is dangerous...I...I don't want anything to happen to you...”

The edges of her eyes blurred, much to her distress; it was pathetic how little it took to make her break down. Her spirit was frayed at the edges, so weak compared to Ishtar's, yet the latter never begrudged her for it. She rubbed her eyes on her arm, muttering about sea salt; any weakness had to be suppressed quickly.

“I'm no easy mark, Tine,” Ishtar said, putting an arm around her shoulders as she'd so often done with they were young. “Try not to worry about me.”

“Who will worry if not me?” Tine parroted back. How many times had they had this particular back in forth? The gods know Hilda will not worry; only throw a fit about how her connection to the throne of Belhalla has suddenly vanished. If Bloom even notices, I bet he'll be much the same.

Julius will worry. ...That scares me as much as it gives me some comfort. Maybe more.

Julius hadn't been the same since he started carrying that book around. Tine had no idea what happened to him, but she knew it had something to do with that horrible dark priest who never left court...Manfroy...

Not that there was much of a point of thinking about that as long as they were in this place...the Leicester Alliance... Fodlan...

Ishtar smiled and patted the top of her head.

That's when Tine finally heard a familiar sound – frightened screaming.

It was isolated at first, but then it started to spread, filtering into the market square. Guards, who had been casually leaning against house walls and chatting with merchants and mothers watching their children play, stiffened and went for their weapons.

“Pirates!” The word echoed through the air, cutting across much of the dialogue ongoing between the people of the square. “Pirates are coming! Pirates at the gates!”

Alarm swept through the people like wildfire; merchants scrambled to close their carts, mothers rushed to collect their children and hurried them through the alleyways and into the houses surrounding the area. Yet even this wasn't quite what Tine expected from an invasion; the fear that quickly came over everyone around them was fierce, yes, but it didn't devolve into panic. The civilian retreat was orderly; the guards began to form up with professional and well-practiced precision.

Pirates...yes, that made sense. Finally something did. This was a much better target for plundering than the starving towns of Issach or Silesse; there was actually something worth taking. Tine was almost amused to realize that she didn't feel very scared.

She lived with worse than pirates every day.

“My lady, my lady,” Tine's attention was grabbed by a guard and his partner, who had approached them as they stood in place as opposed to fleeing like the others. “Please, go and take shelter. Almyran pirates won't be kind to women they capture.”

Ishtar, who's hand had fallen onto the pocket that contained Mjolnir, responded exactly as Tine would expect her to after only a moment of thought. “Let me go out with you,” She said. “I've mastered magic. I can fight.”

The guard looked baffled, glancing between her and Tine. “My lady, we can't possibly allow that,” He protested. “Your protection is our responsibility.”

“I can fight,” Ishtar insisted firmly, squaring her shoulders back. She looked regal in her cool composure; fearless and powerful. “I am no helpless wallflower, despite my looks. I want to help; I have a unique family magic I can bring to bear in the town's defense.”

“I can too,” Tine said, summoning her courage and focusing on keeping her voice even. Ishtar would have given her a disapproving look if they weren't presenting a united front; even though she taught her cousin how to fight herself (it wasn't like Hilda or Bloom would waste time or money on a traitor's daughter-) she much preferred for her to hide away when trouble started. “I've fought in battles with brigands before; run of the mill pirates are nothing new.”

The guards exchanged uneasy looks; neither of them looked happy, but they did look contemplative – swayed by the sheer weight of Ishtar's charisma. “The Knights of Serios haven't arrived yet,” the second reminded his friend. “They may be late; cross-country travel hasn't been the smoothest.”

“...” The first blew out a long breath. “It goes against my instincts, but...very well. Just please promise me that you will fall back if you get injured.”

Tine almost snickered at the idea that common vagabonds would even be able to get close to her cousin, but caught herself. It wasn't kind to laugh at sincere concern; such a rare gift should be treasured, not mocked.

“Yes sir,” Ishtar replied politely.

Still not looking quite happy with this decision, but accepting it nonetheless, the two guards led them out of the monastery toward the docks. Villagers were still darting past them; Tine saw guards dragging out wagons and large chunks of stone at the city gates in order to form a barricade to keep the pirates out of the residential area. Her heart was pounding in his chest, acknowledging fear, yet she felt strangely calm – this was familiar. This, she knew what to do about.

And...she also felt something – almost like a spark of defiance. This was a gentle, happy place, and now brigands would destroy even this little pocket of happiness?

No. She wouldn't allow it. If she was going to live long enough to take to a real battlefield, she would acquit herself in a manner that would make her mother, who had slipped away from her father to fight for what she believed in, proud.

Watch over us, mother...intercede with Naga for us, and these people too...

The other guards looked like pole-axed to see them trotting at the heels of their companions; a lot of confused, alarmed and annoyed words flew back and forth between them when they reached the bare ranks that had moved ahead. Tine noticed that, for such a wealthy town, there weren't many people to protect it – a couple dozen at most.

They were expecting reinforcements, these 'Knights of Serios', to reinforce them...but why would any sensible lord leave a thriving port a mere skeleton guard to defend it? What if one of his rivals decided he wanted the commerce that flowed freely through it?

Ishtar maintained her composure, calmly repeating what she'd said before as she removed Mjolnir from her pocket. It was at this point that Tine realized that she had no tome of her own, which left her a bit chagrined; she would have to rely on her innate magic to cast the spells.

The potential threat of magic burnout was less, thanks to her Holy Blood, but it still loomed over her...she would have to make sure that not one spell she cast was wasted.

There was a single long pathway out to a stone pier that most of the ships seemed to dock at. Two small vessels were already burning and sunk; three large ships with makeshift sails with scrabbled, hastily-repainted sails (those were falsified; a feint to hide the identity of the attackers, though perhaps not immediately obvious) and dozens of men standing on the decks, armed with axes and bows and swords. Tine heard the impatient shriek of a wyvern from further back on the ships; they had at least one, possibly more – it wouldn't be easy to keep those large creatures fed in oversea travel.

If they have wyverns on board, they wouldn't have horses – too much risk of the former eating the latter. That was a relief. Wyverns were nothing to trifle with, even if they had a weakness for magic.

Ishtar's hand slipped into hers, squeezing it reassuringly. “Stay close to me,” She murmured.

“I know.”

Tine narrowed her eyes and reached out to the wind.

Those who carried the blood of Forseti had an innate connection to the wind that even the strongest mage without it could not match. Even blessed with only minor blood, Tine could whip up a storm if she poured enough time and magic into it. It would be very taxing, but she could do it – sink each of these ships herself.

And then pass out, sleep for two days, and scare the living hells out of Ishtar. But I would sink them.

She doubted she had the time...but she could whip up a wind strong enough to toss some people overboard.

Sensing what she was winding up to do, Ishtar patted her arm, then pulled her hand back and slid Mjolnir under her arm. Thin flickers of lightning curled around her wrist, filling Tine's nose with the smell of ozone. The pirates were laughing at the small force facing them, taunting and making rude gestures.

“How juvenile,” Her cousin muttered. Then she strode forward, putting herself at the head of the guard, and projected her voice across the waters. “Pirates, rats of the seas, come to prey on innocent and helpless. Turn back from this port! You are not welcome here! We extend you this one chance to leave with your lives; refuse it, persist in this path, and we shall not hold back!”

Tine shivered at the authority in her voice. When Hilda gave orders, she sounded like a child making demands of her parents. When Ishtar delivered commands, she sounded like a princess – no, like a queen.

There was a frozen moment of disbelief; the pirates paused their taunting to stare at her. The guards were staring too, which made Tine wince and duck her head awkwardly.

Then the captain laughed; he pushed his men aside and put his foot up on the railing, pointing at her. “That's a good joke, little girl! Perhaps I'll take you aboard as my personal guest once we've plundered this place properly,” Tine's fingers dug into her palm, fear and anger pulsing through her blood in equal measure at hearing that sort of threat yet again. “I'll teach you manners, real nice. Spare the pretty ones, boys, but go and have your fun!”

The pirates all roared in agreement.

Ishtar sighed in irritation. “Such a grotesque threat. Do they have none other when faced with a woman?” She reached out her hand, pointing one finger at the hull of the ship. “There's nothing more to be said.”

Tine quickly threw up her arm to shield her eyes.

The light of Mjolnir's lightning could render a person blind if they were unlucky. The world around the edges of her arm went pure white; static crackled across her loose clothes, making her hair stand up on end. An earth-shattering impact, the splintering of wood and the crackling of fire burst seconds later, followed quickly by dozens of screams and the alarmed shrieking of the wyvern on board. Tine heard a number of their fellow guards yelp and stumble backwards; she lowered her arm, blinking little blots of light out of her eyes as she examined the results.

A massive hole, bigger than a cannonball impact, had been blasted in the hull of the pirate ship; it was taking water by the gallon, rocking violently and tossing some of her crew overboard. Tine, knowing that this was her moment, let out a long whistle and raised her hand straight up. Warm green light wrapped around her hands and then flew up into the air...

And the wind came. (sometimes the wind made her think of father. It was really the only thing of his that she had)

The howling blast of air tore over the top of the ship, sending dozens of men flying out into the ocean and rocking the ship onto its side – putting the entire hole Ishtar had created entirely underwater. The mast cracked under the pressure, and the wyvern who had been onboard had taken to the sky with its rider on its back. The captain fell into the ocean as his ship turned on its side, only the men who had clambered down the gangplanks onto the pier being ready for battle.

Tine let the wind go, breathing out heavily. “Will need a few minutes before I can do something like that again,” She said to the dumbstruck guards, who were now staring at her and Ishtar as though they were dragons.

“Are...are you Crest-bearers?” One of the men asked tentatively.

Ishtar glanced away from the invaders for a moment, puzzled. “Crest-bearer? I'm not sure what you mean; we both possess Holy Blood.” She frowned. “Ah, but explanations can wait. Tine, keep one eye on the wyvern for me...come, quickly; let us turn the entrance to the pier into a choke point.”

This time, the guards obeyed with only a second of thought and uncertainty.

A town defense was fairly rudimentary when it involved a single pier like this; Ishtar had started off her proper military experience dealing with bandits (and 'bandits') who raided or stole from the towns she visited while traveling Freege. While they were undermanned, and the pirates were better armed than the bandits (starving desperate peasants-) the two of them were used to seeing, the situation now was far from tumultuous. Ishtar was armed with Mjolnir; she could probably kill them all herself, if it came down to it. Hopefully it wouldn't.

The guards formed a choke point, positioning themselves so Ishtar and Tine could cast spells from safety behind them. Despite the display of power, they were seemingly still determined to keep their vow of protection towards the girls.

It was such a strange thing.

The pirates, shaken and furious, charged at the new choke-point. Ishtar removed her hand from Mjolnir and cast a simple Thunder spell, knocking a man off his feet; Tine jumped up and cast Fire, causing the archer who was trying to take point behind a pillar to instead drop to the ground in a panic as his clothes were lit ablaze. The guards leveled their lances and swiped and stabbed at any pirate who managed to get past these attacks to reach them; the second ship began moving around.

Ishtar touched Mjolnir again, stepping out from behind the guards. “I'm sorry,” she muttered, because she wondered if any of these men were just people who had fallen on hard times (they were more that than anyone else at home-) but was steeled to her mission. Tine glanced away as another great crackling thunderbolt blasted across the air and slammed into the side of the ship, throwing it off balance and tearing a hole straight through it.

Tine winced when screaming men fell into the ocean. Hopefully some of them could swim.

The pirates kept coming, throwing themselves uselessly against the choke point. Ishtar cast Thunder again and then swore; Tine blinked and then saw what she'd seen – the third ship had turned about and was heading away. Not out into the ocean, but further down the town; likely intending to land somewhere else and attack from the front of the town.

“Someone has to go and man the other entrance!” Ishtar shouted.

“We can't leave here, my lady, or else the pirates will get past us!” The guard called back.

“Damn,” Ishtar muttered, then gave her head a shake. “Hold the line here, we'll go and ensure it stays secure!”

Tine threw one last fireball and then ran to follow her cousin who was determinedly rushing through the now-empty town. Looking up at the sky, she let out a noise of alarm when she realized she saw that wyvern circling overhead – no, not circling, it was definitely diving!

“Ishtar,” She started to warn her, only to be cut off when an arrow hit the wyvern, causing it to shriek in pain and spiral down to the ground outside of the town. Ishtar paused in her mad dash, a confused noise leaving her throat, before clarity crossed her face.

“I think that must be the Knights of Serios,” She mused before picking up the pace again. “Come, Tine; I believe these are allies of ours.”

Tine let out a relieved sigh. “That's good.” She put her hand on the warm red scarf wrapping securely around her neck. It felt warm, somehow, despite the cool air coming off the ocean.

They rushed to the gates they had all but crashed into the night before (had it truly been so little time-?) and looked outside to see what was happening – carefully, positioning themselves so they could duck to the side and avoid arrows or thrown axes aimed at them.

What they saw...was rather a marvel.

There were a man in white and silver, wielding an ax, roaring about the judgment of the goddess in a loud, bombastic voice. A lithe woman in dark clothes wielding an elegant silver bow was taking aim at someone out of sight. They were the only adults, though – and hardly the most interesting figure.

It was the girl who caught Tine's eye first – her and her sword. The blue-haired teenager (that was her best guess, she radiated youth from the way she moved-) slashed a pirate with a blazing sword as a wyvern circled over her head; instead of calling out for assistance, she stepped backwards and swung her sword up to the sky – and the sword split into several moving parts!; reaching up and piercing the leg of the beast. The wyvern cried out and bucked violently, throwing its rider in its haste to free itself from the blade causing it such pain. It eventually succeeded, and the blue-haired girl let it fly off instead of trying to cut it down.

Tine sort of liked her.

“Teach, be a bit more careful! You could have lost your head there!” That laughing, teasing chastisement seemed to come from a handsome brown-haired boy with tanned bronze skin. He was also dressed as an archer, and he fired arrows with the skill that came from practice from childhood.

“You worry too much about her, Claude!” An orange-haired girl astride a horse darted past him, her lance swung out to catch an enemy. “Since when has anyone ever gotten the jump on our Professor?”

"With how much she worries, it's only fair that someone looks after her in return!" A pink-haired girl laughed, swinging a large ax up onto her shoulder like it weighed nothing at all. 

“He's not worried, he's flirting with her.” A white-haired girl – perhaps the same age as Tine herself – trotted after them; she wasn't holding any weapons, so she was probably a mage. “Haven't you noticed?”

“L-Lysithea, you could get them in trouble if you go around yelling stuff like that,” a boy with light green hair protested; he was wielding a sword and also had a bow and quiver strapped over his back. Two weapons, used by someone that young?

“She's right, Ignatz! Don't worry about it; I'm pretty sure everyone has noticed, but no one's made a fuss.” That comment came from a giant of a boy with a mess of blonde hair and – and – what were those things on his wrists? Well, whatever they were, they allowed him to drop a full-grown man with two punches to the face!

“Um...I-I think this is just Claude's way of trying t-to make the Professor laugh,” that stammered remark came from an elegant young woman with blue hair and a dress not unlike what the priestess had given Tine herself to wear. Her hand glowed with gentle white magic.

“He really should stop, it's unseemingly for him to address her so intimately!” A somewhat pompous-sounding purple-haired haired boy complained. “Stay close to me, Marianne, you needn't dirty your hands over bandit scum like this.”

“H-Hey! Don't leave me behind!” A diminutive purple-haired girl armed with a bow protested, scrambling to keep up. She ran after 'Teach', sticking to her side and shooting at something she couldn't see.

“Those are knights?” Ishtar asked in puzzlement. “They're all so young.” She tilted her head. “Well, I suppose that doesn't matter right at this moment – we should go and greet them, so our two forces can coordinate and take care of that last ship.”

Tine nodded, and the two of them pushed open the gates and rushed to meet the people that – though they did not know it yet – walk with them to their new destiny.

Chapter Text

Tine had never been on a 'proper battlefield' before.

That just as much due to the fact that no rebellion had ever grown to the point that it could fight proper battles against the Empire (Prince Shannan is leading one, people in the market whispered, he still hasn't been caught, Dannan is on his last chance) than the fact that her uncle preferred to keep her indoors and 'out of trouble'. That wasn't to say she hadn't been in what could charitably be called 'skirmishes' before; looters, bandits, poachers and other desperate folk were absolutely everywhere, and sometimes they were bold enough to come to the villages close to Alster. Since her uncle's army was busy trying to 'maintain order' in the Manster District, Tine often went out with local guardsmen to ensure the protection of the local villages. Ishtar joined her whenever her schedule permitted it.

She was still tempted to call this a skirmish, even though it was the single biggest one she'd ever experienced. The pirates were close to being on their last legs, and they weren't very well armed (they still had better armaments than the 'poachers' she so often came across) for anything beyond a smash-and-grab. Honestly, any fear she'd felt when she first heard people screaming had long since burned away.

“Ishtar,” Tine gasped as she hurried to keep up with her cousin. Her feet ached a bit, jolts of phantom pain left over from the previous night. “How do we convince the knights we're part of the city guard?”

“Zap a pirate,” Ishtar responded with the faintest ghost of a smile. Tine almost goggled at the sight; Ishtar was so rarely anything but solemn, tired and sad. (When was the last time she saw her smile? Was it the day before Julius picked up that eerie tome?)

“Is – is that really all it takes?”

“Pirates generally aren't savvy enough to use complex tactics; the ones who do are the exception, not the rule,” Ishtar responded as they drew closer to the boat docked a few yards way from the city gates. Then – impossibly! – her smile widened ever so slightly. “Besides, you're far too pretty and well dressed to be a pirate.”

“T-thanks,” Tine managed, feeling her eyes widening to the size of plates. She hoped Ishtar wasn't too exasperated by how surprised she was by the sight of her smiling, no matter how wan the expression was. She quickly turned her head and attentively examined the scene before them.

The young knights had somehow managed to get control of the gangplank, and those among them armed with bows were harassing the pirates still aboard. Thanks to Ishtar's assault, the two remaining boats were no longer side by side, so they couldn't escape by jumping aboard the other still-seaworthy vessel; that left their only two options to be either going below deck in hopes of orchestrating an ambush, or charging down the gangplank to attack their tormentors. That was well-done, Tine thought. I suppose they weren't made knights young for nothing.

The blue-haired teen was standing on the front lines; she walked and held herself like a leader, yet that wasn't stopping her from taking an arrow meant for one of the two archers standing behind her. The brown-haired boy (he was quite handsome, in a mysterious and exotic way; the closest comparison she could make to his coloring and stature was to a Thracian) did not take kindly to that, his posture going from relaxed and cheerful to angry and aggressive in an instant. Tine watched in awe as he shot the next arrow right out of the air, then followed that up with a blindingly quick draw that put an arrow through the eye of the archer who'd injured his commander.

….A commander who did not seem even slightly fazed by the arrow sticking out of her arm, instead stepping forward and swinging the glowing orange-gold blade forward. Again the blade...shattered before Tine's eyes, breaking up into multiple blades as it transformed into a whip and struck two men who'd been standing on the ship railings. This provided the pink-haired girl and the blonde-haired boy to rush up the gangplank without getting shot at. Tine winced as the smell of burnt flesh hit her nose as the men who'd been hit screamed (you got used to that particular smell when Queen Hilda ruled your house), watching the blade in amazement for a moment before she remembered what her job was.

It's dangerous to use magic without a tome to channel it through, but I didn't pick one up in all the confusion. Tine blew out a breath and pointed at one of the men at the gangplank. I'm a daughter of Thrud and Forseti; I don't need one for this!

Thoron's magic circles flared behind her eyes, and she unleashed the blast of concentrated lightning. It flew true and blew the man off the boat, flinging him a couple yards in the process. Ishtar was a couple of seconds behind her; Mjolnir tucked under one arm (there was such a thing as bringing more force than necessary to a fight), she fired off another Thoron that blasted the wyvern that was rising into the air from what looked like the ship's lower deck; it dropped down with a tortured shriek.

Several heads whirled around to stare at them; among them were the blue-haired girl, the brown-haired boy and the older man who was the leader of the detachment judging by how ornate his shining silver armor was. Tine gulped, willing her knees not to shake; the brown haired boy halfway raised his bow before pausing, and then lowering it while eyeing her curiously. “Nice shot,” he called out. His voice was friendly, albeit a bit artificial. “Can we help you?”

“Actually, we're here to help you,” Ishtar corrected, stepping forward to draw the brunt of their attention. “We were working with the city guard to drive off the bandits, and we came this way to reinforce the gate. Might we be of assistance?”

“Of course!” The man boomed exuberantly; he pointed his ax upward out of glee before swinging it toward the boat. “There's not much left to do; stay safe and listen to Sir Eisner's commands.” He slapped a hand on the blue-haired girl's shoulder; she winced a bit and twisted to give him a vaguely bemused look. “We don't want anyone else aside from the bandits to get hurt!”

“Yes sir,” Ishtar said with graceful incline of her head. Tine squeaked and hurriedly mirrored the gesture before skittering nervously towards the blue-haired girl, now identified as Sir Eisner. Upon getting closer, she was startled to realize how tall the other girl was – she was taller than both her and Ishtar, somehow relatively slender and beautiful while still being quite muscular, and... Very solemn looking? Or maybe she was just serious; the look in her blue eyes was difficult to parse. Standing in front of her, Tine couldn't help but feel a little nervous...had they made a bad impression? Was she annoyed at being handed a new variable to worry about mid-battle? Was she sizing them up?

“Sir Alois, please!” One of the nearby knights protested; he had purple hair and a distinct sort of noble bearing – the kind that was fiercely proud of their status and always hungering to take another step up the ladder. Tine instinctively took a step away from him as he approached; Ishtar tensed slightly. “Such drudge labor as this is beneath the dignity of such beautiful women! Surely you aren't insisting we involve them?”

“Are you saying that Teach isn't pretty, Lorenz?” The brown-haired boy asked with a shark-like grin as he drew an arrow. “Ohh, that sounds like you getting extra chores this week!”

The purple-haired boy – Lorenz – sputtered incoherently. Tine waited for the insult to trigger a flurry of blows, but instead the blue haired girl who had been tending to Sir Eisner's shoulder injury burst into a small fit of giggles. She raised a hand to her mouth as though she couldn't believe the sound had escaped her lips; again Tine waited for a blow or angry words.

Instead, the silver haired girl who had been preparing to board before their dramatic entrance let out a loud gasp. “Marianne laughed! I guess you two are good for something after all.” The green-haired boy burst into a fit of startled giggles he frantically tried to muffle while Lorenz started to turn rad; Tine saw Ishtar grow even more tense, ready for things to turn violent. The white-haired girl wasn't worried at all, however.

Nope; she shouldered right past the grinning brown-haired boy and stuck her hand out to Tine, her light violet eyes gleaming with excitement. “Hey you, you have magic, huh?” Tine opened her mouth and closed it with a squeak, her mind whirling as it tried to keep up with the chatter. “Great; your mine.” She promptly seized Tine's hand, pulling her closer. Tine's heart jumped up into her chest; the other girl's smile looked friendly, but what in the world was she so gleeful about-? “We'll pick off any wyverns or archers who try to start something. That's alright, right Professor?”

Sir Eisner blinked twice, looked thoughtful for a moment, and then nodded. “Very well. Bernadetta, you go with them, alright?” The purple-haired girl – who looked like she'd rather be literally anywhere else, her knees were buckling and she kept giving the ship fearful looks – jumped slightly, before forcibly squaring her shoulders and nodding furiously. “Please come with us, miss.” She gestured to Ishtar. “Claude and I are going to board and go after the two captains. If you can keep us covered, that would be appreciated.”

“Done,” Ishtar promised.

“Great; Sir Alois, Sir Shamir, direct the others to rout the rest of the pirates. Be careful,” Sir Eisner finished.

“I'm always careful!” Sir Alois declared. Sir Shamir – the taciturn-looking woman with dark blue hair and an elegant silver bow – rolled her eyes at that and put a hand on his shoulder, pointedly guiding him to the other gangplank. The green-haired boy, the blonde-haired boy (now that Tine was close to him, she realized what was in his hand weren't strange axes, but spiked gauntlets. How very odd!), Lorenz and Marianne (that was the blue-haired girl's name, right?) rushed to follow them.

“C'mon, we have to get into position!” The white-haired girl said urgently, yanking Tine toward and up the gangplank. She yelped and scrambled to right herself, looking up to see the other girl beaming at her. “My name's Lysithea von Ordelia, by the way.”

“T-Tine von Silesse,” She stammered out.

“Huh, never heard that name before...nice to meet you!” Lysithea said cheerfully as they climbed aboard the ship. Her grip was tight but not crushing; now that Tine was getting a good look at her, she noticed her smile was bright and warm, seemingly without reservation.

“W-wait up!” The purple-haired archer – Bernadetta, that was her name, right? – protested, scampering up after them. She was shivering a bit, looking plenty nervous in comparison to Lysithea's confidence; her hands were steady on the bow she was holding, though.

Tine looked over Lysithea's shoulder and saw men on the boat a few yards away from them pointing and shouting. “Um, L-Lady Ordelia, the men-”

Lysithea scrunched up her face. “Oh, don't start getting all formal on me...us young mages have to stick together!” Then she whirled around and cast an unfamiliar spell; a ball of purple-black magic energy flew out from her outstretched fingers across the ocean to slam into one of the men's face.

“Y-You don't have a tome?” Tine asked, startled, as she scrambled to join the other girl at the railings of the boat.

“A tome? What do you mean by that?” Lysithea pointed again, firing the same spell at another area of the bridge. Quickly Tine brought up her own hands, concentrating on Thunder this time as opposed to Thoron. “I learned everything I know from the books, yes, but I don't need to bring them with me.”

Huh? That's odd...do these people just – just not use tomes? But that's so unsafe...!

“I-I don't need them for reminders either. I was just wondering...oh, never mind!” An archer was taking aim at Ishtar and Sir Eisner; Tine quickly cast Thunder at him. She cringed at the chopped off scream he let out after the spell hit home, followed by him toppling over the railing and crashed down into the water.

Bernadetta appeared at her right, aiming and firing at the other men. Tine glanced at her, smiling hesitantly; the other girl looked really nervous – maybe this was her first official sortie? She had good aim, though; a man on the far side of the boat dropped dead after she let the arrow fly. “N-N-Nice to meet you,” The purple haired girl squeaked out, shuffling back a few steps when she realized Tine was looking at her.

“Nice to meet you too...Bernadetta, right?” It was distinctly odd to be faced with another girl who was visibly intimidated by her. Tine had been a prisoner for as long as she could remember; she didn't frighten anyone except visitors to Alster, who only feared her because they knew that her presence meant Hilda or Bloom would be close by.

“Y-Yup. I'm, um, one of Professor Byleth's students.” Bernadetta nodded in the direction of Sir Eisner, who had stood up on the railing as the other boat turned toward them. Ishtar lightly touched her arm and was saying something she was too far away to hear, lifting Mjolnir slightly.

“She's a private tutor, not a knight?” Tine asked, startled. She'd thought Eisner very young to be a knight, but given that strange sword she was using (it had to be a cursed blade of some stripe that she had mastered through willpower and discepline... she'd heard tales from Thracia about a young woman who had transformed the infamous Shadow Sword into her personal weapon, retaining her mind and soul when all who had come before her had failed. Perhaps Eisner was cut from the same cloth.) it at least made sense for her to be on the front lines. But a Professor? A private tutor, all the way out here? At least, she presumed 'Professor' meant private tutor; Bernadetta and Lysithea were too well-fed and well-dressed to be commoners and no school for the common people had lasted long in Jugdral. (They'd briefly surged in use when Arvis first became Emperor, but then the Loptous priests had turned them into hunting grounds for children...)

“She's both,” Lysithea said, tilting her head slightly in surprise. “The Knights of Serios teach classes at the Officer's Academy all the time. Isn't that common knowledge?”

“I'm sorry; I'm not from these lands, so I don't know many particulars,” Tine admitted. Then she saw a familiar light building up in the corner of her eyes and gasped. “Ah, you're going to want to cover your eyes!”

Lysithea looked confused for a second; Bernadetta, by constant, immediately obeyed, so she didn't scream in surprise quite as loudly as the white-haired girl when the blast of lighting burst from Thrud's sacred tome and blew the side of the boat approaching them to smithereens.

“What in the blazing flames was that?!” The orange-haired girl on horseback shrieked, frantically trying to calm her mount as it buckled and scrambled backwards away from the crackling ozone as the spell dissipated.

“Mjolnir's wrath,” Ishtar responded calmly, pocketing the tome as both the brown-haired boy and Sir Eisner rounded on her after recovering from their surprise. “The power of the storm, passed down by my ancestor Thrud. I apologize for the surprise, but it's best that we ended this quickly.”

“...We, I think, have a lot to talk about,” The brown-haired boy said, the air of false-casualness in his voice concealing falcon-like intensity. It made Tine shiver...she was acutely aware that everyone was staring at Ishtar, including Lysithea and Bernadetta.

“True,” Ishtar said quietly. She'd noticed it too; her voice had locked up into the calm, even politeness that she used whenever they were in Belhalla.

I hope we didn't just make a mistake.

“Let's finish up here first,” Sir Eisner said, still surprisingly calm. “Hilda, where are you?”

Tine's whole body jerked like she'd been hit by lightning; she whirled around, arms raised to defend herself, eyes scanning frantically for some way to escape, she's here she's here how could she be here-?

“Right here!” The pink-haired girl said, her cheery voice a little disjointed by shock but otherwise completely genuine sounding. The bloody ax in her hand still made Tine gulp reflexively, even as her rational brain reasserted itself and she remembered where she was. Hilda can't be here. She was in Alster with Bloom; the light only took me and Ishtar...

A hand touched her shoulder, causing her to flinch and turn around to find herself facing a concerned-looking Lysithea. “Are you okay?” The white haired girl asked, her brow furrowed with worry.

“Y-Yes, I'm alright. I was just startled...I'm sorry,” Tine managed when she could get her vocal cords to work.

Neither Lysithea nor Bernadetta looked fully convinced by that. Neither sneered at her, though; they both wore fairly gentle expressions. This place is weird, Tine thought definitively. And it was almost starting to feel familiar, too...

“Freege and Silesse...” Sir Shamir shook her head minutely. “Sorry, you've been taken far from home. I've never heard of principalities going by those names.” She eyed Mjolnir, which sat closed on the table in front of Ishtar, with a degree of wariness.

Ishtar's shoulders slumped; Tine let her head drop onto the table with a shaky sigh. “I suspected as much,” Her cousin confessed, sounding incredibly tired. “I have no idea how long we were unconscious, but I'd hoped we'd at least be in somewhat familiar territory. But this? I...don't know how to proceed. We have little money and no roof over our heads except for the church's charity, and I don't know how long sanctuary lasts in these parts.”

“How terrible!” Sir Alois said. He had a loud and dramatic voice that made Tine instinctively flinch away from him, even though he seemed to be genuinely friendly. (Of course, Julius had periods of time where he was genuinely friendly. A little caution was always prudent.) “For such brave and compassionate young women to be torn from everything familiar and flung into an unknown world...a terrible fate indeed! It cannot be borne.”

Tine raised her head an inch to eyeball the brown-haired boy, now identified as Claude von Riegan, soon to be Duke Riegan – head of the Alliance Council. He was openly watching her and Ishtar with eyes that gleamed with both curiosity and calculation; his smile was warm, but it didn't go all the way up to his emerald eyes. The warmth was genuine, yet...

His eyes flickered to her, noticing her gaze; he winked at her, his smile widening a bit. Tine quickly hid her head in her arms again, her heart thudding in her ribs.

After the last of the pirates had been dealt with, the Knights of Serios had checked on the town guard to make sure everyone was all right, then taken them into one of the town's two restaurants. Riegan had wasted zero time jumping on Ishtar and throwing question after question about both themselves and Mjolnir at her. Sir Eisner had insisted on checking both of them for injuries, not being swayed until she was assured with her own eyes that neither of them were hurt. (What an odd lady.) Sir Shamir and Sir Alois were the ones who finally quieted Riegan long enough to ask about where they were from, leading to the confirmation of their greatest concern – they were no longer in Jugdral.

What were they going to do? Where should they go? How were they going to eke out a life here?

The child hunts weren't here. The Cult of Loptous wasn't here. Hilda wasn't here.

Tine took a deep breath. Her mind was in a haze; she still kept expecting to wake up, be lifted from the illusion to find herself in the Granvelle medical wing. The battle with the pirates had put most of her theories about life and death to rest – she was still alive, and this all felt real – but how could it be? How could she just...vanish from the world that had bound her in its chains in the blink of an eye?

“Sanctuary? My goodness, what sort of church worth its salt puts a time limit on Sanctuary?” Sir Alois demanded, almost sounding offended. Ishtar started; he beamed at the two of them. “Come with us back to the monastery! The Church of Serios is dedicated to protecting and caring for those who are lost and have nothing but their clothes and shoes to their names.”

“Garreg Mach Monastery is the heart of the Central Church,” Sir Eisner offered as Ishtar blinked rapidly and Tine raised her head again. “There's room and board provided to the homeless free of charge, as well as one of the largest libraries in all of Fodlan, a section of which is purely dedicated to maps of the known world. You might be able to find a way home with the extra information.”

“Plus is one of the most secure places in Fodlan,” Riegan added. “So it'll be hard for anyone to steal your storm-throwing tome from you if you stay there.”

Ishtar let out a little, startled laugh. “Mjolnir is useless to anyone but myself and Tine,” She said with a light shake of her head. “And Tine can only use half of its power, since she inherited the minor Thrud blood from my aunt as opposed to the major that I possess. Anyone else who attempted to use the tome would be burned to death by its innate power; even in the hands of others with Holy Blood, it would just be an ornate paper weight.”

Mjolnir pulsed with magic at the words. Sometimes Tine pondered the fanciful notion that Thrud's tome was alive, reacting to the horrors around it in minute ways. There was one time when Hilda had been about to flog her for taking food from the castle to feed some of the villagers, only for an enormous crack of thunder to ring through the room right as she blew off Ishtar's increasingly desperate attempts to dissuade her. Hilda had jumped out of her skin, looked out the window to see a perfectly clear sky, and instead ordered the guards to lock her in her room for the next few days.

It was the only time she'd seen that devil woman look alarmed.

“So you two do have Crests,” Lysithea said, with the voice of one seeking clarification. Tine suddenly felt a hand patting her on the back; she jolted a bit and looked up to see the pink-haired Hilda looking down at her with a little concern and a friendly smile. She did her best to smile back, murmuring 'I'm fine, really,' as she sat up slightly.

“I'm afraid I've never heard that terminology,” Ishtar said, her brow furrowed in puzzlement. “My ancestor Thrud was given the blessings of the god of storms in order to free Judgral from the grip of the Cult of Loptous. The blood is passed down through the family, with the firstborn child generally inheriting the Major Blood barring some exceptions while the younger children inherit the minor. There is only one 'Crest' I know of that isn't a coat of arms; its the Fire Emblem, the symbol of justice that the house of Fjalar bears.”

“Huh. So the goddess isn't the only one who hands out helpful miscellaneous powers when her silly humans find themselves in a bind,” Claude chuckled. He held out his hand and twisted it so his palm faced the ceiling; a moment later, there was a bright glow of golden light, and... a symbol rose from his wrist, forming a beautiful crescent moon floating in the air. Ishtar leaned forward slightly, eyes wide with both bewilderment and a small amount of fascination. “This is the Crest of Riegan, the major one. It's one of the twelve blessings the goddess gave to humanity over a thousand years ago to save them from demons and dark gods that had been hunting us since the Great Cataclysm. I also happen to have a relic weapon that was handed down to me through my family, though I haven't seen it yet; each house that bears a Crest has one.”

“How curious,” Ishtar whispered, brow furrowed. “For our two lands to have that in common, despite being so far away from each other.”

“So you two aren't sisters?” Pink-haired Hilda asked in surprise. “I could have sworn you were, with how similar you look.”

“Ah, silver hair runs in the family,” Tine mumbled, a little embarrassed. Functionally Ishtar was all but a sister to her, and Ishtore her older brother, but that wasn't quite the reality of it. “My mother was Ishtar's aunt; I'm a branch member of the Thrud family, my father being King Lewyn of Silesse.”

“You're a princess?” Bernadetta squeaked. “W-Wow...”

“We both are, though Freege is one of the larger principality of Granvelle as opposed to a fully independent kingdom.” Ishtar said before sighing and rubbing her forehead. “Not that either of our royal credentials count for much so far from home. I'm afraid we have no choice but to ask for the church's continued sanctuary, because we have little money and only one set of clothes aside from what the local abbey generously provided for us.”

“No trouble, your highness, no trouble at all!” Alois proclaimed. “We shall see you safely to Garreg Mach, where goddess willing an answer to your difficulties may present itself!”

Tine did her best to smile in return.

Well, we have an actual living situation ahead of us. …Where's the catch? It can't be this easy. No kindness has ever been offered this freely without something being demanded in return. What is lingering underneath the happiness Fodlan seemingly enjoys at will?

Chapter Text

They set out from the village in the afternoon, the start of a two-week journey to the heart of Fodlan where Garreg Mach rested. Sir Alois accompanied Ishtar and Tine to the chapel to collect what few belongings they'd left behind there while Sir Shamir and Professor Byleth saw to the lockup of what pirates had survived and prepared the travel caravan that would take them cross country.

“The priestess said that bandits are a large problem in this area,” Ishtar asked as they walked down the steps of the chapel. “What is causing that? This town is very wealthy as far as I can see; if this is the kind of treatment the people of the Alliance can expect, they have very little to trouble them.”

“Ah, if only that were the case.” Sir Alois shook his head, a troubled look crossing his face. “It's true the Alliance is enjoying a prosperous few years, but it's far from a universal experience. Bandit trouble has been plaguing the land all across Fodlan; between the Tragedy of Duscur and the Insurrection of the Seven, there's a great amount of unrest and localized chaos throughout both the Kingdom of Faerghus and the Adrestian Empire.”

“The Tragedy?” Ishtar inquired. That sounded very much like a Titled incident, akin to the various massacres of the innocent committed by the Loptous Empire before the Crusaders rose against them.

The seemingly perpetually cheerful knight lowered his head at the question, solemnity crossing his face... “It was a terrible event that occurred four years ago...the King of Faerghus and his retinue were ambushed by the people of Duscur, who he'd been in political talks with. Only his son survived the resulting massacre; the crown prince...he's currently studying at the Officer's Academy.”

“...That's horrible,” Tine whispered, clapping a hand over her mouth as her eyes widened. Despite her own (if muted by familiarity) horror at the incident, Ishtar smiled softly; because it never ceased to amaze her how kind her cousin still was. No matter how many nightmares she witnessed, no matter how many wounds she bound and how much death she lived through, her compassion continued to bleed through in everything she did. “He has no one left...?”

“Only his childhood friends and a few retainers,” Sir Alois sighed heavily. Ishtar decided she trusted him a bit more to see him showing emotion other than overwhelming cheer and enthusiasm. “He's a kind and sensitive young man, yet it's so obvious he's still terribly pained by what happened.”

“Of course he is,” Ishtar murmured. “To lose family in such a way leaves scars that bleed long after the moment fades into memory.”

She reached out and clasped Tine's hand to keep her from sinking back into that place. It wasn't quite enough to keep her own head above water.

“You vile little demon! What have you done?!”

“Mama, it was an accident, really it's no big deal, it doesn't even hurt-”

“Silence! A traitor causing you harm is unforgivable! Servant! Bring me the whip!”

“No! No, don't hurt Tine! Mama, it was my fault, I wanted to climb and talked her into-!”

“Tine!”

“You dare interfere, traitor? Then...you'll serve her punishment twice over!”

CRACK

CRACK

CRACK

“-on the road – My Lady, are you alright?”

Ishtar started violently, blinking rapidly in a bid to reorient herself in the presence. She'd frozen stock-still at some point, and Sir Alois had turned around to look at her with open concern in his eyes. She didn't know what to do with that look. Why was he worrying about someone like her? Tine was gripping her hand tightly, worry overlaying her own distress at thinking about that moment. “Forgive me,” She managed after she regained control of her vocal cords. “I was thinking too hard and recalled something unpleasant.”

She started to walk again, internally chastising herself for the show of vulnerability. She had only tentative allies in this completely mysterious world; if she wanted to protect Tine and possibly figure out how they ended up here, she had to be cool and unreadable, lest she end up at the whims of a man like Manfroy.

“We've fought bandits before,” Tine offered, immediately moving to cover for her even as she herself shook off the traces of That Day. “Usually we were able to confront them before they could truly rampage,” to toss a bag of silver at them and warn them to flee into the woods before Father's troops arrived, Ishtar amended silently, “but sometimes we haven't. We've seen a few slaughters over the years...the scenes are hard to forget.”

Sir Alois's expression instantly became sympathetic; he reached over and patted Tine on the back. Her cousin flinched slightly but otherwise blinked in surprised confusion up at him. “It never gets any easier to see suffering inflicted on the innocent,” He said, before smiling at her. “The two of you are brave and stalwart in duty and honor to protect your people with your own two hands! You'll fit right in with the other students of the Officer's Academy.”

Duty and honor? Me? I know you mean nothing by it, but there's no bigger joke in the whole world than applying those two words to me. “The Officer's Academy? Are we not traveling straight to Garreg Mach?” She asked. That sounded like a prestigious military academy...which made sense, since all the young knights called Sir Byleth 'Professor', so perhaps they were still in training? This was hardly the worst sort of 'training exercise' she'd seen in the past year or so.

“Oh, not quite.” Sir Alois chuckled. “The Officer's Academy is a creation of Garreg Mach Monastery. After the wars of time's gone by, the Church of Serios decided there needed to be an institution to teach the children of Fodlan the ways of combat. To better protect themselves and their homes, and to better prevent tragedy in the future.”

Ishtar paused mid step and gave him a brief narrow-eyed look.

“It's not like hunting animals, my love,” Julius promised, sliding one arm around her shoulder and turning her around to face him. He gave her what would have been a familiar caring smile...except something was wrong, something was lingering behind it that she couldn't pinpoint, cold and pitiless and full of amused malice. “It's a way of testing the children, finding the best and the brightest among them. All of them are in the loving embrace of heaven the moment they enter my world. Isn't that right, Manfroy?”

“Of course, your grace,” The old man said, bowing deeply. His voice was full of pride whenever he addressed Julius. It made Ishtar's blood chill in her veins, because his reverence made her think of artists presenting their masterworks to the Emperor, and everything about the way he curled around Julius's throne to council him made Mjolnir vibrate violently at her side.

“Julius...” She groped for the words to protest, even as he smiled at her, but that alien lurking malice and the wrong behind his eyes shuttered it. She smiled back, desperately hoping it would banish the darkness and bring her Julius back.

“I see,” She said in polite neutrality. She put a hand on Tine's shoulder, a silent warning to keep her guard up should they wander through the Officer's Academy; she nodded to him. “There's a sort of system like that at home, but it's fairly exclusive. Does Sir Eisner teach there?”

“Yes, she does! The youngest teacher we've employed in two hundred years,” Sir Alois said, bright and proud. Ishtar wondered how he was related to the strange young woman. “All the youths who accompanied her are her students. They're bright youths of the Alliance with great futures ahead of them. Ah, and one from the Empire, almost forgot about poor Bernadetta for a moment there.”

“One student from the Empire? How did that come about?” Tine asked curiously as they rounded a corner out to the city gates. Just beyond them were Sir Eisner, her students and the knights, all trotting to and fro as they loaded up boxes, rugs and other items into the caravans they had arrived in.

“The Officer's Academy has three classes, each representing the three kingdoms.” Alois explained without missing a beat. “The Black Eagles take in the students of the Empire, the Blue Lions take in the students of the Holy Kingdom-” holy kingdom, huh?, Ishtar thought with a shiver. “-while the Golden Deer take in the students of the Leicester Alliance. Now, they all learn within the walls of Garreg Mach, and the purpose of the Academy – beyond preparing the students for their lives as leaders of their people – is to foster ties of friendship and compassion between the kingdoms. This is a large part of why Fodlan has not had an internal war since the Alliance succeeded from the kingdom.”

“Some would say it's the reason we've had centuries of peace,” Sir Eisner said, approaching them. Ishtar turned toward her a little cautiously. “Of course, calling it that pretends that the Empire's war with Dagda and Brigid and the Suppression of Duscur didn't happen or somehow didn't qualify.”

Her words were blunt and dry as a desert wind, completely without inflection. Were it not for the brief flash of contempt in Eisner's eyes, Ishtar would have been far more on guard.

The young woman is...eerie, to say the last. Throughout the hours after the battle, Ishtar hadn't seen her laugh, complain, get irritated, or indeed show any emotion whatsoever other than mild interest when she and Tine had (somewhat) revealed their predicament. This went beyond intense discipline; it was as if her feelings had to fight their way up to the surface to be recognized, if they even existed at all. Perhaps it has something to do with the Cursed Sword she mastered, Ishtar pondered, glancing again at the blade at Eisner's hip. It might have exacted a price in exchange for having a wielder it couldn't puppet.

And it had to be a cursed blade of some sort, because what other explanation was there for it to be so incredibly disturbing looking? Not to mention clearly imbued with incredible magic; Ishtar can see the tangible pulse of energy along the length of the jagged, bonelike sword, and standing this close to it made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Tine shuddered when she looked at it, shifting a little closer to Ishtar in search of comfort.

“Nobles like to pick and chose which reality they acknowledge,” Ishtar said. And I'm no better than any of them... “Can we assist you in any way, Sir Eisner?”

The blue-haired woman shook her head slightly. “No, we're about prepared to leave. I wanted to see if the two of you had everything you needed, and invite you to join my students in our long carriage.”

“If you're offering,” Ishtar said after a moment, a little off balance. “I would appreciate that.” It would be nice to get the measure of some of the people they would be staying with for the foreseeable future.

Eisner...smiled? It's very slight, so Ishtar might not have noticed it if so much in her life hadn't depended on accurately reading people's intentions, but it's real. “This way, please,” She said simply but warmly.

Ishtar and Tine followed her across the grassy field, holding onto their bags despite Sir Alois's offer to take them off their hands, to where the students were hanging around a large carriage, all talking animatedly to each other. There were a few that Ishtar could match names to faces – the blue haired girl, Marianne, and the purple-haired girl Bernadetta were standing slightly off to the side, holding hands, very quiet compared to their contemporaries. Claude was laughing as they approached while the pink-haired girl elbowed him repeatedly in the ribs, which he took in good humor rather than getting very angry.

“Professor!” The boy with light green hair noticed their approach first; the group turned around almost as one when they reached them. Bernadetta hid partly behind Marianne, though she seemed to be peering curiously at Tine. The purple haired boy was gawking at Ishtar, who shifted uncomfortably and pretended not to notice. The orange-haired girl (Leonie?) and the blonde haired boy both gave them guilelessly friendly looks, while the white haired girl grinned eagerly, her eyes dancing at the fact that they were joining them. “Oh, and Princesses Ishtar and Tine.” The boy bowed hastily.

Not out of fear, but to show them respect.

“I'm glad to see everyone's in good spirits,” Byleth said with a smile. “We've finished loading the caravans, and once we return to Garreg Mach, I will split the reward money equally among all of us.” This is met with cheer and no surprise at all. “Princess Ishtar and Tine will be joining us for the road, so try not to overwhelm them. Claude.”

She said his name in a very deadpan manner, while the brown-haired boy gave him the most innocent look he could manage. It emphasized his incredible emerald green eyes; he had the most beautiful eyes Ishtar had ever seen aside from Julius (before before before -).

“Aww, Teach! I'm not that bad, am I?” Claude asked playfully. His eyes were somewhat distant, and Ishtar isn't sure if she trusts him.

“Do you want me to answer that question alphabetically, or chronologically?” Byleth asked, her mild, unemotional tone becoming slightly warm and teasing.

The pink haired girl giggled, causing Claude to pout and scowl at her. “C'mon, Hilda. You're supposed to be on my side!” He complains.

“I know better than anyone how you tend to corner people you're interested in and nag them with questions until they're either begging you to stop or fleeing with the bell,” Hilda (dear Naga, please don't let too many people call her 'Lady Hilda', I'll be jumping at shadows every time she's nearby-) pointed out, and again, this just makes Claude pout more, rather than start and argument that would escalate into a fight and then into blood on the grass.

Byleth rolled her eyes, that almost-smile intensifying. “Everyone climb in, we're ready to leave,” She says chidingly.

The white haired girl climbed right in, then turned around and offered Tine her hand. Her cousin was so surprised she accepted without thinking, thanking 'Lysithea' as the girl helped her into the carriage. Ishtar saw the purple haired noble boy preparing to do the same for her and rushed to get in herself, walking to the far end of the bench and sitting down next to Tine.

Lysthiea was still holding her hand, as a means of holding her attention. “So you don't cast free handed magic in Silesse and Freege?” She almost demanded, her eyes bright and hungry for knowledge. “You called Mjolnir a holy tome rather than just an enchanted one; that makes me think there are others.”

“O-Of course,” Tine said as Marianne and Bernadetta join them at the front of the caravan, sitting across from them. “Magic tomes are channels for us to use out magic safely, and wells from which we can draw extra power. They only carry one kind of spell each, but through using its power and our own, we don't risk burning out or overextending ourselves.”

“Really?” There's something about Lysithea's curiosity, how intense it was, that made something twist in Ishtar's stomach. She glances at the white-haired girl, trying to read her desires in her face, and sees a hint of...hope? Desperation? Both? It's mixed in with her burning curiosity, so she can't be certain. “But each book only holds one spell.”

“Y-Yes. Certain kinds of magic don't mix well at all, and it could ruin the containment,” Tine rambled, gestulating as she explains, “Wind redirects lightning, so mixing those pages will usually cause either a backfire or an explosion; lightning cuts through fire, so it chokes out fire magic in close proximity, and fire swallows up the wind. Dark and light magic cancel each other out and swallow up nature's magic, so obviously they can't coexist...” She petered out when she realized she was going on a tear, shrinking into herself and letting her pigtails hide her face.

Lysithea stared at her for a second, then she grins. “Okay. Okay, that's fine. You're going to help me make books when we get to Garreg Mach.”

Tine jolted and turned to stare at her in confusion. “Huh?”

“Lysthiea, you can't just commandeer her like that!” Lorenz said, loud and offended on her behalf, and Ishtar watches her cousin's eyes grow even wider. “Princess Tine has great troubles that she needs to solve, she doesn't have time to spare helping you on personal projects.”

“C'mon, Lorenz! There's nothing worse than being stuck in a situation with nothing to do but contemplate how screwed you are,” Lysithea fired back with intense heat, her eyes blazing. “Having something to switch over to will be helpful, mark my words. Besides, it means I can study the difference between our two different kinds of magic at the same time!”

“Professor, surely you can't permit this?” Lorenz asked, turning to Eisner for help. Ishtar was too baffled and bemused to do anything but watch and listen.

The young professor stepped into join them, beautiful the way a predator was when seen at a distance, her dark eyes hard to read but for a hint of curiosity. “Lysithea, aren't you busy enough as it is with how much reading you do?” She asked instead of directly chastising her student.

“I've finished learning those two spells that have been on my mind,” Lysithea responded, as if that was something someone just did in a week or an afternoon. (Judging by Claude's little, almost brotherly smile, Ishtar suspects that's exactly what she did). “I have the time now. Plus it'll give Tine something to spend time on when she's not pouring over maps.”

Byleth tilted her head, then turned her attention to Tine and Ishtar. “Well, if she's interested, and you have the free time, I don't see any reason why not.” She said. “Do bear in mind that she'll be occupied and you need to respect that.”

“Yeah, sure sure, of course – do you know how to write the books, Tine? Or do you just know the theory?”

“I've...written one or two?” Tine squeaked, and it's true; she wrote a Bolting for Ishtore and a Thoron for Liza when they got engaged as wedding gifts. It had taken her many sleepless nights, but they had turned out perfectly. Ishtore had hugged her tightly upon receiving it, and considered it one of the only gifts that actually mattered.

“Excellent. You're pretty smart, aren't you?” Lysithea was being too blunt to not be honest, and Claude was giving Tine a curious and appraising look, and her poor cousin keeps making incomprehensible squeaking noises because she has no idea what to do with this attention.

Ishatar squeezed Tine's hand sympathetically. She wondered, a bolt out of the blue, if this might actually be better for her. She's not a prisoner here, and the others their age aren't looking at her like hungry vultures. There's no Hilda here to torture her, no Loptous priest with their lingering threats of assassinating her in their attempts to kill off the Crusader's blood to rule unopposed. She could...maybe be happy here. Find a place for herself in a world that's thriving instead of slowly being dragged into hell, find peace and happiness.

If there was a way back – if Naga had created one, if she hadn't intended for their passage to be a one way trip – then perhaps Ishtar should go back alone. No matter how much doing so made her heart ache.

The trip back to Garreg Mach takes roughly a week and a half. Ishtar spent it carefully observing the Golden Deer while Claude von Riegan observed her.

She was relatively certain she has a working grasp on the personalities of the Golden Deer, and thus what to expect from them...

Bernadetta lived under a cruel tyrant akin to her mother; her behavior was painfully familiar, the shyness, the panic at the slightest implication she was being a bother, how she clung to Byleth or Claude or Marianne for security. She talked to Tine too, but Tine was usually the one who was bold enough to start the conversation – and didn't that say everything about how bad her guardian was? Judging by the subtle ways Byleth's expression changed whenever Bernadetta latched onto her arm, she knew it too.

Lysithea was living her life as though she was running out of time. She was prideful and abrasive but longed for company, for warmth, and it warred with her desire to keep people at arms length. Ishtar wondered what deadline was looming over her like the shadow of Loptous himself.

Lornez was...both a typical noble, and yet not. He was snooty, clueless, shamelessly hit on her despite her repeated and increasingly blunt rejections (he's lucky Julius isn't here-) and yet he never touched her when she made it clear it wasn't welcome. He treated her and Tine respectfully – perhaps overly reverently, really, but he never forced himself on them in any manner. Ishtar was almost frustrated at how he could be so familiar and yet still be as strange as everyone else she'd met here.

Marianne was haunted, just like her. Once Ishtar realized that, she sat with the blue-haired girl more often than not. She didn't ask who she'd lost, and Marianne didn't ask who she'd really been running from. They recognized each other's eyes.

Ignatz was a merchant's second son, and intimidated by her because of her princess heritage and his own lack of self worth. Ishtar was too awkward to try and set him at ease; she had spent so much time being careful how she interacted with people to protect herself (or to protect them) that she'd forgotten how.

Hilda...well, her personality quickly obliterated any comparison to her mother in Ishtar's mind. She's lazy despite being capable, harmless in most manners, and sweet with her friends. It's so bizarrely genuine. Ishtar isn't sure how many more people she can meet like this without losing her head and screaming out of confused panic because how is this real?

Raphael is...a big harmless bear. Ishtar was almost afraid of him because of it, fled from him because she doesn't know what to do with his big laugh and warm smiles, wants to scream at him 'you don't know what I am, I don't deserve your kindness, can't you see the blood all over me?!' She felt like she tainted him with her presence, and the words can't escape past her thought when he asks in bewilderment if she's okay when he treats her so warmly, like they've been friends all her life, and she just feels like she wants to die.

And Claude...

Well, Claude was the only person she isn't sure she understood. Oddly that gave her some comfort. She recognized another person who hid their true self under a mask, either out of expedience or out of necessity.

He asked so many questions about Mjolnir. About the other sacred weapons, and about Naga, all while making comparisons to the relics and Fodlan's seemingly nameless Goddess. He wasn't off put by her somewhat curt and distant answers; his lovely eyes shone with curiosity even at those simple responses. Claude clearly intended to keep trying to win her over.

Ishtar wasn't sure how she felt about that. Because this isn't Judgral, and she's both grateful and wary for it; she isn't sure how to proceed, feels more up in the air than those times her royal pegasus knights took her for flights. She can't trust it, she doesn't remember how.

Then they arrived in Garreg Mach. And Ishtar gaped.

The massive, gorgeous, incredible building is a work of the finest art; a more glorious castle she had never seen. Even the churches of Edda could hardly compare. And yet it's also a castle, not just a monastery, Ishtar can see its defensive tools and fortifications as she's lead through the village at its foot, curious and astonished eyes on her. She knew she was staring like a child, and Tine too, because Claude laughs (yet not unkindly.)

“Pretty place, isn't it?” He said cheerfully, as if those words did it justice.

Ishtar nodded wordlessly. She couldn't find the words.

When they climb the stairs to the front gates, Sir Eisner turned around to face her and Tine. “I can bring you to Archbishop Rhea.” She said. “Both to inform her of your arrival and to get her approval to give you access to all the maps and reading material you might need to find your way.”

“Come, my dearest princess,” Julius coos eagerly, tugging her along the hallway. “Archbishop Manfroy is being sworn in as my advisor; I want to have your blessing as well. You're more important to me than any of those stuffy old men.”

Ishtar clutched her arm, so she merely looks hesitant instead of wary. “As you wish,” She said with her mouth while her heart screamed no, not another archbishop, I don't like this at all. “Please, lead the way.”

Chapter Text

Ishtar held Tine's hand as they followed Eisner up the spiral staircase to the upper floors of Garreg Mach, to the smaller (relative to the size of the incredible monastery, anyway – is it bigger than the Gravelle palace?) cathedral on the uppermost floor. There are a lot of people in the hallway, priestesses and priests and servants and passer's by, all who glance curiously their way and say hello and comment that they haven't seen them around before as if they were simple travelers and nothing more.

It boggled her mind how many people they were passing by. Garreg Mach, so massive, so stately, so beautiful, is as much a busy melting pot of people as Granvelle itself. Just going up the first flight of stairs alone, they passed by merchants and peasants both listening to a sermon from a priest, a minor lord and his retainer discussing a commission with a blacksmith, children from the village at the foot of the monastery running here and there and playing with the cats and dogs that begged for treats at every corner. There were soldiers there too, all with the emblem of the church – which was a crest like the Fire Emblem, sleek and elegant in its curves – that was emblazoned on every surface and banner she could see visible on their armor.

The atmosphere was warm and lively. Ishtar was almost getting used to it. Almost.

“Is Garreg Mach always this crowded?” She asked Sir Eisner.

The blue haired girl shrugged. “I believe so? I've only been employed here for a little over four months, so I can't speak from experience, but this monastery is the spiritual heartland of Fodlan. Most of the people of this land worship the Goddess in one fashion or another, and this building has been standing for nearly a thousand years...since the time of Saint Serios. That's how it was explained to me, anyhow.”

“You didn't know?” Ishtar asked curiously.

Byleth tilted her head slightly, almost looking uncomfortable. “My father and I were mercenaries by trade for most of my life. We never stayed in one place for very long, and our contacts were fairly limited. So there are some aspects of Fodlan's social structure that I'm less practiced with than perhaps I should be.”

“The way of the nomad is a legitimate way of life,” Ishtar offered. There has to be something to be said for living without a lord, without a king who laid ownership to your very being. “What made you decide to serve as a professor?”

“I...didn't, at least not initially.” Byleth's voice is level as always. Yet the hesitant way she glanced to the side and tapped her fingers against the guard of that cursed sword of hers, she looked shy and almost abashed. It made her look more lively, and Ishtar was startled to realize the two of them were close to being the same age. “My father used to serve here as a Knight of Serios, and his apprentice from that time recommended me for the post after I rescued Claude, Dimitri and Edelgard. I was taken aback at the time, but speaking to Lady Rhea caused me to change my mind.”

“I-Is Lady Rhea the archbishop?” Tine asked hesitantly as they reached the third floor. A boy with brown hair and a servant's garb is leaning against the wall, only to bounce to his feet when he sees Byleth and starts heading towards them.

“Yes.” Ishtar swore that she had only tensed up a bit, but Byleth glanced aside her and her expression becomes strangely reassuring. It was all the more striking for how unemotional the young woman had been so far. “I'm...am aware that her position makes her intimidating, but she's gentle and soft spoken. There's nothing to be afraid of.”

I'm sorry, I'll believe that when I see it, Ishtar thought as the boy comes to a stop in front of Byleth.

“Professor, you're back!” The boy said. “Lady Rhea has been looking forward to you, there's a situation going on that she...would like you to...” He stuttered a bit over his words when his eyes drift over to Ishtar, becoming comically wide as he takes her and her figure in.

Byleth's eyebrows table slightly. “Cyril? Are you alright?”

Cyril didn't seem to hear her at first, staring at Ishtar with dazed awe as his cheeks rapidly flushed. The silver-haired girl instinctively looked over her shoulder for any sign they were being watched; it takes her a second to remember that Julius is hardly within communication distance. “S-Sorry,” The young boy stammered when he managed to pull his thoughts together, bowing to her. “I didn't mean to ignore you, my lady.”

“It's fine,” Ishtar responded, her voice instinctively aloof and slightly chilly. “We have been guided here to speak with the Archbishop ourselves; perhaps you can lead the way?”

Cyril's blush darkened just from being addressed, and he nodded frantically. “R-Right.” He turned around and started leading them down the hall. Again, Ishtar was aware of Byleth giving her a strange look; she stares straight ahead, not wanting to explain. “It's good you came back from your task sooner than we expected, Professor; miss Flayn has finally been let off of bed rest, and she's been driving Lord Seteth around the bend trying weapons in the training grounds.”

“Weapons? Flayn? Oh, for...” Byleth uttered in a rather muted groan, apparently unsurprised but nevertheless a little world-weary at the news. “Felix, I swear, if I find out this is your fault... I have trouble imagining her excelling at any weapon combat aside from using a Levin sword. Her constitution makes even that a bit of a stretch.”

“Yeah, I told her so, but she said that since you use a sword, and you saved her, she wanted to find one that she could carry,” Cyril explained.

Byleth's cheeks flush a light shade of red; again, there's a raw flash of humanity that softens her face before disappearing underneath that frozen veil of indifference that covered her like a shroud. I can see why people might find her off putting, Ishtar mused. Usually that sort of chilly calm was a long learned mask or a result of severe shock...yet it seemed to be the young woman's default state of being. Tine was a little intimidated by it at first; Ishtar could feel a little tension leave her sister at that expression of emotion.

“What am I going to do with her?” Byleth muttered to herself as they approached a pair of large wooden doors.

“I dunno, you're the one who invited her to join her class,” Cyril responded, apparently not recognizing that question was rhetorical.

“I know, I just – she pleaded with me so earnestly, how was I supposed to refuse?” Byleth protested awkwardly, grabbing at the long strands of her hair and tugging on them. “After being kidnapped and brutalized, I thought it would give her some peace of mind. Now she wants to wield a sword and emulate Saint Serios?”

“Kidnapped?” Tine asked, looking between the pair as they approached a large pair of double doors.

“Oh; it happened a little while before we left to defend the village you were staying at,” Byleth said, pausing her step and gesturing slightly at the doorknobs. “Flayn is the younger sister of one of the bishops who presides here, Father Seteth. She had been targeted by a group of kidnappers on account of her...heritage,” the way her brow furrows suggested that wasn't quite it, but she wasn't sure how else to explain it. “Fortunately, myself and my students were able to track them down shortly after she vanished, and rescue her along with a handful of their other victims.”

“They'd been hiding out in tunnels underneath the monastery,” Cyril explained. “We were lucky they hadn't gone too far.”

“Lucky indeed,” Tine murmured, a sad look crossing her face as her eyes clouded over. “Usually...” She shakes her head. “Ah, never mind.” Cyril and Byleth both pause and turn toward her, making her panic and pull the doors open to take attention off of herself.

Ishtar took a fortifying breath and walked into the room after Byleth.

She remembered the first time she was introduced to Manfroy. She had been seven, brought in from playing in the gardens of Granvelle palace with Julius and Julia to put on her best dress and meet the king's greatest adviser, without whom he couldn't have won Sigurd's war... She hadn't missed how Julia tensed up, how she'd fidgeted anxiously the whole time and didn't calm down until they'd been able to go back outside. He frightens me, the girl had whispered to her that evening.

Don't worry, Julia, Julius had said fiercely. We won't let him hurt you. Right Ishtar?

Ishtar swallowed hard over the lump in her throat when Byleth stopped and murmured, “Lady Rhea; I hope I didn't keep you waiting.”

“Of course not, my dear Professor.” The voice is warm and soft, motherly in a way that Ishtar had never experienced (except from her aunt-), causing her to raise her eyes from the floor to look at the master of the Church of Serios.

When she'd met Manfroy, she'd remembered thinking one of the gargoyles on the palace roof had come to life. Either that, or that he was a living mummy that had escaped the desert chambers of Yield. Gaunt and reptilian, his smiles devoid of warmth, how he stood behind Emperor Arvis's throne and leaned on it in a way that set him higher than the ruler himself, how he seemed to drain the light from the room with his mere presence, wreathed in black and gray even then... he'd frightened her then, and she feared him now, even the depths of her hatred and loathing for all that he's done unable to burn away the frigid chill of his immense command of dark magic. He hadn't truly been trying to win their hearts, he had all but won, with only Julius being beyond his grasp (at that moment-), and the artificial nature of his kindness had been like a sheen of surface water above a shark.

His bishops had been cut from the same cloth; she'd read the reports, heard the stories when she walked through the streets in a cloak and a hood. How they ripped children from their dying parents arms, how they burned 'heretics' at the stake...the only good Loptous priest she had ever heard word of was a man who had been excommunicated from the order, and was last heard of entering the company of the deposed heir of Leonster.

Ishtar had expected many things. When she met Lady Rhea's gaze, the floor tilted oddly beneath her feet from the sheer incongruity of the sight.

“I take it these are the two princesses you spoke of in your previous report?” Archbishop Rhea asked, her voice soothing yet authoritative. She's tall for a woman, even a little taller than Byleth herself, elegant and slender. She's dressed in white and gold robes, an elaborate headpiece and flowers crowning her head and setting off her long, light green hair. Her full pink lips are curled up in a warm, soothing smile, her slender hands folded in front of her; her golden-green eyes caress Ishtar and Tine with curiosity.

She seemed...like the platonic ideal of a mother, like every aspect of how she presented herself was geared toward it, and she wore the mantle as easily as breathing.

“Yes,” Byleth answered. “Princess Ishtar, and Princess Tine.” She nodded to them and took a step backwards.

“Your worship,” Ishtar murmured, kneeling out of habit. Tine squeaked, likely being startled out of the same rumination she had just processed, and scrambled to follow her. “Thank you for receiving us.”

“It is no trouble. Please stand, both of you.” Lady Rhea said reassuringly. Ishtar hesitated before doing as she requested. “I've been told you were the victims of a significant kidnapping. Anyone who has been stripped of their home by tragic circumstance is welcome in Garreg Mach.”

Really? Is that really true? “We are deeply grateful for your kindness.” Ishtar said. “I'm afraid we don't recognize the local geography at all, so I'm not sure what we would have done if Sir Eisner had not offered us a place here.”

“Have you heard of Judgral, Your Worship?” Tine asked hesitantly. “That is the continent on which our principalities reside. If there's even word of mouth that might have passed through this place...” Her hesitant worry is clear in her voice.

Archbishop Rhea's brow furrows, and she closes her eyes. Ishtar watched her face, suddenly aware of Mjolnir growing very warm in her pocket. She instinctively tensed up, hiding it out of long practice, her heart skipping a beat or three. As she processed the sensation, she realized it was...kind of strange. It wasn't like when she was in battle, or when she was trapped in a room with Manfroy or her mother. It was just...warm, the kind of warmth that was in bubbly happiness or a sense of great peace after a time of strife. Ishtar had never felt that kind of vibration from Mjolnir before...

“I'm sorry; I confess that I've never heard the name before,” Lady Rhea said when she opened her eyes. It was precisely what Ishtar expected at this point, and judging by the way Tine's shoulders didn't exactly slump upon the pronouncement, she wondered exactly why her cousin had asked. “However, do not lose heart. The names we have called the lands of the world have changed across the years; it's possible there is a missing link that will grant you some answers.”

She smiled gently at Tine; so gently, wanting so clearly to offer her some comfort. “You are welcome to remain in Garreg Mach's halls for as long as you are troubled; so long as you keep the law, there will be a room and food for you here.”

“Understood,” Ishtar responded, her breathing becoming a little easier at that. It's not wholly reassuring...it feels far too easy, too kind...but it's not nothing. “Are there truly no other things you require of us during our stay?” She phrases the question as politely as she can, as though she is merely seeking clarification rather than trying to prod a stranger in hopes of seeing her true face.

“I may request that you attend mass on some occasions, but that is merely a hope of mine, as a servant of the goddess.” Rhea said easily. “I would be remiss if I did not at least make the request.”

I...suspect that Naga is expecting something of me; Ishtar thought but did not say. I doubt she would be pleased if I turned to another divinity, on top of my other...indiscretions. “I will remember that, your worship.”

Tine was gazing at Rhea in a stupefied awe, just like with Sir Alois.

“That is all I could hope for,” Lady Rhea said, before pausing. “Ah, while I have you...”

Something flickered across the stately woman's serene expression, fast as a flash of lightning, yet she caught it out of long practice. It was an ugly flash of negative emotion, gone too quickly to be parsed. A deep wariness, and anger? Whatever it was, it was not the kindness she exuded, and it darkened her face significantly. Ishtar felt apprehension splash over her like a bucket of ice water.

“Our Professor mentioned you were in possession of a legendary relic from your homeland,” Lady Rhea spoke, that moment gone as if it had never been. Yet Tine was standing ramrod straight, showing she had seen it too. “I hope it isn't too much of an imposition if you allowed me to look at it?”

Ishtar tried to think of a reason to refuse for a few seconds, but discarded them as too aggressive and cagey. She couldn't afford to make this woman think she had something to hide. “Of course; touching and examining it is harmless. Trying to use it without Thrud's blood is where it will cause harm.” She said reluctantly. Walking forward until she was an arms length away from the archbishop, she removed Mjolnier from her deep pocket and held it up.

Lady Rhea's eyes widened slightly, one hand moving partway to her lips. She started to say something, but seemed to think the better of it. Whatever this holy woman had expected from Byleth's letter, this wasn't it. The notion of an entire country using free-handed magic despite its risks is so bizarre...but why else would she be so startled to see what form Mjolnir took?, Ishtar wondered.

“How curious,” Rhea whispered, reaching forward and placing her hand on Mjolnir's cover. “It looks like a simple book, and yet I can feel incredible magic bound within its pages without even opening the cover. In all my years, I've...never seen anything quite like this.”

“That seems a very strange thing to me,” Ishtar mused. “But I suppose that different lands would have different ways of doing things.”

“So it seems,” Rhea said enigmatically. Again, something flashed across her face that's very old and very deep set. “So this tome has the magic of the storm bound within?”

“Yes. It was one of two gifts to my ancestor Thrud, in order to defeat an all-powerful evil,” Ishtar said. And yet I found myself serving that evil in the name of my love... “It was one of many, with each of the twelve crusaders receiving a sacred weapon and the holy blood needed to control it.”

Rhea shut her eyes to suppress a reaction. Ishtar was definitely wary now, reminded too much of how Manfroy would be forced to praise Julius's acts of kindness when they were children and how his eyes burned with frustration every time. Mjolnir still wasn't reacting the way she expected it to, however; what is she missing here?

“I see.” The archbishop said after a moment of uncertain silence. “Forgive me for being curious; if you ever find yourself with a moment to spare, I would love to hear the lore of your land and of your relics. It's a very different form to take than the blessed Sword of the Creator that was handed down to Nemesis.”

“Claude von Riegan mentioned a blade by that name in passing, along with the bow that belongs to his family.” Ishtar admits. “Is it here?”

Rhea blinked, then gestured with pride toward Byleth. “Yes. It was kept here for many centuries, before finally choosing a new wielder in our newest professor.”

“Really?!” Tine blurted out, spinning on her heel to look at Byleth. The blue-haired girl lifted the glowing blade at her side in response, the blade that could break into a whip like form with terrifying range, the blade that glowed with power... “I hadn't thought – I hadn't realized – um,” Tine stalled, staring at the sword in dumbfounded surprise.

Ishtar shared it, turning to stare at Byleth's sword. That was a sacred weapon? That...disturbing blade, that she would swear on her aunt's grave was made of bone rather than steel, that had such a sickening presence? She had been utterly certain it was a conquered cursed blade; why else would it make her so uneasy just looking at it? For the love of Naga, it looks more frightening than Mysteltainn! She thought as she frantically buried her overwhelming disbelief. The sword we call the Demon Blade, that thirsts for blood spilled in battle!

“I thought Claude would have mentioned it at some point,” Byleth said, seeming a little awkward under both their scrutiny. If Ishtar wasn't so practiced at reading people, she doubted she would have noticed the little emotional shift.

“You are a humble woman, Professor; that you do not flaunt your chosen status is a point that you should be proud of,” Lady Rhea said, and there's affection in her voice that makes the hair on the back of Ishtar's neck stand up. It's not the same as Manfroy, it lacks the malicious triumph, the lack of care for the person themselves, but the fact that the woman evokes the man makes her incredibly anxious.

A light, soft flush of red bloomed across Byleth's cheeks, and she shifted slightly on the spot as though happy with the praise.

“Cyril,” Lady Rhea said without missing a beat, turning toward the young man. He straightened up under her attention and she smiled warmly at him. “Please show the princesses to the mercy rooms; prepare them if they aren't ready for use. Then perhaps lead them to the dining hall? Lunch is not long from now, after all.”

“You got it, Lady Rhea,” Cyril said enthusiastically. He turned slightly to wave at her and Tine. “Right this way, I'll give you a tour of the monastery while we're on our way!”

“O-oh, that's really nice of you,” Tine responded with a little relief. “Thank you for your time, Lady Rhea.” She bowed deeply and then scrambled after Cyril. Ishtar placed Mjolnir in her pocket, bowed to the green-haired woman, then turned to follow them as well. As they left, she heard the archbishop address Byleth, saying that there's a matter she thought she would want to be the one to handle. Something about bandits harassing a village...

Did churches here have the authority to send warriors after vagabonds and bandits? Manfroy wouldn't have cared to even if he was permitted, but Ishtar struggled to imagine any of the lords she knew allowing anyone else to act 'so freely' on their lands.

An odd thought crossed her mind as the doors to the chamber closed behind her; Naga was always depicted with green hair, as did her siblings. It was a light green, tinged with gold...and Rhea's hair was very similar. Why was that?

She can't think up an answer, and she's uncertain if it means something. If Naga sent them here, were they meant to come to this place?

Cyril lead them throughout two floors of Garreg Mach, showing them the various chapels, barracks and amenities the massive castle-monastery was home to. Tine hung on his every word, incredibly curious despite her caution, while Ishtar tried to memorize as many faces of the passing Serios Knights as she could. Eventually he lead them to the far end of the second floor, where rows of rooms greeted them. “Garreg Mach could house thousands of people if some sort of calamity hit Fodlan,” Cyril said as he brought them to a room with a closed door, pulling a large key ring out of his pocket. “It was built way back at the end of the war with Nemesis, so it's both a church and a fortress.”

“I was wondering about that,” Tine admitted as he unlocked the door. “Only the main church of Edda back home looks anything like this. It's incredible.”

“There's no where else like it in Fodlan,” Cyril said, sounding pleased. Then he pushed the door open, leading the two of them inside.

It's a modest room, and far more comfortable looking than anything a penniless fugitive would have had any hope of. Ishtar was feeling like a broken record for how often that thought crossed her mind, but it's so jarring she can't not notice it. The two beds are neatly made, the pillows fluffy looking; there was a dresser and a large closet and a mirror hanging on the wall. “If you're ever in need of anything, let me know.” Cyril said as Tine wandered into the room, an impressed look on her face. “I do a lot of tasks for Lady Rhea, so I'm always moving things around.”

“I'll remember that; thank you.” Ishtar murmured. She walked to the bed on the right and set down her small bag at the foot of it. Her stomach growled, and she awkwardly runs a hand through her hair; does she look presentable enough to go to the dining room? Lysithea had lent her and Tine a hairbrush, but that mostly allowed her to not entirely look like a fugitive.

“You're hungry, Ishtar,” Tine said, grabbing her hand. “How about we go straight to the dining hall? We can do research afterwards.” The look on her face told Ishtar that she was hungry too; she smiled and gently patted her on the head.

“You always look out for me,” She said quietly. Without you, I'm afraid of what person I might have become. Without you, I wonder if I would still be alive.

Cyril approached her and offered her the room key, which he had taken off the ring. He's looking at her very shyly, his head ducked so his bangs fall over his blushing face. Ishtar does her best to smile kindly at him and not show any anxiety at his reaction. There's no one here to see, she reminded herself. They will think you're too proud to acknowledge them if you keep... She accepted the key and cleared her thoat; “So, there is food to be had?”

The young boy (he can't be more than fifteen; even though he's tall and healthy and broad shouldered, his face is still young) jolted in place and nodded furiously. “Y-Yeah, right this way!” He lead them out of the room, which Ishtar locked behind them. Having the key in her own hands is a relief.

Again Cyril leads them through the building, weaving around the many people who pause to watch them curiously. Ishtar resisted the urge to hold Tine's hand; her cousin isn't a small child, after all, and she knows that Tine is stronger than she gives herself credit for. They go downstairs and leave the main building, stepping out into the sunshine and grassy grounds that surround the main building. Ishtar looked up at the clear blue sky, the white wispy clouds floating across it, and wondered when she'd started feeling like it was the roof of a tomb. Here, it seemed like the formation of a dream.

Tine squeaked in delight when a couple of cats trotted up to them; unable to help herself, she stops walking and stoops to pet them. Ishtar gazed down as one of them rubs against her leg, plump and well fed, and hesitantly rubs it between the ears. The orange ball of fluff had no mats, wasn't rail thin and starving from the lack of food anywhere or poisoned traps left by desperate peasants or spiteful lords.

“Aww, it's nice to meet you too!” Tine giggled when one cat licked her palm. “I don't have any food on me...”

“Don't worry; they just like some attention,” Cyril said. “The cooks feed local strays with some of the leftover food from meals.”

“That's so nice,” Tine said, her eyes sparkling. One of the cats puts its paws up on her knee, prompting her to scoop it up in her arms, happily petting it as it purred like thunder. “They're all so friendly... this must be such a happy place...”

The cat meowed as if agreeing with her, and was content to stay in her arm as they walked toward the dining hall. They're approaching the long house when a pair of boys standing in the yard come into view; they're arguing spiritedly about something, though neither look like they're about to get physical. One is a slender young boy with gray hair a shade darker than Ishtar's own silver locks; the other is the same age, but more muscular, with spiky blue hair. They're both wearing the same uniform, though with different emblems. They must be students of two of the different 'houses', Ishtar decided.

“-do you expect to get rid of the evil in this world if that's how you're gonna treat it?” The blue-haired boy was demanding when they got in earshot.

“I should be asking you that!” The silver haired boy protested, sounding a little distressed. “What we need to do when we catch this thief is talk to him, hear what he or she has to say. They might have been forced into a life of theft by some awful circumstances.”

“You don't really get it, do you? If you just let people get away with stuff like this, they'll never have a reason to stop,” The blue haired boy responded spiritedly, and somehow, it doesn't give Ishtar a chill the way it usually does when lords talk about executing petty thieves. It was something about the boy's voice, bright and fierce and passionate – like stopping people from being robbed or fearing it is a matter of genuine importance to him. “It'll only get worse, when them pushing and pushing to see how much they can get away with! If we're gonna uphold justice, then we've got to stop evil. It's as simple as that.”

Justice, huh? Ishtar thought wistfully as Cyril groans.

“I'm all for the rule of law, but sometimes there's more than that going on,” The silver-haired boy protests with equal emotion, if not quite as loud as his contemporary. “Cutting the heads off of all thieves won't stop people from stealing. We can't execute someone on an assumption and call it justice! They might be a good person who has no other options."

“We can't just stand here while-” The blue haired boy started to yell before he finally notices the three people staring – well, two people, Cyril's face is buried in his hand in exasperation. “Oh. Oh! Hey Cyril, hey ladies. Um, sorry about that?” His furious expression immediately collapses into sheepishness.

The silver haired boy gawks at her and Tine, and Ishtar looked over her shoulder, half expecting to see Julius rounding the corner.

“I hate it, I hate the way they look at you,” Julius grumbles, bubbling with anxiety as they walk away from the throne room. He'd been glaring murderously at the lords his father had put in charge the entire congress. “Like your a piece of meat, or just some pretty face they can drag to bed. I hate it so much!”

“I don't think they were looking at me that way,” She said, trying to reassure him. “I am my father's heir, they might just have been trying to get my measure.”

“I don't trust them,” Julius growles, before turning toward her. His ruby eyes are wide and earnest as he reaches up to cradle her face in his hands. “You're beautiful, Ishtar, so amazingly beautiful. Even Duchess Linoan can't compare to you.” The young lady of Tarha had not been present, but stories of her beauty had started to circulate as she aged. “Those disgusting men see women as meat. I won't let any of them touch you. Ever.”

“Oh! You, you must be the princesses that Claude mentioned,” The silver-haired boy stammered out, rescuing Ishtar from her memory. He bowed. “It's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Ashe Ubert, I – I hope we haven't disturbed you.”

“It's okay,” Tine responded, as if she didn't instinctively tense up whenever she heard an argument. “I'm Tine von Silesse; this is my honored cousin Ishtar von Friege. It's nice to meet you.” She bowed in return, as best she can with a cat in her arms. Judging by the way Ashe's eyes light up, he hadn't expected that but wasn't completely thrown by the gesture.

“I'm Caspar von Bergliez!” The blue haired boy said enthusiastically. “I heard from Claude what happened; you can literally summon a lighting storm?”

“Oh no, I'm not that powerful. Ishtar is the master of Mjolnir; I have some influence over the wind and the rain, that's all.” Tine said; she skitters back a step, blushing at the awed look both boys are giving her, wanting that friendliness and warmth but scared, so scared, unable to shake the habit.

“You say that like it's no big deal,” Caspar said with a loud but not unkind laugh. “Even the bearers of the Crest of Serios can't do that, and Saint Serios could ask the goddess to send wind and rain when the moment was dire. For 'minor' blood, that's pretty amazing from where I'm standing!”

Tine blushed and glanced to the side, groping for a response.

“Are you here to get some lunch? Ah, we're barring the way, aren't we?” Ashe stuttered apologetically, stepping to the side. “I was just waiting for a few more of my classmates to show up. Oh, do you have any idea where you want to sit?”

“I hadn't given it that much thought,” Ishtar responded in bemusement as they started to walk to the door again. “Is the seating segregated?”

“No no, nothing like that – it's just the three houses get their own tables, and we take up quite a bit of space,” Ashe acknowledged as they finally enter the room itself.

If he said something else, Ishtar missed it, because she felt like she's just walked into a solid wall of noise. The dining hall of the monastery is packed; she can see knights and youths and people of all sorts either heading up to the counters to get hot food from the bubbling pots there, or sitting around tables talking eagerly with each other. There are cats and one dog underfoot as well, either sitting by tables begging for treats or dodging around the various people moving here and there. Meals were a solemn and polite affair in Granvelle; this chaos was much more akin to a cheerful pub she has hazy memories of.

She's overwhelmed by the sound and the unfamiliar atmosphere; she doesn't even notice a familiar face approaching until Claude von Riegan is suddenly in her field of view.

“Hey there!” The young lord said cheerfully. “I was afraid we wouldn't be seeing you for a while. Are you two more or less settled in now?”

“More or less,” Ishtar echoed, shaking her head slightly. “I didn't realize you were here at the moment, Riegan.”

“Well, where else would I be? You can't make a good showing in the training grounds on an empty stomach!” Claude responded airily. He reached over and ruffled Ashe's hair, causing the younger boy to yelp. “Isn't that right?”

“Hahaha, I know, I know,” Ashe said, his eyes flashing with both sadness and gratitude as he looks up at the other boy. There was a story there, clearly.

“How about you come sit with us?” Claude offered with a bright smile, waving to the long tables on the right side of the building. Ishtar can see Lysithea's snow white hair and Bernadetta's purple locks standing out at roughly the middle point; Tine noticed too, judging by the small sound she makes and her unconscious step forward. “I promise, we're awesome company; even more than the others! You guys come too, it's an open invitation to everyone.” He promptly grabbed Ashe by the arm and pulls him along; the silver haired boy yelps, but he doesn't try too hard to get away. Caspar laughed gleefully and chased after the pair, saying something about 'a competition' while Ishtar and Tine trail in their wake.

“Oh, Tine! Ishtar! Come here, come here!” Pink-haired Hilda cried out when she spotted them, getting partway up and waving enthusiastically. “We saved you spots!”

“Y-You did?” Tine asked, her eyes widening and growing a little shiny. She hurriedly dashed at her eyes and placed her companion on the floor, scurrying forward as Lysithea moved over so as to no longer be blocking two seats. “Thank you.”

Ishtar felt herself smile at the sight, the unfamiliar sensation warm. As she sat down herself (between Claude and a seat reserved for 'Teach', who she knows by now is Byleth), she took in the smell of good food and looks for any hint of her favorites.

Tine never finished her magical education; if you can call what Ishtore and I gave her proper lessons. I wonder...

Chapter Text

For the first time in a long time, Tine was grateful that so many people wanted to talk to her. It helped her keep centered in the middle of so much noise.

It wasn't even a bad kind of noise, like when her uncle's army was leaving or arriving, or when Friege had guests, or...or when a Hunt was going on.

Tine remembered the time she went to visit Ishtore when a Hunt was supposed to be happening in Melgen; she had begged to help him, insisted until he caved and paired her with Liza to run distractions. They had walked across the village, pretending not to be affected by the desperate screaming of parents as their children were ripped from their arms, reaching the houses Ishtore had mapped out and inventing excuses to bring the little girls and boys into the castle. Tine hid them away in her room, under her bed and in her closet, talking nonsense with Liza and keeping the Loptous priests away until they finally left for good.

She remembered when Hilda had guests over... other nobles Arvis had installed for supporting him when he took the throne, who showed their true colors the instant his grip on power was weakened by Manfroy. Even though none of them could hold a candle to the Queen even in the depths of their cruelty, it was hard to bear when they were around constantly. They were cruel to her; they were far worse to those who did not have the protection of royal blood. The laughter that filled the castle in those days dug into her brain like barbed hooks, never letting go, ringing in her ears even after they had left.

Granvelle was the opposite. It was so quiet; supposedly because it was proper and mannerly, but in reality, everyone was just scared of walking loudly and drawing attention to themselves. Whenenver loud noises wracked a room, it meant two things – Manfroy was angry, or (far scarier) Julius was angry.

So it went without saying that Tine was generally wary of chaotic, loud environments. Even when it was a pub that was in general good cheer, it just played with her nerves. It happened when you were always on your guard.

Which means the dining hall of Garreg Mach Monastery is kind of dizzying to be in! Everyone's laughing playfully, having harmless arguments like Ishtore and Liza could, or running to and fro to get one thing or another. Tine feels like she's being carried about by the winds in a storm, yanked in every which direction!

So Claude's questions and Lysithea's questions and Lorenz's weirdness and Raphael piling extra food on her plate when he saw how conservatively she was serving herself and Leonie scolding him for doing so and Ignatz trying to get them to slow down as Byleth looked on in exasperation, all while Marianne and Bernadetta stayed at either side of her in comfortable quiet – it's like a lifeline. She clung to it, even though she'd never been in the middle of attention like this and she was floundering slightly under the scrutiny.

“-and that's where the Demonic Beasts are said to have first spawned,” Lysithea concluded, bouncing slightly in her seat. “Up in the mountains, the only places that had been truly untouched by the cataclysm, where they could bide their time and then sweep down to devour what of humanity had survived.”

“That's the version of the story the Central Church teaches, anyway,” Claude said easily. “The Western Church says that the Demonic Beasts are creatures created by the goddess to punish those who strayed from the path of righteousness. A bit harsh, don't you think? Especially because the people who are the most vulnerable to the beasts are the downtrodden and the villages furthest from their lord's castle.”

Tine choked on drink of milk and gawked at him; she flails slightly, because what is he doing? “Y-You shouldn't say things like that in a church!” She warns him disbelievingly between violent coughs.

“Hey, easy there!” Raphael said, standing up. A moment later, his big strong hand smacks her back, almost knocking her face first into the table but clearing up her throat with just a few thumps. Ishtar had instinctively gotten halfway up from her chair when he moved toward her, only to pause in muted embarrassment at seeing him help. “You okay?”

“Y-Yes, thank you,” Tine stammered when she got her breath back. She twisted her head up to look at him and her heart jumped into her throat when Raphael gave her a bright, beaming smile in response, warm as the sun itself.

“Look what you did, Claude!” Lysithea said indignantly. “Seriously, don't you ever take care about what you say?”

“Hey, it's not that controversial to say that people have some problems with some of the things the Western Church preaches,” Claude protested, though he still gave her a quick apologetic smile that Tine has no idea what to do with. “And it does answer her question.”

“This is yet another moment of you speaking carelessly, Claude,” Lorenz said pompously, which causes the brunette to give him a slightly long-suffering look. Ishtar carefully looks down at her food, pretending to be absorbed in it. “Regardless of the church's divisions, you should not be speaking so carelessly about such things-”

“So Tine!” Lysithea interrupted loudly, causing Leonie to burst into a fit of snickers as Lornez sputters at being cut off. “You've said a couple of things about the Crusaders, but not what they had been crusading against. Did Jugdral avoid the Cataclysm?”

“I'd never heard of that before,” Tine said, and she meant it. As bad as the rule of Loptous had been, the world hadn't ended. The notion was so overwhelming she can't quite process it. Everything that had ever come before erased so completely not even a shadow of a memory had been left behind? Only the Welkenrosen could even attempt such a thing...and they only attacked on a city by city bases, on Veld's command...! “Even the oldest stories that have been passed down through the ages haven't mentioned the world being destroyed.”

The conflicts between the dragon tribes as they faced the dilemma of what to do with their mortal forms might have come close, but then they had disappeared, with only Naga and her fellow Divine Dragons appearing to the Crusaders so many years later. There weren't a lot of records about that time, only stories and songs, lines and verses of which had been lost to time and human memory.

Though now that she thought about it, why was she trying to make that connection? It's not quite the same, the two countries existing in their own times, insulated from what troubled the other. Going by the calendar Lysithea had eagerly told her about, there was a much greater time gap between the Cataclysm and Fodlan's present than there was between the days of the Crusaders and Judgral's present.

Perhaps that was simply how long it had taken for the world to recover from such an ending... a little like the dragon's war, but here, no one could recall how the Cataclysm had been triggered.

Tine wondered if they had their own Loptous. She wasn't sure she dared ask.

“Man,” Claude said in amazement. “I've been trying to guess where Judgral could be on the map, and that makes me draw a complete blank. Now I'm convinced it isn't on any map that I've ever been shown!”

“It can't be that far away,” Marianne murmured. “I mean, the bandits had to have been able to bring you here before you could wake up, right?”

“I guess so.” Except it wasn't them. Naga, blessed Naga, what is it you have planned for us...? “B-But Ishtar and I will try and figure that out over the next few days...” Tine ducks her head, unable to hold Claude's curious gaze. Despite the fact that he had been nothing but nice and playful to her, his stare dug into her like barbed arrowheads. It took everything she had not to cringe, please stop staring at me, what do you want?

“Um, is it possible...would you tell us the story of how the Crusaders came to be?” Ignatz asked shyly, surprising Tine and causing her to look at him. He blushes under her sudden attention, his voice stuttering a bit as he continues, “I, I mean, I've been listening to what Ishtar has been saying about the Holy Weapons, a-and I'm really curious about the differences between them and the Heroes Relics.”

“Oh – w, well, I can do that,” Tine said after a moment of thought. She glanced at Ishtar, who gave her a small smile of encouragement; it gives her some confidence, and she sits up straighter in her chair before refilling her water glass. She's probably going to need it. “Well, to tell the story of the Crusaders, I first have to tell the story of the Cult of the dragon Loptous.”

The name tasted metallic on her tongue. She twirls her fork around her plate as she gathers her thoughts together. “Loptous was a dragon – a divine dragon, actually, in a time long gone by. He was part of the divine tribe, though he had some affinity for Earth as well, and fought on humanity's side when the dragons began to suffer from the degeneration of their mortal bodies. Ultimately he died in the final battle, defending the humans who had opened their homes to him. They mourned him, and moved on...or tried to.”

“Hold on, hold on hold on hold on – a dragon? A divine dragon?” Claude asked, interrupting without shame.

“...Yes?” Tine hedged, puzzled.

“There really are dragons in Judgral?” Ashe asked. His eyes are shining with eager curiosity, as he clapped his hands together. “I thought they were the property of myth and legend, like the Immaculate One...”

Tine decided that she could ask about that name later. “Well, no one living in Judgral has seen a dragon for centuries. The twelve only appeared to the Crusaders when they were making what they thought to be their last stand against the Empire in Darna...” She took a drink.

“Twelve dragons,” Hilda said with a little excitement. “Wouldn't they be able to destroy any human empire on their own? I mean, why would they need help?”

“Well, why should they have to solve human problems?” Claude countered. “If there were dragon tribes, then they had their own separate civilization; they could have just flown off and left the silly mortal humans to their own devices.”

Ishtar let out a slightly humorless chuckle. “Why indeed?” She pondered.

“So for decades Loptous was dead, his spirit moved on,” Tine continued a little loudly, flushed in the face from raising her voice at them. Her immediate audience quieted down instantly without complaint. “However, the humans who had lived under his protection did not want to accept his passing. And why would they? He was their protector, he cared for them and shielded them from his own people till there was no strength left in his mortal form. So...they began to seek ways to bring him back, restore him to life.”

“Naga, Loptous's sister, heard of their attempts as they went on,” Ishtar picked up the story. Her eyes haze over slightly; like she was disappearing inside herself. Tine recognized that look from when Ishtar held court with her parents or with Julius. “She went to them and tried to get them to stop. 'The path between life and death is not a road meant to be traveled; what is lost will not return as it once was if they return at all.' They didn't listen to her; the third time she approached, they drove her off with weapons they had used to defend themselves during the war. Then they saved that blood they gained from her, as a binding agent for their efforts.”

“As they worked to reverse death, their efforts became more and more twisted...” Tine recalls how her mother had told the story to her. “Gazing into death as they hoped to master it, the people of Loptous developed a contempt for life as it was, saw it as fragile and ephemeral. Something that could be reversed and perfected. And without a love for life, why would they respect it's sanctity? They began to use human sacrifice and other bloody rituals in their efforts to return their god to the mortal realm, something that caused the other human settlements to drive them far away.”

“Those humans who remained believed that they'd seen the last of them, and in time formed the Kingdom of Granvelle.” Ishtar continued. Tine noticed how Claude is leaning forward, his eyes shining with curiosity. Byleth has set her fork down, ignoring the meal she'd been devouring with great haste in favor of listening with the whole of her attention. Bernadetta, who'd been partially curled into herself at Marianne's side, was sitting up and listening too...

“In that time, Friege and Silesse didn't exist; neither did the other principalities of Agustria or Thracia or the minor wardships of Ygnvi or Chalphy. There were communities that lived on the land they now stand on, but they were much more loosely defined than the kingdom.” Ishtar drew a map in the air with her finger, sparks flickering from her fingertips to form lines. Marianne utters an awed noise as the map of Jugdral began to take shape before the eyes of the Golden Deer students. “There was only Granvelle that acted as Adrestia or Faerghus do now; the Thracian penninsula also existed, but its population was also somewhat scattered.”

“For a long time, things were peaceful. There was always trouble with bandits and those with power misusing it, but that was simply matter of humans being humans; imperfect as we are.” Tine went on, before biting her lip. “But then things changed.”

“The followers of Loptous came back?” Ignatz ventured.

Raphael elbowed his best friend in the ribs, causing the poor boy to wheeze miserably at the impact. “Well we're not gonna find out if we interrupt them, are we?” The tall blonde asked boisterously. “...Whoops. Sorry Ig.”

“'Sokay,” Ignatz managed after a few moments.

Tine took that as a cue to continue. “In the year 440, the First Emperor of Gran suddenly took a pilgrimage out across the sea with a few of the new advisers he had welcomed into court. Unknown to the people at the time, he was voyaging to an island, one on which the people of Loptous had fled and now lived. His new advisers were priests who had been sent to bring him here, and he was brought to their 'newly revived god'.”

“Hold on, the resurrection worked?” Lysithea asked, sounding torn between disbelief and wariness.

“In a sense, I suppose,” Tine responded. She folded her hands in her lap, staring, trying not to think about the sermons that she'd had to attend while visiting Julius with Ishtar, trying not to remember Manfroy's rapturous orating. “But Loptous's wasn't wholly revived, and his rebirth – such as it could be called that – was wholly unnatural, the result of tens of hundreds of slain people. This great evil twisted Loptous's spirit, staining his divinity with sin and transforming him from a benevolent war god to a being of pure evil and hatred...!”

Ishtar flicked her fingers again, a few sparks separating out to create the island. One spark glowed brighter than the others, eerie and pulsing erratically. Byleth leans forward, looking at it with a strange expression on her face; Tine could have sworn she saw a flash of golden-green light in her ocean blue eyes.

“The First Emperor communed with Loptous,” Tine continued after taking a drink. “What was said, what he was tempted with, no one knows, but in the end the Emperor made a pact in blood with the revenant god in exchange for power beyond human imagination. Now the head of the Cult of Loptous, he returned to his kingdom with them sweeping along in his wake, traveling to every corner of Jugdral. As the first Emperor plotted in the heart of his power, Loptous's influence began to spread like poison, slowly and subtly...until he judged that the time was right, summoned the greatest knights in the realm to a banquet, and poisoned them at the feast.”

“That...sounds like an error in judgement,” Lorenz said, looking put off. “How did he intend to get away with that? Surely the other lords or leaders will demand answers?”

“You say that as if they'll have a choice,” Ishtar muttered.

Tine took a steadying breath. “The Emperor brought the dead knights to a chamber beneath the palace. There, with Loptous's power and the assistance of the priests, he...remade them. Brought them back stronger, faster, deadlier than they had ever been in life, yet at the same time, as soulless shells bound to his will. There were twelve of them. The Deadlords.”

She swallowed hard over the rock in her throat. She remembered how Julius and Ishtar had visited Munster, mere weeks before they'd left to visit Granvelle, and how her cousin came back pale and shaking and horrified. She'd refused to explain what Julius had shown her deep in the city that part of the sect had taken up permanent residence in alongside Raydrick, but Tine had her suspicions, because Julius had called them guardians – and Manfroy was behind Julius's madness. She knows it deep in her soul.

“Wait...so they could raise the dead.” Lysithea was rapidly going green in the face. “They could make corpses not just walk, but fight...?”

“Without a soul, what is a body but a shell to be occupied and used?” Ishtar asked tonelessly. “The Dreadlords were the First Emperor's most powerful asset short of the powers that had been given directly to him by his connection to Loptous. He sent them out through Gran with the command to slaughter his enemies, and to bring their families and their children back to the castle to be sacrificed to Loptous.”

“Loptous was still without a body of his own, and his partial resurrection was a bleeding wound in the borders between life and death,” Tine went on as the table stared. “To prevent him from weakening, and to solidify his presence in the mortal realm, Loptous needed to be fed with living blood.”

She moved what little food she hadn't already eaten around on her plate. Talking about this murdered her appetite, at least for the moment. “With his immediate enemies tended to, the First Emperor sent the deadlords and his cultists out across the land, slaughtering and subduing everyone in their path until all of Judgral belonged to him. In the year 448, every corner of the land was watered in blood, and all bowed the knee to the Loptous Empire.”

“This Empire was as bloody as Gran had originally been peaceful,” Ishtar went on, her eyes staring past a disturbed pink-haired Hilda's head to look at nothing. “The First Emperor divided the people into a caste system, with his cultists at the top, to create divides between them. Those who were considered the lowest were sold into slavery or cast out of civilization, left at the mercy of the wilds. Those who attempted to resist, or had the potential to do so, were sacrificed to Loptous in an effort to complete his resurrection. The First Emperor used massacre upon massacre to remind the people of his power... in 449, he instituted a Great Purge, to enforce his 'unification' of the continent; he killed a hundred thousand people before calling back the Dread Lord, leaving the people to mourn their dead. In 452, the Sorrow of Miletos occurred; to punish their families and to crush the dream of rebellion, The First Emperor held the first Child Hunt.”

“The first what?” Bernadetta whimpered; she was all but melting into Marianne's side, eyes full of terror as the story was told. Tine was genuinely worried she might pass out; her face was really pale.

“The first of the Child Hunts; they're exactly what they sound like,” Tine jumped in, knowing Ishtar would have trouble explaining. It's a little tough for her too, bringing back bad memories...but she was used to dealing with them. “The children taken by the hunts a – were sacrificed to Loptous, or raised as members of the cult, turning them into part of the evil that had haunted them. The Hunts were an incomparable tool of fear.”

“How...how could anyone live in a place like this?!” Caspar demanded, aghast. “How could anyone let their kids be taken away to a fate like that without a fight?! What – how could any of the cultists really be okay with this?! Even if they thought death wasn't permanent, how...how...?!”

His horror and disbelief, strangely enough, lifts Tine's spirits. The equally horrified, disgusted and even the totally disbelieving looks the rest of the table was giving her were comforting as well; disbelief told her that they didn't believe that kind of cruelty could possibly be real.

She really envied them, and was glad for them, that they could feel that way.

“Many people died, yes. But there are worse things, aren't there?” Ishtar asked by way of an explanation. Caspar's mouth opened and closed in such a way that made it clear that he couldn't fathom how that was possible, but couldn't find the words to articulate himself. “In 453, the Massacre of Eda happened; the duchess had refused the First Emperor's offer of marriage and an alliance, unwilling to humor the cult of Loptous, and thousands of her people were slaughtered. There were other incidents like this, slaughters and culling, but they were quieter and undocumented, their voices swallowed up by the roar of Loptous.”

“That's horrific...” Ashe mumbled. “There are legends about what the world was like just after the cataclysm, but it never had so many details. So much suffering and death...can a world really be reduced to that...?”

“It can't last,” Claude said; was Tine imagining things, or was his voice wavering a bit? Seeing a bit of a dent in his cheerful composure is surprising, but gratifying. “The harder you push people, you're only garunteeing they'll hit back eventually. Even if you crush the will out of them...” He pauses, like he's hesitating.”

“You're right.” Tine said, causing everyone to sit up straighter. Ashe's eyes are glowing, like he'd gotten through the worst part of a story and is hoping that the hero will come in to save the day. Had I looked like that once? “In the year 535, almost a hundred years after the founding of the empire, the brother of King Galle the Eleventh rose against him. Lord Maera looked at the people suffering under his kingdom's reign and was filled with compassion...he tried to sway his brother into softening the cruel reign of the cult, reminding him and the other worshipers that Loptous had not been a god of evil and senseless destruction at first, but a protector. It was a noble effort, but his brother had been passed down the weapon that the First Emperor had been given by Loptous, which he had no means of countering. Supposedly it made him immortal, eternal, unkillable. However, unlike other rebellions, Lord Maera and some of his followers survived, escaping into the forest despite Galle the Eleventh's attempts to stop him out.”

“It was in the reign of King Galle the Seventeenth that the Crusaders emerged,” Ishtar started, only to pause when Claude snickered and buried his face in his hands. “Did...I say something amusing?”

“Oh no, not really. I'm just amazed that, aside from being murderous psychotic scumbags, the cult is apparently also shit at naming people. Seventeen Galles? Really?” The brunette asked with a little grin. Bernadetta managed to a tiny giggle, and that makes his smile more genuine.

Tine was surprised to find herself snort as well. “I, I guess it was a ritual thing? I don't know,” She admitted sheepishly.

Ishtar just looked at Claude in bemusement. Tine knew that she didn't trust him, that he was too calculating for her taste, but that was a common sense thing. She would be cautious around him, since she wasn't sure what he might want (outside of the obvious), but she doubts that he's on the same level as Manfroy or Hilda.

The other Hilda. Nope, that's still really jarring to think about; Tine still cringes when she hears the pink-haired girl's name unexpectedly.

“Anyway...the Crusaders came from all across the continent of Judgral. The Hunts were what brought them together; they all interfered with or attempted to stop them somehow, and had to flee for their lives because of it. They met up with each other, one by one, and became close friends as they fought together. They fled from place to place, the empire's men following them every step of the way, until finally they were too exhausted to keep moving. They went to a dying down called Darna, at the foot of the massive Yield Desert, and prepared to make their last stand. Instead, that was where they met Naga and the other divine dragons.”

Tine smiled. For a moment, she forgot everything, remembers lying in her mother's arm in the dark basement room where they had been kept. Her mother would tell her the story, even when she was tired and sad, over and over again to keep her spirits up. This won't be forever, she had whispered, even when she didn't believe it herself. No matter how dark and dire things become, there is still hope of things getting better.

“Naga and her brethren could no longer watch their undead brother torture humanity. They had watched humans accept this evil, go out to die to escape it, but this time, they had found a group of humans who refused to stop fighting it, no matter what happened to them. So...each dragon approached one of the Crusaders, giving them a blood pact and a weapon that they forged. The kindest and bravest among them, Saint Hiem, was approached by Naga herself, who gave him not only her blood but a tome that she had forged out of her scales and feathers. Its power would allow him to pierce through the twisted magic of Loptous that protected Galle and his family, the blood that they had gained through the first Emperor's pact with him.”

“And one of those twelve was your ancestor, Thrud.” Lornez mused.

“And Ced, my father's ancestor,” Tine jumped in. “I'm descended from both, though I only carry their minor bloods.”

“...You say 'only' like it's no big deal,” Lysithea said, a very bothered look crossing her face. “Is that normal in Judgral?”

“Yes?” Ishtar both answered and yet asked at the same time, looking puzzled. “Mmany of the Crusader's children intermarried, so their blood is common across a number of the noble families. Add that to the fact that nobles so very rarely marry 'beneath them', ” Tine can hear the massive sarcasm in Ishtar's voice, and the undercurrent beneath it; who are we to act like we're superior to the common man when all we do is torture and abuse others to sate our base desires? “And it was hardly a rare occurrence. Only the kingdom of Verdanne's royal family lacked Holy Blood, and that was because the Crusaders gave that rulership to a trusted friend they gained after the Miracle.”

Lysithea...just stared for a moment. Tine saw confusion and anger and jealousy in her eyes for a few agonizing seconds, before it was sharply snapped away and hidden behind a hard, firm mask. “Huh. It's strange to hear because the Goddess decreed that no human could bear more than one Crest, because no one mortal should bear that much power.” She said instead. “I suppose Naga felt differently.”

“Faced with the Loptous Cult, having as much power as possible seems like a lesser evil,” Marianne murmured. She was so quiet; Tine was always aware of her – usually she was the quiet one, shying away from the crowd – but she could see how more comfortable people might straight-up forget she was present. “How could anyone be worse than the iron first of the Loptian Emperors?”

Ishtar shut her eyes, and Tine knows without touching her that a shiver had gone up her spine. Some power hungry and dumb lord had tried to talk her around into being Julius and Manfroy's assassin using that line. She had refused, unable to betray the love of her life, and the lord conspirators had been discovered mere hours later by a different source.

The words still haunted her. Tine suspected that Ishtar agreed with them on some level, but she can't think on the notion that Julius is gone and replaced by a machination of the cult.

...Maybe even replaced by Loptous himself...

“The Crusaders defended Darna from the resultant attack from Loptous, and turned the dying town into their base of operations,” Tine continued a little hurriedly, wanting to take Ishtar's mind off of it as much as to finish the story. “With their divine weapons, they crossed the countryside, defending the powerless and rallying town and city to take a stand against the Empire. They encountered Lord Maera, who joined them in their quest to unset his family for the sake of Judgral. Heim always said that they never would have been able to succeed in their quest without his assistance, though later descendants of the Crusaders occasionally attempted to dispute that...”

Because he was of the blood of Loptous. Lord Byron of Chalphy had cited Saint Maera's goodness as a reason that the Loptous Hunts should be stopped, saying that there was possibly a way to find a path to coexistence with them.

Her grandfather had hated that. He saw it as weakness, as something that would ruin the realm. Tine wondered what his ghost, if it still lingered in the mortal realm, thought of the ruin that his scheming and power hunger had helped bring about...

“Each weapon served as a reflection of the god that granted it, a sign of the role that each Crusader would have in the world they would rebuild in the aftermath.” Ishtar said quietly, before quoting, “'To you, Thrud, I grant you Mjolnir, the eye of the storm. Your lightning will smote the evils of the world, and your storm clouds will bring the rains to those dying of thirst. Justice and rule of law without compassion is worse than blind malice, for it takes something that should be good and make it foul and twisted. I charge you to carry both, to find the balance and help Fjalar do the same'.”

“Is that a proverb?” Claude asked curiously. Always, always curious. It actually gave him some happiness simply to know, didn't it...?

“No, it's the words that were spoken directly to Thrud upon being granted his boon.” Ishtar said. Pushing her cleaned plate aside, she took Mjolnir from her pocket and placed it on the table. Claude and Byleth immediately floated to either side of her, Marianne and Bernadetta leaning over precariously when Ishtar opened the cover to reveal glittering, glowing words on the first page of the book...

“That's not spellwork, is it?” Lysithea asked, crowding close as well. She reached down eagerly in hopes of touching it, prompting Ishtar to gently but firmly bat her hands away repeatedly. Even if the white haired girl had divine blood of her own, Mjolnir might not recognize it, and she didn't want her to get hurt. “Those are...oh. It's written right into the tome...”

“Forseti, the tome passed down to my father, is the same,” Tine revealed. She paused briefly after saying that, her hand instinctively going to the necklace around her neck. Why do I know that for sure? I feel like I have a memory of looking at the tome itself...but why was that? Wasn't I always living in Friege when my mother was captured and brought there, after being separated from King Lewyn during the Purge?

“What was he told? He was given the winds, wasn't he? You mentioned that you had some control over them.” Byleth asked. There's that odd flash of golden-green light in her eyes again; Tine wondered if that was an ordinary thing for relic wielders here to possess. A sign of their incredible magic, in place of the Holy Blood Marks? Granted she'd hardly seen all of Lysithea or Claude or Byleth's bodies, but they didn't seem to have any marks upon their body. Claude summoned his 'Crest', maybe this was just another manifestation of that?

“Yes, though I'm afraid I don't know them by heart.” Tine apologized. “I've lived in Friege almost all my life, and...” She stalled briefly, panic sticking in her chest as she pondered what to say. Those puzzled and concerned gazes were strange and warm and she doesn't want to lose them, so what should she- “My aunt and uncle are more concerned about preparing Ishtar for rulership than they are with me,” She settled on saying.

Lorenz sniffed, looking affronted. “What nonsense. You have responsibilities to ascend to as well; they have no excuse to neglect you entirely! Forgive me, Ishtar, but it seems a callous move for them to neglect her so.”

Ishtar shook her head, her expression a stiff mask. “It's a fair criticism. I assure you I'm not that thin-skinned.” She responded mildly. Tine wished she could grab her hand underneath the table, but they aren't sitting right next to each other.

“The other weapons are the same,” Tine continued to rescue her cousin. “'There is Myseltainn, the Demon Sword, granted to The Black Knight Hodr. 'You are a protector, a warrior who fights not for himself but for others. This blade will heal your wounds even as you gain them, but the pain will remain; for war is a terrible thing and one to be avoided.' Hodr would go on to found Augustria, one of the kingdoms and principalities across modern Judgral.”

“'This is Yewfelle, a bow of unparalleled might,'” Ishtar joined in. This was when Tine noticed that they weren't just speaking to the Golden Deer anymore; dozens of other teenagers had crowded around their table, listening with equal parts fascination and rapture. Her eyes inadvertently met the purple orbs of a silver-haired girl who is standing behind Lorenz and Leonie. She's dressed in black and red, her poise that of a noble, and her eyes are blazing with intensity. Tine ducks her head slightly. “The gift given to Ullr, The Bowmaster. 'You who guide others to safety and had to see through the lies of your own family, this bow give you sight beyond sight. This bow will never miss it's mark, and help you continue to guide others to safety and to the truth, no matter how harsh.' Ullr went on to found the principality of Ygnvi, south of Granvelle's central kingdom.”

“'This is Tyrfing, the blade of magic', granted to the holy knight Baldr.'” Tine continued for their new audience; Claude was looking at her with such eagerness and adoration...an embarrassed blush flooded her cheeks, she did not know what to do with it. “You who protect those weaker than yourself with your whole being, this sword will be your shield as well as your means of attack. It will protect you from all but the most powerful of magic, and those who you are touching as well. Love for others is the greatest of strengths; if you are guided by love, you will never stray so far from the light that you will be unable to find your way back.' Baldr went on to found the principality of Chalphy.”

The home of Sigurd, the traitor who we only now realized to be the hero all along, slain to give Arvis the excuse to control all of Judgral...

“That sounds kind of cheesy compared to the others,” A tall redhead mused thoughtfully. A blonde girl shot him a glare and elbowed him hard in the ribs, causing him to wheeze and double over. “Geez, Ingrid!”

“Rude much, Sylvain?” She shot back. “Now be quiet and don't interrupt.”

Tine shot her a grateful smile and hesitantly went on. “'This is Helswath, the axe that blocks all blows.' This was given to Nier, who would go on to found the kingdom of Dozel. 'You who's determination surpasses all obstacles, this ax will protect you from all but the worst of all wounds. Swords and axes and spears will be blocked by your arms; you know that defending, that acting as a support to another, is as precious as the any other role.'”

“'This is Balmung, the sword that defies the law of nature,'” Ishtar went on. “This blade was granted to Od, the sword saint, who went on to found the Kingdom of Issach. 'You who moved through the darkness to steal the light back for others, with this blade you may pass through the world unseen and intangible, allowing you to face the worst dangers without fear.'”

“That sounds a lot like the Lost Crest of Aubin...” Lysithea murmured feverishly, her fingers moving like she wished beyond all that she was writing this down. “That power granted invisibility as well. Foresti controlled the wind, and the Lance of Ruin's innate power can whip up powerful winds as well. I wonder how many more similarities between the stories exist?”

I'm sorry, the Lance of Ruin? Tine thought blankly, turning to stare at her. Surely a Holy Relic wouldn't have such a blatantly unsettling name? Aren't they supposed to be symbols of the Goddess's protection, give the people comfort?

Ishtar glanced at her sideways briefly, signaling that she had similar thoughts before glancing down, again, at the Sword of the Creator that was always buckled at Byleth's side.

“This is Valflame, the tome of raging flame,” Ishtar said after a moment, trying to recenter herself. Her expression darkened with a flood of unpleasant emotion, too numerous for Tine to pick out. “'A gift for you, Fjalar, who would bring justice to this land. Fire burns through forests to clear away rot and dying plants, to clear the way for a new beginning. You are being given the power to purge the evil that has seeped into every corner of the globe, but only because you have shown the strength to hold it back, to perceive the difference between justice and revenge. You must never forget that.'”

“'And to you, Heim, I grant you the Book of Naga',” Tine finished, folding her hands in her lap. Her heart twists painfully as she recalls hearing how the book had vanished after Empress Deirdre's murder and Princess Julia's disappearance. In one swoop, the only still-living Naga Majors were gone; taking away the role that Heim had played for good... “This is the tome of life, through which you can banish Loptous's twisted form back to the Earth Table, where the other souls of my people who have been so twisted have been imprisoned. You are a healer, and a leader of men, once who knows the sorrows and the pain of those who live under unjust rule so I trust you to care for those in Judgral alongside your companions.”

Her throat was getting a little dry; she refilled her water glass and drank deeply. She shrinks down slightly next to Marianne, trying to hide from the newly sizable audience in front of her. The blue haired girl gently places a hand on her wrist, squeezing gently.

“So it was,” Ishtar said, coming to her rescue. “The Crusaders fought Galle and his Deadlords in a final battle, and destroyed them all. Loptous was banished, and the cultists were driven from the lands they had taken over. The Crusaders chased them to the Yield desert, then drove them underground.”

“They didn't kill them all?” The silver-haired girl with purple eyes inquired, a bemused look on her face. “Wouldn't it be wiser to ensure that Loptous could never be raised again? They were able to do it once, after all.”

“A sentiment that many of those who had suffered for so long shared,” Ishtar said, giving the girl an unreadable look. “However, when the Crusaders successfully burst into one of the many camps of the fleeing Loptians, they found many children among them. None were willing to slaughter them, so they allowed them to flee deep beneath the desert sands with the warning that should they plan to raise Loptous again, they and their descendants would be waiting for them.”

“...And all this happened a little over a hundred years ago?” Byleth asked slowly.

“Yes.” Tine confirmed. “In a way, those times haven't quite passed out of living memory yet. There isn't really anyone who lived in that era who's still alive, but the oral history and signs of the struggle are still there for those who know where to look.”

It probably seemed very odd to them, those who had supposedly enjoyed centuries of an uneasy but real peace.

“So...that was how the Crusaders carried Judgral back into the light, and allowed the land to rebuild and come back to life,” Tine said after a moment, shifting shyly under the barrage of gazes burning into her. “It's not quite comprehensive, but I hope it makes sense...”

“Aww, don't apologize! You were as spectacular as storyteller as you are beautiful, Lady Silesse,” The redhaired boy said with a very friendly smile. Intimately friendly. It was so open and so heavy that it frightened her; it was the smile of someone who did what he wanted without consequences. Wasn't his name Sylvain? Tine curled further into Marianne's side, feeling her face pale a bit. “Perhaps you and Lady Friege could come to our table for dinner; I'd love to hear more stories carrying your peerless, beautiful voices.”

The blonde right next to him came to her rescue by again ramming her elbow into his side. “Ugh, I can't introduce you to anyone, can I?” She complained as he staggered backwards. “Feel free to ignore Sylvain; he says that to every girl he meets. My name is Ingrid; myself and my class meant to introduce ourselves earlier, but we couldn't find you before the meal.”

“We were being shown around the premises,” Ishtar replied with politeness and a hint of curiosity. “You wear a blue band; am I to assume you and Lord Sylvain are part of the Blue Lions class?”

“Indeed! We're all from Faerghus, except for Caspar since he transferred over temporarily.” Ingrid responded. “Well, we're all here except for Felix, who's listening, but from back there somewhere.” She looked annoyed as she glanced over her shoulder, waving fiercely at a mostly vacated table. Tine stands up partly to peer over her shoulder; she can just see a blue haired boy in dark clothes and a white shirt, his chair turned to the side. Giving away a degree of curiosity despite seemingly being interested solely in his food. “I'll make sure he says hello later.”

“It was an incredible tale. I feel like I can see Jugdral in my mind's eye,” Another blonde, a taller boy with earnest blue eyes, said brightly. Tine uncurled herself slightly to look at him; he's broad shouldered and handsomely built, a blue cape sweeping down to his ankles, his muscular arms flexing slightly as he gestulates in his earnestness. He wore nor crown or diadem, yet like Ishtar, he didn't need them; just looking at him, Tine was instantly reminded of what Sir Alois said – that the Prince of Faerghus was attending the Officer's Academy. “Ah, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that before introducing myself.”

He bowed to them, even though they were strangers in Fodlan and he was to inherit a crown. Tine doesn't know what to do with that and her head is beginning to ache from the number of times she's had that exact same reaction. “I am Dimitri Alexadre Blayddid, crown prince of Faerghus. Lady Tine, Lady Ishtar, I heard that you were brought here from some place unknown; if there is any matter I can assist you with while you're here, please say the word. In these walls, I'm only a student.”

Ishtar opened her mouth, closed it, and gave him a baffled look, at a complete loss for words. Tine understood, because she has no idea what to say either. Why would any prince-?

“Awfully friendly of you, Dimitri,” The silver haired girl said with an edge of what was either warning or condescension; Tine wasn't quite certain. “I imagine you want to out bet Claude this time.”

“Come now, Edelgard; I assure you it was an offer made in good faith.” Dimitri responded, sounding a little affronted.

“Sure,” Edelgard said, sounding a little amused at his honesty. Then she turned toward Tine and Ishtar, a polite and princess-esque mask upon her face. She's beautiful, if a little on the short side; she's slender but visibly muscular, a red cape draped over her shoulders. She has a regal look to her too, and she's cold; it's the exact same way Ishtar holds and projects herself, keeping everyone at arms length or even further away.

Tine wondered who she needed to defend herself from.

“Greetings, princesses. I am Edelgard von Hresvelg; I couldn't help but overhear part of the tale of your land and it made me curious enough to desire to hear it in full. I hope we haven't been intruding.” The silver-haired girl declared.

“Oh, no, not at all,” Tine said hurriedly. “It's alright, isn't it Claude?”

“Well, of course!” Claude responded cheerfully. “The purpose of the academy is to forge bonds between the countries.” Tine abruptly wondered why he was stating the obvious before wondering if he was saying it specifically for her benefit. “Story time is one of the best bonding moments a guy could ask for!”

“Indeed,” rumbled an absolute giant of a teenager standing next to Prince Dimitri; Tine looked up at him with wide eyes. He had darker skin, the closest comparison in her mind to that of a Thracian, short cut gray hair and a severe face, but his eyes were not unkind. He wore the school uniform, but he didn't carry himself the relaxed, easy way the other students or knights did; he stood stiffly, constantly on his guard.

“It's an honor to meet all of you,” Ishtar said, taking the reigns from her. “While we have a moment, perhaps you could tell us a little more about your lands and what matters you feel free to discuss? I am loathe to remain ignorant of anything, even in pursuit of some way to return home.”

“I think we can trade up places along the tables,” Claude said with a smile. “You had something you wanted to tell Felix, like Lysithea?”

The white haired girl's eyes blaze at the reminder; she wolfed down the remains of her meal and bolted from her seat in the direction of the blue haired boy. This opens up a spot for a sheepish looking Dimitri to take her place, starting a veritable circus of shifting chairs.

Tine sat nervously, her gaze jumping from one student to the next. Wondering which one of them was the most dangerous. Wondering which of them was unsatisfied with what they had and would do anything to get more.

Don't forget to smile, her mother whispered in her ear. She did her best. She suspected that Claude could see through it.

Chapter Text

Garreg Mach Monastery's library is a beautiful marvel. Tine could spent hours combing through it and reading some of the many books within; it makes her think of the one time she went with Ishtar to visit Commander Saias and he kindly let her stay in his library while they worked. The long shelves were so tempting she had to remind himself to stay focused on maps and geography books.

Pouring through those only reinforced what they already knew; it was as if the Judgal continent didn't exist. The two directions it might have been in – to the east or two the west – were solidly occupied by the continents on which Almyra and Dagda, rival empires to Fodlan's kingdoms, rested proudly. The geography books that spoke of trade and the history of the lands made no mention of anything familiar, and gave not even a hint of the existence of her home.

It was both terrifying and liberating.

They were gone. Hilda – Ishtar's mother, Manfroy, Julius, the cult, all of them were gone gone gone, no sign of them ever existing. They couldn't hurt her or force Ishtar to participate in their sick games and silently abide their cruelty. The realization, that had been dawning on her ever since she saw a map of Fodlan for the first time, finally seemed to sink in all at once.

She almost fainted on the spot.

Tine felt like she was walking on the clouds. That she had sprouted wings and was floating in the sky, thousands of tons of weight lifted off of her back. At some point she stopped being able to read the books and papers in front of her and was just drifting, dwelling on this momentous realization, like she was wrapped in a deliriously beautiful dream.

“Tine, I think you should join the Officer's Academy.”

Which is possibly why Ishtar's sudden declaration caused her to topple right out of her chair in surprise. Tine woofed when she landed on her elbow, wincing; she scrambled up onto her knees and stared wide-eyed at her cousin. “I'm sorry?” She asked, trying to determine if she'd heard that right.

Ishtar smiled wanly. “You heard me. Are you alright?”

“Yes, I – I was just startled. But...the Officer's Academy?” Tine squeaked. “W-Where did that come from? I didn't realize you'd even been thinking about it.”

Ishtar glanced across the floor of the library. It's roughly the middle of the day, and there are a number of people milling about reading books or examining the shelves – including a green-haired boy in a school uniform, a Black Eagle, who keeps peering over the top of his book at them with very poorly disguised interest. She gestures for Tine to get up and sit right next to her. When the younger girl does so, Ishtar tugs her close and gestures to a map as if she'd spotted something important.

“We know how we came to be here,” She said, her voice carefully pitched down for just her ears. They would talk like this late at night, or during balls with Arvis's nobility, when they were putting up the air of being preoccupied or hurriedly sharing warnings or discussing things that they did not dare to risk being overheard. “Looking at these maps is a pointless exercise; we are here because it is Naga's will.”

Tine sucked in a sharp breath. “You're sure, then...”

Ishtar nods, her brow tightening. “Positive. She sent us here for a reason...and we're not going home – if She ever permits to send us home – until we have fulfilled the purpose for our displacement. Whatever it might be.”

The younger girl nodded slowly in comprehension. The memory of the song she'd heard when she'd tried to fling herself off the castle balcony echoed tinnily in her memory, but no matter how hard she focused on it, she couldn't make out any of the words.

“Why didn't she tell us anything?” She wondered, biting her bottom lip. “Why us...? Why...?”

That Naga was finally moved to action – it reflected the same series of events from over a hundred years before. Both of them were descended from the crusaders she had chosen. Tine knew that Ishtar considered herself worthy of no honor, much less be spoken of in the same breath as their ancestors, but Naga saw more than humans did, doesn't she?

“Who knows how long we'll be here.” Ishtar said, putting her hands on the table. “I do not want us to be dependent on the charity of an archbishop. And that woman, Lady Rhea...” Her brows form a hard line. “Be careful about her, Tine.”

“I know. I will be.” Tine ran one hand through one of her pigtails, then glanced uncertainly at Ishtar. “Do you think – I would like to join the Golden Deer, but doesn't it cost money to enter the Academy? They can't maintain a castle like this on good will compassion; it must be extortionate...”

“I'll figure out the money.” Ishtar responded. “I plan to offer myself into the service of the Knights of Serios. I suspect the Archbishop would prefer to have me within easy reach, and this will both placate her and give us a salary.” She idles with the corner of the map, frowning a little. “If she desires to look magnanimous in all things, perhaps she'll permit it to be payed in installments.”

“So you'll be working with Sir Eisner's father?” Tine prodded, vaguely remembering hearing the man mentioned in passing by a number of students and priests who went in and out of the library. The permanently serious young woman was the child of a warrior of quite some renown, who disappeared from the church about twenty years ago. Up and abandoned a post of honor and power without a word. She hadn't seen the man yet, but she wanted to ask him about it.

Maybe he could tell her about the secret cost of this seemingly kind and perfect world.

A thoughtful look passed across Ishtar's face, and Tine suspected she was having the same notion. “Perhaps, though I don't know anything about the rankings.” Her cousin frowned and turned to the left. “Do you know that boy's name? He's been watching us for ages now.”

Tine shook her head. “I...think he might be a Black Eagle? I'm having a little trouble remembering everyone; there are so many people here...”

Ishtar hummed and pointedly stared the boy down. He held her gaze for a surprisingly long moment before having the decency to look awkward and flee the room – or at least hide behind a different pillar, Tine isn't sure. “Keep an eye out,” She murmured. “I'll learn what I can about him and his family through the staff.”

Tine nodded. “Do you trust Sir Eisner?” She asked. “If you're having me join the class alone...”

“I'm not sure what I think of her,” Ishtar admitted, her brows furrowing. “She's... strikingly composed, far beyond mere stoicism. I'd call it unnatural, but her students obviously adore her, and she displays humanity in both subtle and obvious ways. If it weren't utterly redundant for me to begin schooling again, I'd rather join the class with you strictly for my peace of mind.”

She taps her fingers against the map, her purple eyes shivering with unease. Tine reached over and grabbed her arm firmly. “Ishtar,” She said with strength. “It's okay. I can take care of myself. And if Sir Eisner can make me stronger, then I won't be such a burden on you.”

“I've never thought you a-” Ishtar stuttered, startled.

“I know.” The more Tine had thought on the idea of being taught, of being forged into something more, stronger, the more something hot and fierce in her chest began to rise – a feeling so intense it left her shocked and dizzy. All my life I've been weak, needed Ishtar and Ishtore to protect me. All my life I've been at the mercy of monsters. But those monsters are far away from here; they cannot stop me. I... won't let anyone stop me! “It's not your fault that your mother never wanted me trained in warfare. But as long as we're here, I can change myself without repercussions.”

All my life, I've watched those monsters make you suffer, Tine thought with an old, hot spike of anger; her hand on her leg balls into a white-knuckled fist. I've watched them use you and force you to do things that destroy you mind and soul. Ishtar, I'm going to become strong enough to protect you.

Even from...even from that thing that Julius has been turned into.

“Go and join the Knights,” Tine urged her, squeezing her cousin's arm. “If we're going to carve out a place for ourselves in this world, we're going to do it together.”

Isthar looked at her in wonder for a few moments. Her eyes were a little hard to read, but after those moments go by, she smiled just a little. “Just...be careful around Riegan, okay?” She asked. “That boy is up to something, I'll bet Mjolnier on it.”

“I know. I will be. “

Tine almost lost her nerve for a moment when she entered the Golden Deer classroom after some time speaking with Bishop Seteth, and everyone sans Marianne and Bernadetta within immediately swarmed around her. And they were just hanging back by a foot or so. “Tine! What brings you here?” Hilda asked cheerfully, slinging one arm around her shoulders. The silver haired girl felt her cheeks flush warmly in surprise.

Eep! The silver-haired girl resisted the urge to stammer and sought out the very young professor leading the classroom. She approached last, chiding words on her lips as she pulled Claude out of the cluster by his shirt and cleared some space so Tine could breathe better.

“Um... I'mheretojoinyourclass!” Tine blurted out in one breath, staring wide-eyed at Byleth. The older girl blinked rapidly, staring at her in response. Tine bounced on her heels, flustered. “I'm here to join your class! T-That is...if you'll have me.”

She didn't really get a second to fear rejection. Lysithea uttered some sort of war cry before Byleth could answer, vibrating almost violently in place while her rose-colored eyes widened with glee, before whirling toward her teacher. “Of course it's fine! It's more than fine! Right, Professor?” The white haired girl asked urgently.

“Yes,” Byleth answered in a single syllable, seemingly not even slightly bemused or annoyed to suddenly have another responsibility dropped on her out of nowhere. “I have no objections. The time sink will be considerable, I hope you're aware.”

“I am,” Tine said, wobbling a little as Hilda cheers and shakes her in excitement. It's strange, but... it's really nice. “I'm somewhat under educated in the art of battle, so I'll work extra hard to not slow any of you down.”

Claude clapped his hands together and beamed at her when she met his eyes. “Don't worry about that at all,” He laughed. “Flayn had no fighting skills to speak of when she joined us, but between all of us we've been turning her into a respectable mage.”

“Rude!” Protested a girl that Tine didn't recognize; she turned to see a girl about her height with shimmering bright green hair and gold-green eyes dressed in the school uniform and the golden deer patch. Her face is elven and incredibly open, guileless, her pale skin making her seem almost a little otherwordly. She almost looks like a Silesse native, Tine thought with a pang. “I was a perfectly serviceable healer when I joined you.”

“Better than serviceable, you're amazing!” Claude parried in response with what seemed like sincerity in his voice. “But you also couldn't fight your way out of a blanket.”

“Mrghr... I suppose,” The girl in question pouted – a very deadly expression, Tine didn't know her at all but felt like her heart might explode at how sweet she looked – before turning her way. “Oh, I'm sorry. We haven't been introduced yet, have we? I am Flayn; I just joined the this class a week and a half ago. It is nice to meet you!”

She stuck her hand out. Tine took it with a little smile; she's warm. “Hello Flayn... I'm Tine. I'd heard your name mentioned a few times, so it's nice to meet you in person.”

“Awesome! We've got a new classmate!” Raphael cheered. “You're gonna love it here, Princess!”

"It's a lot of hard work," Hilda warned her mock-seriously, sighing theatrically. "But it does pay off eventually."

Lysithea ungently elbowed Claude out of her way, leaving the brunette wincing and complaining as she darted forward and grasped Tine's hands in hers. “Teach me how to create spell tomes, teach me teach me teach me!” The white haired girl pleaded, her amber eyes so entreating that Tine felt completely tilted.

“Sure,” She squeaked out. “I don't have my templates from home, but I have a good memory. I'm – I'm sure we can put something together.”

Lysithea cheered and grabbed her in a hug much tighter than her slender frame suggested she was capable of. Tine froze up in sheer surprise, imagining she looked quite like a deer in a hunter's cross hairs. “Thank you! Thank you, you won't regret this, we're going to achieve so much together.”

“Lysithea, let her breathe,” Marianne said, raising her voice just a little bit. Lysithea made a vaguely embarrassed noise and releases Tine from her death grip. “It will be nice to have a new friend. Um, w-will Princess Ishtar be joining us...?”

Tine shook her head. “She hopes to join the Knights of Serios, s-so we're not just freeloaders here...” She said. And we definitely don't want to be trapped in someone's charity.

Lysithea...pouted? Yes, she's pouting; Tine felt a shiver of surprised laughter flutter in her chest at the sight. “I wanted to ask her more about Mjolner...” She mumbled. Claude chuckled out loud, which earned him a death glare from her that bounced right off of him.

Byleth tapped her student on the shoulder pointedly; the other students moved back a little as Lysithea reluctantly got out of the way, leaving Tine staring down the stoic young woman. “You called yourself under trained, but you held your own against those pirates.” She said. “Describe to me what you have learned as a mage.”

“Well...I can use Thunder and I'm close to being able to cast Thoron... I don't know any healing skills though. Ishtar was my primary instructor, and she didn't have the time to teach me the branching magic discipline with her other responsibilities.” Tine bounced on her heels, wracking her brain for some way to make herself sound a little impressive – or at least not hopeless. “I planned on becoming a war mage if uncle would permit it, so -”

“War mage?” Byleth repeated. “Explain, please.”

“It's a discipline that used magic and the blade in tandem; the sword is mostly self defense for if an enemy manages to get within arm's reach, unless I can find a magic sword.”

“That has a little in common with the Mortal Savant fighting class.” Byleth mused, starting to walk in a circle around Tine. The girl straightened her back under the scrutiny, tugging at one of her pigtails. “You're a little thin, but nothing that more food and exercise couldn't offset.” She touched Tine's upper arm, looking a little thoughtful. “How much training do you have with a sword?”

“Little,” Tine admitted, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“I wanted to be sure,” Byleth murmured. “Mortal Savant is a Master Class; it takes a lot of intensive training to master. Mages have to learn an entirely different fighting style if they plan to take up the sword; it's perfectly natural for your cousin to want for you to be able to fall back on powerful magic while you learn that discipline. You'll be self sufficient much sooner than otherwise.”

She came to a stop in front of Tine. “We're going to the training grounds today, so this is actually good timing. Ignatz and I will start you on swords in the afternoon, while in the morning, you'll be working with Marianne and Lysithea on your magic. Is that acceptable?”

Tine nodded vehemently. “Yes, thank you so much... I know this is sudden...”

“Hey, it's not any more sudden than Flayn suddenly joining our ranks two weeks ago!” Claude said cheerfully. “You'll fit right in, Princess. Or, can we just call you Tine? I don't want anyone in here calling me Duke; it makes me feel like I'm being held at a distance.”

I have always been a princess in name only; at least as long as I have lived with Ishtar. I don't remember anything before that. “T-That's very nice, actually. Please call me Tine, all of you.”

“Alright. Thank you, Tine.” Ignatz said in a painfully earnest way, and Tine can't help but smile back at him. “It's too bad Yuri and the others aren't here; where did they get off to, Professor?”

Byleth huffs and rolls her eyes. The aggrieved gesture was startlingly humanizing on her, breaking right through her permanent seriousness. “Yuri had yet another 'important matter' to attend to...which included sneaking out with Balthus instead of just asking me if I could help. I sent Hapi and Constance to drag him back by the ear. Honestly, why did he join the class if he only intended to show up for half the classes...” She crossed her arms and descended into good natured grumbling, tilting her head to the side like she was listening for something.

“Yuri?” Tine asked hesitantly. “I don't think I've met anyone with that name...”

“Oh, you've gotta meet Yuri.” Claude said, clapping his hands together. “He's only the most beautiful creature to walk the earth after our dear Professor.” Byleth sputtered in surprise, a light flush entering her cheeks. “We met him and his friends in the tunnel system under the Monastery; there was a bit of a dustup that happened, but at the end of it he and his fellow wolves joined our rustic crew!”

“I – I see,” Tine said very intelligently, her mind whirling. Tunnels under the monastery? A bit of a dust up?

“We'll you all about it once they've been dragged back,” Claude promised with a wink, like he'd read her mind. “You'll get along with them fine; they're a rough and tumble bunch, but they've got good hearts.”

“It's n-n-nice to have a new teammate!” Bernadetta stammered out, hunching her shoulders a little when Tine glanced her way. “E-Especially with the Battle of the Eagle and Lion coming up...”

“The what?” Tine felt like she was saying that a lot...

“Alright, alright,” Byleth said, clapping her hands together. Like magic, the class immediately quieted down and looked toward her attentively. “You can fill her in on that while sparring and practicing today; we've been waiting long enough. Let's get to the training grounds before they get completely taken over by the Blue Lions again!”

There's a playful edge to that last statement, warmth entering her eyes, that took any bite out of it. The class cheers and Tine's hand is grabbed by Lysithea again as they all surge toward the doorway. As they step into the daylight, Tine realizes she can hear music above the babble and daily goings-on in the yards.

A warm musical chorus, something she'd only heard once before... Naga? Naga, are you still watching over us, even now...?