Chapter Text
In the vast expanses of space—even in the fraction of it just between the stars—running seems easy. If only the simple act of putting space between her and the past is enough to free Lysithea.
Now that she has a small, purple-haired girl on her ship asking her, pretty please, for passage to Enbarr—well, Lysithea knows that her past has found her once again. Only five years later. It only took the Agarthans bashing up a satellite, and the Seraphim stumbling upon it. They have tentacles everywhere, it seems.
Linhardt is eyeing Lysithea with concern. On her other side, Hilda has her hands on her hips, the familiar guardedness apparent in the slant of her eyebrows. Bernadetta, as she has introduced herself, is stuttering something out like she’s dying. “—just really, really important that I get this message to her. Please. It’s—it’s a matter of life or death, I swear.”
Lysithea exhales slowly through her nose. “And why should I care about what happens to the Emperor?”
Bernadetta’s puppyish eyes widen further, somehow. She’s staring at Lysithea as if the answer is blindingly obvious. “If those Agarthans seize the throne, you’re all done for. You’ll be sanctioned straight to hell.”
Lysithea sighs. Annoyingly, she has a point. The Agarthans would not look well upon medical supply runs to anyone, least of all their enemies with the Church. And there is no way that she would ever, ever let herself work for those bastards.
“Fine,” she snaps. Before the girl starts shouting for joy, or something equally as irritating, she adds, “You don’t happen to know anything that can make you useful on my ship, do you?”
“I guess? Just give me any odd job.”
Lysithea peers at her, wondering exactly what skill-set this girl has. You don't just tell someone to give you any job. To be fair, they’d found her somehow still alive on a thoroughly destroyed satellite. The girl had put together a makeshift breathing system with the spare oxygen tanks. Clearly, she has some talent.
She directs her towards the heating unit down the hall.
She turns around to see Linhardt and Hilda staring at her. They both start talking, right over the top of one another. “Don’t you think this—” Hilda says, just as Linhardt is saying, “ … is a horrible idea.”
Lysithea just heads to the dashboard and reprograms their destination into the auto-pilot controls. The centre of the centre of the Adrestian Empire: the Capitol of Enbarr. Straight into one of the most heavily-secured, and spied upon, ports in the sector.
“We’re not even getting paid!” Hilda is exclaiming from behind her.
“Money doesn’t matter if we get imprisoned or killed,” Linhardt murmurs grimly.
“Oh, shush, the both of you,” Lysithea says sharply. “I couldn’t just say no. You all saw how we found her. And we’ll be fine, Ignatz did a great job modding her.” She doesn't need to add that there is some level of kinship that being wronged by the Agarthans gives Bernadetta; they all know well enough.
“She literally just told us that the Agarthans are planning an assassination on the Emperor!" Hilda retorts. "Which means that the place is going to be crawling with them—even more than usual! That is, the people who you had to escape from! This is an actual suicide mission, for both us and Bernadetta!”
“Also, I don’t think paint is going to stop the Agarthans recognising one of their own ships.” Linhardt shrugs as he adds, “But who am I, a lowly crest researcher, to question the will of our illustrious pilot-captain.”
Hilda snorts despite her frustration. “If you keep sucking up to her like this, she may have to elevate you to”—she gasps theatrically—“co-captain!”
Lysithea rolls her eyes, grinning despite their jabs. “Look, the Agarthans aren’t in power yet; they can’t amass that many people on Enbarr without someone noticing. We have time: just get in and out. Then we can drop her off at Garreg Mach and be on our way.” She can’t help adding, “Captain’s orders.”
Linhardt makes an undignified squawking noise before bursting into giggles. “Literally shut up,” Hilda wheezes, pink-varnished fingers pressed over her mouth. “Every time you say that I get the urge to roundhouse kick you in the mouth. Which wouldn’t be hard considering your height.”
Lysithea straightens the entire one-hundred and sixty centimetres of her height—a full six centimetres taller than Hilda—and stares her down. Point made, she turns away, shaking her head. “It seems no one is getting co-captain privileges today,” Lysithea tells them both with a long sigh.
They all erupt into further laughter.
*
Despite her earlier nonchalance about it all, Lysithea can't help pacing the cockpit as they draw closer and closer to the glittering glory of the Capitol of Enbarr. While the Seraphim is a fine specimen of a ship, she doubts she could outrun newer Agarthan-made models.
There have been plenty of opportunities to upgrade over the past few years, but truth be told, Lysithea is too attached to the ship to give it more than a fresh coat of paint. Seeing this thing on the roof of the Agarthan compound had been the hope that spurred her on. This old girl has saved her in more ways than one, and Lysithea won’t do her a disservice by replacing her.
Hilda raps on the wall as she enters, jarring Lysithea out of her thoughts. “How are we feeling?” she asks. At Lysithea's baleful look, she nods. “Okay, not good.” She looks like she's about to add something along the lines of, “Not that I didn't tell you so,” but chooses otherwise at the last second.
Walking up to Lysithea and taking her by the shoulders, she wraps her into a bone-crushing hug. “It's okay. I'm here to beat up anyone that even so much as looks at you funny. I promise.”
Lysithea manages to smile. “Alright, thank you,” she says softly.
“Hello, huggers, we’re nearly there,” Linhardt announces as he joins them in the cockpit. “Also, Bernadetta fixed the heating. She fixed the entire temperature regulator, actually.”
Lysithea pulls away from Hilda to see Bernadetta wringing her hands, which are now stained with grease and oil. “It was nothing, I just couldn't bear to leave it so…janky.”
They dock at the Capitol port with no fuss. The Agarthans seem to have never reported the Seraphim as stolen, oddly enough. Perhaps it is where it was stolen from that has dissuaded them from making it public knowledge.
Bernadetta slips out even before the ramp has clanked its way open completely, shouting a brief thanks over her shoulder before disappearing. Meanwhile, Lysithea stares at the temperature regulator panel, trying to work out exactly what about it had been ‘janky’.
“I know your ego was bruised by the ‘janky’ comment, but I do think we need a proper mechanic on board. You know, in case we spontaneously combust due to your pilot-captain expertise,” Linhardt says from beside her. Instead of looking at the regulator, he’s smirking at Lysithea.
Lysithea, disgruntled, is forced to agree. That, however, meant that they would be waiting for Bernadetta to return instead of leaving as soon as they refuelled. “Sure. Fine. If she makes it back in one piece, we can recruit her.”
*
The next hour is spent staring out the portholes at passersby, trying to discern whether they’re Agarthans coming to take her back, or just normal people going about their days. Hilda and Linhardt have drawn straws for who would go buy fuel, and who would guard the door. Linhardt, to his utter dismay, had lost.
Lysithea frowns as the sound of Hilda’s voice filters down the hallway—guarding usually meant standing in the general vicinity of the place you were supposed to guard. “—I know! I get it, I do. No, this is not about you, for the last time! If you would just listen to me—”
The tinny voice of either Holst Goneril or Claude von Riegan—she is guessing the brother, based on the fact that Hilda isn't red-faced as well as screaming—interrupts her mid-rant. Ironically.
With a growl of frustration, Hilda slams the device on the table. Lysithea winces, though from the sounds of it, it hasn’t cracked majorly. Hologrammers were not cheap, and at this rate, they would be buying a new one every week.
“Sorry you had to hear that, Lyssie,” Hilda calls. “I'll be, y’know.” Lysithea listens to her stomp back down the ramp, smiling faintly. One day she would get into a physical fight with her brother, and Lysithea would pay to see it.
Returning to the window, she notices a woman skulking among the ships. She has the hood of a long cloak pulled over her head, but the bright tattoos adorning her cheeks and hands give her away as Brigidine. She glances around furtively, until her eyes land on Lysithea’s. Eyes widening, she tugs the hood further over her face and hurries on.
Lysithea stares at her retreating back. A pair of Agarthan Mages in their plague-doctor masks round the corner, and Lysithea jumps away from the window, heart thudding in her throat. Creeping back, she peers over the edge to see the Brigidine woman now ambling her way towards the Seraphim.
“Hey, Lyssie….” Hilda calls softly.
Lysithea strides to where Hilda is standing, axe in hand. “Let her on,” she murmurs to Hilda.
She whirls, her face running through a number of expressions. “Eh? But—”
“She has an honest face. And she looks like she’s running from the Agarthans.”
Hilda continues to stare incredulously. “You and your people-reading,” she mutters, turning around as the woman arrives, hesitating at the bottom of the ramp.
“Hello,” she says quietly. “I am needing…passage.” She glances over her shoulder at the Agarthans. “Please.”
Hilda crosses her arms, but Lysithea offers her a smile. “I’m Lysithea. This is Hilda.”
“Petra. Petra Omalley.” She hurries up the ramp. “I can be paying,” she adds to Hilda. Even the mention of more income isn’t enough to make her lighten up.
Lysithea shoots her a look. Hilda knows why she’s helping these people. She pointedly ignores Lysithea. She sighs inwardly. She too, understands why Hilda doesn’t want to take on all these strangers.
They’re still standing there facing off when the sound of running footsteps prompts them to divert their attention. Bernadetta skids up to them, screaming to go. Slightly behind her is a panting Linhardt, hands conspicuously empty of fuel tanks.
They barge onto the ship. Lysithea is in the cockpit before she knows it, hands flying over the dash. It’s a familiar pattern, and it calms her somewhat. Flip that switch, press that button, grab the throttle. She throws a quick look over her shoulder, hoping the ramp was closed before they set off.
“Get Bernadetta in here right now!” Lysithea shouts without looking away from the controls. She staggers as the entire ship rockets upwards at a speed much faster than is probably legal. She swerves wildly around other ships in the airspace. The ocean is vast beneath them, the continent drawing further away below. She aims the nose of the ship upwards. The sky blurs past, bright blue one second and black the next. With a distant boom, they break through the atmosphere and tear away from the planet. Lysithea sags over the controls, setting their next destination.
Hilda appears, half-dragging a wheezing Bernadetta. At Lysithea’s fierce glare, she blanches. “I—Sorry,” she mutters, hanging her head. “I was too late anyway.” After trailing off, she just stands there, staring at the floor.
Abruptly, she starts crying. Huge, gulping sobs. Blubbering about kicking her off and impending doom and whatnot.
Lysithea sighs, tells Hilda to guide her to one of the spare rooms. “Once she's done crying, tell her the radio needs to be finetuned. The one in the living area.” The pink-haired girl gives her a dirty look for giving her the baby-sitting job, but relents.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Linhardt pursing his lips to hide a smile. As soon as Hilda and Bernadetta leave, he laughs. “Try as you might to hide it, you are a massive sap,” he comments with a smug grin.
Lysithea snaps at him to shut up. Petra is still watching them, something like anguish smouldering in her gaze. “Well?” Lysithea says, turning to face her. “What's your story?”
She seems to come back to herself. “Those people were wanting to recruit me. When I was telling them I wouldn't join, they were very angry.” She looks as if she wants to add something else, but doesn’t.
Lysithea laughs darkly. “The Agarthans don't take kindly to not getting what they want.”
Petra nods slowly. Lysithea watches her lips flutter as she tries to say something. “I—May I be joining you? I am needing a place to be…staying low.”
She stands tall, proud despite the vulnerability of her request. Lysithea supposes that such spine might be useful to have around. And how does that saying go? If Petra hated the Agarthans as much as she seemed to, then it was a good idea to keep her around, for when Lysithea needed her aid.
“I'm assuming they attempted to recruit you because you can fight?”
She nods, a smile twisting her lips. “I am fighting very well.”
“You're on.”
Petra just nods again, a tight smile perched on her face. At Lysithea’s pointed cough, Linhardt jolts from whatever daydream he’s been engaged in and hurries out, beckoning for Petra to follow him.
Finally, some peace and quiet. Lysithea stares at the little hologram map of the Adrestia system that floats, flickering red, over the dash. The Seraphim is a tiny dot heading rapidly away from Enbarr.
She sinks into her pilot’s chair. Her ship sings its creaking, raspy song. The stars twinkle, filling her vision with the infinitum of the universe—though now, it’s all so far away. Despite the space outside, with the nearest planets lightyears away, the world has never seemed smaller.