Chapter Text
i.
Spring was breaking out over Fódlan as they rode to Garreg Mach. The early flowers had begun peeking out from beside the puddles in the new grass growth, and the trees had begun to blossom. The days now nearly equaled the nights. But they were still cold, and often wet. Byleth had expected the students of the Officers Academy to complain often of the mud or the weather—they were the three highest-ranking nobles on the continent, and she had presumed they would be unused to rough camping or to such long days in the saddle. And it was true that sometimes she did catch Her Highness eyeing the muck upon her boots and the hem of her robe with distaste, or Duke Riegan’s heir shivering. Yet all three children seemed concerned with her opinion, eager to prove themselves capable and enduring. It was truly Alois that set the pace for their party, with a kinder eye to the children’s capabilities than they turned upon themselves. They stopped less than a watch after midday each day.
When they stopped, the children began competing for Byleth’s favor in new ways. Each tried to pitch their tent nearest her or volunteered to share the watch or chore rotation. The prince often attempted to prove his strength, offering to help her with her own share of the work as well as doing his, taking on the dirtiest or hardest jobs in her line of vision. He valued strength and solidarity, and he would compliment her mount, the keeping of her arms, or the skill she showed in performing her tasks. The princess was more artful. She attempted to draw Byleth out, asking questions about the places she had been with her father, the people they had met and customs they had witnessed. Each question they answered was in the princess’s view an opportunity to create connection—but she revealed little about herself in turn. Duke Riegan’s heir revealed even less about himself—his background or his history. He was neither overhelpful nor overattentive, yet he maintained a constant presence, both in her vicinity and in her conversation. He offered commentary on her interactions with the others and seemed determined to make her laugh. The others were occasionally irritated by his familiarity, yet his manner invited intimacy instead of enmity, and Byleth did not believe Claude was at all unaware of the position in which he placed himself. Each time his comments on the behavior of the others went uncontested, the prince of the Kingdom of Faerghus and the princess of the Adrestian Empire allowed him to assume a spokesman’s role. His was the subtlest approach, a studied air of unstudied ease and a careful front of carelessness that often placed him in the precise place he would wish to occupy and on the precise terms he would choose.
Between the three of them and Alois, Byleth was scarcely left alone for the space it took to perform the most private of necessary duties. It was clear that her actions at Remire had effectively put her on market, even more so than her father. When her father somehow managed to arrange the duty roster to leave them alone together, she was interested in how he had done it. She would have liked to arrange a rest for herself in the same manner. But as they left the camp to go down to the river to catch the fish for supper, it was clear her father had other matters on his mind.
“Finally, we have a moment to talk. Byleth. I never meant for you to get tangled up in Fódlan politics.”
Byleth did not see the point of answering this. Regardless of what had been meant, they were both entangled now. The two of them were currently unattached to any employer or specific mission, so they had no excuse to deny the powers seeking their favor, and indeed, their best interests would likely be served by committing to the Knights of Seiros, the Kingdom, the Empire, or the Alliance. The factions on offer had power, gold, and influence to give, and for what else did a mercenary lend their service? The trick would be to avoid offending those they did not choose when they committed.
She looked over the stream and picked a likely place, then cast her line.
It was clear her father was uneasy. Truly, their position did hold some danger. She supposed she could have ignored the children’s plea for help when they came to her back in Remire. If she had done this, all three would have likely perished. But she could not change what she had done then, now. Or—she did not believe so. It did not feel as though she could.
Her father’s line plopped into the stream several meters downstream of her own. “When we arrive at Garreg Mach, Lady Rhea will try to use you,” he said. “She’s as eager to get her hands on you as she was twenty years ago. I don’t think we can escape this time, but one of those kids might help us get some distance.”
Byleth watched the bobber on the end of her fishing line. “Is it important to distance ourselves from the archbishop?”
Her father’s reply was some time in coming. “I’m not going to tell you what to do. You’re a grown woman and can make your own choices. But I’d be more comfortable if you left yourself an out from Lady Rhea’s good graces.”
Byleth considered. Her father did not like the archbishop. He did not trust her. Although he had not said so openly, he had been clearer on this point than he was on many subjects. Byleth had never met Lady Rhea and could not judge whether her father’s opinion was justified, but she could not discount his experience or his instincts. They had saved her and their entire band many times.
Her father had not always told her of the danger when they worked for untrustworthy and vindictive nobles or dignitaries in the past. Such people often had spies. But when they had been in contract with people of the kind, he had often used the strategy he advised now—used the temporary nature of mercenary loyalty and employment to his advantage, attached himself to a secondary or subsequent employer, and made an exit quietly from the dangerous employer, without giving rise to an enmity.
And yet . . . “If you return to the Knights of Seiros, you cannot escape Lady Rhea’s authority.”
“You let me worry about that. It’s my hope that if I rejoin the knights, it might take some of the pressure off you.”
Byleth felt a tug at her line. She battled a trout to land, killed it with a river stone, put the fish in the basket, and rebaited her hook before answering her father again. “The solution you recommend is a half-measure. You say Lady Rhea will try to use me. I could perhaps make it more difficult for her by swearing allegiance to the Kingdom, the Empire, or the Alliance. But each of the students with us now would also use me, given the opportunity.”
Her father landed his own fish. He looked troubled. “That’s as may be. It’s a mercenary’s lot, to be used by others. The trick is to choose who does the using well. These kids—I’m pretty sure they mean well, but even if they don’t, they’re young. Inexperienced. You’ll have the advantage of them, which is something you won’t with Lady Rhea. What do you make of them?”
Her father was the one who had taught her to observe and read men and women in a moment, so Byleth replied without hesitation. “The princess is readiest to take me on. I believe she already has a vision for the role she wishes me to take among her retainers. I do not think it will be passive.”
“She’s ambitious. Good,” her father said, complimenting her insight, Byleth thought, and not the princess’s aspirations. “And His Highness?”
Byleth shook her head. “Prince Dimitri has no role ready-made for me; his wish to hire me is born of gratitude for the service I have done him and a more professional evaluation of my skill—he is the most experienced warrior of the three. Yet there is reason for caution in attaching myself to his service: his control is too practiced for his age, and he exercises it for a reason.”
“Been a lot of rebellion and unrest in Faerghus the past five years,” her father observed. “The boy saw his father and stepmother and entire retinue killed when he was younger, and violent responses to the outrage since. His uncle has already put him in command of a few select ventures. The prince has a reputation for being merciful to refugees, and even to the Duscur in general, but some say he’s exceptionally brutal on the battlefield itself.”
Byleth thought about this in light of her own observations the night of the bandit attack. The prince had killed with dispatch and efficiency, and he had been confident in doing so. By contrast, Her Highness had shown much more fear. Claude von Riegan had shown little fear as such but much more awareness of their danger than the prince—more caution. She could not recall any particular brutality in the prince’s approach to the bandits, but reflecting on it now, perhaps the control that she had noted in him, the shadow of darkness that she had seen, was evidence of the capacity in him.
“I think he’s a good man,” she said finally. “And certainly, he wishes to be and be seen as one. But there is possibility that he struggles.”
“And you see him as a man, not a boy,” her father noted.
Byleth felt another tug at her fishing line. She attended to the fish and then to the line. They needed to catch two or three more fish before they could head back to camp. “It is the way he sees himself,” she said after she was done.
Her father hummed. “And Duke Riegan’s heir?” he asked.
“The aptest politician of the three,” Byleth answered, “as well as the most strategic thinker. I think he is the least likely to take offense at any perceived slight, but he is the one among them I think would make the most dangerous enemy. He is also the weakest prospect for employment. He has less to offer and is least interested in hiring. He only wishes not to lose an advantage to the Kingdom or the Empire.”
“Aye,” her father agreed, “he’s the one to watch, you ask me. Duke Riegan’s son dies under mysterious circumstances last year, and then all of a sudden, this boy pops up out of nowhere. Presumably the son of Lady Tiana, but no one’s saying where she is, where she went, where Claude came from, or why. Least of all the boy himself. But his style—clothes and arms—speaks for him. It isn’t native to Fódlan. He trained in Almyra, or in the border towns. Used to being least among his company—that’s why he has different manners than the others—but if he’s content to stay there, I never learned to read a mark.”
“He dips his arrows in a homemade poison,” Byleth added. “And he’s always smiling, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.”
Her father landed two more fish, and Byleth one, before they spoke again. They were seated by the river, gutting and cleaning their catch, when her father said, “There are reasons to choose and avoid all three of those kids. If it was me picking our next prospective employer—” he stopped. “But it isn’t. I’m going to sign on with Lady Rhea and the Knights of Seiros. She’ll want to give you a position at the monastery too. Can’t say what it’ll be, but if we’re lucky, you’ll be able to assert some degree of independence from the Church. And if you ally yourself more to one or the other of the kids, you should receive some measure of protection. In the end, it’ll come down to what you want and what you’re willing to do, and where you think Lady Rhea or these kids might take you.”
And choosing no one would not be an option. It wasn’t necessary to say so. The archbishop would claim her, or she would have to swear allegiance to one of these young lords—no older than she was and very probably younger—and to whatever agenda they had. Trust in the princess’s uncertain ambitions, in the prince’s uncertain temper, or Claude von Riegan’s uncertain character. The Empire had wealth to offer, the Kingdom influence. There was power available in the Leicester Alliance; the round table gave many nobles more of a say than elsewhere in Fódlan, and some merchants had begun gaining sway as well. There was no reason a talented mercenary might not do as well or better. The princess had vision and desire. His Highness: strength and experience. Claude von Riegan: wit and maneuver.
Byleth placed the last of her fish back in the basket, knelt to wash her hands in the stream, and stood. She knew which of them she would declare allegiance to. Her choice, viewed one way, was not the most practical a mercenary could make. In others, it was the best choice possible. But it was the only one she could countenance.
“I will stay near you if I can,” she told her father. “I will commit to no person and no cause until it becomes necessary. Out of respect for you, I will hold myself most distant from Lady Rhea and the Knights of Seiros, but I should be on good terms with everyone. So—if I must choose—”
Her father grunted, catching her drift. “You’ll go with the Alliance.” He plucked the flask from his belt, unscrewed the top, and took a long drink. Then he sighed, expelling liquor fumes into the air, where they dispersed. “It’s the smart decision,” he admitted. “Less likely to lead to glory or long-term security, but if the von Riegan boy wants you least, he’ll be least bothered losing you in the future. He’s comparatively unestablished, so you can get more credit with him, but the other two are unfamiliar with him, and because they’re young, they don’t see yet that he’s a force to be reckoned with. The Kingdom-Empire rivalry goes back centuries, too. Both their Highnesses are less likely to feel threatened or insulted by your choosing von Riegan than their counterparts.” Her father bent down and shouldered their basket. “I still don’t like it,” he said. “The kid’s too smart, smoother and slipperier than both the others put together. You can’t exactly say the Alliance is a bigger pit of vipers than the Kingdom or the Empire—they’re all about the same there, except most of the Alliance nobles don’t even pretend that they have honor or obligations. I figure if anyone can handle it, you can. Just don’t let that fast-talking kid fast-talk you.”
There was a new layer to her father’s voice Byleth didn’t understand. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Are you unhappy? I thought you wanted me to work for one of the students.”
Her father sighed again. “Not exactly, kiddo. I’d rather you didn’t have to work for anyone apart from me just yet. Unfortunately, that’s not an option anymore. Just—keep that steady head on top your shoulders, okay? And you keep thinking of Claude von Riegan as an employer—a politician and a strategist. Don’t go looking at him like a man like His Highness.”
Byleth blinked. “But he is a man.”
Her father slung the arm that wasn’t carrying their fish basket around her shoulders and squeezed. Byleth didn’t appreciate hugs the way her father and many of the other mercenaries she knew seemed to, but since she had no objection to them either and it was good for the morale of others, she often allowed them, so long as they were companionable like her father’s. Since a couple of years before her first bloodmoon, there had been those who had wanted and even tried for more than a hug, and in less than innocent ways. Her father had taught her to hurt those men.
“Ah, never change, kid,” he told her. “You know your old man. I’m probably worried for nothing. You’re strong and smart. No plausible little bastard from nowhere’s turning your head, and since you aren’t going with His Highness, I’m guessing you don’t go for pretty, either. Good. Good.”
Byleth understood then. “You thought one of them might be able to seduce me?” she asked.
Her father looked down at her. “Some of their little competition’s tended that way, though I doubt you’ve realized it. Even with Her Highness.” He paused, then chuckled. “Sometimes especially with Her Highness. In some ways, it’s just another tool in a potential employer’s arsenal. It can be good for nobles if their underlings are a little in love. Besides, you’re all of a certain age, and you’re pretty as well as heroic. Something to watch for: a noble might admire a mercenary. Sometimes they can even seem to forget what they are and what we are—your Academy students are right about there right now. But it never lasts. Remember that.”
Byleth considered this. She hadn’t realized the children from the Academy might be vying for her favor as well as for her favor, yet now her father mentioned it, she could see that it might be so. She also understood why her father might have wanted a drink when she announced she was most drawn to Claude von Riegan. She too had seen some of their band ruined in the past, their careers and lives destroyed by seductive or particularly manipulative employers—either those who had trifled with members of their band and then retreated back behind class boundaries or those who had used the mercenary’s feelings to advantage to get them to agree to do work they would never otherwise consent to. She could see any of the three students from the academy inspiring their underlings, under different circumstances—that Dimitri might move and charm them and Edelgard could flatter. But if any of the three had the seducer’s gift—or inclined that way most naturally—it was Claude.
But now her father was the one who didn’t understand. Byleth attempted to explain. “I don’t . . . feel . . . what other girls feel when they see a charming man or woman. I don’t believe I can.” She laid a hand over her heart, or where the heart was in every other person she knew. “They look to attach me, and I see . . . skill, maneuver. Technique. I admire, or I don’t, but I think only: ‘how do I respond? What’s my strategy?’ You shouldn’t worry,” she added.
But though she didn’t feel anything like other girls felt any time, when her father looked back at her, the expression on his face wasn’t worry—it was half between what he had taught her was “relief” and “sadness.” “Good,” he said again. “Let me keep you a little longer, hey, kid? It’d be especially nice not to lose you to one of these noble upstarts. Let’s get back to the others.”
And they did.