Chapter Text
The Officers Academy of Garreg Mach Monastery was the most prestigious military academy in all of Fódlan. Noble heirs and even commoners who could afford the tuition were forged into the most distinguished of warriors and the most brilliant of tacticians. Imperial Year 1180 was even more notable for the fact that the heirs of all three of the Fódlan ruling houses were attending the academy at the same time.
Dimitri Alexandre Blayddid of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, the only son of the late King Lambert, the resilient survivor of the Tragedy of Duscur. Claude von Riegan of the Leicester Alliance, the unexpected heir of presiding sovereign duke, Lord Oswald, who managed to charm the Five Great Lords with his silver tongue into allowing him a period of grace upon his succession as Duke Riegan before his position as the sovereign duke was contested in a traditional vote, on account of his grandfather getting on in years. Even those who held reservations about the young man suddenly appearing at Oswald’s side, such as Count Gloucester and Margrave Edmund, recognized the young man’s savviness and talent. And, of course, there was Edelgard von Hresvelg, the crown princess of the Adrestian Empire, which hadn’t sent its heirs to Garreg Mach in years. With such a coincidental meeting of future rulers of the world united by the Goddess and the one thousandth celebration of the completion of the Garreg Mach Monastery in sight, everyone expected peace to reign across the continent like nothing before.
Surrounded by people of such high stations, as well as many other nobles, sons of wealthy merchants and future knights with the support of their entire communities behind them, Cyril, a mere war orphan from the neighbouring Almyra, a stranger in a strange land with little connections other than the noble house he was forced to serve for a year, felt inadequate. His academy uniform that denoted him as a student of the Golden Deer house, did not hide his complexion, which only gained him scoffs from students and knights alike, even harsher than the ones that his house leader, Claude, received. He may have been trying to play it down as a commoner look, but Cyril knew it almost as soon as he saw him - Claude was of Almyran descent himself. The hairstyle didn’t really help him. What others dismissed as a cute braid, Cyril recognized as an Almyran war braid, to be cut off when a man first went to war. His was gone years ago, and Claude’s was peculiarly long. A privilege, he supposed, that belonged to the nobles, such as the Riegans.
The point was, he had nothing to show for himself. His time at Garreg Mach for the last two years used to be filled with doing work around the monastery, trying to repay the priceless gift of freedom that Lady Rhea, the archbishop of the Church of Seiros that resided in Garreg Mach, gave him. That said, she wasn’t the only one he was indebted to. To a smaller degree, his debt lied with two professors, the lovable couple of a hawk-eyed assassin, Catherine, and a tan-skinned, likely half-Almyran, just like Claude, warlock, Basil. Those two accompanied Rhea on that fateful visit to the Dukedom of Goneril and impressed Lord Holst on the battlefield against Almyra, putting him in a jolly mood that helped Lady Rhea negotiate Cyril’s release into her custody. Even after they arrived back at Garreg Mach, the couple, the Antirrhinums, did not forsake him. If anyone was messing with him, preventing him from doing his work by being obnoxious about his heritage, the two professors, in their particular manner, were standing by to intervene. Only when Cyril truly couldn’t handle it did they actually do it, which he appreciated. They pushed him closer with the most notable of the Knight of Seiros, like Sir Alois, the second of command of the order, Thunderstrike Catherine, one of their most renowned warriors carrying one of the Fódlani sacred magical crests and the extremely powerful Heroes’ Relic of Thunderbrand, or with Shamir, the master archer who tutored Cyril in the art of bow and arrow. And, just a few months ago, quite soon after the year started, the couple, along with all those knights that grew close to him, threw in their gold to afford Cyril’s tuition at the Officers Academy. Belatedly, as they didn't make it in time for the beginning of the year, but just in time that extra tutoring put him in line with his classmates. Yet, the boy felt he had nothing to show for it.
He couldn’t help but build his battle style off Claude, who tried to connect with a fellow Almyran, not that the man seemed to recognize Cyril's awareness of Claude's own heritage. Even then, both his skills with a bow and with an axe were inferior to those of the noble heir, and Claude had also recently passed his qualifications exam to ride a wyvern as well. No amount of sleepless nights at the library helped him excel like some of the other students, not when he couldn’t even read some of the complex materials that were used in class. One of his classmates, Lysithea von Ophelia, had been assisting him with learning to read and write Fódlani text even before he became her classmate; Professor Basil, whose entire trade was reading the books of reason magic, assisted as well. Still, Cyril felt that what he was doing was never enough, just like his best never felt enough as he scrubbed the floors, lit the candles, fed the horses and did a thousand other chores that kept the monastery running.
However, an opportunity presented itself unexpectedly, as those often did. On his way to the library, Cyril heard Professor Hayden and Professor Julian, the instructors that the Golden Deer had on wielding bows and axes respectively, converse about an unusual matter as the two men came down from the second floor of the monastery from what he believed was a regular faculty meeting.
“I can’t believe Hanneman and Basil roped us into that chess discussion. I don’t even know how to play that fancy game!” the gruff man with a rough stubble, Julian Andras, sighed, shaking his head as if to fend off the impending headache. “Did you have to vote for arranging that tournament? They're going to go overboard to overcompensate about that whole Jeritza fiasco, plus whatever happened at the chapel with Aelfric, I can already feel that it’s going to be an all-around mess.”
“I think it’s a fine idea of a sporting event,” Hayden responded, a surprisingly quiet man, given his impressive stature and gruesome scars on arms and face that painted him a fearsome brawler and not quite the graceful archer that he was. “The Battle of Eagle and Lion in two weeks will test the students’ battle prowess, but a chess tournament could test their tactical abilities.”
“How did Manuela put it… Ah, yes. ‘Any person can be a pawn, but a pawn is incomparable to a human being’. Unusually profound of her, she must have had a good bottle before that meeting. She had to for that proposition of hers. Yet, she’s right. From what I’ve seen, the game’s rules of engagement are much simpler than those of a true battlefield.”
“Simplified, true, but they allow you to see how your opponent thinks, analyze his methods-” the archer was interrupted, before he could finish that thought.
“Alright, alright, I give up,” the axe-wielder laughed. “Let’s go to the mess hall, it’s going to empty my thoughts and fill my belly. …and, maybe you could tell me how’s it going with Minerva, you sly dog! Still keeping Hanneman up at night?”
An undignified squawk was the answer to the man’s boisterous guffaw.
“Julian!”
***
There were two tables put out on the grounds of the academy that lay in front of the three classrooms. Those were desks where students could register for the first Officers Academy Chess Tournament, as organized by the esteemed faculty of the academy. Many people considered writing their names in, but for many that resolve shattered when first, Princess Edelgard signed in on the top of all lists, and after her, the ever loyal retainer, Hubert von Vestra. The man’s dark aura and a cold glare scared off many souls who weren’t ready to sit across him for however long a chess match would take. Not that it would take long, as the man was already renowned for his tactical skills in the field missions that the Black Eagles house had undertaken across the lands of Fódlan. Not only that, but one of the tactics and strategy professors, also known as the authority professor, Ethan Cigfran, had nothing but good words about the three brightest students from the houses of Black Eagles and Blue Lions that he taught, those being Edelgard, Hubert and Dimitri, naturally. In addition, everyone knew of the man’s playful jealousy toward Professor Byleth Eisner, the head of the Golden Deer house, who, in Ethan’s opinion, had the opportunity to work with the most prospective of the three rulers when it came to the matters of authority. Claude was known as the Schemer, and there was a reason for that moniker.
Naturally, Claude also signed in, right after Hubert, throwing a smug grin the mage’s way. It was well-known that there was an unofficial chess club that included the unlikeliest combination of people who occasionally gathered attention playing a few games and chatting like good friends. Aside from Hubert and Claude, there was also Sylvain Jose Gautier, whom most believed to be an empty-headed womanizer, and yet he put up an admirable resistance to Hubert’s tactics, even if he never managed to secure a decisive victory against the man. There was a noble who couldn’t live without the game, the incarnate of a good part of stereotypes about the nobility - Lorenz Hellman Gloucester of the Golden Deer. Contrary to popular opinion, Lorenz… wasn’t actually as stuck up as one would assume from first meeting with the man, Cyril learned. He was thoughtful, and his seeming condescension came from the place of dissonance of values and his will to protect the people of his lands that he believed he was supposed to serve in return for their respect.
There were other people belong with them, and it was no surprise that the entire unofficial chess club signed in. Slowly, the number of players kept going up, from six, to nine, to thirteen across, as some found and lost their resolve to approach the desks to write down their names over the course of the single day of the registration.
Cyril had experience with the game of chess, surprisingly enough. It was a favorite of Professor Basil, and the man liked to play it with various residents of the monastery, with a good track record as well, except for the finest minds, like those of Professor Byleth or Professor Hanneman. A surprise would be if Cyril didn’t pick it up at some point. The boy believed that after their games against each other the warlock professor tried to spare his feelings, telling Cyril that he was a natural at the game. Unfortunately, Professor Catherine, who would have told him the truth, was rarely available for a match. But, perhaps, just perhaps, he truly was good at chess to an extent. After all, what was the worst that could happen if he lost against the very first opponent?
“I’d like to register for the tournament,” Cyril said, as he approached one of the desks. The monk’s serene face turned slightly sour at the sight of him, and the deer realized it was going to be one of those days.
“I suppose you have the right,” the man said slowly, but moved the quill and the inkpot away when Cyril reached for them. “But there’s the thing. The participating student has to write down his house, name and surname. Seteth's orders. A shame that you cannot register without a proper surname.”
That was a mockery, and they both knew it. Almyrans had no standing tradition of surnames, differenating themselves by their fathers. Like one would say "Lorenz, the son of Erwin" or "Lysithea, the daughter of Raul" for his fellow students. Cyril could already hear whispers behind his back from overexcited gossips of the Blue Lions and the Black Eagles. His one rare ambition was being snuffed out and mocked before it ever had a chance to grow. At that moment Cyril would have liked to scoff at Seteth with his nagging that he was too narrow-minded about his goals in life. What was the point of distracting himself from his main objectives, be it studying or cleaning the monastery, if in Fódlan most people would throw sand in his wheels? It was even more ironic that the man's own orders were used to throw sand in Cyril's wheels.
“You could borrow mine. There’s nothing about the need to actually prove that the student wrote down his real name,” a man’s voice resounded next to him as the monk at the desk turned a shade paler. Turning around, Cyril saw the man he deeply respected, Professor Basil Antirrhinum. As usual, he was in his dark warlock robe adorned with the patterns reminiscent of the church’s designs. A sharp smile on his face, and a steel feather-like accessory, rumored to be either a dagger or a quill, adorning his bushy dark hair, he seemed to dare the man registering the students to contradict him. The monk relented, moving the quill and the inkpot back in Cyril’s reach.
Somehow, writing down “Cyril Antirrhinum, Golden Deer” on the list felt meaningful in a way that a simple use of loophole shouldn’t have been. Nonetheless, given the professor’s smile, now soft and directed at Cyril, whatever it was that carried such unexplainable weight, was, probably, a good thing.
In all of his time at the monastery, Seteth had seen his fair share of questionable decisions that the archbishop, Lady Rhea, had taken. One of the latest of which was the hire of Byleth Eisner, the Ashen Demon, to replace Acheron Lethe Phlegethon as the tactics and strategy professor and the prospective Head of House for the students of Golden Deer. It wasn’t a bad decision, per se, as the cowardly viscount abandoned his charges, the three heirs of Fódlan, mind you, at the first sight of bandits just before the academic year could begin. Objectively, they couldn’t have entrusted the safety of their many students to such a man. But there were plenty of Knights of Seiros to choose from, instead of a mercenary with such a dubious reputation. It wasn’t like there wasn’t a precedent. Prompto Argent, one of the monks of Garreg Mach and a dutiful Knight of Seiros standing guard at the monastery, read faith magic lectures for the Blue Lions and the Golden Deer.
At the very least, Seteth could admit that the risk paid off, as Professor Byleth proved to be a capable instructor, beloved by the students, ensuring their safety in the field and seemingly getting results. Seteth could even admit that the recent appointment of the man’s father, Jeralt, as a temporary general combat instructor, was sound. After all, the previous professor, Jeritza von Hrym, had blindsided them all being the Death Knight that conspired with the warmongering Western Church, and there was little time to find a proper replacement even among the knights as the heretics forced the Central Church to take immediate action to assist the Faerghus lords in repelling their attempts to instigate rebellions across the Holy Kingdom.
However! Just because Seteth could admit that some of Lady Rhea’s gambits paid off, it didn’t mean that the one she was currently suggesting would. In fact, this one in particular had a great potential to backfire at them with the most disastrous of consequences that even Seteth himself could not fully predict.
“Please, Your Grace, I implore you to reconsider,” the green-haired man pleaded with the ethereal figure that was Lady Rhea. “This tournament is supposed to be a minor event, something to relax the students before the coming Battle of Eagle and Lion. If every person you send out the invitations actually arrives, we would have on our hands…”
“An international summit of nobility unseen since the days of the construction of Fódlan's Locket,” the woman said with a smile. “Almost a century passed since then. A peaceful meeting for a friendly competition, celebrating the feats of the growing generation, would cement all that we have accomplished throughout the years.”
“I still do not like the idea,” Seteth shook his head. “The resentment between them remains. But I suppose I cannot stop you. Might as well ensure that everything proceeds as smoothly as it can.”
It would fall to Seteth to pen most of the letter that would soon be sent to the different corners of Fódlan to invite the lords and ladies into the sanctuary of Garreg Mach. The Great Chess Tournament of the Officers Academy, where the brightest minds would compete in a sport testing their intelligence, was upon them.
Seteth was not certain how the latest faculty meeting devolved into that. He only knew that Hanneman and Basil were to blame. If there was the one thing that Hanneman liked just as much as his beloved crest research or monocle polishing, that would be chess, the game he loved since his days as an Adrestian nobleman. And Basil went around the monastery regularly with a chessboard, challenging monks and knights to a match when he had too much free time to spare. Blessedly, they were all spared from that for the last month, as Basil and his wife had been sentenced to intense community service by Lady Rhea. The couple had uncovered the identity of Jeritza as the Death Knight, the serial kidnapper, and, under the guise of the dark, ironically, kidnapped and incarcerated the man himself in one of the hidden dungeons of the monastery. Seteth would have been grateful, as the man was, by all accounts, planning to add Flayn, his beloved sister, to his list of victims. Yet, the two had completely forgone notifying authorities of the monastery, leading to tension-packed weeks of searching and investigating the occurrence. The couple had a somewhat good reason, admittedly, as it seemed that Jeritza’s allies under the banner of a mysterious Flame Emperor, remained hidden among their numbers at Garreg Mach, but it didn’t make the incident less of a mess.
In any case, it seemed that a month of chess-less existence stimulated Basil to an absurd degree, as one of Hanneman’s off-handed chess remarks prompted the man to go on a spiel, Hanneman joining in to form a discussion, both of them dragging in other professors and Seteth himself. Before anyone knew it, Byleth remarked on the unofficial chess club that some students had formed and someone, perhaps the tipsy Manuela, if Seteth wasn’t mistaken, suggested to arrange a tournament for students and let them show themselves. Most throught it a good idea, truly, himself included, to distract the students from the stress of a betrayal and the coming grand mock battle. However, Seteth was completely certain that it was Manuela who also suggested making it a grand production with grand guests visiting from all the lands, the proud parents watching their beloved kids play and prove their gift of intelligence. Seteth was the first one to rebuke the diva’s suggestion, with Jeralt close behind, as they all realized how much of a wreck it would be if the nobles of different nations gathered in one place like that. The faculty voted on arranging the tournament proper and then on bringing up the idea of gathering the participating students’ parents and guardians to Lady Rhea. On this matter, Seteth’s side was woefully outvoted, somehow.
There was a small hope of the archbishop not actually considering that second proposal.
“Unfortunately, strange minds think alike,” Seteth mumbled to himself, as he left the audience chamber to visit the library in order to gather relevant records. He had a grueling task in front of him.
***
As Seteth composed letters to be delivered to the noble houses, whose scions would take part in the coming chess tournament, he considered that their presence wouldn’t necessarily be as bad as he already imagined.
Unless they actually declared war on each other, rowdy bickering nobles, now that he thought about it, could hardly compare to the mayhem that was going on in Garreg Mach last month. On one hand, there were the Antirrhinums, who did kidnap a professor and unwittingly caused a monastery-wide emergency, no matter the intentions. On the other hand, their scheme caused Professor Byleth and the three lords wander into the Abyss during said search. In the underground town hidden beneath Garreg Mach, the group got entangled in plans of Cardinal Aelfric. The man intended to use the legendary Chalice of Beginnings to resurrect Sitri Eisner, Byleth’s mother, as it happened. And Aelfric actually tried to kill their students, contrary to the two professors. Catherine and Basil promptly came clean and surrendered to the judgement of the church the moment that students got involved and were put in danger. Jeralt arguing with Lady Rhea about Sitri’s secret tomb in the Abyss where Aelfric found her oddly pristine body in the first place was just a cherry on top, and Seteth considered himself lucky he wasn’t there to witness that mess of a conversation.
If there was one thing that Seteth was grateful for with all this business, it was that all of that was in the past. The Death Knight no longer roamed the monastery under the guise of a professor, the Antirrhinums served their sentence of community service and were back to regular teaching, his dearest sister was safe and sound, Cardinal Aelfric was incarcerated thanks to the efforts of Professor Byleth and the students accompanying him, and the Abyss had a new custodian.
Seteth knew that Rhea considered dissolving the Ashen Wolves, the hidden fourth house of the academy, as the intention behind their formation had been corrupted by the very man who brought it together in the first place. However, several professors came forward with their own thoughts on the matter. Professor Ethan, one of the few regulars to the dark underground streets of the Abyss, Professor Byleth, who had intimate knowledge of the Ashen Wolves, and the disgraced Professor Faust, Ethan’s predecessor of Brigid descent, persuaded the archbishop to reconsider the dissolution. The men told of the time they spent there over the years, assisting in various ways to support the community beneath the monastery. The three tacticians insisted that there were bright youths in need of guidance, and instead of dissolving the fourth house and leaving its students directionless, the church should instead cultivate and formalize it.
“Here are the records, Seteth. Hah. It’s surprising that you don’t have everything in order in your surface library,” Yuri Leclerc, the house leader of the Ashen Wolves, laughed, as he delivered records on noble houses that were misplaced into the Shadow Library of the Abyss instead of the library in the monastery proper, before turning to leave. The cheeky schemer with lavender hair was the only tournament participant representing the Ashen Wolves house. If anyone doubted that the students of the Abyss were a real house, Yuri’s involvement in an official school-wide event was proof to the contrary. Some still scoffed at them, especially in the light of Ashen Wolves not being involved in the Battle of Eagle and Lion, not conventionally, that is. House leaders could recruit a number of the Abyssians to assist them and, to make things fair, all Heads of Houses would observe the battle from afar, along with Lady Rhea, Seteth himself and other members of the faculty, instead of joining the battle, not that any of them protested. In fact, Byleth seemed to like the idea of it being more fair to the students, without a teacher to assist them on the battlefield.
As Seteth considered the the young man whose time at the Officers Academy was cut short by unfortunate circumstances, he thought that, perhaps, those underground deserved a second chance. Professor Faust was reinstated, since, the noble heir that got the man fired on flimsy pretense of him being an assassin from Brigid, was no longer there to pressure them, and those of faculty who knew the man before, rejoiced at the return of a beloved colleague. The man became the Head of House for the wolves, and actually took part in the voting about the chess tournament, voting for both the tournament and the invitation of the nobles. Seteth felt that the man was feeling vindictive and hoping for a chance of meeting the student that got him out of his job. Seteth supposed, there was an off chance that she had a child, but it’d be best for everyone if their paths didn’t cross.
“Now, back to business,” Seteth sighed as he double-checked some of the names and relations to make sure he sent invitations to the most optimal and peaceful members of the noble houses. With a sigh, the man resigned that some houses were tiresome enough that even their nicest representatives were walking powerkegs, just waiting to explode in a potential political catastrophe. “Greetings, esteemed Baron Gillingr…”
When one ventured into the Garreg Mach Monastery, they would go through the small market right in front of its gates. And, inevitably, to enter, one would need to pass by the gatekeepers stationed at the entrance, noble protectors of Garreg Mach and its residents, the banes of bandits bold enough to cause trouble in the immediate vicinity of the holy site. Their job was more than just standing there like a ceremonial royal guard, anyone could tell you.
One of the gatekeepers was young Kyle Ardieu. In fact, the man wasn’t just a gatekeeper, but the Gatekeeper, who unknowingly served an inspiration for many a squire in the holy order of the Knights of Seiros and would surely die of embarrassment if anyone actually told him he was their hero. Most days, he had nothing to report to his superiors or to the passing professors, though this year so far had been nothing but one exciting event after another at the monastery.
On the Great Tree Moon, a professor was suddenly replaced. You wouldn’t get Kyle to say anything uncouth about the former Professor Acheron, but he would happily tell you how Professor Byleth, his replacement, was superior to the man in every possible way. In charisma, in the care the man put in his job, in fighting style and in his looks. That was, unless you got Kyle to blush discussing the professor like that. On the Blue Sea Moon, a group of the heretical and warmongering Western Church soldiers infiltrated the monastery, managing to pass even the Gatekeeper’s watchful eye to enter the Holy Mausoleum on the Goddess’s Rite of Rebirth to claim the coffin of Holy Seiros herself, yet only unleashed the long-lost Sword of the Creator upon themselves, with Byleth Eisner wielding it, bearing the legendary crest of the King of Liberation and vanquishing the enemy with his loyal students of the Golden Deer house at his side. There was no end to the man’s feats.
Following that, the Horsebow Moon revealed the agent who allowed the infiltrators into the monastery. That was the Officers Academy’s own Professor Jeritza, the general combat instructor whose identity was also that of the Death Knight, the most fearsome ally of the Western Church who could not be subdued and who also abducted people in the vicinity of Garreg Mach in the dark of the night. The man himself was kidnapped by a couple of professors who managed to uncover his identity, causing great commotion at the monastery, as they did not bother notifying the knights of all the facts. Kyle wouldn’t tell you that unless pressed, but he, on the suggestion of Professor Byleth, led an investigation into the matter, being the one who, assisted by students of the Black Eagles house, found the missing professor and unraveled the conspiracy. Still, Jeritza escaped with the help of the mysterious Flame Emperor, and that weighed on the Gatekeeper as much as the initial Western Church infiltration did. He doubted his fitness for his post, yet he still strived to do the best he could, to be the best gatekeeper one could imagine.
Now the days of the Wyvern Moon were upon them. The wind grew stronger and the nights grew colder. Students who were used to a warmer climate, mostly those coming from Leicester and from Southern Adrestia, had already taken to wearing their coats outside. In a little more than a week, the annual school-wide battle, the Battle of Eagle and Lion would be held, pushing the students of the academy to their limits. But today was a Sunday on the eve of a newly established week-long Officers Academy Chess Tournament, the latest initiative of the eccentric faculty. And while it was initially expected to be a modest affair, somehow it was becoming one of the biggest events in Fódlan that year.
Kyle smiled to himself as he saw Professor Byleth making the rounds around the monastery as he was prone to do on Sundays after sleeping in on Saturdays, barely showing his face out of his quarters. The blank-faced man was one of those who didn’t care much for the colder weather, walking around in his regular black coat that, admittedly, looked warm.
“Greetings, Professor! Nothing to report!” the Gatekeeper beamed, saluting the tactician, who nodded in response. “Have you noticed all the visitors to the monastery? The academy invited the families of the chess tournament participants. I’ve already greeted Viscount Menja with his wife from Adrestia, Duke Fraldarius from Faerghus and even Duke Riegan! You know, the sovereign duke of Leicester! They said he was so ill he could hardly attend their conferences, but he seemed to be doing pretty well.”
“Felix doesn’t participate in the tournament,” Byleth said flatly, noting the mention of the father of one of the Blue Lions students, Felix Hugo Fraldarius. Kyle rubbed the back of his head, considering the implied question.
“Well, you know how Prince Dimitri doesn’t have anyone left save his uncle, the Grand Duke in charge of Faerghus? It seems like he was too busy to attend, just like the Adrestian Emperor, but they both sent someone in their stead. Grand Duke Rufus sent Duke Fraldarius and the court mage, Cornelia, to support Dimitri. And Emperor Ionius sent Princess Edelgard’s maternal uncle, Lord Arundel,” the Gatekeeper said. Mention of Duke Fraldarius reminded him of something that he heard about the professor's monthly mission. "You've met with Duke Fraldarius's elder son too, didn't you? Lord Glenn wasn't with him, and I think he's back at the duchy, managing the region in Lord Rodrigue's absence. I know that most of the attending nobles have someone to keep things in check, like the Menjas' elder son or Baroness Dominic."
“You seem well educated on the matters of noble houses, young man,” a man came up behind Byleth. Had he not been in Kyle’s line of sight, he never would have heard him coming. Byleth did, however, stepping aside to turn and face the newest visitor. The man fixed the cape of his rich trickster uniform.
“Etzel von Ochs, good sirs,” the man introduced himself, and Kyle hurried to note his arrival in the list he was given. “My daughter is taking part in that tournament. Her kidnapping was… hard, so I’m taking every chance I get to see her. You wouldn’t know where I can find her, by any chance?”
The man’s daughter, Monica von Ochs, studied at the academy last year, but disappeared or, to be precise, was kidnapped before her graduation. This year she was returned by a young mercenary who rescued her from the fort of what Kyle believed to be a fort in the County of Rowe, occupied by the Western Church. The poor girl had amnesia and could hardly remember anything pertaining to her time in captivity, but was reinstated as a student of the Black Eagles house. The mercenary himself, Shez, was offered a place in the academy, free of charge, and he now attended lessons as a member of the Blue Lions, growing close with Prince Dimitri.
“The academy grounds,” Byleth answered, and the baron tipped his hat gratefully, before going to meet his beloved daughter.
“Ah, the love for your kid…” Gatekeeper chuckled, watching the man go, before looking back at the professor. One wouldn’t know the difference, but between their regular chats while he was standing guard, the tea parties he was invited to and other occasional meetings, Kyle learned enough to recognize that Byleth wasn’t really looking at anything now, his thoughts faraway.
“Are you thinking about the events of the last month, Professor?” Kyle asked worriedly, the man seemingly snapping back and focusing on the person he was talking to. Professor Byleth had confided in him, and the Gatekeeper felt great honor in that, about the events that were parallel to his investigation and the fight against Professor Catherine and her mercenaries that he and the Black Eagles took part in. In search for the traces of then-missing Professor Jeritza, Byleth, the three royal heirs and some other students went into the Abyss, the secret underground town beneath Garreg Mach. Along with the Ashen Wolves, unofficial students of the academy, the group was tricked into recovering the Chalice of Beginning, said to be able to resurrect the dead, by the cardinal in charge of the Abyss, Aelfric. The Gatekeeper never expected to learn the name of a single cardinal in his lifetime, those being the best kept secret of Garreg Mach, but, well, he had already seen and heard many improbable things this year.
Back then, as Byleth told his story over a cup of tea, the Gatekeeper could hear the professor’s voice, as hard as it was to believe, wobble, and the cup in his hand shook ever so slightly. The Rite of Rising that Aelfric tried to enact, was aimed to resurrect Sitri, Aelfric’s dearest friend and Byleth’s own mother, who sacrificed her heart so that Byleth, her stillborn son, could live. The rite failed, and Aelfric was apprehended, but in the aftermath Sitri’s body was transformed into a horrific umbral beast that the man and his students had to take down. Even worse, it conjured up illusionary enemies that looked just like Sitri to assist it. Byleth didn’t naturally emote much, Kyle learned, even if the man smiled more often nowadays compared to his first months at the monastery. Still, he was shaken, and even if he hid it from his loyal students, he let himself grieve, both in Kyle’s quiet company in the evening, and alone, deep at night.
“You should take it easy, Professor,” Kyle said softly. “Everybody has the tournament on their minds, no one will fault you if you take some time for yourself and don’t attend all the events.”
“My students need me,” Byleth shook his head. The Gatekeeper wasn’t really surprised. The professor was taking his position extremely seriously, and his students took precedent above whatever could be troubling the man himself. Kyle admired the dedication that he held, it seemed similar to the pride that Kyle himself held for his status of a gatekeeper. “...but I would appreciate company.”
***
As it happened, in the evening Kyle was reassigned to guard the reception hall of the monastery where all the arrivals, as well as the sixteen chess tournament participants, the faculty and other students as the staff of the monastery gathered to hear Lady Rhea announce the start of the tournament. While the archbishop had yet to arrive, Kyle saw the many nobles who arrived from all corners of Fódlan tend to their children. The imperial nobility was overwhelmingly present compared to those from Leicester or from Faerghus. Some parents were overwhelmingly doting, as Kyle could see a short dark haired woman, Countess Gloucester, dote on her son, Lorenz, who belonged in Byleth’s Golden Deer house. Others were seemingly aloof, yet proud nonetheless, such as Marquis Vestra and his wife, both of whom stood like marble statues behind their heir, Hubert, a mage of the Black Eagles whose help was indispensable to Kyle during the investigation last month. Byleth remained by his side with ease, as Kyle’s side of the room was occupied by the faculty.
“Well, when I was talking about inviting the students’ parents, I mostly meant that as a joke,” Manuela, the Head of Black Eagles, chuckled awkwardly under the glares of her colleagues, most of whom weren’t at all pleased about the overabundance of nobles of various degrees of snottiness. “Come on! Half of you voted for it, you’re just as guilty as I am!”
“I just voted to see the mayhem,” Iustus von Barnabas, an esteemed fencer and the swordsmanship instructor for the Black Eagles and the Blue Lions, snorted. Some directed their glares at the shameless man. Professor Catherine, his counterpart for the Golden Deer and, since recently, for the Ashen Wolves, was glaring harder than most, but had to cut herself short to wave in the direction of her semi-official ward, Cyril, who was mingling with other students with her husband, Basil, watching over him.
“Regardless of our opinions, the archbishop made her decision and we have to abide by it,” Seteth, the archbishop’s right-hand man, noted, right as the lady herself finally stepped into the room from the Gatekeeper’s right, making him stand slightly straighter and taller than before. Seteth nodded at the woman. “Lady Rhea, everyone has gathered here in time.”
“Thank you, Seteth,” the archbishop said, before stepping forward to address the crowd, and their conversations died down. Everyone held a degree of respect for Lady Rhea, even if she wasn’t a universally beloved archbishop. While the Knights of Seiros were loyal to her, Kyle could see that Captain Jeralt held some reservations about her, and there was Cardinal Aelfric who went against her, as well as Professor Jeritza…
“Greetings, esteemed lords and ladies of Fódlan. It is my pleasure to welcome all of you in the walls of Garreg Mach. We have gathered here to celebrate the prowess of our youths. Children are the future, and the future rests upon their shoulders. The esteemed faculty of our Officers Academy arranged a tournament that would put the students’ tactical skills to the test, before the annual Battle of Eagle and Lion commences. Over the course of four days, sixteen students will take part in four rounds of chess matches. On the fifth day we will hold a celebration to honor the best players.
It’s been eighty years since so many great men of all Adrestia, Faerghus and Leicester came together in one place not to wage wars, but to work together to prevent one. And today we gather here in a celebration of peace. Let us enjoy the moment and cherish how far we’ve come since.”
The applause rang. From the most enthusiastic, to the most subdued, visitors and students of the Adrestian Empire, the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and the Leicester Alliance all savored the uplifting atmosphere of the upcoming friendly competition, sorely needed in the days of the insurgency of the Western Church who still persisted in their religious war.
If the event didn’t devolve into anything nefarious, Kyle would be extremely grateful.