Work Text:
Introduction
What follows is a digital recreation of a journal claimed to have been discovered shelved in the Shadow Library in Abyss below Garreg Mach Monastery sometime in the mid-17th century. It is widely believed, as its contents would suggest, to be the journal of Duke Felix Hugo Fraldarius (1162 - 1232), kept during the war years of 1182 - 1185 while in search of then Crown Prince, later King Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd I (1162 - 1230), first king of united Fódlan, while he was a fugitive from Imperial forces in what was known at the time as the “Faerghus Dukedom.”
Though the general consensus among scholars is that the article is legitimate, the time between its alleged creation and discovery, along with the general condition of the document, make this incredibly difficult if not outright impossible to confirm beyond doubt. To reflect academic consensus, the archivist acts under the assumption that the document did indeed belong to the Duke and that the writing therein is his. Illegible or unclear sections are noted as such. Editorializing is contained to the footnotes, where the archivist may, within reason, speculate on intended content, add historical context where necessary, or highlight notable and well-reasoned objections to the document’s authenticity.
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15 Red Wolf Moon 1182
Cold as all hell.1
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20 Red Wolf Moon 1182
A messenger from Fraldarius caught up with us with word from my old man. He believes our focus should be on moving south at any cost. The rest of the communication was filled with worthless platitudes about the importance of our “mission” and how “grateful” he is for our work – it must not have occurred to him to share with me why he’s so sure of this. Does he have some sort of new intelligence that’s made him see fit to send a miserable messenger all the way out here just to push us in a vague direction? Does he have no faith in my ability to lead the effort on my own?
We are currently, I believe, a day or two out from Galatea. It’s my expectation that this is where things will start to get difficult. Really I expect difficulty anywhere outside of Gautier and Fraldarius. As best as I can tell from the last scout reports before I left Fraldarius, there’s no sign of the Emperor trying to push the front north, at least for now. It’s Cornelia we have to worry about.
Nice sunset tonight.
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21 Red Wolf Moon 1182
Founding Day. If anyone remembers, no one said a thing.2
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23 Red Wolf Moon 1182
Still fucking cold. What is with this. We aren’t that far off from Aillel – I thought that would fix it.
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25 Red Wolf Moon 1182
Got into a scrap with some stray Imperial soldiers just south of the Fraldarius border. Nearly lost my damn arm. Axe to the shoulder.3 It’s wrapped up tightly for now, until I can get to a real healer. All the men with me are swordsmen. All I could do myself was stem the blood loss.
Is this what it’s going to be like? Cornelia has sewn a kind of chaos I’ve never seen. In (apparently) executing the boar4 she’s made Imperial occupation of Faerghus essentially untenable, not to say that she ever really had a chance of success to begin with. When villagers see us approaching they don’t seem to know whether to ignore us or hide or fight for their lives. Granted we’ve minimized bold display of any Faerghan allegiances in our garb so as not to draw the attention of Imperials, but regardless it's strange to see people this on edge. I suppose I don’t really know what to expect any better than they do.
The Imperials ambushed us, which is what happens when I let someone else stand watch, but the worst consequence of all this is that we cut them down with such a quickness that we didn’t manage to gather any information that might substantiate the rumors that have dragged us all the way out here. Whether they’ve seen a one-eyed demon slaughtering their compatriots with a lance and strength many times that of any ordinary man.
How utterly stupid that sounds when I take the time to write out every word. I have not allowed myself to spend much time weighing the possibility that we are on the trail of the wrong man, or an animal, or of nothing at all. It is perfectly plausible that the boar is just as dead as we’ve all been told. If he is then we’ll be revealed as the fools we are soon enough. But I have to entertain the idea that he isn’t, if I have any hope at all of keeping this up.
What I actually believe myself is hard to say. I would not be surprised if the boar proved unkillable. And to die by Cornelia’s hand seems especially unlikely, if for no reason other than because it seems a feat she’d be too proud of not to prove beyond any doubt. And, in any case, not a fitting end for that man.
What I want is 5
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2 Ethereal Moon
South. I’m exhausted. No Blue Sea Star to follow but the south has a pull of its own to follow anyway. Sent word to Ingrid. My shoulder not healing well
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4 Ethereal Moon
Crossed the Galatea border today and I don’t really even know why — we haven’t been following anything like a fresh trail in days, just hunches, some suspicion that this was where the trajectory of the few solid leads we had in the first place would lead… if I let myself spend too much time thinking we’re wasting our time I get so angry I can hardly think straight.
Not to say that I can think straight otherwise. This damned axe wound has given me a fever. Barely managed an hour of sleep last night.
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I had a dream that Glenn was in our company.7 I was the only one surprised he was there or that seemed to notice anything wrong at all. It was as though he’d been here all along, and instead of being glad to see him, as i wanted to be, I was just suffocated by the dread that his presence was poison and that if I were to let my guard down and accept that he was alive I would pay for it horribly. He told me that, of course he was here, of course he would come back to help find Dimitri. He said that I shouldn’t call him a boar. But blood started spilling from his nose and ears and then I woke covered in sweat and calling out for my father. Thank the goddess I was in my own tent and none of my men heard me or I would have had to kill all of them. If any of them heard me at least they have had the good sense not to tell me so.8
I was shaken for a while and spent the rest of the morning going through my forms. What a stupid thing.
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10
I wish I could tell D 9
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12
Fever not getting better, worse if anything. I tried every healing spell I know and nothing work [sic] completely. Starting to think home might be only option. Heard back from I 10 – she can’t meet now but wants to soon. No way can we stick around in these conditions. No signs of any boars in days. No 11
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15
North now - King's Right Hand12 is bright.
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Tired.
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20 Pegasus Moon 1183
Don’t know how long it’s been since i’ve picked this thing up. Been holed up in Fraldarius for at least a moon, currently no point in doing otherwise. Restless though.
It’s my birthday. Sylvain is here. I told him not to come. He said he has something “planned” for later, which is frightening.
Apparently the mood in Gautier is that there is no chance Dimitri is alive at all. They don’t even believe we’re looking for him. They think we know he’s dead and are lying to stave off a panic, which I think is really terribly funny. Can you14 imagine if that were true? What would our endgame be? Lie until we lose the war? Until there’s no chance of even a country for the prince to rule?
I forget how much he means to people. The old man told me he believes the only reason Faerghus has not yet crumbled under the weight of occupation or under the demands of war is that the people still have hope that the boar is alive. It’s difficult for me to believe and yet I see the truth to it all the same. This place is so wound up in the mythos of its leaders it doesn’t surprise me that they’d see a descendent of Loog as their only hope of salvation.
Not to suggest I’m immune to such sentiments. I’ve lived here my whole life. Of course I understand it. But how can they not have seen by now that a righteous king is not enough? It was under Lambert that everything fell apart. Obviously what happened was not his fault, and yet, it should serve as a reminder that the rot in this place runs deeper than any one man can overcome. If the boar could ever have done it, he certainly cannot do it now. Even if he is alive.
I think he is — that’s what I’ve decided. I haven’t made that clear to anyone because my own reasoning for it is stupid. It’s not because of anything we saw in those few months of searching. Hell if that were all I had to go off of I’m sure I’d think the opposite. I don’t want to say that it’s just a “feeling,” but ultimately it is something along those lines, I 15
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21 Pegasus Moon 1183
Sylvain took me out last night. I suppose that was his idea of fun and, while he was not completely wrong, he failed to consider how bleak it feels to visit places meant for leisure during wartime. There are reminders of it everywhere. This tavern used to be one of the busiest in Fraldarius. Last night there was hardly anyone, though of course there were just enough women for Sylvain to pester. It was alright to talk to him once that was over with, though. As annoying as he is it’s grounding to speak with someone like minded, a rarity around here with the possible exception of my father (though the gulf between the two of them is vast). He’s smart. He’s strategic. He knows how to listen to me. He doesn’t seem to know exactly how to feel about all this mess with the boar, but he’s willing to have a damned brain about it at least. More than I can say for the majority of those I’ve dealt with here.
I told him the gift I’d appreciate more would be the opportunity to beat him senseless in a spar. He seemed amenable to the idea.
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21 cont
Got him to yield in under a minute. Serves him right.
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2 Harpstring Moon 1183
A scout came in today with news that Cornelia’s troops are pressing the Fraldarius border. Can’t say I was expecting to hear that. There haven’t been signs of movements on any front in months and months, nor any incentive for them to, for that matter. Perhaps the witch is getting restless. I can’t claim to know what she’s thinking.
“Trace the border,” my old man says. That’s his order – not to quell whatever fuss Cornelia is kicking up. Not even to secure the border. Just “trace” it. I gave him an earful for not just coming out and saying it.
It’s about the boar again. A few months with no news and I’d almost come to think he’d forgotten. Not that I had forgotten myself. Wish I had. Quite the contrary, I am positive I’m the only one here who concerns himself with the boar every damn day – whether we missed something out looking for him. Whether we gave up too soon. Whether we should bother spending our time and resources on him when he clearly does not want to be found, if he’s alive at all. He factors into everything I do. I wish it could be otherwise but I suppose I’m just as weighed down by the idea of him as anyone else in Faerghus.
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4 Harpstring Moon 1183
Set out today, with my whole battalion. I suppose this time we are truly looking for a fight, and just as well. My sword arm is stiff from sparring with these amateurs. Not to say they aren’t skilled. I wouldn’t have them fighting with me if they weren’t. But they’re cowards. They always let me win. I guess they’re afraid to piss me off or something, which in itself is what does piss me off in the end. It’s been hell just trying to stay in shape.
Should only be a day or two to the Tailtean. The weather is pleasant if a little brisk. We packed light – few rations, we’ll hunt. Been trying to warm up to the bow again. Target practice is more rewarding than sparring with fools.
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5 Harpstring Moon
I was up before dawn and managed four rabbits, fat ones too. Nice to know the wildlife can thrive out here even if the people can’t.
Southeast outskirts of the Tailtean on the horizon.
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6 Harpstring Moon 1183
Well.
We found the Imperial forces, just where the scout said they would be, well south of the front lines, pressed into Fraldarius on the marshy edges of the Tailtean. They didn’t get far.
Every single one of them was dead when we got there. Slaughtered is a better word. They looked as though they’d met with a wolf, or a demonic beast, torn to pieces, ran through. Even if I had been fully certain beyond any shadow of a doubt, on a cognitive level, that Dimitri was alive and the most likely culprit of the violence before me, the sight itself would have convinced me I was looking at the work of an animal.
But there were only human footprints as far as I could see. Standard-issue Imperial ones, for the most part, except for these broad, flat boot marks that wound through the whole scene. I’ll never forget the sight of blood pooling in them in the deep mud.
There were maybe a dozen men. I didn’t count. It seemed likely there had been more, but they almost certainly fled back into Cornelia’s stronghold. The boot prints trailed to the southwest, "tracing" the border more or less, and we followed them, for hours and hours and hours into the night until my battalion could not keep up any longer and we had to stop, and that’s where I am now.
I don’t think I will be able to sleep. It was him – there is no doubt in my mind anymore. It was him.
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7 Harpstring Moon
Following the prints south.
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8 Harpstring Moon
Following the prints south
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9 Harpstring Moon
Following the prints south
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10 Harpstring Moon
Following the prints south, how in the hell did he get this far out ahead of us? We cannot be more than a day or two behind him to begin with, rarely have we stopped for more than a handful of hours, and yet there is no end to the trail in sight. He must never sleep.
We’ll reach Láeg in a day or so. I don’t know what to expect there. Some of my men seem keen to have a night at an inn there, but it's a border town and I haven’t been briefed on the state of it in months. It could be completely swamped with Imperials, or with spies at the very least if not. I guess we’ll see.
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12 Harpstring Moon
This inn is a hole. Fucking Seiros. We’ll be out of here hours before dawn if I have a damned thing to say about it. I’d rather be in the mud.
Things seem fine but there are undoubtedly spies everywhere. We cannot spend any time here. The boar is not here either, of course. I did what I could to ask around about him without arousing suspicion, which was not much. I got nothing.
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20 Blue Sea Moon 17
Cannot sleep.
Years of this and I have ceased to be able to think of finding the boar as a practical goal. He is no longer real to me. We track him, but the him of it all is an afterthought. His ghost is dragging us around by our necks. Through the snow. Through the mud. Through this rancid heat. And yet we can never touch him or even have any true sign that he’s a man at all. Sometimes I think I am the only one that remembers the reality of him, others I believe myself to be the only one capable of understanding that he is just a specter, nothing but the culmination of what this wretched kingdom needs from him, all of its hopes and failed aspirations, embodied by a beast. Perhaps he’s alive – I have said myself I think he is – but what damned difference does it make in the end?
I remember when he was a person. I remember when he would cry when he skinned his knee or accidentally shattered his lance. I remember when he was kind to me in a way that didn’t feel poisoned by what was beneath the surface. No one else does. Maybe my father does but he never says so. He speaks of the boar in broad strokes, always in terms of what he represents, never as a person who breathes and bleeds. Only one of us shed a tear at the news of the boar’s execution.18
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5 Horsebow Moon 1184
There haven’t been any new offerings at the armory nearest the estate in months. I’m content with the Zoltan19 of course but I used to enjoy browsing what else was available, trying out new weights, even just sometimes admiring different designs. But there’s been nothing. Most days he doesn’t even bother to open his doors.
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20 Ethereal Moon 1184
I miss sparring with the boar. I miss the way he would push me. I miss being pushed. I miss being pushed by him. For all his monstrous faults at least his strength served that purpose if no others. Even his parries felt like vicious offensive blows, he could force me into defense even at my most aggressive, like it was nothing, with astounding speed for his size, he would drive me back and back and back and back
I knew my limits fighting him. That’s how I learned them, really, how I came to recognize their edges. I have never felt my arms burn the way they do when my blade struggles against the center of the boar’s lance, when he’d repel me back with an upward thrust. How can I expect to feel anything like that again? If we never find him, if he dies, if he’s dead, I will go to my grave knowing I never reached the true limits of my strength.
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9 Red Wolf Moon 1185 20
I suppose I might start keeping this again. In my pack all along but I’ve been too disgusted to touch it.
In Láeg – it’s safer, now, but emptier. We are passing the time here for a short span until Sylvain and Ingrid can make it to meet up with us for the push south.
I overheard some men speaking casually in the tavern about the boar. “The Prince,” they called him. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the way I heard one of them word it – “Oh, he’s not dead, you know.” I could not resist asking him what would make him say that. He said that everyone “around there” knows it, that they’ve all seen him. They’ve seen a hulk of a man around the edge of the woods. That they’ve seen the Crest of Blaiddyd.
I will see what Ingrid and Sylvain think when they get here.
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15 Red Wolf Moon 1185
In the morning we are heading south.
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19 Red Wolf Moon 1185
Did the boar kill Rufus? Did he? All this time we’ve all assumed that if Cornelia was lying about his execution, she was lying about everything, but is she?
Once when we must have been about 14 the two of us were out quite late – hunting, sparring, whatever the hell else we did to keep sane during that miserable time, but certainly nothing nefarious – the moment we returned, Rufus met us and promptly struck Dimitri square across the face while I stood right next to him. Even at that age he could take a hit, but it was incredibly upsetting to see. I can still hear the crack of his hand.21 Certainly he was drunk. But we hadn’t done anything wrong. He always hated Dimitri. The boar had tears in his eyes the rest of the night but he never cried outright. I didn’t tell my father.
What a terrible excuse for a man Rufus was. Not for one moment did I mourn his death when I heard the news and I never will. And yet it surprised me to hear that the boar had done it. But why would that surprise me? He’s a monster too, if just one of a different sort. I watched him joyfully snuff out the lives of young soldiers who had never done a thing to him personally. I watched it with my own eyes. But yet I could not imagine him striking down that wretched man.
As soon as we began to believe the boar still lived, I thought, of course – she killed the Grand Duke herself and staged the boar’s execution. But what if only the latter is true? What if the boar is even more of a murderer than I had ever allowed myself to think? I don’t know. I don’t know.
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1 Ethereal Moon 1185
After days we’ve finally picked up his trail. It’s almost strange how much this has grown from some small search party to the three of us, generals now, leading formidable battalions as we track south, waging war and keeping up this search in nearly equal measure. A difficult balance to carry.
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2 Etheral Moon 1185
I’ve noticed my own tendency to imply we are merely looking, searching for the boar — we are not looking for him. This is a hunt.22 I feel every bit the same way as I do when I’m tracking a buck through the woods. I look for vegetation he’s disturbed. When I see his prints in the mud or snow I sink onto the ground and trace their outlines, to see whether they’ve thawed and refrozen, whether they’ve been trampled over.
The point of all this is – what exactly are we going to do when we find him? Fell him with an arrow and prep him for a feast? Slaughter him in sacrifice? Tie his limbs and drag him to Fraldarius while the beast gnaws at our heels? Goddess knows what kind of state we can expect to find him in but by the looks of the trail he’s leaving he’s unlikely to be anything like his old self. I can’t remember the last time we tracked him along a stream or a pond or any source of fresh water he could use to bathe. The bodies he leaves in his wake are mangled beyond recognition. It would be enough to make me doubt that it truly were the boar we were tracking, despite my previous certainty, if only I didn’t know full well what he’s capable of. I suppose in all the years since the rebellion it’s been too easy to forget what the results of it would look like.
Will he fight for us? Will he want to? Will he even recognize us as separate from his enemies? Are we?
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15 Ethereal Moon 1185
When Sylvain and Ingrid speak of the boar23 I have no idea who they’re talking about. It’s like they expect to meet up with that facsimile of a prince we knew back at the academy. They’re not stupid so I have no idea why they think this. Of course they didn’t see what I saw during the rebellion, but they were there in the holy tomb. They’ve seen the destroyed Imperial soldiers he discards. Why don’t they understand?
There’s this look they give me, that too many people give me when I talk about the boar, that just infuriates me. Like they know something I don’t. There’s nothing I don’t know. There’s plenty I’m ignorant of. I won’t deny that. But I know my own heart.
The boar was my friend. The closest thing I had to a best friend for years and years. I still remember the drive I always had to be as close to him as possible, the relief I felt being around him. They cannot imagine what it felt like to have something like that to be betrayed and twisted, for it to become something that fostered nothing but disgust in me where I’d been able to breathe just before. I suppose when I chase him now I’m chasing what I already know is lost. How humiliating. How pathetic.24
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19 Ethereal Moon 1185
Sylvain reminded me of how near we are to the Millennium Festival, a date that seemed impossibly far off five years ago now. We all promised we’d meet up with the Professor25 back then – did I mean it when I said it? It seems so stupid now. As if we had any idea what would change.
But we’re close, perhaps by coincidence. I can see the Oghmas on the horizon as we track south through Charon. If there’s any chance, however small, that the boar had the same memory…
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20 Ethereal Moon 1185
Boar’s birthday. His gift to us was a freshly abandoned campsite, only a stone’s throw away from several slaughtered Imperial soldiers. Scattered rabbit bones and a hastily doused fire. Deep boot prints in the mud. Same ones I saw on the border, years ago now.
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25 Ethereal Moon 1185
Tonight I sat in the cathedral in Garreg Mach. With the ceiling caved in I could see the King’s Right Hand in the sky above his head. I stared straight at the boar, at his great hulking back.
I still haven't found him.
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Archivist’s Note
There are several blank pages in the log after this, but no further entries. There are no known other personal accounts of the Duke with anything approaching the legitimacy of this one. Though the finer details of their relationship’s trajectory from this point on can only be subject to speculation, we do know that he is recognized in the grand scheme of history as a trusted friend, retainer, and indeed “right hand” of the King. The most well known assessment of their post-war relationship states that the grief Duke Fraldarius felt upon the king’s passing was “more potent even than the Queen’s.” The words contained in this piece take on fascinating significance when colored by this characterization.
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Footnotes
1. It is unclear whether this entry, the first in the physical document itself, is a continuation from a previous journal of the Duke’s, or if this was the first instance of him keeping a log of any kind, spurred on by the unique moment in history. General assessments of his character from scholars would suggest the latter. ↩
2. Faerghan Founding Day was observed on the 21st of the Red Wolf Moon in honor of King Loog’s ascension to the throne and the Kingdom’s official independence from Adrestia. It was celebrated as a major holiday in Faerghus. ↩
3. The hand in this entry is somewhat less legible than that of the others, suggesting the possibility that it was the Duke’s dominant arm that suffered the injury, though it is also possible it was due to nerves. ↩
4. This epithet – “boar,” “the boar,” “Boar Prince,” and any variations thereupon – is in reference to Prince Dimitri. The origins of this are unclear. It would seem that Fraldarius adopted the practice of referring to the Prince in this manner at some point after the Faerghan Western Rebellion (1178), coinciding with a rift in their relationship that would last many years. It is well established that Dimitri could display remarkable ruthlessness in battle. ↩
7. This section, due to its descriptions of a deeply personal and upsetting dream, serves for some scholars as evidence of the document’s inauthenticity. As one skeptic writes: To be sure, there is certainly no doubt that the Duke is likely to have had such dreams in his lifetime. A natural response to trauma, indeed. What is suspect, however, is his ability to recount the events of the dream with more keen focus on the emotional impact they had on him than on the events themselves. The fact of the matter is that this section, and others like it, reads more like the romantic projections of those who have an idealized vision of the Duke in their minds than the actual wartime words of the man himself. ↩
8. An opposing perspective: To suggest that the personal nature of the sentiments expressed in the Duke’s diary are reasons to be suspicious of its origins is, frankly, insulting. Of course there are numerous accounts of Fraldarius’ rather prickly temperament, and that he could indeed be closed off and difficult even with those closest to him. But, this is a personal record — and not only is speculation on the authenticity of privately expressed interior thoughts pointless and unlikely to result in any reliable conclusions, but it fails to understand why one would be compelled to keep a log in the first place. To say nothing of the fact that these assumptions are ahistorical: for as many accounts as there are of the Duke’s irascibility, there are nearly as many, from various points in his life, of his capacity to be sensitive and deeply concerned with the feelings of those around him. The enduring nature of his close friendships alone are a testament to this.↩
9. The rest of this section (about half a page) is furiously scribbled out and thus fully illegible. It is reasonable to assume he was writing about the prince, though of course this cannot be proven. ↩
10. This is certainly in reference to Ingrid Brandl Galatea (1163 - 1252), referenced in a previous section. She was a childhood friend and former classmate of Fraldarius, future knight in service to King Dimitri. A young woman of formidable military prowess.↩
11. This entry is unfinished.↩
12. The “King’s Right Hand” was a common Faerghan name for a star in the north often used for navigation. As one scholar wrote on its relevance to Fraldarius: It is impossible to overstate the significance the King’s Right Hand would have had for the young Duke. Though there are conflicting beliefs about the true origin of the moniker “King’s Right Hand,” it is most likely named after the great swordsman Kyphon, the best friend, confidant, and, of course, “right hand” of King Loog. Relationships of this archetype recur frequently throughout Faerghan history, notably of King Lambert and Duke Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, Dimitri and Felix’s fathers, respectively. There is no doubt that the young duke would have felt the shape of such a relationship in his own life, the pressure, and possibly even desire, to fulfill it. To have a star with such a name hanging in the North, night after night, while in search of the fugitive prince — the symbolism is striking indeed.↩
14. It is worth noting the Duke’s use of the word you here. As one scholar writes: This is the only occurrence of a second person singular pronoun in the entire document, excepting any illegible portions. This makes plain what is otherwise only to be inferred: that the author is imaging an audience as he writes. While perhaps this is obvious on some levels, on others it prompts reflection. Why did the Duke, assuming these writings are his, sit down to record his thoughts in this manner? Though his audience is undefined, it exists, even if only in the abstract. Whom did he imagine might read these words? Whom did he hope might? It is not unreasonable to conclude that Fraldarius often lacked an adequate emotional outlet, especially at this time in his life, when his most frequent contacts were his father, whom he frequently butted heads with, and his military subordinates that seemingly inspired little in him aside from frustration, or indifference at best. Thus, it is further not unreasonable to assume that a proxy emotional outlet would have been desirable, especially in the absence of his friends who, by all accounts, were the few people he trusted enough to open up to but was still relatively guarded with. In this writing, he essentially invented a new one, in which to share the thoughts he could not otherwise express to anyone -- how interesting, then, that the vast majority of thoughts expressed within focus almost exclusively on the fugitive Prince. ↩
15. This next section is struck through, but not blacked out entirely. It is the archivist’s opinion that the words following this read: feel that I would know if I were in a world without him. The approximate length of each word is clear, the only real ambiguity being in the words know and world, though little else would fit given the context. ↩
16. The next dozen pages are heavily water damaged and thus almost entirely illegible. Ink smears would indicate the water damage occurred shortly after the time of writing. The rainy season would have begun shortly after the last fully legible entry, and it is not surprising, given the amount of time the Duke would have spent outdoors, that rain would have interfered with some of his belongings. Though the occasional word or phrase is fairly clear, the damage is too widespread to merit recreation of this section in its entirety. A selection of legible words and phrases from these pages includes: mud, south, boar, long, only one, field, cut through, I don’t, home, a long time, Ingrid, sword, who do they think, alone, Glenn, far. The next entry comes significantly later.↩
17. Though this entry is not dated by year, further entries make clear that this was written in 1184. How the Duke spent the time between is not clear, though it is safe to assume a significant amount of it was in Fraldarius, and that the search for the Prince detailed in the previous entries came up short.↩
18. This marks another portion that has drawn doubts from some scholars. An example: This melodramatic admission has always stood out as suspect. Let us assume that the Duke held anything like affection for Dimitri: what would possess him to admit as much in this manner? From whom was he hiding this fact before this moment? “Himself!” I hear the cries of those sympathetic to a sensitive portrait of Fraldarius far-removed from history. A nice thought, yet one I believe to have no bearing on reality. ↩
19. A sword crafted by the legendary Srengi blacksmith Zoltan, known to be a favored weapon of Duke Fraldarius.↩
20. This substantial gap in entries coincides with a period of time when the war was particularly bloody on the Fraldarian front, with Cornelia attempting to expand the borders of the Faerghus Dukedom. It is reasonable to assume this would have limited Fraldarius’ ability to be personally involved in the search for the Prince. ↩
21. Unsurprisingly, there are no accounts of this event outside of this document, so its veracity cannot be confirmed. However, it fits well within the historical understanding of the temperament of Rufus Blaiddyd, Grand Duke of Itha (1135 – 1180). He had a reputation for drunken philandering, and the decline of the Kingdom of Faerghus in the years following the Tragedy of Duscur is largely attributed to his ineffectual rule as regent. Of course, his role in orchestrating the Tragedy is now well understood, though this could not have been known to the young Duke at the time. ↩
22. This word is underlined at least four times, with pen strokes significantly heavier than the Duke’s typical hand.↩
23. The actual name Dimitri is written immediately before this instance of boar, and heavily struck through.↩
24. It must be noted that the exact nature of the relationship between the King and the Duke has been subject to academic debate for centuries. This log in general, and this entry in particular, are often cited as reason to believe there was something of a romantic bent to their feelings. Perhaps there are other explanations for the Duke’s fixation on Dimitri, but as one scholar writes: There is something desperate, something possessive underlying every word the Duke writes about the King. It’s as though every one of Dimitri’s actions, no matter how inconsequential or far removed from Felix’s own life, were all intentional, personal affronts, as though he’s internalized Dimitri as some fundamental part of his own self. It has, quite frankly, all the hallmarks of the writings of a man devastated by love.↩
25. This is in reference to Byleth, the former professor of the Blue Lions class at the Garreg Mach Officer’s Academy, who would later go on to become Archbishop of the Church of Seiros, succeeding Rhea.↩