---

Roaming the hallowed grounds of Garreg Mach was an experience that surpassed even the highest of Auberon's expectations; every corridor and room seemed alive with the Goddess' presence, and his heart beat ever faster in religious ecstasy as the day's events progressed and increasingly important members of the Church hierarchy were presented to him. To stand in the cathedral itself, in the presence of the Archbishop, no less, was to feel unworthy. It was if the gaze of the Goddess Herself was boring down upon on him there, and Auberon found it a challenge to even raise his head completely as Ioannis welcomed this year's class.

The classroom itself held less distraction for the boy. Without statues of the saints watching his every move, Auberon could almost pretend he was in any other mundane room in the world. Besides, he was in attendance for a reason and it wouldn't do to disrespect the monastery and Church itself by not committing his full attention to the curriculum he'd been graciously allowed to partake in. Michail seemed friendly and personable, and his status as a Knight of Seiros assuaged any doubt of his competency, even if he may not be responsible for their entire education at the academy.

Still, Auberon was stupefied for the first few moments after Michail had finished his announcement. Surely he'd misheard - the professor must've said Auberon of House Gautier. Or... Aubrey of House Galatea. Okay, he didn't think there was even an Aubrey in his family, but still. No, the board definitely had him listed there at the top. The Goddess truly was an inscrutable mistress; classes had yet to even begin and She had already blessed him with a once-in-a-lifetime duty to help shape the future leaders of Faerghus. Auberon quietly placed his hands together in prayer and reverently lowered his head.

"I am honored by this opportunity, my Lady. I will not fail You or this nation," he murmured almost imperceptibly under his breath. After paying the proper respects to the Most High, Auberon stood and made his way up to the front of the class, trying to catch everyone's attention before anyone left to spend their free time elsewhere. "Excuse me," Auberon addressed the room with neither imperiousness nor timidity, toeing the line between fellow student and uplifted authority as best he could, "Evidently I'm to be the House leader of the Blue Lions this year, so I felt I should probably introduce myself."

He waited until he'd captured at least some of the students' attention before continuing, "For those I haven't met, I am Auberon Casimir Galatea, heir apparent to the Countship and bearer of the Crest of Daphnel. I'm a bit surprised at this appointment, in all honesty, but I hope that I can live up to your and Professor Kalonic's expectations of me nevertheless." Auberon brought his fist down on an open palm for emphasis, "If any of you ever need anything from me or have concerns you'd like to share, please don't hesitate to seek me out; it's our collective duty to help better each other and ensure, Goddess willing, that the Kingdom's future is in good hands. Thank you."

Of course, Auberon had no idea what the duties of House leader actually were, and judging by the glimpses he'd caught of Michail being confronted outside, he probably wouldn't have a good opportunity to ask until later in the day. He had the utmost faith in his ability to meet the challenges put before him - the Goddess would not have chosen him otherwise - but convincing the other Blue Lions of this was a different matter. Surely a more deserving noble than he must be in attendance, yet when the blond turned his attention to the names on the board, he couldn't find one. The names he recognized held no titles higher than Auberon's own - save potentially Kellen Fraldarius, though he was somewhere around fourth in line to the Duchy by primogeniture if Auberon remembered correctly and unlikely to take offense at the appointment besides - and the ones Auberon didn't recognize came from families of lesser status or were lowborn outright.

Speaking of, the names grouped with his seemed to take the bulk of the commoners. Orhneaht and Ballard certainly weren't families he'd ever heard of, though it's not as if he bothered to memorize the name of every upstart merchant household that might have the wealth to send their child to Garreg Mach. He supposed it made sense to group the two of lowest birth with two of the highest if they were so intent on everyone mingling that they combined the classes from each nation, but Auberon wasn't very fond of presumption and he doubted the true reasoning mattered as much as the reality he had before him. Admittedly, he didn't have particularly high hopes for their performance, but it would be an excellent opportunity to practicing interacting with the smallfolk for when it came time for him to rule.

---

---

Well, they said never to meet your heroes, and insofar as Viddle had heroes, professor Malathice was close. Initially she’d been quite excited to hear he would be heading their studies; many of the books in her collection were authored by him, and she attributed much of her interest in learning magic at all to how thoughtful and engaging his dissertations were. His disinterest in teaching didn’t surprise her too much—who wouldn’t rather be doing what they love instead of just talking about it—but nonetheless she found herself just a smidgen disheartened as he walked out of the room.

Oh well, there was a whole year ahead for things to change. Change was good, change was exciting. She knew better than most how close-quarters and a shared goal could change a person, who was to say any of them would be the same in a few months’ time?

The lot of them filtered out, and Viddle’s eyes scanned in an attempt to connect faces to the various names she’d seen on scribbled notes and dossiers of foreign families. Though she’d attended her fair share of Adrestian gatherings, her interactions with the peoples of other nations had been severely limited growing up. Her family’s concerns were focused most importantly on the inner workings of the Empire, but for how long that would be enough, she wasn’t sure. Soon the day might come where close and friendly relations with the rest of Fódlan might save more than a few lives.

Especially considering…

“Adelaide!” Viddle’s smile filled her eyes, and with perhaps a bit less grace than she ought to have shown, she accepted her cousin’s offer and hugged her tightly. She paid that grace back with a perfectly practiced curtsey, and the briefest attempt at calming the bounce in her heels. “Indeed, it’s been much too long. I’m afraid I didn’t have many chances to visit this past year, but now it seems we’ve plenty of time. Goddess, look at you! It’s so good to see you in fair health.”

She still remembered when Adelaide fell ill, so harshly and so long after the plague’s deadliest years. House Vestra had scrambled, concerned that it had been an attempt on her life, but the young heiress had overcome it, and awoken seemingly stronger than before. Some were offput by Adelaide’s zeal; there was, after all, no shortage of tyrannical megalomaniacs in Fódlan’s history. But tyrants were cruel, and as long as Viddle had known her, she never thought of Adelaide as cruel. Only honest, and earnest. Perhaps that was why she liked her.

“Exciting, isn’t it? So many people to meet, so many things to learn. Where do you even begin with an opportunity like this?” she looked out at the courtyard, smiling still. “Well, I suppose you’ve already got plenty of ideas.”

---

Crossing through the storied gates of Garreg Mach found her equal parts awed and homesick, the surge of adoration the hallowed grounds elicited undercut with a bittersweet tang. It was difficult to say why; she’d hand picked the officials handling her current obligations and she’d promised letters home regularly. The journey wasn’t particularly hard on her either. Between her familiarity traveling and Jorah’s reassuring, but equally provocative, companionship, she found no issues nor did they encounter anything unsettling. Clarissa shook her head and took a steadying breath when it hit her.

She couldn’t smell the sea.

The mountain air was crisp and refreshing, but the lack of the salt sweet scent that pervaded home left her missing it dearly. It was a constant in her life, even in Diedru, and it almost felt like she was missing something. Clarissa laughed at herself. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine the air of all things would make her homesick.

Thoughts of home quickly disappeared as her excitement consumed anything else, and walking the halls of the monastery only served to fortify it even further. The air of serenity pervading every nook and cranny and she basked in it. A content smile spread across her face. She basked beneath the watchful eyes of the saints, in the presence of the Goddess that echoed in every footstep and laugh, and a sense of rightness settled on her shoulders. This was where she was meant to be, exactly as the Goddess wanted it. The smile wouldn’t leave her fave knowing the bishop was right, and she beamed at the end of the Archbishop’s speech. The Goddess truly did bless every one of them.

The classroom was a more familiar affair and he listened to their Professor eagerly. She appreciated Professor Kalonic’s direct approach and brisk handling of affairs. Clarissa had little patience for people who circled around conversations and drew them out simply for the sake of obfuscation. Especially when they repeated themself. The idea of mixing the houses together certainly piqued her curiosity and she found herself looking forward to the opportunity to meet the others they would be in class with. An excellent opportunity to grow, network, and get a glimpse of matters in the other nations that an outsider's view simply didn’t provide. Just one more step towards her final goal.

Of course, what goes up must come down and indeed it did. Her good mood shattered as Jorah was announced the House Leader. They chose Jorah over her? The heir who didn’t want his position, who spent so much time running away from his responsibilities the Duke locked him in the capital, who couldn’t face anything serious without a joke and a dismissive laugh if he couldn’t blatantly ignore it? She’d spent years developing her leadership skills, establishing herself as a rising power, and putting her House and her people in the forefront of change and growth and they chose him? She cared for him as much as she cared for her own brother but even he’d admit he wasn’t suited―Jorah probably wouldn’t even want it anyways!―handling the responsibilities. She had half a mind to go after the Professor and demand she reconsider.

Clarissa deflated quickly though. Those thoughts were entirely inappropriate and rude. Jorah could step up to the responsibilities just fine; he was adaptable and knew when he needed to focus on a goal. She shouldn’t be surprised. She’d wanted the position terribly but as usual, she had that irritating little complication that always kept her one step behind. Of course the Church wouldn’t want someone with the Crest of the Beast leading their students. Willingly put the blood of a betrayer in leadership? What a joke. She should probably count herself lucky they even accepted her then. Clarissa gave a tiny shake of her head, trying to clear out the resentment and resignation that settled over her like a blanket, and focused instead on the challenge. The Goddess gave her the opportunity to prove herself and like every time before that, she would rise to the challenge before her. She made a mental note to spend some time in the cathedral before they turned in for the evening.

“With time for ourselves, it’d be best if we made formal introductions. I am Clarissa von Edmund, heiress to the Margravate of Edmund.” Clarissa offered their classmates a curtsied, her only adjustment to the uniform a longer skirt than normal. The mountains held a chill all year round and she was quick averse to the idea of being half frozen for the year. “It is an honor to work together with such a diverse group and I hope that, true to Alliance philosophy, we find a way to meld our differences together in a way to make all of us stronger.”

For Lienna, the past few weeks had been a torrent of firsts: first time sleeping in a keep, first time eating pork, first time having her hair cut by someone who knew what they were doing, first time having her measurements taken, and more. So much had happened it was hard to believe it was real; in fact, just about the only thing reminding her she wasn't dreaming was the horrible stone in her stomach.

Indeed, among her other ‘firsts’ since finalizing her engagement to Count Francis was a decidedly unpleasant one: her first time riding in a carriage, and consequently, her first realization that she got roadsick. The few hours’ ride from Hima to South Gautier had been awful enough on that rickety fur trader’s cart, but the trip from the Count’s keep to Garreg Mach took days and wasn't any smoother. Lienna had always thought a real carriage would be more comfortable, but the wretched thing pitched and yawed with every bump in the road, the horses stank, and the walls and roof that were supposed to protect her only made her feel like she was suffocating. Her single attempt to ride alongside the carriage on horseback ended before it began when the beast was too spooked to let her mount it, so she'd been doomed to spend the whole trip trying to keep her dinner down.

By the time they finally arrived at Garreg Mach, she was as white as a sheet, trembling, and vowing never again to set foot in a carriage. She’d had the driver stop a ways off from the monastery walls so she could stumble out and finish what the last leg of the trip had started, and spent a good few minutes in the shade of a tree by the roadside, nursing a waterskin and waiting for her head to stop spinning. Her uniform jacket had fallen casualty on the way, not that Lienna missed it; the stiff collar felt like a hand around her neck, and the trim fit of the thing greatly contrasted the ratty furs and smocks she was used to. The shoes were no better with their hard soles and heel, but that couldn’t be helped; commoner or not, even she wasn’t about to stumble into Garreg Mach Monastery with bare feet. At least the skirt was agreeable enough, long enough to reach her ankles and only snug at the waist, and the shirt would probably become a favourite. She’d been apprehensive about the breathable cotton at first, but the loose-fitting sleeves concealed how bony her arms were and now that she was here, she didn't expect the cold to be a problem. If this weather kept up, she could probably stow that jacket away for good.

She eventually felt well enough to stand again, but her stomach was reluctant to settle, and she’d be damned if she met her new classmates and professors holding her belly like a woman with child. The solution was found in a gift from her new fiancé: a long, deep brown sash, made of fabric that shone in the light and thin enough to see through. The gift perplexed Lienna; she didn’t understand why the Count bothered trying to woo her when their engagement was already finalized, and the sash itself would be useless against the cold, thin as it was. But as it turned out, it could serve a purpose: she wrapped it tightly around her abdomen, binding her belly from waist to ribs, and tied it off to the side in a limp bow. If nothing else, it might stop her stomach from quivering.

Not that it didn’t try. Lienna hadn’t been to church in years, but even she felt the weight of history and piety when she set foot in the cathedral. It wasn’t like she remembered the church back home; the church in Hima had been a second home for her until her grandmother fell ill, but every step here felt like an unwelcome intrusion on holy ground, the eyes of the saints heavy and judgemental when she passed under them. It was so bizarre and uncomfortable that it even distracted her from the unbelievable scale of the place, and when the young Archbishop’s speech finally concluded, she was one of the first ones out.

Luckily, that strangeness seemed to end at the threshold of the cathedral. She was able to relax a little once she got to the Blue Lions classroom, discomfort nudged aside by awe that Garreg Mach managed to transform even something as humble as a classroom into the stuff of fairy tales. The stained glass windows were unlike anything Lienna had ever seen, casting a rainbow of light across the ancient masonry; she couldn’t imagine the price of the books lining the walls, bound in leather and etched in gold, far finer than any she’d seen at the church back home; hells, even the tables and chairs were crafted with skill beyond anything Lienna had ever hoped to lay eyes on. It took a conscious effort not to drop her jaw at every new furnishing or artifact that caught her eye; while commoners were present at the Academy, she didn’t want to advertise her status just yet by openly ogling the furniture.

The cavalier professor clashed with the focused atmosphere of the room, but he was brief enough; he simply introduced himself and the House Leader before scurrying out the door. Said House Leader was somewhat less charismatic, quick to take Michail’s place at the front and launch into a stiff-yet-flowery introduction about securing the Kingdom’s future. Lienna looked on with lidded eyes, waiting to be dismissed; the boy carried himself like a storybook general and spoke like a priest, and despite her new station in life, Lienna had a knee-jerk impatience for the highborn and the holier-than-thou that already coloured her opinion of the House Leader. Of course, to give him the slimmest benefit of the doubt, it was also possible that the twist in her stomach when he spoke was just a remnant from the carriage ride.

She knew it would probably be prudent to get on good terms with His Excellency Heir Apparent Auberon von House Leader at some point. Lienna recognized the name “Galatea”, but not its origin; she could infer from the boy’s attitude and his appointment to House Leader that it was probably one of Faerghus’ noble families, but she couldn’t think of anything about them save a vague, sourceless familiarity with the name itself. The only Faerghian noble family she knew other than Gautier and Blaiddyd was Fraldarius, the name of the family territory bordering Gautier to the South. From her seat, she squinted at the chalkboard, searching for the name. From the brief review Hima’s priest had given her, she recalled that Houses Gautier and Fraldarius often intermarried; if a Fraldarius was attending, there was a chance they were a relative of her fiancé, or some other relation who could otherwise be useful to her in the future.

Unfortunately, the professor’s chickenscratch was nigh-incomprehensible, and while Lienna thought she saw a surname that started with ‘F’, she couldn't make out the rest. Ugh, and they chose this guy as their professor? She'd have thought such a lofty institution would at least have chosen someone who could write. She suppressed a groan; the prospect of asking around for names and titles made her head spin, and introducing herself to everyone like a child appealed to her no better. Dammit, why couldn't things ever be easy?

Fine; she supposed her crash course in high society started now. Rising from her seat as smoothly as she could manage, Lienna did her best to stand up straight and made her way to the front of the room under the pretense of looking at the board. Should she curtsy? No, no - Auberon was set to be a Count and she a Countess, so they should be on equal footing… probably. She decided against it; if she was going to err, she’d rather come off as rude than groveling, and the curtsy she'd practiced exactly once wasn't exactly up to snuff anyway. Instead, she offered the House Leader one of those barely-there noblewoman smiles the handmaidens at Francis’ keep kept giving her and introduced herself.

“A pleasure to meet you, Auberon,” she greeted, trying to mimic that nice-but-distant tone she had grown accustomed to from the ladies of Francis’ household. Polite, but not too invested; from her short time in the keep, it seemed to her that the role of a highborn woman was to like everything and everyone a little but to like nothing a lot. “I'm Lienna Orhneaht, betrothed to Count Francis Gautier. I look forward to the coming year with you and the rest of the Blue Lions. Is anyone you know attending this year?”

Lienna hoped the question didn't out her too quickly. Surely highborn kids had cousins all over the place, and many of them went to the Officer’s Academy, right? There were probably lots of students who knew each other, especially within the same House.

The journey from Derdriu to Garreg Mach was a lengthy one: with the Oghma mountain range blocking off access from the east, the caravan had go south through Gloucester and across the Great Bridge of Myrddin into Imperial territory, then hang a right at Gronder Field and trek back up north to the mountains. The road was well-traveled, at least, but it was a grueling trip nonetheless, made no easier for the guards accompanying the caravan by the state of their charges.

Jorah von Riegan was in a fantastic mood.

Despite the circumstances surrounding his enrolment at Garreg Mach, the weeks leading up to his departure had been an agony of anticipation, and by the time they finally set out on the road, Jorah felt like he could have sprinted the whole distance himself. Especially with Clarissa by his side, he was even more airy than usual, not a care in the world as the Riegan caravan lumbered down the road, except maybe to urge the driver to go faster. Ever averse to closed spaces and eager to drink in the scenery he hadn’t seen since he was sixteen, Jorah spent as much of the trip as he could riding alongside the caravan on a horse of his own - albeit tethered to the carriage axle. His father must have given the guards a stern talking-to, because no matter how much Jorah bargained and begged and nudged with his Crest, they wouldn’t let him ride freely. They were right to do so, of course, but that didn't make it any less disappointing.

But despite being pulled along like a captive, Jorah’s spirits never dipped. When he wasn’t pushing Clarissa’s buttons, he was strumming the lute his father had weakly tried to hide from him, serenading the company with every tavern dirge and sea shanty he could remember. Sure, he might have been the source of the circles under the eyes of the guards, but he knew from experience he’d test their patience whether he was singing or not, so he considered it a net gain. At least Clarissa admitted his songs were pretty!

The crossing into Imperial territory was particularly exciting, and had Jorah straining on his horse’s tether more than any other leg of the trip. He’d never been to Adrestia, but laying eyes on Gronder Field brought to mind the stories he’d heard from his father’s Academy days of the grand mock battle held there each year. Naturally, Jorah was fascinated by anything that could lift the Duke’s spirits to such heights - even if they did always come crashing down once the story was over - and drank in as many of the sights as he could, eyes glued to the horizon until they finally happened upon the mountain keep at the end of the road: Garreg Mach Monastery itself.

While he wouldn’t pretend to be profoundly struck by the age and holiness of the monastery, he was greatly impressed by its scale; the monastery rose from the Oghma mountains like it grew from the very rock, its own spires jutting into the sky alongside the mountain peaks. The place was lively, too, with a busy village at the base and people and animals all over the place. Despite having heard of its surprising population, Jorah had expected a painfully quiet, boring monastery full of stern, pious monks and impatient nuns. What he got instead felt like a miniature city all its own, vibrant and alive with all sorts of normal people. He’d heard the place described as “Fódlan in a nutshell”; if that was true, he couldn’t wait to explore every inch of it.

The address in the cathedral was novel - Jorah scarcely believed that what he’d been told about a twelve-year-old Archbishop was actually true - but what really caught his attention was the feel of the room. It was totally different from the day-to-day buzz of city crowds; the new students of the Officers’ Academy radiated every emotion from excitement to dread, like a buzzing bell curve of nervous anticipation that had Jorah’s gut all aflutter, practically vibrating in his seat. He wasn’t sure if it was a good feeling or a bad one, but the excitement of feeling something different in a crowd eclipsed any of his borrowed reservations.

Oh, and the classroom! Now there was a place he wouldn’t mind going every morning. True, yes, he had originally planned on shirking his classes as much as he could get away with to explore the monastery and adjacent town, but when Professor Euphemia bounded in all bouncy blonde hair and slender legs and high-heeled shoes, Jorah couldn’t think of a better place to start his day.

“I’ll make sure to take good care of you!”

Ah, Garreg Mach was already exceeding expectations.

“...and the lucky one...is future Duke Jorah Riegan!”

Wait. What?

Jorah blinked, sitting up from leaning his head on his hand and glancing around the room. Okay, he hadn’t really been paying attention to the Professor - not to what she was saying, anyway - did she want him for something? He’d normally be thrilled for a lady like her to call on him, but the very distinct crash he felt in Clarissa’s mood next to him told him that she might have been saying something important. He was left to puzzle over the address and Clarissa’s rapid, concerning decline from anger to melancholy until the papers Professor Euphemia was circulating around the class explained everything.

Jorah von Riegan - House Leader, Golden Deer

“What?!” Jorah blurted out, clutching the paper closer to his face and reading it over again. Surely this was a mistake. She said Jorah Riegan, and he was Jorah von Riegan, so there must have been another student with a curiously similar name who was chosen for House Leader, right? He looked around the room for anyone who looked like they were thrilled to be in charge, but saw no one. Cichol’s teeth, no wonder Clarissa was pissed!

Jorah could empathize, fuming in his seat with as much potency as a whimsical delight like himself could manage. His dastard father set this up, didn’t he? Ugh, Clarissa was right! Duke Riegan could be dead in the ground and Jorah still wouldn’t be free of his iron clutches! The man probably thought this was brilliant, a great way to whip his son into the leader he always wanted him to be. Just perfect, make him responsible for the students of the Alliance and get an extra set of eyes on him to keep him from slinking out of class. One of those “elegant solutions” Duke Riegan was known for. Absolutely ideal!

Jorah was contemplating methods of shamefully begging Professor Euphemia for reassignment (it would probably be impossible - his father probably dropped a Derdriu galleon full of money into the Archbishop's lap to make this happen - but it might at least be fun trying) when she spirited herself out of his reach, leaving only him and his remaining classmates, some of whom were already - disturbingly - looking to him for guidance.

What a terrible idea.

Clarissa, Goddes shower upon her all gifts and graces, broke the ice for him; an admirable effort, especially considering the dramatic turn her feelings took in the moments after the announcement. That air of subdued acceptance made Jorah sad; he recognized that mood of hers, and he didn’t much like what it usually accompanied. But if she was going to be good enough to take it in stride and set the stage for him, he’d oblige. Until he worked something else out, at least.

Tossing aside Euphemia’s paper dismissively, Jorah rose to his feet next, turning around to face the greater part of the room as he cleared his throat. Just as he did so, he caught a glimpse of a face that surprised him so much it made him choke: the curly blond head of Oskar Goneril was beaming at him from the back, looking very much like he was trying not to laugh as he offered his partner in crime a double thumbs-up. The stupid grin was contagious; Jorah almost burst out laughing himself as soon as he saw it, and as quickly as it had fallen, his mood soared once again. The absolute shitheel, Oskar never told him he was coming.

“Thank you, Clarissa, that’s an excellent idea,” Jorah greeted quickly, half-choked with still barely-contained laughter. He took a deep breath to compose himself before springing up on top of the desk in front of him, introducing himself to his classmates in a manner much more like himself.

“As some of you may have heard, my name is Jorah von Riegan, and while some of you may remember me as heir to the Duchy of Riegan - or more likely as a distraction at the Roundtable - it looks like this year, I’ll be playing the role of your House Leader.” He smiled winsomely at the class, finding to his surprise that he had at least passing familiarity with all of them - especially the poor Ordelia girl, whose presence was almost as much of a shock as his own appointment as Leader.

“As such, my first act under this new mantle of authority is this: you are all hereby ordered to attend a party tonight to kick off the year and hopefully, to get to know each other a bit more intimately.” He flashed a mischievous look at nobody in particular, accompanied by Oskar “oooo”ing immaturely in the back, before pointing toward the door. “My second order is to spread the word about our little get-together to everyone you can find. I want every student at the Officers’ Academy - all three houses - in attendance. Sound good?”

He surveyed the class for approval, objections, or questions, ignoring any of the latter two and taking the former as his cue to end his debut. “Excellent. Dismissed!” He pointed at Oskar. “Except you, Oskar - you’re in detention.”

With that, Jorah nodded to himself and jumped back down to the floor, crossing his arms triumphantly. “Not bad for my first decree, eh?" He asked Clarissa rhetorically, inwardly bracing for whatever indignance would follow, but too proud to shut up. "Maybe authority suits me after all."

---

As exciting as change could be, Viddle had to admit that there was a certain comfort in Adelaide’s unflinching nature. She guessed her cousin had been thinking about this day for quite a while, perhaps even before she was invited. Long-laid plans often necessitated that a person’s resolve be unmoved, and people were quick to mistake perseverance for stagnation. That said, if anyone could endure the year ahead of them and emerge exactly as they were today, she guessed, it would be Adelaide.

At the very least, Viddle was always happy to have a goal. Working with the future empress, like as not there’d be plenty of those to go around.

“Ah,” she said, nodding at the mention of their fellow Eagles. “In fact, I did notice some familiar names on the roll. I believe the Varleys, Gerths, and Hevrings all have their heirs here; they’re an interesting bunch. I think you’ll get on well with most of them.”

Fiona von Varley and Victor von Hevring were pleasant enough, though a part of her worried what a meeting between Adelaide and Veronica might look like. The Gerth heiress wasn’t particularly known for her tact and deference, and Viddle doubted she spent much time around people she could not command around. Oh well, perhaps if Adelaide did not change this year, Veronica would change double, and goddess willing that would be enough to close the gap.

When Adelaide asked after Johann, Viddle couldn’t help smirking at her brusqueness. It was a fair question though, who wouldn’t want to know about their future spouse? Viddle certainly had. Once the marriage between House Aegir and Hresvelg was arranged, she’d looked somewhat impulsively into the man who would marry her cousin, partly out of curiosity, and partly out of concern. The rumors surrounding his rise to consort were myriad, and discerning fact from fiction was like sifting salt from seawater, especially when it came to the lives of royalty.

“Familiar? Not personally, no. But from what I hear,” she said, a subtle yet knowing emphasis placed upon the word. “He’s nothing like his brother. He has a knight’s heart—or so I’m told—with all the honor and ego that can entail. If that’s true, you may be in for quite the courting.”

---

This was all a joke. A giant divine joke played at Rudolf's expense. It had to be. It was bad enough that he'd been forced to attend the Officers' Academy for his last few months of freedom before they slapped a gilded shackle on his head and called it a coronet, but his last hope at being outed as a fraud and denied his hated birthright was a flippant man who probably wouldn't notice him even if his Crest made him light up like the noonday sun, let alone its real effect. Rudolf's saving grace was that the second class to which he'd been assigned might have a different instructor, but that came with its own set of horrors - namely that he'd be attending with the Crown Princess and the psycho that murdered all House Vestra's other heirs, if rumors were to be believed. Maybe he'd get lucky and Her Highness would personally declare him unfit for vassalage, but that carried the risk of drawing her ire. Sure, she seemed nice enough, but that was at a public event. Maybe she was terrifying in private.

He was getting ahead of himself. Surely any institution of learning would come with regular evaluation in which the professors would be forced to observe him, even if his most prominent one was lazy and uncaring. Malathice said he was a researcher of magic theory; he'd surely spot Rudolf's flaws and mercilessly tear them apart for the crime of wasting his time. The dark-haired boy had a year to return home in disgrace, he didn't need to start doomsaying so soon. Then again, he still had to embarrass himself in front of the Crown Princess, unless he was lucky enough to fly beneath her notice entirely. Or... maybe she wouldn't begrudge him for abdicating if she saw how pitiful the runt of House Bergliez was in action.

Ugh, he was doing it again.

The room was in motion now, giving Rudolf an excuse to focus on something else besides the perpetual downward spiral in his own head. The princess had quietly excused herself and everyone else seemed to take that as their invitation to leave. To do what, exactly, Rudolf wasn't certain; classes wouldn't start until the following day and they otherwise had nowhere to be. Mingle, apparently, if Professor Malathice was to be believed. Rudolf wasn't very good at that. He knew most everyone in attendance but he didn't know any of them well, and he had no doubt they'd find him detestably boring if all he could do was force small talk about Count Hevring's last ball (where Viscount Hrym's son embarrassed him thoroughly, no less!) and stutter out empty platitudes about the locale. No, it was better he remain in the shadows where he belonged. Besides, he still needed to unpack; who knew what the servants did with all his luggage when they tossed it in his room. Not that he had much, but... it gave him something to do.

Fortunately, Rudolf managed to sneak his way out of the classroom without anyone toppling him over - a minor feat in most crowds, even one as small as this - and made his way out into the courtyard. The other classrooms seemed to have been dismissed at much the same time, judging by the amount of unfamiliar faces he noted, and the professors seemed to have devolved into playground antics. Both far too intimidating for him to engage with; he'd made a good choice in returning to his dorm.

Unfortunately, he almost trudged straight into the future Empress and the Vestra heiress discussing boys of all things, with the implication that she'd be 'prowling' for a poor sap to force into a betrothal. And Rudolf would be sitting next to her. All. Year. Long. Goddess knows his mother would jump at the idea of him marrying so well, though maybe someone that didn't stand to become a minister of the Empire themselves might be more suited- Saints, he hadn't even considered that he might be used as a tool of political marriage if he passed up his title.

He truly was doomed.

"Isn't it a bit early to be husband-hunting here?" Rudolf squawked without really considering his words. It didn't register to him that he'd just addressed the Crown Princess. It didn't register to him that he just ruined his chance to slip away. He just wanted to take himself out of the hunt before it even began. "I mean. Uh. I wasn't eavesdropping. I just... y'know. Heard you in passing. And. Um."

His posture shrunk and his mouth opened and shut a few times without any words escaping it before he finally followed up, "I'll just... be going. Sorry."

---

@Asura@McMolly

---

Viddle was glad to hear Adelaide take the assessment in stride. When it came to the marriages of royalty, ‘tolerable’ was certainly on the higher end of outcomes, though she knew her concerns had been largely unfounded to begin with. Adelaide would be cold underground before she let some arranged spouse stand in the way of her future. Johann would realize that quickly, and accept it with grace, or he would be in for a rather miserable marriage.

When the topic turned playfully towards her own prospects, Viddle couldn’t help laughing just a little. Not so much at the idea itself, but the thought of uncle Ulrich playing matchmaker tickled her. She’d never seen him so much as smile since they first met, and anyone who came to his seat intending to ask after marriage proposals might already be unsuitable by way of insanity.

“Uncle Ulrich isn’t very romantically-inclined these days,” she said casually. She’d never known his wife, though in her more daring escapades within the estate, she discovered he still kept a lovely portrait of her in his chambers. Perhaps theirs was indeed a passionate union. “Though if you have anyone you’d like disposed of, you should consider sending them to him to inquire after my hand. Besides,” a mischievous grin tugged at her lips. “There are much more interesting things to prowl these halls for than marriage, wouldn’t you say—oh!”

Having grown up surrounded by those who would one day make their trades in shadows and subtlety, Viddle prided herself somewhat on being hard to sneak up on. However, when a small voice popped up before them, she jolted, finding it attached to a young man who she had not even noticed approach.

It was a face she recognized least among the imperial heirs at the academy, but still recognized nonetheless. Rudolf von Bergliez, future heir to the seat of the empire’s military, and something of a social recluse compared to his peers.

“Rudolf!” she beamed, cheery again once the surprise wore off. “Oh, what a pleasant surprise! Please don’t go, we were just talking about how fun it will be, getting to know all our future allies. Your Highness,” she said, catching herself before calling Adelaide by name so casually. Perhaps once the introductions were done. “Have you met Rudolf yet? Heir to House Bergliez, and quite the capable mage, I’m told. We share a passion for magic, it would seem—I’d love to trade notes some time!”

---

It appeared Auberon's misgivings were unfounded, even if a single classroom speech might've been too small of a metric to judge success on. He hadn't expected much, but someone did outright clap, so perhaps he had outdone himself. If earnest speaking and confidence were all the Lions needed to succeed - and Auberon shouldn't have expected any less, brave sons of Faerghus that the students were - then he should be able to lead quite adeptly. Or perhaps that was merely the benevolence of the Goddess at work in Her most hallowed hall, that all within might rise to the challenges before them and prosper.

The woman that approached him didn't seem familiar, and the mention of her name removed any doubt from his mind that he might've forgotten her somehow. Still, a flash of recognition did cross his eyes as she mentioned her betrothal. Auberon was unfamiliar with the Count himself, but a name he didn't recognize engaged to a name he did certainly implied this Orhneaht girl had something about her that put her above the rest of the rabble, maybe even a Crest. At least that was one commoner's attendance explained.

"The pleasure is all mine, Lienna," Auberon greeted, then briefly gave his attention back to the board, "To answer your question, my cousin, Elia Galatea, is in attendance and I'm well acquainted with the Lord Kellen Fraldarius, though I admittedly haven't spoken to either in quite some time." The thought briefly irked him. Perhaps he needed to engage with written correspondence more frequently, especially if he intended to build connections here. It wouldn't do to let any relationships he'd nurtured wither away out of carelessness.

They were joined by another - the clapper - who introduced himself as the other commoner of their class. Unlike Lienna, he offered no such interesting claims to status in his greeting. It was a bit disheartening to learn his most vocal supporter so far was the lowest born of the class who might've clapped for anything a man of status said, but Auberon supposed he shouldn't have expected much else; none of the nobility would've had the audacity to make a scene like that. But they were unitmates and classmates besides nonetheless, and it wouldn't do for him to be aloof. Besides, Derec seemed respectable enough if he had somehow gained admission to the academy. Maybe he was slated for knighthood.

"Well met as well, Derec. I'm grateful for the support." Auberon gave the redhead an acknowledging nod. "I wasn't sure who would be in attendance this year, but this seems to be a fine group. I hadn't intended to settle for anything short of a decisive Blue Lions victory regardless." He certainly hadn't expected to be the tip of the lance for said victory, but in retrospect he was perhaps humbling himself too much. Though he may not have been too familiar with the other heirs to the great houses of Faerghus enough to guess who would be enrolled at the academy alongside him, House Galatea was no mediocre vassal house to be lumped in with the Dominics and the Kleimans. Auberon would be Count one day, and he was clearly being prodded from on high to give his responsibilities more thought than the vapid notions of knighthood he entertained in his youth.

---

@Obscene Symphony@Hero

---

To call the pomp and circumstance of the first day of classes a waste of time would be to underestimate just how fruitless the whole endeavor was. Rituals, ego trips, and introductions for those too lazy or incompetent to parse together who was of importance. If it weren't such a bad look and he was sure the headache of private meetings and admonishments would not outweigh the time saved, he would have spent the day beginning to pour through the library's historical records to at least provide some semblance of stimulation. Instead, Nathanael remained stoic and quiet through the sermon and through Professor Kalonic's introduction, no matter how brief the latter and how droning the former felt. He thumbed at a small book he kept on his desk, fighting the urge to open it and begin pouring through the texts so he at least wasn't wasting this time. He kept himself in check, though, and remained sitting unnaturally upright in his chair.

Of course, he found the prank painfully imbecilic, yet not at all surprising. If these were the best and brightest to have graduated from Garreg Mach in recent years, that said little for his confidence they would be able to provide him with anything he couldn't find at a festival for infants. It was becoming clear that the best this academy would offer are tests of patience, which while valuable was certainly less than the price of admission. It seemed fitting the Church of Seiros would run a scam like this: leeches often did suck at the blood of more capable creatures.

As Euphemia fled to have a loud fit of rage, Nathanael's eyes briefly scanned everyone present. There were a few faces he recognized from roundtable meetings, others more obvious by reputation or careful research. The most surprising presence was one that he kept within his eyeline at all times: Isolde Ordelia. She was only a year older than him... must have been eleven when her father ruined both of their lives. Not that hers could be so bad, if she ended up in the same place he was. She certainly had farther to fall still, then. He would find the time to scheme something special for her... perhaps the sermons, since sleeping or missing them would tarnish the great Gloucester name. His gaze lingered on her for a short time, the little emotion he acknowledged squeezing his chest with pain... or perhaps anxiety. It was hard to tell these days, it all blended together for Nathanael.

Of course, there were two of more import in the classroom with him... one by merit, and one certainly by his father's machinations. Clarissa's suggestion of doing introductions was reasonable... not his preferred use of time, but acceptable. She wore authority like her own skin, and held a confidence and determination that he admired. Melding their differences together were inspiring words, even if they lacked a defined meaning. His father, once, espoused the strength of the Leicester Alliance in similar terms. His belief was that there was strength in a diversity of thought, steel, and action... and that it was this that kept them free from their neighbors. This belief did not bear much weight to scrutiny... for there was little strength in the diversity of thought and steel that pierced his father's heart over half a decade earlier. He would have to keep Clarissa von Edmund from such a fate, if she were to lead the Alliance, but knew better than to try and point the faults in her words.

Of course... then there was Jorah von Riegan. His presence at the academy alone would be a disgrace, if he did not have a personality befitting the faculty meant to lead them. He certainly had to be their usual crop of candidate, and perhaps his stunning incompetence was such a brilliant display that they had chosen him to be the leader for the Golden Deer house. It certainly wasn't be merit of skill, qualities of leadership, or ability to take anything seriously. Was the only criteria being able to ride a horse? If so, Jorah's desire to "ride" must have certainly proceeded him and been sufficient requirement. But no, even Nathanael was well aware of what must have happened: the meddling seat-warmer Jorah called father was trying to teach his son a lesson at the expense of every other worthy heir in the Alliance who was there to get things done. A worthy tithe to the Church of Seiros was probably enough, or was the von Riegan charm of begging for handouts appealing enough? He didn't care to know for certain, it would only be more painful to know the particulars. He certainly didn't want to know if he could think of Jorah less.

Oh, but apparently he could, for Jorah was capable of speech.

His attempt at appearing imposing, standing atop a desk to make himself taller and peer down at them all, left Nathanael craning his neck upwards. Jorah was at least self-aware enough to admit that he was merely a sideshow at the Roundtable meetings, which had won a modicum of trust in favor in the conspiracy that Jorah's reputation was exaggerated. The innuendo and order to party had wiped that away quickly. With Jorah's introduction out of the way, Nathanael stood from his seat and began to walk to the front of the class so he could slip out the door and leave for a mid-day stroll. There was a chance he could make it to the library before the next sermon. He passed behind Jorah, close enough to hear his words. “Not bad for my first decree, eh? Maybe authority suits me after all."

Nathanael's pace slowed to a stop, the words bouncing in his head and shaking up what coherence there was left. He certainly misheard... there was not a chance that the joke of the class believed he held authority. Nathanael's cold gaze shifted towards Jorah, the words escaping his mouth in a whisper just loud enough for Jorah and Clarissa to hear. "Authority suits you like a cold bath to a cat." His gaze remained fixed as he paused, a flash of confusion crossing his face. No... his usual sarcasm was absent. Gone was his sickly sweet condescension, tucked away behind prettier words he didn't mean. Nathanael's eyes drifted towards Clarissa, his brain taking a half moment to catch up. This was unnatural, a compulsion of some sort... one he would not make again so recklessly. Nathanael cleared his throat, turning to the rest of the students in the class. He needed to distract, and pretend the words were never spoken. He just needed something suitable... more words to hide behind.

An introduction. And an opportunity to garner sympathy should Jorah escalate things.

"In the spirit of introductions... I am Nathanael Gloucester, heir to..." Nathanael paused, his flat words lingering as his gaze shifted to Isolde. He looked down afterwards, pausing for a calculated two seconds, before continuing. "... heir to the late Duke Gloucester. I look forward to learning with you all." He gave a small, stiff bow to his classmates before returning to his seat awkwardly.

---

Rudolf should've known by now that calling attention to himself was a gateway to fresh hells he'd rather not enter. It was a certainty that he forgot about every time he received some condescending pep talk that he should be more social, and was harshly reminded of on a regular basis. Doing so in present company might've been his worst blunder yet, however. The Vestra girl knew him from... somewhere. He squinted at her briefly. Where had he seen her face before? Some formal event or another, surely. Or perhaps she knew his brother and guessed his identity from that.

Whatever the case, he didn't see any fun to be had in staying in this already-painful conversation or meeting anyone he hadn't already been forcibly introduced to at a ball, let alone the backward inhabitants of Fódlan's other great nations. That was exactly what the Empire needed to project strength: him. Worse, she knew he was a mage - hopefully that was an obvious guess and his false reputation didn't extend so far that everyone had heard - and wanted to compare notes. He sucked at magic. Certainly didn't have a passion for it, in any case. She'd probably be worse off after they were done.

"I, uh, I'm not sure if you'd find them very helpful," Rudolf tried to wave her off, "I'd think House Vestra's knowledge of dark magic would run pretty deep."

Though, if 'Viddle' was a new layer of hell, Princess Adelaide was the fiery pit down at the bottom. She glared at him searchingly, surely picking apart his pathetic existence now that her eyes could find proper purchase on his form. She remembered him too, which Rudolf was convinced was more curse than blessing, and then- Saint Cichol above, why was she extending her hand like that?! That was not a greeting motion! That was- she wanted him to- but they didn't even- No, he couldn't. He wouldn't. He would have to simply pretend he misunderstood and offer her a strange, limp handshake.

Crimson eyes settled on the extended hand in horrified silence as Her Highness continued, the words passing by his ears unregistered. A more masculine voice carried in from somewhere far away, equally as unintelligible. Probably right next to him. Rudolf couldn't find the strength to raise his head and see where it originated anyway. A trembling hand reached up to meet Adelaide and lingered there for a moment as Rudolf built up the courage to defy her. Or comply with her. There really was no winning here. Against his better judgement, Rudolf dipped and placed his face against her knuckles in an act that could only be called a kiss in the most generous interpretation of the word. More like he jabbed his nose into the back of her hand and his lips kind of stiffly hung there until they brushed skin. The moment they did, he dropped her hand abruptly, as if it had shocked him, and jolted upright. Were the boy capable of getting any paler, he surely would've in that moment.

Thankfully, the glance he spared to the princess' face showed her attention was no longer on him, despite his embarrassing conduct, and now laid on the newly-arrived man. What'd she call him? Johann? Oh, good, now it was his turn to kiss the hand. Was this going to be a regular occurrence? Rudolf didn't think his heart could take another one of those.

---

@Asura@McMolly@Hero

---

The saying came to mind: ‘Never attribute to malice what can be explained by ignorance.’ In House Vestra, the rule was often inverted, as those who played the fool were likely just as much of a threat as anyone else. In her years at the estate, Viddle had grown accustomed to the depth that lurked beneath meek surfaces.

As she watched Rudolf von Bergliez smush his nose into Adelaide’s hand, shaking like a shaved dog in the winter, she saw no such depth. And much like a shaved, shaking dog, she hoped someone would come along to drape a blanket over the poor thing and bring it inside to the hearth. She would admit, much of her information on the Bergliez heir came from second and third hands; no one seemed to have very much to say about him, which was usually the case with closely guarded secrets or the unremarkable. It vexed her, for Rudolf seemed like neither, if for different and intriguing reasons.

She let his dismissal of her greeting go without pressing further. This part at the beginning, feeling out first impressions, it could be tricky, and among the last things she wanted to do was upset a future colleague.

And speaking of…

“Ah, Johann,” she said, nodding respectfully as the young man approached them. “A true comfort indeed. And, if not a coincidence, then certainly a wonderful opportunity. Your family has much to look forward to this year.”

Viddle shot a brief, subtle glance at Adelaide, trying to gauge her reaction. Passable as his reputation was, just as with Rudolf, it was his introduction that mattered most. Adelaide likely wouldn’t mind an awful marriage if it meant achieving her vision, but Viddle had no desire to see her cousin endure.