May the Spirits Bless You

Rubbing his face deeper into the soft warmth of the twin pillows beneath him, Byleth lets out a content sigh.

Immediately, a sweet giggle echoes from above, the fingers caressing his scalp renewing their ministrations with gentle affection.

"Do you truly take that much enjoyment from this?"

Cracking open an eyelid, the boy's cobalt blue orb gazes up into the emerald ones lovingly looking down at him. The slight smile on the petite fairy-like face framed by cascading emerald hair captivates him.

Laying with her on this beautifully open mountaintop under the warm summer sun, nothing could feel more peaceful. And yet, as he stares at her enthralling features, his chest can't help but constrict in pain.

Turning so his head resting on her small yet generous thighs is facing upward, he raises a hand toward her face. Like a cat, she lowers in kind, closing her eyes and nuzzling against his palm as he cups her cheek.

A hum of pleasure purrs in her throat as his thumb rubs across her smooth milky white skin.

"I missed you," she says softly.

"Me too," he responds simply, wishing he could convey exactly how much.

Alongside each other, the hurt begins to fade away. Closing his eyes, the youth returns his arm to his side, prompting Sothis to resume her caresses.

For the first time in a while, he feels full and warm, relaxed. It's a completely serene moment, one he's long been wishing for. Though their shared lack of clothing is an admittedly odd twist, the grass below occasionally tickling his back.

Regardless, the two of them are finally tog-

Abruptly, his flow of thought falters as a warm drop wets his face, making him open his eyes. His body stiffens. Feeling the change Sothis' gentle lips morph into a frown, "Whatever is the matter, dear Byleth?"

However, the words don't even register, nothing does. Everything suddenly feels cold and the only thing he can see is the bloody handprint marring her pristine white cheek.

Darting awake, he clutches his chest, trying to steady his rapid breathing. Shaky pupils take in the tent's vacant blue sides, his father already gone.

Fumbling nearby with a probing hand, he grabs onto his waterskin, quickly bringing it to his lips and drinking greedily, uncaring of the water leaking on his chest as he does.

'It was just a dream,' he thinks desperately. 'But it felt so real,' comes a betraying thought, whispering from the dark.

Involuntarily clutching the sack a bit tighter, he takes a few more gulps and tosses it back on the ground, sitting still as his addled mind stews in the afterglow of the blissful fantasy turned nightmare.

Then, letting himself fall onto his scratchy pillow, he repeats his earlier thought like a mantra. 'It was just a dream.'

Arm snaking under his headrest, his fingers wrap around a familiar handle, bringing it to his chest. Tracing over the details of the blue sheath, black pommel, and golden star embellishments, he slowly begins to calm. Softly, his slightly disjointed expression melds into a resting state of stoicism, his gaze similarly losing its wary luster, at least on the surface.

As his breaths slow and the pervasive heat of trapped hot hair becomes more prominent, he hears the ground being trampled underfoot nearby.

"Hey buddy, you awake yet?"

Coming through the tent flap Zane steps inside, quickly zeroing in on the languid form huddled in the dark.

Turning to the side he stifles a chuckle, "That hot last night huh?"

There's no reaction to his jape, only still silence aside from the distant clamor of activity. Brows furrowing, the ginger walks closer and crouches down.

"Are you okay Byleth?" he asks in a worried tone. When he receives no response yet again, he begins talking.

"I know the last few days must've been rough. If you want to talk about it –"

"It's not that," the teal-haired youth interrupts softly.

The young man waits patiently for him to continue.

"I… had a bad dream," he says eventually.

"I see."

Drumming his fingers on his leg, Zane fully sits beside the prone boy.

"You know," he starts, "I had a lot of nightmares when I was younger too. Heck, Cethleann knows I still do sometimes."

Running a hand through his hair, he takes a deep breath.

"My mother died when I was a little older than you. For a long time, I prayed and prayed that I could see her one final time, to hear her voice and wrap my arms around her."

He chuckles ruefully, "In some ways I did, but never in the way I hoped. Every night I dreamt of her and every night I had to watch her slip away to the goddess."

Glancing at the kid curled up next to him he continues, "I know it sounds simple, but what helped me overcome it was to simply remember the best of her. Her smile, her laugh, the way she smelled. Anything but her final moments."

The ginger pauses, letting those words hang in the air.

"Don't misunderstand," he adds, "I'm not saying to blindly forget, more like to choose what to remember. Admittedly, I don't know exactly what's plaguing you, but I think that what I said holds true regardless. Don't dwell on the negative thoughts, instead embrace the happy ones."

Next to him, the boy eventually flips onto his back, finally meeting Zane's gaze with his own. The two share a long look.

"Thanks," the teal-haired youth finally whispers in Tuatha.

"No problem little brother."

Responding in kind, the older merc says the words so casually, that his brain only digests them a moment later, eyes widening as he does. As his throat tightens, Byleth suddenly jumps at him, giving an awkward hug.

Looking at the head of blue buried in his leather shoulder guard, the young man's hazel orbs soften, reaching up to ruffle the boy's hair.

"Alright, alright, that's enough. Get off me and put some clothes on."

Lightly pushing him away he rises to his feet. Walking to the leftmost corner he bends down and picks up a small set of rumpled clothes, throwing them over.

"Come on, let's get out of here, your dad wants to see you."

The younger boy digests his meaning, still not concrete in his knowledge of the Brigid language, but eventually relents. Similarly standing, he quickly stretches and begins wiping his bare body with a cloth as Zane goes outside.

***

Fiddling with the short sword strapped to his waist, the youth steps out of the still tent air and into the blazing Brigid sun a few minutes later. Not noticing him at first, the archer appears lost in thought as he observes some increasingly organized mercenaries go about their work.

Tapping his arm to go, his ginger companion starts and comments in a strange tone, "You wouldn't even know it's getting to be winter back home, huh?"

"Yeah," Byleth responds simply.

Zane briefly glances toward him as they begin to walk toward the settlement proper, fingers twiddling on the strap of his belt.

"Well, I suppose it's actually not too bad in the Empire this time of year. The Kingdom though," he whistles, "now that place is akin to a tundra in some areas, being in the north and all."

Stepping carefully so as not to get sand in his boots, the youth eventually responds.

"Why," he stops, and for a second the ginger thinks he won't continue. "Why is it colder in the north?" he ultimately asks.

Zane's lips twist upward at the query, quickly adopting his teaching voice, as he likes to think of it.

"That's a good question. Actually, for a long while, it wasn't known why. There are a couple of theories that have gained traction of late but there's one in particular that I believe to be especially fascinating. A couple of years ago, a team of academics from the Alliance published a thesis on what they're calling the equator. The gist of it is that the equator is the centermost line of our planet, and thusly the area that receives the most direct light from the sun."

The freckled archer looks at the fascinated boy beside him, "Errr, we covered basic astronomy and science, right?"

Byleth simply nods, cobalt orbs glued to his senior.

"Right, well since it receives direct sunlight as opposed to the diffused variety that the other curved parts of our planet receive, it tends to be hotter. At least that's what they claimed in their paper."

Fingers sliding through his orange-red locks, he stares up into the cloudy sky, but another question brings his attention back down.

"How close is Brigid to this equator?"

Humming in thought as they enter the rebuilding town, he responds carefully.

"That's a lot harder to know. We don't have a great understanding of the wider world in Fódlan, but it's thought that the equator is still much further south."

The blue-haired lad again nods, letting that information sink in.

Zane continues though, his voice filled with passion, "Almyra, Morfis… Brigid," he emphasizes while waving his arm around them, "the world is such a wide place and we barely know any of it."

Stopping, he bends and picks up a large brown seed he had kicked across the ground. He turns it over in his hands a couple of times before pocketing it, looking around at the olive-skinned natives interspersed with his white subordinates.

"That's part of why I became a mercenary you know," he says softly, "to see the world."

Looking at his young companion he continues, "I just…" he trails off before sighing.

"Never mind. Come on."

Lightly patting Byleth's back, they move on.

After walking for a short while longer, someone calls out to them.

"Zane!" shouts a feminine voice with a heavy accent, her vowels the wrong sound.

Looking behind him, the small Eisner spies a young Brigid woman likely in her late teens jogging up to them, waving her hand with a wide smile. Scrutinizingly noting her features, he recognizes her as the merchant who hired them.

Cherry red bangs cover one of her striking gray eyes, the hair kept tight on the other side so as to reveal a diamond-shaped yellow earring. A quick scan tells him that she doesn't appear to have any weapons on her, her clothing looking too impractical for combat anyway, especially the sleeveless top showing an abundance of cleavage. It is colorful though - a vibrant red that matches her hair.

Despite her frequent time at sea, her skin is also a shade lighter than most he's seen in this area, though the long tattoo on her upper left arm looks similar to some he's seen.

Overall, she looks healthy but thin, not really having any muscle to speak of. Also, if the passing looks mean anything, then he supposes she's rather attractive as well, though not nearly as Sothis.

That fleeting thought nearly sends his mood plummeting, but he tries to put into practice what Zane said earlier, recalling her mesmerizing emerald orbs and the subtle twitch of her long pointy ears when she smiles.

Slowly he calms down, though a growing pit of unease develops in his stomach as he feels his mental barrier enclosing her still firmly in place.

Snapping back to reality, he notices that his inner musings surprisingly took only a literal second.

At the girl's approach, a weird smile blossoms on Zane's lips, his sunburned cheeks seeming to get a shade brighter.

"Gráinne! I h-haven't seen you the last few days."

She chuckles, responding in a broken tongue of Fódlan, "Yes, yes. I was needing to go other part of Brigid for supplies."

Leaning in low, she flashes a cheeky smile while tilting her head subtly to the side, "Missing me?"

The ginger's face turns equally as red as her hair while his eyes flicker toward her protruding chest a few times. At his reaction Gráinne bursts out laughing, playfully punching his shoulder.

"And who this, your brother?"

Turning toward Byleth she reaches out to pat his head, but he quickly steps back out of reach.

She just takes it in stride.

"He shy huh? That okay though, he cute like you."

 "Cute…," Zane mutters under his breath, though the eagle-eyed boy doesn't miss his momentary awkward expression at her earlier words.

"Anyway Zane, I was wanting to ask if -" She stops, glancing at the youth before switching to Tuatha.

He doesn't understand everything she says, but she asks Zane to do something with her. Whatever it is, the archer near jumps out of his boots, turning to look at him with wide eyes. Seeing his passive expression seems to calm him a little, at least until Gráinne jumps into his arms.

The ginger's hands immediately go around her waist while she whispers something in his ears and buries her face in the crook of his neck, grabbing his hands and lowering them to her rear.

Inexplicably, Byleth feels he's seeing something he shouldn't, and Zane obviously feels the same as he swiftly disentangles himself from her.

"B-Byleth, you're uh, your father is in that tent over there. Okay?"

He motions behind him towards a large green tent in the near distance. He's about to say more but Gráinne grabs his wrist and begins to drag him away.

"Don't tell Jeralt," he calls out, letting himself be taken.

"Bye-bye, cutie!"

Turning to wave with a wide smile, the Brigid girl blows a kiss and continues with the young archer in tow.

Watching them go, the lad is slightly confused about the turn of events, the girl coming in like a whirlwind. It's only cemented as he hears a few mercenaries chuckling about it nearby, but they quickly shut up when he looks their way. 

Ultimately, he mentally shrugs and starts toward the denoted tent.

When he gets closer, he starts to hear low mutterings on the wind, the voices becoming clearer and clearer on the approach. Stopping just outside the entrance, they ring true from inside.

"…but we still haven't found him," says a man that is most certainly his father.

About to walk in, he hesitates, curious about their discussion.

"I see. Do not be worrying, we will be sure to look for him and bring him to justice. That is if the jungles don't take him first," replies a voice he's come to associate with Lóegaire.

"Thanks. Sorry to impose, but I appreciate it."

Inwardly wondering about their conversation, the boy takes a deep breath and lifts the flap, walking in.

"There you are, kid! I was wondering who was loitering outside."

Sitting on a simple wooden bench, Jeralt waves him over with a grin. Byleth doesn't move though, his focus glued to the other two in the tent, specifically the individual scrutinizing him.

Across from his father, the near-feral-looking monarch with his tattoos and overgrown blue hair gazes at him with warm indigo eyes, but the younger man next to him is the opposite. The young warrior feels his predatory gaze sweeping across him and rests a hand on the pommel of his short sword, similarly taking in the potential foe.

He's simply dressed, just a sleeveless off-white button-down and practical brown pants with no shoes to speak of. In other words, no armor to stop his blade. The lack of garments to conceal weapons also means he's likely without any, but his thick tattooed arms and robust physique appear strong enough on their own. Meeting the piercing brown eyes framed by a long head of turquoise locks, he waits, as if daring the stranger to make the first move.

Lóegaire loudly clears his throat, breaking the spell as the younger man clicks his tongue in annoyance.

"This is the brat you told me about? He looks fresh off his mother's breast."

Turning to look at the jungle king beside him, his small feather earrings whip around, passively making the youth wonder if they don't tickle his neck. Lóegaire only glances at him, motioning for the Fódlandborne lad to sit.

"Do not be worrying about him, he's just my foolish son."

Walking over and wrapping his arm around his kid's shoulders, Jeralt nods toward the young man as he forcefully drags him to sit down, "Byleth, that's Lugaid, crown prince of Brigid."

The fledgling merc doesn't say anything, still keeping close to his sword. Seeing his wariness, the Macneary elder smacks his son over the head.

"Apologize," he demands in Tuatha. The prince shoots daggers at his graying senior and grumbles under his breath. He does follow the command though.

Looking across the table at the now seated boy he slightly bows his head.

"I apologize for my improper behavior young mercenary. I had merely got my hopes up about fighting a strong opponent my age, which clearly, you are not," he says while motioning to the lad's form, which although larger than his age would suggest is still clearly that of a child.

"He might be a little wet behind the ears, but Byleth's no lightweight Prince."

"However true that might be, Blade Breaker," he emphasizes the title in a vaguely mocking way, "I'm much more interested in you."

The former knight just chuckles, "Sorry kid, this old bag of bones isn't looking for a fight right now." 

Leaning forward, Lugaid flashes a challenging smirk, "Now, now, you were able to match my father, and I also heard tell of your duel the other night. What's one more clash before you leave?"

"We're leaving soon?" The youth's quiet childlike voice interrupts the two. 

 "Yeah that's why I wanted to see you," Jeralt says, ruffling the boy's hair.

"We've pretty much finished cleaning everything up so we'll be setting off for Menja territory early tomorrow morning."

Byleth only nods after a moment.

"Well speaking of," Jeralt says in a raised voice while beginning to stand, "I have preparations to make. Lóegaire's gonna keep you company today, alright kid?"

"Okay."

"Good."

Nodding toward the two royals, the flaxen-haired sellsword walks out of the tent.

Silence fills the air for a few moments before Lugaid begins talking to his father in Tuatha.

"Do you think he noticed? He's from Fódlan. If word that Dagda is-"

"Lugaid!" Looking at his son with a hard expression, Lóegaire shuts him up.

"Byleth, will you please wait for me outside?" he asks loudly in the same tongue.

The wide-eyed prince watches as the Fódlan youth in question nods and gets up.

 "Father-" he says turning to the king.

"Enough! You and I need to talk about your actions of late."

Poking at the ground with a stray branch, the boy perks up as someone finally comes out of the tent ten minutes later.

He watches as Lugaid storms away, fists clenched tight against his side. A minute later and the aging monarch also exits, eyes sweeping through his surroundings until he spots the boy and starts toward him.

"Apologies you were having to witness that young Byleth. My son…," a deep sigh leaves his lips, "he's a good man but has a lot of growing up to do yet. But," he continues, "what are we old folk here for if not to be guiding the younger generation. Right?" he asks with a small smile.

"Come now, there's much I wish to show you of my homeland before you are leaving."

Nodding, the boy stands to his feet and wipes away some of the dirt and sand, walking lockstep with the graying Brigidman toward the jungle.

***

The world seems to momentarily slow as Byleth soars through the air. Despite himself, he can't help but feel an inkling of nerves at the prospect of falling all that way down. In the next moment though, his hands wrap around the stiff vine and the droplets of apprehension evaporate into sheer thrill as his surroundings blur past.

Eyes locked onto his target, he swiftly does some mental calculations before letting go at just the right time, propelling himself through the air and smoothly onto his feet as he lands beside a smiling Lóegaire.

"You're getting the hang of it," he says in his deep baritone.

Placing a steadying hand against the massive trunk, the youth nods in agreement, still savoring the feeling of gliding through the jungle top in that way.

"We are almost there."

At a burst of movement, he looks up to see the nimble hunter jumping off, twisting mid-air to flash him an amused smile. Scurrying to look down after him, a cheerful laugh reverberates upward, "Try to keep up, boy!"

Taking a moment to peer through the numerous branches and leaves, the reality of his dizzying height makes itself prominent, but the sight of the nimble island king traversing the vertical towers of browns and greens stirs something within him.

Backing up a few paces, Byleth lets out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding and springs off the balls of his feet.

Driving forward, he dives off of the branch, that same sense of freedom as before enveloping him as the wind blows back his hair and fills his ears. The only comparable thing is maybe how it feels when his father's mighty warhorse gallops at full speed, but even that seems lacking in his mind.

As the world again blurs around him, he suddenly wrenches out his hand and changes his path of doom to one flying forward through the jungle.

Letting go of a vine with his right hand, his other automatically searches out another, body swinging forward to keep his momentum. His cobalt orbs search through the vegetation, eventually locking on to an indigo pair looking back at him.

Nodding to himself, Lóegaire resumes his quick pace, challenging the youngster behind him. Swinging forward through the air and off of another vine, Byleth lands roughly on a thick branch and rolls quickly onto his feet, sprinting and diving off toward the next.

In this fashion, he eventually begins to gain on the old man ahead of him, feeling like some sort of monkey as he does so.

Soon enough he sees his quarry glance behind at him once more and laugh as he disappears through an especially overgrown patch of leaves. Determined to catch up, the lad barrels through that same overgrown patch a moment later, eyes immediately searching.

Despite himself, his stoic expression falters a bit as he flies past the still king and toward a small lake of water hidden amongst the giants surrounding it.

"Good luck next time little one," followed by a joyful laugh is the last thing he hears before he crashes into the surprisingly cold waters.

***

The fire at his feet crackles and pops as Byleth pokes at it with a stick, content with watching the tip slowly begin to smolder and darken. Despite the towering overhangs of foliage providing relief from the brutal sun high above, his skin still feels hot as flickering tongues of orange dance beside his resting form.

Far from uncomfortable, however, the heat is oddly pleasant on his damp skin, his drenched shirt and hard leather hanging nearby to dry.

"Here you go."

Torn away from the active imagery of being baked like a potato, the cobalt-orbed mercenary refocuses his attention on his current partner. Tossing his stick into the flames, he accepts the skewered fish, only scrutinizing its browned texture for a moment before sinking his teeth in.

Watching him eat, Lóegaire eventually goes back to whittling the chunk of wood in his hand. A large piece removed from one spot and a parchment-thin strip from another, the object slowly takes shape as he meticulously attends to it.

"Is that a bird?"

Glancing up from his work, he notices the young lad gazing intently at the object, the thin bones of his meal on the ground.

"It is," he says, passing it over so the boy can examine it.

"I'm being happy you can actually recognize it!" he adds with a chuckle.

Byleth just nods, tracing each little groove with a soft finger

"Eventually," he reaches over and taps the end where the tail feathers are, "I want to turn it into a whistle with a hole here. Then I can paint it and maybe be making it a necklace. I haven't decided yet."

The teal-haired youth hums in acknowledgment, trying to imagine the final product.

"Do you sell them?" he asks after a moment. 

"Sell? No. No, I don't think our artisans would appreciate my poor craftsmanship ruining their reputation."

The old king smiles, resting his cheek on his fist.

"It's for my little granddaughter, Petra. She's always grabbing at her father's Saol necklace, so I figured this ought to be appeasing her."

"Sail necklace?"

Eyebrows briefly wrinkling, the jovial royal chuckles.

"No, no. Saol," he emphasizes.

"Lugaid had it tucked into his shirt, but maybe you noticed the cord around his neck?"

Byleth tilts his head to the side, pondering the question as the battle-hungry prince's image flashes in his memory. In the moment he had mainly focused on his posture and muscles, but giving it another glance in his mind's eye, the image becomes a little clearer and he does indeed spot a finely twined black cord looping around the prince's neck.

Grunting his acknowledgment to the asked question, the youth refocuses his attention on the decidedly more pleasant member of the Brigid royal family.

Nodding, the monarch continues, "Put simply it's a necklace passed down to the eldest child time and time again. It's supposed to be marking the journey into adulthood and carrying the legacy of your family line onward. In truth, not many people do it anymore, however, we of the Royal Family are being responsible for upholding our nation's traditions, even those that may fall out of fashion."

Glancing over, he sees the boy pondering it.

"What if both parents are the eldest, will their child get two?"

Fiddling with the knife in his hand, an awkward smile graces the old man's lips.

"Not exactly what I expected you to ask. But, in cases such as that then the parents can be choosing their course of action. Some choose to pass one on to another child as well, but the typical solution is to combine the two separate pieces. None were visible but our necklace has dozens of different beads strung along the chord. Each was fashioned from a piece of the joining family's necklaces, should the need have arisen."

Brushing stray bits of wood off his pants, Lóegaire speaks with an amused tone, "Isn't it funny how such a simple-seeming tradition can have so many complexities and issues lurking in its shadow? In truth, there are a lot of uh, what's the word… Ah yes, I believe your high-brow academics say sociopolitical. Well, there are a lot of issues in regard to that as well, though now we're delving into heavy topics on a beautiful day."

Standing up to douse the fire at their feet, he stashes the knife into a small satchel at his waist.

"Now then young Byleth, there is much I am wishing to show you yet, so let's move on from here."

Nodding, the youth similarly rises, playing with the unfinished carving in his palm before offering it back. The two then clean up their impromptu camping site and set off into the depths of the jungle.

***

As the wind whips Byleth's hair around on the dark sandy beach the next morning, he can feel an odd pit in his stomach grow at the prospect of leaving and returning to Fódlan.

Toes digging into the cool sand, he looks down and contemplates, eventually sitting carefully and turning toward the sea. Under his attentive watch, an especially large wave slowly builds up in the distance, growing in size until it eventually comes crashing forward and spills back into the sea.

Here on this tranquil morning, away from the sounds of the forest and clamor of mercenaries, he can think, for once not on the downward spiral that has been his life, but instead the boon that Brigid has largely become.

His abusers are gone and dealt with, his trust and relationship with his father restored, and he's been able to learn about a new environment and meet new people, some of whom have actually become a part of the select group that he feels close to.

There are discrepancies like Sean's absent brother but his father and Lóegaire apparently have that in hand.

As the graying island king crosses his mind, a faint smile graces his lips for a moment. Not only had the man helped him climb out of the hole he resided in, but he had also expanded his worldview by leaps and bounds.

Hearing about the lush jungles of Brigid in his sessions with Zane is one thing, but exploring each and every crevasse within them is an incomparable experience that he doesn't imagine he'll ever forget. The respect for nature's beauty and life just felt right, and things altogether felt livelier, which is interesting considering the constant clamor of mercenary life.

In truth, the experience has helped him realize how much there is to see and learn in Fódlan too, a prospect that makes the thought of leaving ever so easier.

Another crash of waves brings his mood back down. Despite all of that… goodness, the past week or so in Brigid wrought something that chills him even now.

His separation from Sothis.

The girl that he's been seeing in his dreams ever since he can remember, the recent acquaintance he'd found to be real and true, locked within his mind. Yes, even though he may not understand it, he can feel that the prison can be undone should he choose, but that decision is not in any way simple.

The girl… she's seen who he is… or was, and she didn't react positively. He would love nothing more than to melt into her arms and let his fears evaporate, but the thought of her face twisting into displeasure and hate as she gazes upon him is too much to bear. Perhaps after he readies himself for it a while longer, but now… now is unfortunately not the time.

A mercenary doesn't live long without planning for all eventualities, or so his father says. So, Byleth will prepare, and hopefully, if the emerald fairy within him does hate him after all, he'll be able to handle it.

For a while after his introspection, he stares into the ocean, etching its sight into memory. Zane eventually joins him and relaxes in silence, but it isn't long before he hears his father calling for them.

"Come on buddy."

Looking at the offered hand, he takes one more glance at the waves before grabbing hold and rising to his feet. Dusting off the back of his pants, he's about to walk toward his father in the distance when something in the sand catches his eye.

Lightly jogging over, he stares at it a moment before crouching and shuffling the sand around. Then, reaching down, he picks up a small yet beautiful seashell, its tip spiraling with perfectly grooved lines. Even under the dim light he can make out the beautiful combination of swirling blue and green, dancing together across the entire body.

Losing himself in its luster, a hand on his shoulder snaps him out of his trance.

"Ready to go?"

Glancing up at Zane, he swallows the lump in his throat and swiftly pockets the shell.

"Yes."

***

"I can't believe you've been making the poor girl wear those dresses. She obviously wasn't being comfortable."

"Relax old man, you're too serious. She never complained once, so what's the harm?"

The aging monarch lets loose a deep sigh, "Oh you'll understand the harm well when your wife hears of this."

"What do you mean? Rhiannon was fine with my courting of Temeria…"

"Enough. I don't want to speak of this any longer. Let women handle womanly business as they say."

Even from afar, Byleth can make out the odd conversation held between the royal pair, surprised at their use of Fódlan's language and not their own. Glancing through their company though, it perhaps has something to do with the many locals around them.

In any case, it's none of his business, and staying away from the whispers of nobles and their ilk is yet another lesson that's been drilled into him.

"Ready to depart my friend?"

Turning toward his group, Lóegaire grins at his father.

"Yes, it's time for us to move on. There's money to be made and I'd rather do so back on home soil if it's all the same to you."

"No need to explain Jeralt, I am recalling my own longing for home during my visits to Adrestia. Also," his eyes gain a brief sharp glint that Byleth picks up, "rest assured that I will be doing what we discussed, so worry not."

Resting his hand on the pommel of his sword, Jeralt nods and responds in a deep voice, "Thank you, Lóegaire."

The two then shake hands for an oddly long moment, some unspoken message between them.

As Jeralt lets go and moves on to share a few words with Lugaid, the old king turns his attention to Zane.

"I hope you enjoyed it here; I know our woman can be quite forward when they put you in their sights."

Coughing up whatever words he was going to say, the young man's face turns a bright red as he scratches his neck.

"Y-yes. Anyway, I thank you for allowing us into your home. I was able to learn much, and it was overall an experience I will treasure for the rest of my days."

"Let that be for a long while yet."

As the two shake hands, they share a farewell in Tuatha and Zane rejoins his place at his father's side.

Finally, the monarch's gaze turns to him, softening as it does.

"Come here boy."

Beckoning the lad forward, he bends down on one knee so as to be at eye level with him.

"You have a bright future Byleth Eisner, I know it. I can see clearly the day you shine like the sun, washing away all the darkness in your path."

Rustling around in the pouch at his side, he quickly pulls out a loop of twine, putting it over the lad's head.

"Now, give me your hand"

Doing as instructed, Byleth places his left palm into the man's larger and much rougher one. Doing so, he notices Lóegaire pull his knife out with his free hand, but doesn't so much as blink as he stares at the man.

The king gazes at him for a moment, before speaking in a respectful tone.

"In Brigid, when one receives their Saol necklace, it is customary to imbue it with a drop of their blood. Performed by the one passing it on to you, the act symbolizes both an acceptance and recognition of adulthood, but also your lifelong connection with the spirits of this land. Though your essence and will they will come to see you with even greater clarity."

"May I?"

Unsheathing the dagger, Lóegaire brings it's gleaming tip to the center of Byleth's thumb, careful to apply no pressure.

For his part the boy takes an oddly long moment to respond, his gaze somewhat distant as if ruminating on something. Eventually, however, he lightly nods.

Under the island monarch's careful assistance, his finger is lightly pricked, a bead of dark sanguine essence coalescing on the surface of his skin. The older man then gently guides his hand to the bird shaped pendant looped through the twine.

As Byleth presses his bloodied finger into the wood, he can't help but feel a strange tingle down his spine, the absence of any pain somewhat surprising him. Even more surprising is when the wooden necklace somehow absorbs the blood streaked along it's surface, appearing completely unsullied in mere moments.

Sucking on his thumb to get rid of any excess blood, the boy marvels at the development, only to be shaken from his thoughts by a firm clap on the shoulder. Looking up. he meets the gaze of one of the few people he's ever felt a connection to.

Eyes crinkling, Lóegaire adopts a grandfatherly smile and places a finger on the beautifully painted bird looped on the necklace.

"Brigid will always be open to you. May the spirits bless you and the path you walk for all time."

In that moment Byleth feels oddly light and warm, a feeling that lasts even after he steps back from the long embrace with the older man.

Ruffling the youth's hair as he stands to his full height, Lóegaire gives him one final smile, saying farewell in Tuatha. The young Eisner returns it and ultimately turns to Lugaid.

The young prince stares at him for an oddly long period before nodding.

"Come find me when you're older boy, then we can greet properly as warriors."

Feeling oddly talkative, the young mercenary responds.

"I'll remember that."

At that, Lugaid flashes a brief grin before nodding toward his father and Zane at the side.

"Off with you then brat. I expect you to face me in your father's stead, so train like your life depends on it." 

"Lugaid," the aging monarch rumbles warningly, but the young prince just chuckles, watching the burgeoning mercenary depart.

Everything after seems a blur. The next thing that Byleth knows he's walking up creaking boards of wood and onto the main deck of the merchant ship ready to take them back. Not even two weeks ago and yet his previous experience aboard the vessel already feels a world away.

Taking a lungful of the fresh salty air, he grips the bags of supplies even tighter and carries them toward the same room as last time. As he sets everything on the ground and looks at the cramped area, he does a one-eighty and begins his ascent up to the deck.

Relaxing near the edge, he watches as his father's men quickly begin to file aboard, having already dismantled and collected all of their belongings. It likely would have taken a lot longer if the locals weren't chipping in as they are.

As the last of the men and supplies are brought aboard, he notices the girl who interacted with Zane give some orders and watches as the various seamen aboard the vessel begin the process of disembarking.

Ropes are unraveled and sails are unfurled as the boat begins to leave the shallow area it had previously docked. Through all of this, the twin royals watch from afar as everything is carried out.

Even as the boat drifts farther and farther away, Byleth can see the grin on the aging king's face as he sees them off, and almost as if the man has eyesight near as good as him, they lock eyes, sharing a wave.

Eventually, the distance becomes too great for even him to see the man properly and like that, his time on the tropical archipelago becomes yet another memory, but one that he vows to revisit in the future.

As the islands of green fade into the dawning horizon, a voice as sweet as honey drifts into his ears from behind.

"What are you doing here little one?"

Turning, the boy is confused for a moment as rather than a face, two large mounds of plump flesh greet his gaze. Eventually, he's able to take stock of what he's seeing.

Bending down closer to his level is a decidedly eye-catching girl dressed in a tight and revealing, by Fódlan's standards anyway, green dress. His cobalt orbs wander over the wide berth of her hips and surprisingly lithe waist as he reflexively scans her, eventually making it to her perfectly gentle and innocent face framed by flowing pinkish melon hair.

"Are you okay honey? Where are your parents?"

The young woman reaches out to him, and strangely Byleth doesn't feel at all nervous, a rather peaceful aura surrounding her.

As her soft hand streaks through his locks, a bout of pleasure shoots down from his scalp all the way to the tip of his toes and he can't help but falter, falling into her soft warm body more comfortable than any pillow he's ever laid on.

In a daze as a delightful scent invades his nose and his face burrows deeper in her bosom, he's lightly pulled away as a soft palm rests on his forehead and he sees her cherry lips turn into a worried frown.

"What's your name honey?"

Her question ringing in his ears, he suddenly snaps out of his odd state, remembering his lessons with Zane on conversing with women. Reluctantly stepping back from her inviting presence, the boy clears his throat and introduces himself while bowing.

His etiquette only elicits a gentle peal of laughter from the woman, however, as she reaches out and ruffles his hair yet again.

As another inexplicable feeling wracks through him, the girl speaks.

"My, my, aren't you a little gentleman Sir Byleth?"

Tilting her head, she spreads her pearly white teeth into a beautiful smile, "My name is Cornelia Arnim, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

*****

Hey folks! We're finally leaving Brigid behind and can get onto new things! I planned most of this so long ago but it's only now coming to fruition. Why is writing so hard?

P.S. Yes that was THE Cornelia at the end. She'll be pretty important from here on out. Look forward to it.