Earth to Earth

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/31435583.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: Gen
Fandom: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir & Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, Ferdinand von
Aegir & Marianne von Edmund
Characters: Edelgard von Hresvelg, Ferdinand von Aegir, Hubert von Vestra,
Marianne von Edmund, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester
Additional Tags: Blood Magic, Canon Compliant, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black
Eagles Route, Fictional Religion & Theology, Friendship, Gothic Horror
Elements, Letters, Moral Dilemmas, Self-Discovery, Crests (Fire
Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2021-05-21 Words: 7,607 Chapters: 1/1
 Earth to Earth
by Metallic_Sweet

Summary

Superstition is out of fashion.

In a fit of pique in the Ethereal Moon of 1189, Ferdinand leaves Enbarr and returns to winter
in Aegir.

Notes

As this is not a full recruitment route, there are non-descriptive references to Rhea, Seteth,
Manuela, and Dimitri who fell during the war within this fic. There are mild gothic horror
elements to this piece in regards to Ferdinand’s house and family mausoleum, including short
descriptions of corpses and their remains.

Thank you so much to 3RatMoon for the beta!

See the end of the work for more notes

i. rain collects on the old stone roof

In a fit of pique in the Ethereal Moon of 1189, Ferdinand leaves Enbarr and returns to winter
in Aegir.

His estate is much changed. The manor house he grew up in was demolished following the
war. It was in painful disrepair after three years vacant, left to the elements and the expanding
rainy season. Rot was the major evil, although this is to say nothing of the would-be
pillagers, who all became entangled like starved mice in the house’s traps. Their bodies piled
up, ground up and spat out by the main and side doors and the traps. The bones and putrid
leftovers seeped into the carpets and granite, and there was no amount of practical magic or
ammonia that could remove the stains.

The traps and door mechanisms are the only parts of the old manor Ferdinand kept. Unlike
everything else, they are pristine, but that makes sense: they are made of the same materials
as Shambhala was and attuned to obey only the blood of Cichol. They present no danger to
Ferdinand and lie quiet and dormant so long as he wishes them to, as he fed them his blood to
assert his authority as their proper master. Their presence in his new home, which is built
closer to the main town, is effectively harmless.

Building the new house was a major ordeal. In the three years following the end of the war
against Rhea and the corrupt Church, Ferdinand had to split his attention between his public
duties as Prime Minister, the secret war against Those Who Slither in the Dark, and much
more pertinent restoration and reconstruction of Aegir itself. The outer town walls and roads
had fallen into disrepair, and Ferdinand concentrated his extra energy on building and staffing
a schoolhouse for the children who had no recourse to lessons for the duration of the war. The
limited time he spent in Aegir then was in a nice inn room above the tavern as his former
house was slowly and carefully demolished; it had to be done with a careful, attentive eye as
he manually removed the door and trap mechanisms.

The new house, built over the past year and a half as wood and interior fixtures were sourced
from Charon and Varley, is modeled after the townhomes in Derdriu and designed to
withstand damp and humid conditions. Aegir has become steadily rainier since the second
year of the war, likely related to changing weather patterns that have brought longer winters
to the north and shorter summers even in the southern tip of Enbarr. The rapid change has
been drastic with reports from Sylvain in Gautier that Sreng’s desert appears to be shrinking
and Airell’s lava flows cooling more rapidly at the valley’s borders.

The natural balance has been disturbed. Ferdinand keeps his peace on his thoughts as to why.
Superstition, in the new Fódlan, is out of fashion. It wouldn’t do for Ferdinand, as Prime
Minister, to sprout dissonant and old-fashioned ideas. It would ruin the image of himself, the
Emperor, and their allies holding a united front.

In Aegir, the people are quiet and their joy and pains subdued. Business has picked up since
the honey and mead production got back up and running, but the apple and hazelnut orchards
and the grape vines need at least a couple more years yet to begin producing enough for
export beyond neighboring territories. Wine will not be marketable for half a decade yet
unless Ferdinand can convince Enbarr or Derdriu palates of the merits of bright, first-press
rosé. It is the local and Ferdinand’s own preference, but nobles and city folk of means only
acknowledge deep, aged reds or full-bodied white wines. The barrels of hearty wood ordered
at the start of the year have yet to arrive from Dadga due to the delay in the new trade
agreement, so this year’s meager grape crop will not leave Aegir except in a drinking skin.

These delays and setbacks are infuriating. Ferdinand struggles to explain to Edelgard and the
rest of the Enbarr court the problems because they sound both common and self-serving. It is
difficult for Ferdinand to speak without bias regarding Aegir, and Hubert has, insightfully but
irritatingly, compared Ferdinand’s concerns to those of Faerghus nobles, who all chafe
against Enbarr’s style of negotiation and debate which places politics and relationships first
and the realities of the land and function second.

“I am not saying it is correct,” Hubert said because Ferdinand was clenching his teeth and
fists to keep himself from lashing out. “Eventually we will be able to do away with all of this.
You know that is Her Majesty’s goal.”

“Yes,” Ferdinand said, standing up and scrubbing his palm over his face. “I am not good
company today, Hubert. I will take my leave.”

“Ah,” Hubert said, and Ferdinand could both hear and feel his disappointment, which hurt in
a number of ways; they hadn’t gotten past their first cups of tea and coffee. “Yes, of course.”

Edelgard, Hubert, and Dorothea, who are his major allies in the Enbarr court, simply do not
understand. Hubert and Dorothea do not govern territory, and Edelgard’s territory is Enbarr.
His concerns are esoteric to them, and Ferdinand is at a loss to explain himself properly. He
feels stupid and more than a little bit inadequate, and, because there are no more services or
worship of the Goddess in Enbarr, he has no safe place to vent his frustrations. He had to take
leave of Enbarr. He had to go home to Aegir and have space to think. To ground himself.

Hubert was right, of course. Sylvain, Ingrid, and Ashe, the latter of whom inherited the
former Gaspard territory, know what it means to govern by the land first and politics second.
They have territories constantly threatened by famine and winter’s blight. They understand
that if the land is unkempt and uncared for, it will not support the people who depend upon it.
Without the ability for people living on the land to farm and forage their own sustenance and
have enough to earn a living, there is no vitality and no viability in the maintenance of the
territory. The people become destitute and starve.

“You have no understanding of the reality of governing the whole of Fódlan,” Ferdinand
wants to shout, but he doesn’t because that would be even more unproductive than the fact
that he has had similar conversations dozens of times in the past several months.

That is why he rode out from Enbarr at the close of the Red Wolf Moon and returned to
Aegir.

Ferdinand’s return to Aegir does not, of course, escape the broader gossip mill. A letter from
Lorenz arrives with the afternoon post on the sixth day of the Ethereal Moon, bearing the
bright purple seal of Count Gloucester. Southern Leicester seals are particularly large and
always uniquely coloured. Lysithea’s new seal is a pleasant lavender and larger than Lorenz’s
in a somewhat comical turn of events.

I hear, Lorenz’s letter begins completely without greeting or preamble, you left Enbarr
abruptly.

Ferdinand sighs. So that is how the gossip is spreading. He can’t entirely blame it. Ferdinand
has never taken a vacation nor any type of unnecessary leave from Enbarr since the end of the
war.

I hope you may entertain the possibility of a visitor, Lorenz’s letter continues, a level of
bluntness that is new to him but Ferdinand finds he appreciates. Or two—Marianne would
like to inquire about you. Write back swiftly to us both so we may make arrangements.

It does sound pleasant to see Lorenz and Marianne in Aegir socially. Ferdinand writes back
that, yes, he would entertain these two hypothetical visitors. The company would be optimal
as the anniversary of Byleth’s return to them approaches, and that always stirs up memories
for them. He expresses that his new house is not very fancy and, while it does not usually
snow in Aegir, there is the distinct possibility that it will this year. The weather is already
very cool and damp.

After sending his response and his other mail, Ferdinand returns to his assessment report
regarding the weather that he has been preparing for Edelgard with his town chapel’s well-
kept meteorological records. Once he completes that and seals the report for the morning
mail, he takes tea with the priest and several farmers, and they discuss the loose stones in the
eastern inner city wall. The conversation eventually shifts to whether or not it is appropriate
to keep Saint Cichol’s name attached to the annual festival on the twenty-seventh of the
month.

“Officially, there is no policy to state references to the Goddess and Saints must be removed
from public events,” Ferdinand says, thinking about his door mechanisms and how
superstition is out of fashion. “I want the people of Aegir to have our festival. It is our biggest
holiday, and we deserve time for joy and celebration. That is my opinion as Duke Aegir.”

His response pleases the priest and farmers greatly, and they begin to tell him about the
various plans for decorating the town square and the orchards. Ferdinand finds himself
invigorated by the prospects and makes an effort to offer his assistance both in his presence
and his purse where needed.

Perhaps, he thinks as he walks back to his house and thinks about the traps set into the floors,
he is having a rebellious phase.

Ferdinand spends time visiting with his people over the next week. There are updates to be
made to the birth, death, and marriage registries. He spends time listening to concerns about
the communal water pumps, which are rusting in the constant damp. There’s a couple of
structural repairs needed for the schoolhouse; one of the support beams had termites. In
general, the people he talks to seem pleased he is taking the time to listen to them, and
Ferdinand promises to do his best to make improvements where they are needed.
“You have kept good watch over affairs,” Ferdinand tells the town priest and the mayor, who
was elected two years ago.

“It is good to have the Duke so invested in our well-being,” the mayor says, too honestly.

This isn’t a rebellious phase, Ferdinand realises as he turns down his bed for the night. This is
what he should be doing. Not just once a year but all the time.

He falls asleep, thinking about how his former home rotted from the inside out.

Despite his frustrations, Ferdinand is not and will not shirk his duties as Prime Minister. This
would go against everything he has ever worked for and would be detrimental to his overall
goals as Duke Aegir. He reviews the summaries of the meetings Dorothea heads between the
artisan Guilds, and he thoroughly annotates the minutes of Edelgard and Hubert’s court
sessions. His mail is forwarded each afternoon by pegasus messenger, which he pays for out
of pocket. It is the same accommodation that Bernadetta, Linhardt, and Constance have as
they are rarely in Enbarr but maintain seats in the court.

Still, Ferdinand feels troubled. He has never given less than his all, and he has always seen
his physical presence as part of this. But he cannot split himself in two, which is what he now
understands with some distance is what he has been trying to do. He needs right now to be in
Aegir for his people and himself, more than his physical presence is required in Enbarr. It is
not just because he is at odds with Edelgard, Hubert, and Dorothea.

Ferdinand is von Aegir. He bears the Crest of Cichol. He needs to be close to the land. It is
the origin of his strength.

When he left, eighteen and desperate to prove that his father’s evil path was not his own,
Aegir suffered. His family passed, and there was no master to direct the house, so it devoured
everyone who attempted to wrongfully claim it. Rumours spread that Aegir was haunted, and
the errant blood magic took over the walls and floor, no longer contained solely within the
ancient defense mechanisms. It poisoned the foundations and would have seeped further
outward if Ferdinand had not returned when he did and hastily acted, swallowing his shock at
the monstrous nature of his own home. He had needed help from many of his friends then
just to identify what to do, and, once the extent of the damage was known, to have the
courage to demolish his childhood home.

The surviving mechanisms are a combination of Agatharan and Nabatean technology. While
there is some sentimentality in keeping them as part of his new house, their place under his
mastery is also practical: no one knows how to destroy them without activating them. Their
dormancy depends upon Ferdinand, who carries the last of Cichol since Seteth is dead. In a
sense, the gears and parts are alive, able to avoid rust and wear with access to Ferdinand’s
Crest-infused blood. Crests are the Goddess’s blessing. The Goddess Sothis was a Nabathean
who once allied with Agatharans and humans alike. Bearing a Crest makes Ferdinand, in
however small a way, partially Nabatean.
These thoughts chase themselves around in his head as he watches one of the extra trap
mechanisms spin like a child’s top as it consumes a small dribble of his blood. It makes no
sound like a normal set of gears would. Ferdinand swallows. He doesn’t feel fear, exactly, but
he can’t say he feels comfortable. He thinks of the Titanus dolls, whirling madly in
Shambhala. They ran on human and Nabatean blood.

This will make him crazy, if he keeps at it.

Ferdinand takes a vulnerary and bandages the new skin on his arm as he waits for the
mechanism to come to a stop. Once it does, he disassembles it and returns the gears to its
steel box, which he stores in the large, multi-lock chest in his weapons and personal
equipment room. There are three dozen and four identical boxes in the chest, now extras
since his new house is much smaller than the old manor. Storing them like this requires more
regular maintenance than the active mechanisms in his house. Ferdinand has found that a
feeding of his blood once a year is sufficient.

Ferdinand stares at the boxes for a long moment before shutting the chest and locking it
thoroughly.

“You seem annoyed,” the schoolmaster observes when they encounter each other an hour
later at the market.

“Oh,” Ferdinand says as he pays for half a pound of tomatoes and a bottle of apple vinegar. “I
am not annoyed. Just… troubled, I suppose. There is much to consider with the
reconstruction.”

“Of course,” the schoolmaster, who was once a royal tutor in Fhirdiad, agrees; her right arm
is fully occupied with a basket full of bread, cheese, a string of cured sausages, and rosé.
“I’ve bought too much. Would you have time to join my wife and I for our evening meal?”

“Oh,” Ferdinand says, surprised but pleased; he likes the idea very much. “Yes, I would.
Here, let me carry your basket. It is the least I can do.”

They have a lovely evening in the modest home attached to the schoolhouse. The
conversation is light as the schoolmaster and her wife fill Ferdinand in on the day to day of
teaching children and adults alike. Even a few elderly attend the Monday and Wednesday
reading and writing lessons, which is a testament to how welcoming the learning atmosphere
is.

“And you are comfortable here?” Ferdinand can’t help but ask as he cuts thin slices of tomato
to go with the cheese and sausage. “I remember when you arrived, Aegir’s lack of a town
library was shocking.”

Among other things. They had arrived right in the middle of the manor house’s demolition.
The outer town walls were under drastic repair. Ferdinand had been deeply embarrassed by
the whole state of things.

“We are,” the lady wife asserts, likely able to follow Ferdinand’s anxious thoughts. “And we
have a library now, so nothing is lost there.”
They all smile at that. The new library isn’t nearly as large nor grand as the Fhirdiad Royal
Library, but it is a central feature of the new town square. Most of its catalogue are the former
contents of Ferdinand’s family library and rescued books and pamphlets from Garreg Mach’s
theology and religious tract section. Edelgard had agreed these should be preserved, but she
hadn’t wanted them in the Enbarr Public Library. Ferdinand had been happy to take them,
especially because it meant there would be ample copies of the elementary and intermediate
grammar practice books for the schoolhouse.

Most of those books were unused when they arrived in Aegir. Ferdinand felt keenly angry
knowing these had been on hand at Garreg Mach the whole time when many of the young
children and low-ranking staff were functionally illiterate. It was the first real conversation
he’d had with the schoolmaster and her wife.

“Ah, that reminds me,” the schoolmaster says, drawing Ferdinand’s full attention back.
“We’ve made progress on cataloguing the library.”

“That is wonderful news,” Ferdinand says, serving them all tomatoes.

“Yes,” the lady wife says, quite pleased with herself. “Come by soon, and I will show you
what has been done. It reminds me fondly of the Royal Academy of Sorcery.”

They laugh and do not mention that the Fhirdiad Royal Academy of Sorcery is undergoing a
painful and contentious restructuring. The intimate details are outside of Ferdinand’s purview
as Prime Minister as his work with constituents in Faerghus focus upon land management. He
does know that Hubert, Edelgard, and Constance are butting heads with Mercedes and
Annette over everything from the research scope of the academy to whether or not it should
bear the term Royal in its name.

There are concessions to be made. This is something Ferdinand understands well and, as time
wears on, he suspects better than his peers. He went to war because he couldn’t trust that
anyone would be able to rein Edelgard in. If no one could offer solid, evidence-based
knowledge beyond her revolutionary vision, the war would be for naught. There is nothing
but evil down such an absolute, unwavering path.

Ferdinand watched his father take an evil way. He would not stand aside and let Edelgard do
the same. Not then and certainly not now. Ferdinand may be many things, but he is not a fool.

This is his future, too.

ii. the fountain in the town square overflows

On the sixteenth day of the Ethereal Moon, Marianne arrives from Edmund in the late
morning drizzle. Ferdinand greets her as she dismounts Dorte in the town square, her face lit
with her lovely smile.

“You look well, Ferdinand,” she says as they embrace each other, neither minding the damp
nor the faint smell of sweat from travel and a day’s work; she feels solid and healthy in
Ferdinand’s arms. “I’m glad you extended the invitation to host me for Aegir’s Saint Cichol’s
Day festivities.”

“You look well, too,” Ferdinand says as they pull apart to look over each other for their own
reassurance. “I am so pleased you accepted my invite. And that you brought Dorte! I am
always glad to see the old girl again.”

“As she is to see you,” Marianne laughs as Dorte snuffles and flicks her ears. “It has been too
long since I have left Edmund. The rain has almost turned to sleet already there, and I
thought spending some time down south would be good for both my and Dorte’s knees.”

“I do imagine so,” Ferdinand says with sympathy as they begin to walk towards Ferdinand’s
house. “Do you need anything for them?”

“Not at this time,” Marianne says, and she reaches out and squeezes Ferdinand’s elbow. “I
will let you know if I do.”

Near the end of the war, Marianne took a bad fall when her pegasus was shot down by a
sniper in the flaming ruins of Fhirdiad. Ferdinand, along with Lysithea, had visited her often
during her long recovery in the mild weather of Gloucester. Since returning to Edmund,
however, Ferdinand has only had time to write to her and not nearly as often as they’d both
prefer as Marianne was very busy trying to get Edmund back on its feet. Their closeness had
suffered, a consequence of their positions.

Between themselves, Ferdinand and Marianne view this reality equally as an excuse.

“I like what you have done with the roads,” Marianne says, leading Dorte between them as
Ferdinand feeds the mare bits of carrot he’d brought with him. “Packing down the soil and
only using cobblestones sparingly—it must be much easier to maintain.”

“It is certainly less costly,” Ferdinand agrees, petting Dorte’s nose. “We are still lacking
master engineers, so this was the most reasonable option.”

They stop a few times so Ferdinand may answer Marianne’s questions about the apple and
hazelnut trees that line the road and take up most of Ferdinand’s estate. The orchards are all
wintering and are not particularly picturesque, but Ferdinand and the town’s children have
been decorating the branches with colourful garlands made from fabric scraps in preparation
for Saint Cichol’s Day.

“Our local tradition,” Ferdinand shares as they come to the front of Ferdinand’s stables to set
Dorte up in a comfortable stall out of the evening breeze, “is to decorate as many trees as
possible and hang coins for them to find in the morning of the twenty-seventh. Some of the
children are very young, and they have no memory of such things, and I cannot help but think
this is what Cichol would have wanted. It is nothing fancy, but if we continue to work hard,
the celebrations will be able to have more colours, at least. But I do not want to look at the
future too much for this. I am happy with what we are able to do now.”

“Isn’t that the right way of doing it?” Marianne asks, and she smiles her secret smile and does
not remind him that superstition is out of fashion. “We have had a long war, and recovery is
still ahead of us. Children should have happiness and joy wherever and however they may
find it.”

“Yes,” Ferdinand says because she is right.

Children, they both know well, should not be brought up in the shadow of old blood feuds.
There is no way to control the circumstances of a person’s birth. This is something everyone
who fought under Edelgard’s banner fundamentally agrees upon.

But how to live in the new world, routed of Nabateans and Those Who Slither in the Dark
and the tyranny of Rhea and the corrupt Church that feasted upon her blood:

That is where they disagree.

In a perfect world:

Ferdinand would not be Prime Minister.

Such a position in this imperfect world is a holdover from the corrupt past. Ferdinand is the
most suitable for the position because he was trained to fulfil its function as soon as he could
form words and sit lessons on history, the Goddess, and statecraft. His older sister was sweet
but terribly sickly and Crestless, and his father’s bastard born to a mistress in Enbarr
disappeared before Ferdinand was five. What information there was left of that poor child
was lost as whispers of discontent trickled out from the Adestrian court. By the time the
Insurrection of the Seven occurred, all of House Aegir’s spares had passed away.

The Aegir family mausoleum houses the bones and ashes of Ferdinand's lady mother and
sister alongside his ancestors. It is a similar build to the Holy Mausoleum, located to the
north of the Aegir chapel grounds and partially set into the hillside. Like Ferdinand’s house,
it requires his blood to open, and so long as he is its rightful master it requires no further
maintenance. The bone boxes and alcoves hold the bones and ashes like precious stones in
velvet, and the bones themselves give off a soft, green-blue glow. A testament to his
ancestor’s special closeness to the Goddess.

“These are Crest stones,” Marianne murmurs as she looks upon the soft glow from the bones
of Ferdinand’s grandmother.

Ferdinand breathes in. Marianne looks up at him. The glow highlights the faint shadows
beneath her eyes. It gives Ferdinand’s hair a faint, fiery quality. They do not speak.

If they did, Ferdinand suspects they would both scream.

Some paths are neither good nor evil. This is a truth that is equally reassuring and difficult to
swallow.
Marianne’s blood is that of a great Beast. She carries that burden and the ever present fear
that one day she will wake and no longer be herself. She has seen it in her mother, who once
taught her to cook simple and good meals, and wept over her father’s body in the aftermath.
It is a cruel and unrelenting truth that is her great terror to bear.

“Recently,” she confesses as she and Ferdinand browse the new Aegir town library, “I have
considered what marriage could mean for me. To continue my line would provide Edmund
much needed stability, but, as you know…”

Ferdinand nods. The library is empty at this late hour, and he assured the schoolmaster and
her lady wife that he will lock up when they are done. There is no one here that Ferdinand
distrusts. Even so, it is still not safe to speak their blood’s secrets aloud.

Superstition is out of fashion. Caution is not.

“I would like to marry and have a family,” Ferdinand says as they admire a manuscript of a
historical lais from Oches. “I know it is not easy to bear a child of my bloodline. Aegir is a
wonderful territory, and, even with the increased rain, we are strongly recovering. But I need
to be able to provide my spouse with a doctor of Manuela’s caliber. At least.”

Marianne nods. They do not speak of how they brought Manuela down and then lost her
body to the horrific light that pelted down from the sky. Once, Ferdinand had admired
Manuela so greatly that he wanted to leave his position to join her on stage. At Garreg Mach,
Marianne had prayed beside Manuela every evening and listened to her kind, insightful
words.

There are no more doctors in Fódlan who remotely approach Manuela’s abilities, let alone her
bedside manner and charisma.

“If our lines end with us,” Marianne whispers, even within the secure wall of Ferdinand’s
tearoom, “what will we do with all the technology that requires our blood?”

Ferdinand sets the teapot down. It contains camomile. In their academy days, Marianne often
took tea with Dimitri. They spent quite, nearly serene hours beneath the gazebo together.
Ferdinand had whispered with Hilda and Lorenz that perhaps Marianne and Dimitri would
eventually court. The political ramifications were discussed as idle school days gossip.

“I have suggested that we learn how such technology works,” Ferdinand says as he seats
himself, “and then we should destroy the originals.”

Marianne sips her tea. They sit in silence, not unpleasant, and listen to the rain and the breeze
coming in from the night outside.

The fact of the matter is this:

Ferdinand is a superstitious person. He is most secure in the concept that faith means there
are great mysteries in this world he cannot and should not fully understand and conquer for
himself. That is why he wanted desperately to fight Edelgard in a duel that would mirror their
ancestors. Why he tried so hard to connect with and understand Dorothea. Why he was so
pleased to receive tea from Hubert on a warm, late spring day.

Most of all, Ferdinand loves to learn, experience new and shocking things, and grow. That is
the root of his frustrations in Enbarr. All of his work is wrapped up in what he can’t help but
feel is forced growth that throws aside caution and those cannot move at Edelgard’s
breakneck speed. The land of Aegir needs time to recover just as Hrym, Ordelia, Nuvelle, and
the whole of Faerghus do. The broader populace have suffered from the years of war and
even longer abuses of power by people like Ferdinand’s father. That is the great damage of
the past and all the intersecting evil paths.

They must forge something new. Ferdinand will not repeat the same hubris of the past under
a different guise.

That is not what he left Aegir and went to war to achieve.

Not a moment too soon, Lorenz arrives in the mid-afternoon of the twenty-second day of the
Ethereal Moon along with a gift of four healthy and hearty Gloucester cows.

“To celebrate Saint Cichol’s Day!” Lorenz says as Ferdinand and Marianne greet him in the
town square. “Ferdinand, Marianne, you look terribly hard-working. Please do not tell me all
you have done is attend to business for the past week.”

“Ferdinand has been an excellent host,” Marianne asserts as Lorenz dismounts his horse. “We
have had a thorough tour of the territory since I arrived, and it has been a pleasure to help
with the preparations for the festival.”

“Well then,” Lorenz says, only moderately calmed as he accepts Ferdinand’s embrace with a
broad grin. “I suppose it is too much to expect the two of you to be idle. I am excited for this
festival.”

It is flattery but nice to hear even so. With Lorenz, there is always an edge of grandioseness,
too, and it does little to reduce the sincerity of his words. Ferdinand shakes his head as they
pull apart and meets Lorenz’s dissecting gaze. It has a weight entirely unique to him.

“Come,” Ferdinand says, squeezing Lorenz’s elbow. “I have tea service planned at home.”

“Ah, your new house,” Lorenz says, perking up as they move out from the town square. “I
loved the wildflower filigree you selected for your tearoom lamps.”

The tearoom was Ferdinand’s primary indulgence with his new house. It is where he always
intended to host most of his social gatherings, and he forwent a dedicated billiard room for it,
reasoning in his letters to Lorenz that the tearoom was perfectly suitable for cards and board
games. Ferdinand never cared much for billiards nor for gambling in general, which is an
ever popular entertainment.

It is, in a nostalgic sense, particularly comforting to have Marianne and Lorenz to tea. During
their time stationed at Garreg Mach during the war, the three of them had taken solace in tea
in the mild weather. They had an agreement to not speak of the war or unpleasant subjects,
and the hour or two they could spare was a moment of relaxation and solace among the rapid
march north. It helped them all maintain their morale, especially after fighting their former
friends and teachers to the death.

As usual, Lorenz makes a great deal out of Ferdinand’s choice of teaware, a white and blue
china set depicting a pastoral scene with cattle, and matching Rose Petal Blend.

“It is your local roses,” Marianne prompts, grinning in bright pleasure as Lorenz’s expression
lights up.

“Yes,” Ferdinand says as he measures a second scoop into the pot. “We don’t grow enough to
export.”

“Perhaps in the future!” Lorenz enthuses. “I assume your bees have been breeding well, then?
The honey and mead from Aegir has become much in demand.”

“Now, Lorenz,” Ferdinand teases as he pours hot water into the pot, “did you not just tell
Marianne and I off for primarily attending to business?”

Marianne laughs as Lorenz mock-huffs and rolls his eyes.

They will, of course, have to speak of such intensive topics as Aegir’s domestic trade
abilities, but it is refreshing to spend a couple of hours getting caught up socially. Lorenz
regales them with the hectic goings-on in Gloucester, and Marianne and Ferdinand listen with
interest to details on his breeding project with Gautier stock. He additionally shares the latest
news of Byleth and Felix’s travels, which he heard from Leonie only a week before. It seems
they’ve taken a job from Almyra’s King Khalid and have gone east of the Throat bearing
Gloucester jerky and a set of painted votive candle holders by Ignatz. This is information that
Hubert is likely aware of but does not share with anyone else.

“Hubert still prioritises Edelgard’s heart,” Ferdinand says because if anything is consistent
about Hubert, it is this.

Marianne and Lorenz exchange looks. Ferdinand pretends to be oblivious.

“It’s all a bit silly,” Lorenz starts, but a disapproving look from Marianne hastens him to
change the subject with: “But you know what is truly silly? The new trend Ignatz told me
about with pocket clocks…”

After they have drunk their fill of tea and eaten jam and flatbread, Marianne and Lorenz retire
to their rooms to relax until evening. Ferdinand settles into his office to go over the afternoon
post. There are the usual court minutes and a summary of the morning’s negotiations between
the Blacksmith’s Guild and the newly established Mage Guild. Additionally, he has a
personal letter from Linhardt regarding Ferdinand’s proposal to send him one of the extra trap
mechanisms for examination and research.

For once, Linhardt’s spindly, cramped hand communicates, not because I am artificially busy
but because this is outside of my realm of expertise, I suggest you send the mechanism to
Ordelia. Lysithea may know better about such things, and if not, Hubert would be your best
port of call. He is not a master of Crestology or of physics, but, without Hanneman, he is the
only I can think of who may have knowledge on how to proceed.

At his writing desk, Ferdinand pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.

The next morning, Ferdinand takes Lorenz to the mausoleum.

They are quiet on the walk there, a rarity between them. Lorenz watches with familiarity as
Ferdinand gazes upon the monstrous beast carved upon the stone doorway. He does not react
aside from a curious tilting of his head as Ferdinand activates his Crest. The stone beast
ripples and curls upon itself as the door unlocks.

“Our catacombs are not dissimilar,” Lorenz says as Ferdinand pushes open the door.

“Ah,” Ferdinand says and lets Lorenz enter first.

The bone boxes and alcoves glow, pale but not unwelcoming. Lorenz considers the pile of
infant bones collected several alcoves inward. Ferdinand knows these would have rotted
away long ago under other circumstances. Lorenz sighs, a low gust of a sound.

“I was lucky,” he says, looking to the space directly above; a child’s casket is set into the
deep wall that attaches into the hillside the mausoleum is built against. “My parents only
needed to have me, and I was healthy from the very start. I know my father was a terrible
man, but I never had to doubt his care for me.”

Ferdinand nods. He picks up a lamp made from the same metal as the Crescent Sickle he had
occasionally used during the war. The lamp flares to life under his touch. Lorenz looks at it.
His lips press into a thin line.

“I,” Ferdinand starts and Lorenz steps forward to rest his hands upon Ferdinand’s shoulders
because his voice wavers. “I am not ready to let my family go.”

For this is the last of his family. The last of the bloodline of human beings bearing the blood
of Cichol. His father’s bones were burnt to ash before Ferdinand could bring them home. The
bodies of his mother and sister rotted and became dust and hungry ghosts in the cursed walls
of his former family home.

The Goddess sent her children to tend the earth. Instead, they devoured each other.

During the war, Petra looked upon Ferdinand with sympathetic and knowing eyes. She told
him:

“You are lonely.”

There was never any denying it. Lorenz holds Ferdinand by the shoulders and lets him rest
his forehead upon his chest. The lamp and bones glow around and between them. Scores of
greater and lesser ghosts.
“The Crest of Cichol is the symbol of strength and the land.”

Lorenz nods. Ferdinand feels him. He does not need to open his eyes.

Nothing can hurt them here. Ferdinand is the master of his domain.

This is not superstition.

This is the truth.

iii. wake, child of earth, and chase your dream

For the past year, Ferdinand has entertained the notion of resigning as Prime Minister. Not
out of a lack of commitment to the new Fódlan or because of his interpersonal difficulties but
because he has felt strongly that he is needed elsewhere. He needs to be in Aegir more often
to properly attend to its needs, and he needs to be freer to travel, if only to invest more into
Hyrm’s recovery under Constance’s careful eye. He is also acutely aware that Petra has asked
for him by name to visit Brigid with implications for forwarding both her and Fódlan’s best
interests through such a visit.

Overall, Ferdinand does not feel he is doing his best work as Prime Minister. He is too tied
down to Enbarr, and the position lacks flexibility in how its function is distributed. It has, in
this sense, changed little from when his father held the post.

“You have not told Edelgard this,” Marianne observes as they watch Lorenz conversing
animatedly with the dairy farmer Ferdinand selected to receive the gift of Gloucester cows.

“No,” Ferdinand confesses as the farmer excitedly gestures over the healthy body of one of
the cows. “I tried to broach the subject with Hubert, and he told me she wants me specifically
in my current position. It would be flattering if I did not feel so out of place.”

“Your heart is here,” Marianne says, and Feridnand knows she also means his flesh and
blood; she understands better than anyone. “If you can satisfy that, you can be elsewhere,
too.”

Ferdinand inclines his head. Not quite a nod.

“I plan to make a decision,” he whispers, “by Saint Cichol’s Day.”

Preparations for the festival on the twenty-seventh are in full swing. Ferdinand puts some of
his purse into importing fine sugar for sweet buns, and the bakers burst into a flurry of
activity to best put the ingredient to use. It is a pleasure to lend them his hands, and, for the
days leading up to Saint Cichol’s Day, Ferdinand eagerly rises before the moon has left the
sky to assist the bakers in kneading dough and keeping the ovens hot. Marianne and Lorenz
laugh at him and enjoy eating the spoils of his labour.

“Edmund does not have such strong traditions, at least in my memory,” Marianne muses as
she helps Ferdinand wrap honey and berry preserve biscuits to mail to Edelgard, Constance,
and Dorothea; Lorenz is busy wrapping some to send to his lady mother. “Perhaps I should
plan something special for our annual horse and pony show in the Great Tree Moon.”

“A marvelous idea!” Lorenz agrees; he has particularly been enjoying himself discussing a
possible cattle breeding programme between Aegir and Gloucester. “I will gift you some
good stock as well. Perhaps pegasi!”

“Careful not to overpack your box,” Ferdinand cautions, and Lorenz hastily puts the biscuit
he was about to shove in back onto the wire rack.

The ease and cheer of the atmosphere helps clear Ferdinand’s head. He sits down at his
writing desk that evening, listening to the rain drizzling outside as he lays down a new leaf of
parchment. He takes his time filling his pen, considering carefully his opening words.

Dear Edelgard, he begins as the rain washes the earth outside, I believe you have known this
letter would come eventually. Perhaps not now, but I do not think there is a better or, indeed,
best time for such things. I write you along with these biscuits with a fortified and loving
heart.

Effective from the first day of the Guardian Moon 1190, I wish to abolish the existing post of
Prime Minister. In its place, I hope you will accept my proposal that I may act as your
ambassador. My goal is to bring together the hearts and minds of Fódlan and our allies. I
would better be used to travel to our many constituents and allies beyond Fódlan’s borders to
learn firsthand and therefore enhance our comprehensive understanding of the varied and
unique challenges we face both on local levels and the international stage. This will help us
craft fairer and more adaptive policies that serve the people not in divided parts but as a
whole. It would allow me to best forward our shared goal to bring Fódlan into a new dawn,
united and connected with and to the outside world.

I hope you will give this request your full consideration. I am, as ever, your ally and well-
meaning advisor.

With the utmost respect,

Ferdinand von Aegir

The reply comes in the afternoon of Saint Cichol Day. Ferdinand rushes to greet the swift
pegasus messenger, who has trouble finding a safe space to land in the busy and noisy town
square. Edelgard’s response is the only piece of mail; the rolled parchment bears her official
red seal.

“Please, if you can spare the time, join in on the fun!” Ferdinand urges when he notices how
the messenger wistfully eyes the tavern where people are playing darts and drinking beer and
mead. “We have some lovely treats you can take home as well.”

“Encouraging someone to shirk their duty?” Lorenz teases Ferdinand as he walks towards the
library for some peace and quiet to read Edelgard’s response. “You truly have gone rogue.”
“It is on your head to explain it,” Ferdinand teases him right back before dipping into the
library with a laugh at Lorenz’s puckered expression. “I jest, I jest!”

He makes his way past a few individuals who have also chosen the library to take a breather
and sits down at a table next to the eastern window. This desk was originally from
Ferdinand’s childhood lessons room. He takes a moment to examine the wear and tear on the
edges and the scuff marks on the legs. He truly had been an unruly child at times.

Ferdinand shakes his head. He breaks Edelgard’s seal by peeling up the wax and unfolds
parchment. Edelgard’s fine, bold lettering looks up at him with the same intensity as her gaze
in person.

Dear Ferdinand,

I was pleased to receive your letter. I believe your proposal has merit. I can also tell that you
have been thinking about this (or versions of this) for a long time.

I sense that you need some personal space as we work out the scope and function of your new
position. I give you leave to stay in Aegir through the winter unless something major occurs.
We will communicate through letters, or I may send Hubert who has some schedule flexibility
to assist you. As I am sure you are aware, this is Dorothea’s busy season, and I will not add
to her workload.

I know Petra will be well pleased by your new function, and I expect to hear from her shortly
following our official announcements. She will demand you visit Brigid. Please consider this
your first planned trip in your new capacity.

I will send my official thoughts on your transition to our ambassador in the next two days.
Until then, please enjoy your annual festival.

Your friend, with affection,

Edelgard

Ferdinand sits back. He lays the letter face down on the tabletop and looks out the window. A
gaggle of children and a few adults including Lorenz gather around Marianne at the seat next
to the town square’s recently repaired water pump. Dorte and several birds are with her, and
she seems to be telling everyone a story with little tricks of lighting and ice magic. Even from
a distance, her face is lit with a wide smile.

Ferdinand breathes out.

In the depths of evil and corruption, Rhea fed her blood to her most faithful and gifted them
horrific power. It necessitated the destruction of the Church of Seiros and the arrest of the
remaining upper echelon. It was public and ugly, and public trust in Edelgard wavered hard
as she brought the extent of corruption to light. They need to be flexible and better learn how
to regain and keep the public’s trust.

A bridge needs to be built. Ferdinand’s father fell so far from grace that his bones cannot be
laid to rest among his forebears. Ferdinand has grown to know well how to keep his own
ambitions in check. Without self-awareness, all the evil paths that guided his childhood
would seem endless, twisting around Fódlan and choking off its future. Ferdinand knows the
power of the individual in fighting evil. Even the Goddess could only reach one person, but
that was enough. Byleth carried them in the new and shifting dawn.

Ferdinand has a duty to the people of Aegir. He serves them with all of his strength as long as
they reside upon his land. He wants, too, to understand better his place in the world—from
the ancient mechanisms in his home to the bones of his ancestors. He needs to continue to
grow, not just for others but for himself.

It is time for Ferdinand von Aegir to believe in himself.

It is time to chase his dreams.

End Notes

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