“So, now that we are away from prying ears and passers-by, (I thank you, for your purchase of this space, my Prince), we have much to discuss, least of all being the fact that I am risking a great deal by abandoning my knights and coming here to speak with you. It is, of course, due to my personal loyalty to you, my Prince, and my deep friendship with Forric, that I am doing this, but I want you to know that this may very well be my only opportunity to unite with you during whatever journey you choose to undertake. Indeed, when my treason is discovered, there is a distinct possibility I will be hung or quartered. All the more lucky to have had you here, my Liege, to have wiped their memories. It may well be that I am not found out because of your magical skill.
“Now, I must address what your disappearance has done to the Castle: it has completely torn it into shambles. And trust me when I say that I know why you left, and I support you and your desire to leave wholeheartedly. However, it cannot be overstated enough that you must still follow through with completing the Prophecy. After that, you may run as far away as you like. I’m not even certain that your parents would follow you.” Forric shifted under the table. Byleth stared at Venex, expression unreadable. Trell’s lips bloomed into the subtlest of smiles.
“That’s why you’re here, then?” Byleth snapped. “Just to deliver a veiled message from Mother and Father? That they’ll leave me be as soon as I do what they wish? Well, go back to them and deliver my message. I will not serve them. I will not do as they wish. They have no control over me, ever again, and the moment I have acquired the resources I need to brave the Wilds, I shall be off, never to be heard from again. Oh, and grant them that sending a familiar face was certainly an intelligent ploy. More than I believed them to be capable of. But I will not be adhering to your wishes.”
The fire sputtered to their side. Forric reached over and rested his hand on Byleth’s. Trell glared at the affectionate gesture with a distracted irritation.
“My lord. You know what’s riding on the fulfillment of the Prophecy. Even if you do not wish to become King, you must follow through with it, lest the Kingdom fall into ruin.”
“Those are old tales, Venex,” Forric piped up, hand clasping even tighter around Byleth’s. Byleth held his hand back with a certain intensity. “You can’t possibly believe what the most deranged of the Witches spout out. You’re far smarter than that.”
“It’s the truth. The Kingdom will collapse if the Prince does not fulfill his duties, Forric. Don’t let your care for him blind your judgement. He will need your aid to succeed in his task. Then, the two of you… erm, three of you, may go as far away as you desire.”
Trell leaned back in his chair.
“What’s the Prophecy?” Trell asked.
“A page of utter hogwash drafted by one of the Seers that predicted my ascension to power. It’s tradition, in the Kingdom, to force the Monarch-to-be to perform the--” Byleth started, his eyes near-perpetually rolled to the back of his head.
“Yes, Byleth, I’m well aware of our traditions. What are the contents of the Prophecy?” Trell cut him off, and Byleth threw him a glare. It stung, but Trell didn’t so much care in this moment. Venex took a moment to process Trell’s harsh tone directed towards the Prince, then cleared his throat and drew a piece of parchment from an unseen pocket. More than likely, the glamour charm Byleth had casted was covering up its true location.
“It reads as follows:
At the place most hallowed,
The next of kin must rise to the occasion,
Free the one he is closest to from certain peril,
And bring peace to the Kingdom,
Though his journey will not be without troubles:
An impossible choice must be made,
All truths must be revealed,
And faith must again be found,
Lest the Blood of the Stones pour upon the ground again.”
Trell’s mind raced. Prophecies were notoriously vague, to be sure, but certain parts stuck out to Trell with a certainty. “An impossible choice must be made” referred to the decision of who he held more dear: Trell or Forric. That much was clear. Trell knew, in his heart, that he was the one that Byleth would choose in that moment, but he feared the havoc it would wreak upon Byleth’s soul. “Free the one he is closest to from certain peril” also seemed to be infantile in its power of mystery: whomever Byleth chose would be captured, and Byleth would be forced to save him. “At the place most hallowed” also was very obvious: the place most hallowed was always the ruins of the former Palace at the opposite edge of the Kingdom. All Prophecies began and ended there, and it would be no surprise that Byleth’s would follow suit.
Still, other questions bubbled in his mind. And, another certainty found its way to the top of his thoughts, and the tip of his tongue.
“You have to go.”
Trell hardly realized he had even said it.
Byleth, who was scrutinizing the paper, looked up at Trell with a terrifying intensity that Trell wasn’t aware he was capable of.
“What? Trell?”
“Yes, Trell, do explain how a piece of parchment read aloud by a messenger of the deceitful King and Queen is in any way binding to Byleth,” Forric snapped. A part of Trell was taken aback by Forric’s harsh tone, though he swallowed the burn in his chest and matched Forric’s gruff demeanor with a sneer.
“If… he doesn’t… he isn’t the one who will suffer.”
Forric raised a sharp, angry eyebrow. Venex looked at Trell dead-on. It was the gentlest of stares Trell thought he had ever received.
“What… do you mean?” Byleth asked. His blue eyes were illuminated orange by the flickering of the fireplace. The wind whipped outside. Forric’s hand tightened around his.
“If you run away, you’ll be fine. You’ll live a happy, adventurous life with whomever you choose to adventure with. You’ll have friends, presumably a lover, and you come equipped with a vast understanding of magics: anyone would be happy to have you as a travelling companion. You could live your life in another kingdom. You could be whomever you wanted to be. But--”
“You say that as if any of that is wrong to want. As if it’s in any way selfish,” Forric snapped. Venex silently took a bite of his food. “You don’t understand Castle life. I don’t even understand half of what his parents have put him through. A tortured fixture on a Castle wall isn’t the life he wants to live. He wants to be free. Is that so hard to understand? You’ve lived your life free. You never existed in bonds, physical or otherwise. You’re a criminal. You obey no laws, no regulations, no master. You are chaos incarnate, and your thoughts here are ignorant and misguided.”
“You know not what bonds have wrapped themselves around my neck, Imperial. Hold your tongue, and let me speak,” Trell snarled back. Then, he turned to Byleth, and his face softened. Venex remained ever present, and took in every word that was said, though he had a special fixation on the anomaly of Trell. “Byleth. You could choose that life, and I understand the temptation for it. But please, consider what you will be doing to your people. Your quarrel is with your parents, that much is clear. But what I’ve also seen… Do you remember how we met?”
“Of course I do.” Byleth’s grip on Forric’s hand had loosened, though Forric had not granted any quarter.
“You were beneath your shawl, running away for the first time. You had stopped in the street, because you had passed a few youngsters that were being threatened by slavers. You, the Prince, stopped to save them at the risk of not only your own life, but of revealing yourself to the slavers, and allowing yourself to be taken. I found you, and saved you from them. You love your people. Your parents are cruel and unjust…” Trell threw an oblong stare to Forric, who met his eyes with ferocity. “And their Empire… their Kingdom is full of brutality. But you are not them. You are something greater. And if you choose to be selfish and leave here, the lowly man is the one who will suffer. Not your Father. Not your Mother. Those children, sleeping on the streets.”
“Byleth, ignore his prattle. This is his game. He wants to entice you into danger. The Prophecy isn’t real. It never has been. It’s a tool used by the Royals to assert their holy power across the land. You know this; you’ve spoken to the Seers about it. You’ve never intended on following through with it; we’ve known this since we were boys. It’s fake. It’s false. And I think it’s time the truth is well and totally revealed here: Trell’s true plan is to convince you to rise to the Throne and bring him along. He wants to be King alongside you. That much has been obvious since the moment we met. I was afraid of telling you, but now it seems necessary.”
Trell stood up, his chair grinding along the cobblestone floor beneath him.
Before anyone moved, Forric’s throat was in his hand, and he had him pressed against the wall with strength no one knew he had. Forric’s head hit the stone, and a wave of pain sparked through the back of his head to his eyes. Trell’s face was inches from his, the rough, ruggedly handsome features of his face shredded to the ferocity of an animal. His blade was to his throat, so close that it had already begun to draw blood.
Forric couldn’t muster anything but disgust back at him.
Their bodies were together, though the only parts that were warm were the parts that Forric didn’t have his full armor covering. The rest of their contact was the cold, sharp fury of a knight’s armor.
Byleth stood, eyes agape with horror.
“Stop! Stop! I command you!”
“Do not ever, ever, question my love for that man. Do not ever put the thought in his head that I may be using him,” Trell growled, ignoring Byleth.
Venex stood, and placed a hand on Trell’s shoulder.
“I understand that my role here quickly became that of an observer, and it’s evident to me that the three of you have a deeper connection than I previously understood. That said, this isn’t the place for your conflict, and the decision isn’t in either of your hands.” Trell looked at Venex, the man who he saw just hours ago as a threat, before nodding and relinquishing his grip on Forric’s throat, though not before dragging his knife across the edge of his neck and drawing just the smallest amount of blood. Enough to sting, but not enough to hurt. “It’s in his.”
Trell shoved Forric back against the wall and out of his way, and took his seat again. Forric looked at Venex with a certain leftover anger, and Byleth settled back in his chair with a soft, gasping sigh. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes.
“It’s grown late. Later than I realized. Our journey here took more than I anticipated. Let’s rest in this tavern for the night. They have beds,” Venex said. No one looked up at him. Venex cast a gaze at Forric. “I’ve spent the night here before. Try not to kill each other while I’m gone. Give his Highness the space he needs to think. I’ll be mere moments.”
Venex exited their private room and sauntered down the stairs to speak with the barkeep. Byleth looked at Forric, who met his eyes and offered a soft smile, then at Trell, who merely glared back. Then, he sucked in another wavering breath, wiped at his eyes with his shabby commoner’s sleeve, and pushed the door open, leaving Trell and Forric alone.
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