fe3h

The Nabateans Pre-Fire Emblem: Three Houses

The winter poll brought us here, to the much anticipated meta on the Nabateans before the events of Fire Emblem: Three Houses! Let’s be honest, there’s not enough content out there on the people who lived in Zanado, the Red Canyon. Some of the exclusive content includes my headcanons, which are not included in this preview post. Most of it is directly related to the canon information regarding how the Nabateans might have been. You should naturally expect…

Spoilers for Fire Emblem: Three Houses

This preview includes samples of the meta on these Nabateans:

  • Seiros
  • Sothis
  • Cichol

Become a patron at $1+ for the full meta on the above and following Nabateans:

  • Indech
  • Macuil
  • Cethleann
  • Cichol’s wife/Cethleann’s mother

Seiros (Rhea)

As for how Seiros gradually became Lady Rhea, that came about from her remaining rage at losing everyone in the Red Canyon combined with an unfortunate lack of oversight following the century-long war. There doesn’t appear to be any existing hierarchy in Nabatean culture outside of answering to Sothis, meaning there was no chain of command. Whether the others were permanently a magic beast, living elsewhere, or, in Seteth’s case, grieving a deceased spouse while waiting for his daughter to recover through years of rest, there simply wasn’t anyone else fit to lead following the war—or to realize Seiros was establishing the false church out of misplaced and unfulfilled spite. Killing Nemesis and getting Sothis’ remains pushed her anger to the back of her mind, giving the vague appearance of recovery, but it wasn’t gone by any means.

Sothis

That she chose to descend to Fódlan and walk among the people as one of them suggests she was incredibly trusting and uninterested in ruling with an iron fist (which she very easily could have done at the time). She liked humans, and it’s a safe bet that she traveled to Fódlan because she wanted to start her own family there. In fact, that’s precisely what she started doing once she was settled in. If anything, she was blindly optimistic because she shared her advancements with humanity and didn’t have a plan in place for anyone who might take advantage.

Cichol (Seteth)

His ability to speak against Rhea’s choices without making her hostile (like she is with Catherine, for example) implies that Seiros and Cichol were equals growing up. Once again, his title given to him by humanity as “guardian of the land” backs that up. But a power imbalance grew between them when she assumed the role of leader after Nemesis fell, and Seteth was understandably worried about Flayn more than anything else. Cichol’s absence allowed Seiros to do things without his fair, unbiased perspective to take the place of Sothis’ mocking wisdom.

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FE3H Spoilers: Rhea’s Past in Adrestia

Hello and welcome to my headcanon about Rhea having a romantic relationship with Wilhelm from Adrestia! Here are my crumbs of canon information to back me up.

Spoilers for FE3H Below

Rhea repeatedly references that Edelgard is a descendant of House Hresvelg. She goes so far as to say that Edelgard “humiliated [her] brethren” by standing against the Church of Seiros, and you simply don’t bring up a point like that over and over unless it has special meaning even generations later.

For those who don’t know, Seiros personally persuaded Wilhelm Paul Hresvelg to side with her against Nemesis, giving him her own blood. She’s done this before with a handful of people she deemed worthy, including Jeralt. So it wasn’t something she offered strictly as leverage to persuade him (although it probably played a part) by giving him a Crest of Seiros. She went on to help him found the Adrestian Empire, and the novel called The Feast of Decadence found in the Shadow Library implies it was a very popular rumor that she had a romantic relationship with Wilhelm:

A young man, staring at Emperor Wilhelm as he caught the saint and pulled her into a close embrace, suddenly beckoned me. He pressed his lips to my ear and whispered sweet nothings, mirroring Emperor Wilhelm and Saint Seiros upon the stage…

Given how Seiros consistently mentions Wilhelm around Edelgard after she declares war on the Church, I believe this rumor of their romantic relationship was true. Despite feeling betrayed by humanity for how the Agarthans turned against Sothis and her children, Seiros clearly trusted Wilhelm and elevated him to the role of Emperor.

Obviously, they didn’t have children together, but this history adds an entirely new level of offense to Edelgard’s perceived betrayal of Seiros. (I say perceived because there was human experimentation being carried out by the Agarthans with not a peep from Seiros’ leadership as all of Edelgard’s siblings were wiped out, as well as what happened with Lysithea, so it’s a very tangled situation.)

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A Burden Carried | FE3H Fanfiction

Word count: 1600 (3 to 13 minutes) | Rating: T | Note: Fire Emblem: Three Houses Spoilers and Non-Graphic Violence | Characters: Edelgard, Hubert and Hubert’s Father

“You knew the cost when you made the choice,” his father spoke flatly, with no more interest than if he were discussing the price of Noa fruit. Forcibly straightened hair hung close to his neck and disappeared behind a tall collar. He loomed over the two of them even after Hubert’s latest growth spurt. Slices of sunlight broke up their journey through the secluded tower stairway, seemingly reluctant to touch the repugnant excuse for a human being at the head of their procession.

Rupert von Vestra led him by the forearm to the uppermost floor. For once, he was compliant. Any fight Hubert put up now would only distress Lady Edelgard further.

In less than ten short years, the man before him would be a mangled corpse as he deserved and Emperor Ionius IX would carry out her coronation.

Whatever occurred in the meantime was nothing.

Despite her smaller stride, she kept pace with them as her voice echoed through the stairwell. Already, she had a commanding tone suitable of her leadership capacity.

“I’m the one who took the axe to it,” she insisted, and he could guess what she referred to. Some contraption of their unwanted guests, no doubt. Edelgard was no longer confined to the basement of the Enbarr palace, but she knew the general whereabouts of the devices that claimed the lives and sanity of her siblings. How could she be expected not to destroy them? “The punishment is mine to bear.”

“That was not the agreement,” Lord Vestra reminded her, shoving Hubert towards the heavy wooden door at the far side of the landing.

“Because I never agreed to this.” She made an excellent point in the awareness that it fell on deaf ears. Rupert had chosen ignorance and oppression at the Insurrection. He was not moved by his conscience to make the correct choice before the Hresvelgs perished due to his betrayal, and her argument would not sway him now.

Hubert gripped the pitted ring handle and twisted it to open the door in an overwrought routine. This was not his father’s preferred training chamber, although he’d seen it on several occasions. The devices and tools within were no mystery. As such, what was there to fear? His arm ached with an outline of the elder Vestra’s hand while Hubert led them into the room. Without another choice, Edelgard joined them.

The door sat open behind her. At this distance from the main castle, no one would hear what was to come. None but who was intended to witness this all along. Her hardened blue eyes rested on Hubert at last, and those bangs washed white by experimentation framed her knowing gaze.

“You were warned.” His father carried on in the indifference of a man who did not realize or acknowledge that his every act brought him only closer to an agonizing end. His gloved hand closed around the cane in complete ignorance of Hubert’s own machinations. Ones that would far exceed the treachery he crafted with the Prime Minister Ludwig.

“Those are not the same!” Edelgard attempted again to force him to reason, more willing than Hubert was to believe the capacity for that still existed in his predecessor.

“It’s quite alright, Lady Edelgard.” Hubert turned to her with a measured bow. Let Rupert see his resolve and integrity in service to the person he cared about. That would be all the warning he would get of a fate carefully crafted over the course of years. “You’ll find my father is entirely incapable of refraining from targeting those who are unable to defend themselves as of yet.”

The horror that compressed Hubert’s chest when he heard of Lady Edelgard being taken to Fhirdiad was a fraction of what his father would suffer. The ferocity with which he fought the soldiers sent to reclaim Hubert was a mere fragment of what would be brought to bear on this man. He who escorted no less than ten Hresvelg descendants to the grave and readied an early one for the sole survivor… He would know pain beyond description.

“I will add that insolence to your punishment.”

Savage delight took root in his chest so acutely that Hubert did almost grin. A caning was punishment from the uninventive and short-sighted. Oh, how Rupert would yearn for something so innocent. He straightened himself to stare through the fetid wretch he once called father.

“Such is your nature.”

As with all oppressors, he did not even attempt to meet Hubert where he might win. There would be no answer to his cutting mockery. A firm hand shoved him to his knees. He’d barely been there a moment before the first blow struck, signaled by a whipping sound as the thin cane came down.

“Stop! Stop this instant,” Edelgard ordered from where she stood. Good. If she used violence to stop Rupert, she would surely succeed. A fragile ego like his would interpret that as a slight, not the obvious evidence of his ineptitude it truly was.

He did not count. Knowing the quantity had a magnifying effect and, at his lowest, imbued false hope of a finite end to the cruelty. Hubert knew better than to anticipate a limit to what his father might do. He would not be foolish enough to be twice deceived by someone so contemptible. Distantly, the whipping sound blurred with the ringing in his ears. The shallow disassociation he mustered served him well. Hubert could hear his surroundings, in case Rupert revealed something valuable during the beating. The marks already forming under his shirt were far away, however. They did little more than tingle in his willfully removed state of mind.

And when the cane clattered to the stone table, full awareness rushed back to greet Hubert. Its claws dug into his back, raw and aching, but he could not afford to miss anything that may prove useful against Rupert and his inhuman allegiances. His head spun while he breathed through his nose to trick his body into remaining steady and sure. If he were reeling like he felt he was, the beating would have resumed for his display of weakness unfit for a royal guardian and agent of House Vestra.

“Clean up after your lady.” The command from Lord Vestra was cold and empty. Delivered by an imitation of a leader, one who was used to being obeyed by habit as opposed to merit. Furthermore, it was wholly useless. Every Vestra knew that when they were penalized on behalf of their sworn leader, they would also be tasked with restoring the chambers for its next use. Wipe up blood, remove stains, return tools to their proper place, and leave it perfect in every aspect—or risk returning for a repetition of the prior visit.

He was in no rush to respond. As the taut silence drew out, Hubert deigned to offer him yet another thinly veiled promise.

“You may count on it.”

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My Comfort Characters 💜

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The other questions I answered are:

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On a Whim | FE3H Huleth Fanfiction

Word count: 2200 (3 to 17 minutes) | Rating: G | Fire Emblem: Three Houses | Characters: Hubert von Vestra and Byleth Eisner (Huleth)

The professor should have said no. It would have been wise. Someone with more charm would be better suited to represent the Black Eagles in the White Heron Cup. True, he would be in the student uniform for the competition, and he only had to concern himself with the dancer attire in the rare and unlikely event that he won. But it would be ordeal enough to be paraded about a dance floor to demonstrate skills he developed only as much as was strictly necessary. For the courtly duties associated with his rank, Hubert was capable of dancing without injuring his partner inadvertently and little else.

Yet the professor was adamant that he be their representative. If Hubert were to be honest with himself, he didn’t offer much resistance. He even agreed to practice with instruction from the professor in the same sunny field as the other White Heron representatives. Had it been left up to him, he could list at least three secure and private locations where he might make a fool of himself without commentary from his peers at Garreg Mach. Somehow, he recommended not one of them and instead walked from his quarters to the agreed upon location for dance practice as instructed.

“To think I’d be rehearsing dance moves, of all things,” Hubert said in lieu of a more standard greeting, joining Byleth by the small field neighboring the hall where the White Heron Ball would be hosted. He remained unsure how to feel about being witnessed in such a frivolous practice, but… He agreed to shoulder this burden. A shame that the pressure of giving orders in combat did nothing to prepare one for scrutiny, real and imagined, from other students. The one convenience was that the grounds were unseasonably warm for winter.

“You must have some advice, Professor?”

“Slight stretching will help if you’ve been still for a long time.” He had just been studying in his quarters, in a manner of speaking. What he was researching was not for any class Garreg Mach would dare to host, but it was a study session nonetheless. He would call it uncanny insight if it wasn’t so reasonable an assumption for her to make of his habits. “Watch and learn.”

Bending into a partial lunge, she raised her hands palm out and nodded to him.

Ah. He was to mirror her, then. Surely, he could do that much.

Hubert planted one foot behind him as Byleth had and bent his knee somewhat as he did so. More than the professor, of course, given she was shorter than him. His gloved hands met some resistance in hers to mimic the communicative resistance found in partner dancing. Not that any student on the field had someone dancing with them.

She watched him, something unknown hidden in the recesses of her cerulean eyes. He felt strongly that this suggested duality within her nature was one he could not trust, but also one that intrigued him. What did Lady Edelgard see in their professor that he could not place? There had to be value there to encourage her interest. It wouldn’t be the first circumstance where Edelgard sensed something more acutely than Hubert had, and it was the not knowing that was proving to be a source of frustration for him.

“The other foot now,” Byleth noted, and they both stood to switch with innate synchronization.

Irritated though Hubert might be, he had to admit that they coordinated well. That contributed to his unease at times, in fact. Few understood him well no matter how much time they were granted to do so. To be so clearly read in less than a year after their first meeting… Hubert frowned.

“Don’t overthink it.” An absence of expression made his professor rather difficult to read. To make matters worse, an especially unhelpful layer of sweat had gathered in the palm of his glove. The way the human body reacted to social stress for maximum inefficiency both mystified and exasperated Hubert. Did he not have enough to consider as it was? He corrected his expression to neutrality even so.

“I will be sure to reflect on that.”

After a few repetitions, they ended their stretches so as to avoid doing too much before he was limber enough not to risk injury. Hubert aimed to avoid a tragic accident during the contest, not arrange for one during the much-needed lessons. However tempting it might be when he considered dancing in front of the judges alongside Lorenz and Mercedes.

“Very good. Ready to start?”

“I know I agreed to do what I can,” Hubert ventured, suddenly plagued by the old ghosts of self-consciousness more common in his childhood. He looked out at his other practicing classmates and reasoned he could be no worse than any of them. Feasibly. “But I must warn you that my dancing skills are rudimentary. I learned only what was required of me as a noble.”

That extent of knowledge was only right. Lady Edelgard could not be seen with an incompetent servant in any regard.

“I disagree.”

With no notable inflection or shift in her stare once he did glance back to her, Hubert had no way to know what she meant by that. He knew well that her selection of him as the White Heron contestant wasn’t due to no one else desiring the role—Ferdinand was practically making pamphlets to plead for his aspirations—but Hubert never put stock in the idea that she might have true faith in his ability to excel here. With his eyebrows raised, he had no option but to ask for more information from Byleth.

“Excuse me?”

“Mages need dexterity to cast spells. It’s not so different with dance.” The explanation she offered was logically sound. Hubert had no objection to it, and she evidently took that silence as agreement. Stepping back to observe from the stone path beside the field, the professor gestured for him to begin his rehearsal. “Practice the steps you know.”

Hubert took a deep breath and raised his arms to the proper placement: one hand poised as if holding another’s in it and the other, resting at the imaginary shoulder blade of his partner. He felt distinctly ridiculous. Years of training in extracting information from unwilling sources and striking fear into the hearts of adversaries by mere name made for a poor foundation in warding off this brand of anxiety. Drawing up his posture, he stepped out with a solid position for his foot and trailed the other with practiced routine. Not artful, perhaps, but workable. It was all he needed for the time being. Dipping his imagined partner, he bent one knee and straightened the other. All while feeling her gaze on him as surely as if the Luna spell loomed over him.

That smothering stare added to how strangely difficult the mock dance was while staring at patches of grass and gravel. Particularly so as other students also carried out their dance steps to best represent their classes. Or simply to be part of the experience, he supposed, for those students who went through the motions alone. Two nosy children in his peripheral stood by the professor and watched him as well, leaving Hubert with an audience of three that made the hair on his neck stand up from the observation.

When he straightened again, he met Byleth’s eyes and furrowed his brow. She looked as steady as ever—yet he felt an unspoken understanding had been conveyed.

“Would a partner help you get the hang of this, Hubert?”

“Yes, undoubtedly,” he answered without hesitation or realizing his mistake until she stepped into the place of that imagined person.

He had to adjust his pose. She was 24 centimeters shorter than him, although approximately the same height as the person he imagined. A fact he didn’t care to introspect on too closely. Her hand slipped into his with as much effortlessness as his hand fit against her shoulder blade beneath her cape. Why his hand had guided itself under that layer, he could only wonder at. Meanwhile, the tension in his chest clamped down for entirely separate reasons from beforehand.

Hubert futilely wished those children would be called away to their tasks by whoever they worked for at Garreg Mach.

Before anything so merciful could take place, Byleth put her hand on his shoulder. He had his cue to begin the dance anew. His pulse pounded in his temples but memory through repetition came to his rescue. Having a dance partner did smooth out his process as well. His steps were crisper, and the need to direct his professor with light pressure between their clasped hands and against her back gave him a purpose to center his focus on. One that was not the distinct magnetism of a partner who moved with him more smoothly than any other noble he had been forced to endure at various Imperial celebrations.

“You’re graceful.”

Her voice nearly startled him on account of being so mired in thought himself. And here Hubert was recently warned not to overthink matters. They went into another turn—he decided against the dip in light of his inability to remain unaffected—as he formed his miserable excuse of an answer.

“I deliver better results in my work that way.”

“Stay out of your head,” Byleth cut to the quick of the situation and he scowled once again. What ever became of that legendary ability to conceal his innermost thoughts? They stood in the starting position of the dance by chance with Hubert thinking only of the various places they touched.

Now, at 20 years old, he was fixated on the closeness to someone he found maddeningly compelling. Like he was nothing more than a fickle teenager ruled by his whims. As he let out another impatient sigh, the professor did afford him a shadow of a smile.

“Father once said a dance is a conversation.”

“Did he now?” In his skepticism was the implication that choice of wording was unusual for a seasoned former captain in the Knights of Seiros and hardened mercenary.

“He was drunk.”

“How illuminating.” That did get a smirk from him. It did sound markedly more like the severely indebted Blade Breaker, leaving staggering unpaid balances at taverns in his wake. Alois truly needed to leave this grown man to handle his own issues.

“I think he had a point,” Byleth returned to the subject she had in mind. He may finally have lost any semblance of control of his faculties, but he swore he could see an almost indistinguishable trace of pink to her cheeks. “Talk with me.”

He swallowed thickly and began wordlessly. Hubert could not speak. There was no telling what he might say, if anything, were he to try. Where prolonged eye contact would normally be something to weaponize against an unwanted presence near Lady Edelgard, there was an unplaceable comfort and intimacy to it between himself and the professor. One that stayed his heart at last despite the riots breaking out in his mind.

Every logical argument he’d employed against trusting the professor buckled under the overwhelming strength of their instinctive synergy. He had absolutely no capacity to prevent himself from lowering her into the dip that time, layered hair brushing past her shoulders to give him a clear view of the white buttoned collar against a slender, scarred neck. By archer’s bow or unfortunate mishap, he could not know without confessing to the lingering stare she must have noticed.

The professor’s astute perceptions of him all but guaranteed he had been discovered. Yet she did not object or appear horrified. Hubert did not have the advantage of her insight and therefore, had no knowledge on her reaction whatsoever. The reasons that did not sit well with him were admittedly not what they should have been. He longed to know not solely for greater security or intelligence on their enigmatic professor. No, he wished to know merely because it was her.

In the moment they straightened to their starting pose again, the dance was finished and his opportunity, gone. She removed her hand from his and he suppressed the twinge of regret as he withdrew his own hands to hang uselessly at his side. Leaving her gauntleted hand on his shoulder, Byleth gave it an affirming squeeze Hubert had not expected.

“I enjoyed our chat.”

He blinked. The chat? It was shameful, honestly, how long it took him to realize she referred to the ‘talk’ that was their dance. Worse, to have it sink in what she must have heard from him if her father’s description of a dance was at all accurate.

“Yes. Yes, I—” Hubert stalled, feeling warmth rising to his cheeks as the final curse against him and this entirely unbelievable circumstance he found himself in. Clearing his throat in a failed recovery, he cast his eyes to the grass at their feet and gave one iota of honesty. There would be no disguising it no matter what the tactical choice might be. “As did I.”

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If you enjoyed this story, you might also like the bittersweet fluff of The Boy Forgotten short story.

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