NOVEL WEB Chapter 9: Brigid
A handful of days later, the emotionally turbulent youth is torn out of his attempts at sleep as someone shakes his shoulder. Eyes fluttering open, the boy turns his blurry gaze to the redhead hovering over him.
“Wake up Byleth, it’s time to go. We need to leave early if we want to arrive at an appropriate hour.”
The teal-haired youngster just stares up at Zane, not understanding what he’s talking about, but doesn’t get the chance to ask as the man swiftly walks away seeing the child awake.
A small yawn escapes his lips as he watches his door close, leaving him once more in silence. Another child might be tempted to ignore the message and dive back into their pillow, but Byleth never was one to act his age. Unwinding himself from his thin blanket, he swings his legs to the ground and brings his arms up in a stretch, sitting upright on the edge of the inn’s bed.
Hands rising to the ceiling, he pauses there and wiggles his back and shoulders, getting a sense of his current state. His hands then wander down across his chest and legs, poking and prodding his form. The absence of the usual pain, whether from training or otherwise, gives him pause.
Overall, he feels physically good and inwardly thanks his teachers for allowing him to rest these last few days.
Glancing up from his body and out the nearby window he’s greeted only by darkness, the sun not having begun its ascent for the day. He makes to get ready anyway, not forgetting his early awakening.
After a couple of minutes, the adolescent exits the inn in his usual multi-purpose attire, finding comfort in the weight of the armor and weaponry he carries. Those being his new dagger, as well as several others fastened throughout his body, and a short sword lying on his hip.
Breathing in the night air, he takes in the sights of his father’s mercenary group moving in flickering torchlight, presumably headed for the docks judging by their direction.
Deciding to do the same he walks on the dirt path alongside them, but not without a wide berth, completely avoiding whatever commentary they would direct toward him.
Perhaps it’s his drowsiness or the boy’s best attempts at ignoring his surroundings, but it doesn’t take long at all to arrive at their destination.
A large boat stands out to him in the harbor, the deck conspicuously illuminated as men repeatedly move about. Reasoning that they must be there for that ship, he watches as the mercenaries with him proceed to load up supplies onto it before beginning to board themselves.
Instead of doing the same, he looks around, soon spotting his father and Zane standing off to the side by the loading dock. He immediately zeroes in on them, deciding to go to their side.
Creeping toward them under the cover of darkness, though not necessarily intending to hide, the youth perks up his attention as he hears a muffled argument going on between the two that becomes ever clearer as he moves closer.
“I told you Zane, that I had no interest in heading to Brigid! So why in the hell did you tell that trader we could help with her request?!”
“Come on Captain, we’ve already been through this! She’s going to pay top coin for such a simple job that will only take a week or two at most. Plus, we can enjoy the warm weather while we’re there. Isn't this a win-win?”
Jeralt bristles at the reply, “Listen, Zane, am I or am I not the captain? I don’t need to give you a reason why we shouldn’t do something. I said no Brigid, and as my vice-captain, I expected you to heed my words and –”
“Am I the vice-captain, or at this point should I just drop the vice?”
“Huh?” Jeralt is visibly taken aback by his subordinate's fiery interruption, but before he can get a word out, he keeps speaking.
“You know Captain,” putting emphasis on the word, “for someone in the leadership position you haven’t been doing a whole lot of leading lately. I haven’t seen you in two days for the goddess’s sake, and it's not like that was a one-time thing. Oh no, for the past three months, you’ve been popping in and out of camp like a mistress sneaking into a noble’s bedchamber. You haven’t been leading the men, I have, so when I heard about Brigid, I said fuck it, let's go to Brigid because evidently, I’m the one making most of the decisions lately!”
Breathing heavily, Zane glares at Jeralt as if daring him to try and deny the words, but the former knight does no such thing. He simply stares at the young man with an unreadable expression, his flaxen eyes sharp.
Eventually, the stretch of silence ends as he begins to chuckle before it transitions into a hearty laugh.
“I’m glad you’re finally showing some backbone kid!” he says as he continues laughing.
Zane tries to stay indignant but can’t help but reveal some confusion at the unexpected reaction. Soon enough, the grizzled mercenary calms and adopts a serious demeanor. Stepping forward, he places a hand on the ginger’s shoulder, holding it with a firm grip as he looks into his eyes.
“Listen Zane, I’m proud of your progress over the last several years. You’ve grown from some spoiled teen into a respectable man, and I’m glad that I had even the smallest part to play in that. You’ve been my right-hand man for this whole mercenary thing we’ve got going on, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Pausing, he glances down and exhales deeply, raising his eyes afterward.
“Sorry I’ve been distracted these past months. Trust me, I heard your complaints, but I knew that I could rely on you to get the job done.”
Giving the younger sellsword’s shoulder another squeeze, he steps back.
“Over the years I’ve learned to admit when I’m wrong. You made the decision to go to Brigid so I’ll respect it, I never did give you a good reason after all.”
Zane’s lips slowly morph into a grin, “Captain… thank you. I’m grateful that you’re taking my thoughts into consideration here.”
He then reaches up to scratch the back of his head, his grin twisting awkwardly. “And uh, sorry I yelled at you, I was just frustrated.”
“Don’t worry about it kid, it’s good to vent a little every now and then. Besides, you’re supposed to lead, not blindly follow orders. Otherwise, you’d just be another simple mercenary.”
Poking a finger into the younger man’s chest, he continues, “You’re the vice-captain of the New Dawn Mercenaries. Don’t forget that, and take some pride in it, you’ve earned it.”
The ginger nods, flashing his pearly whites in an easy smile. That smile fades though as his boss continues in a somewhat teasing tone of voice.
“That being said, I saw the pretty lass that hired us. Were you thinking with your head when you accepted or did something lower get us roped into this over some dark skin and a foreign accent?” he questions with a smirk.
The red-headed deputy looks to the side with a perceptible light blush but similarly gains a playful demeanor as he spots his student of sorts standing nearby. Quickly grabbing the boy and pulling him forward, Zane retorts.
“Not at all, I can’t believe you’d think that of me. If you recall, young Byleth here has been eagerly learning Tuatha. I had his best interest at heart the entire time since I’m sure it’ll be quite a good experience for him to see a place outside of Fódlan.”
Glancing down at his son, Jeralt returns his steel gaze towards Zane and gives him a faux hard and long look. Roughly half a minute later, he sighs and exasperatedly shakes his head, a light grin on his face despite that.
“Fine, I’ll let you off the hook this time, but you better fulfill your roles while we’re there and not just chase that girl through the island.”
The ginger simply puts on a radiant smile, “Why of course Captain!”
Peering at him one last time, the former knight chuckles and puts his hand on Byleth’s head, pulling him into step as they walk away.
Going up the plank to board the large ship, the lad manages to spot Zane waving to a young woman with long hair lit by the nearby flickering flames, quickly jogging to meet her.
It isn’t long after that the boat slowly begins to separate from the docks, catching a sudden strong breeze in its billowing sails hanging overhead. The feeling of standing on the vessel is strange at first but nothing he can’t handle, unlike some others who are already wobbling due to the waves moving rhythmically under them.
Glancing around under the steadily brightening skies, Byleth takes note of the people manning the ship now that he is able to see them more clearly. Most of them are well-muscled men however there are also a few women here and there helping out as well, the majority of them handling various ropes in different ways throughout the vessel.
What stands out to him is that each and every one of these workers share the same darker skin and exotic features that he’s come to associate with Brigid natives or those of that particular descent.
Furthermore, he finds his vision drawn to their interesting attire, unconsciously comparing it to what he’s familiar with. Whether it has to do with the seafarers themselves or perhaps simply the culture of their homeland he doesn’t know, but their state of dress is rather revealing.
The men have mostly foregone wearing any shirts whatsoever, instead showing off their chiseled bodies decorated with all manner of colorful tattoos, something that is an oddity from what he’s seen throughout his life.
He watches as one barrel-chested man pulls on a line, his muscles taut. The visibility of the powerful tissue rippling under his skin is intriguing to watch, even though it’s not necessarily an unfamiliar sight.
The women on the other hand, are covered in a couple different choices of clothing but each end up being fairly exposing in their own way as well, whether showing off large amounts of cleavage, midriff, or back which are similarly covered in tattoos although generally to a lesser extent.
There’s no set age about any of them either, several of the seafarers clearly possessing aged features while a select few seem barely into adulthood. Even the youngest though, moves with clear purpose and intent, their sole focus on mastering the waves and ensuring a smooth journey.
Enthralled by some of the beauty on display, as well as the daring choice of attire that would be highly frowned upon almost anywhere in Fódlan no matter the country or territory, several of the younger and wild mercenaries find themselves drooling over the sight of the seawomen. Zane is quick to notice the issue however, warning of potential consequences should the men harass or interfere with the foreigners’ duties.
Taking all of this in, the youth is quick to discern where the voyage is taking them. ‘I suppose father did mention Brigid earlier…’
A subtle twinge of excitement beats in his chest before unfailingly resubmerging into the depths, not unlike the fleeting shadow of something moving beneath the water.
Unsure of how to pass the time, he goes and sits down in a corner of the boat, separate from everyone else, and watches as the coasts of Fódlan get smaller and smaller on the horizon prior to disappearing entirely.
***
Like that, two full days aboard the wooden vessel pass uneventfully.
Byleth had eventually locked himself up in his father’s room below deck after being subtly harassed by the usual suspects not long after leaving their homeland. They couldn’t do anything too obvious considering the circumstances, but it was still plenty enough for the boy to withdraw, desiring absolute solitude.
Holed up in the confining damp room, he didn’t experience anything new, rather he simply occupied himself by sharpening his weapons and trying to decipher a book in Tuatha.
Sothis had awoken for a scant few minutes here and there however she was quick to leave him alone as he barely responded to her presence.
Concerned for the kid’s behavior, Zane came to see him a few times, trying to entice him to come up to the deck. Jeralt’s dismissal of any major issue and Byleth’s own insistence that he was fine eventually eased his worries, though the ginger was still regretful that the adolescent didn’t enjoy the ocean travel more than he did.
Being shaken awake yet again on the dawn of the third day since leaving, the child darts awake with confused eyes. Scanning the dark room, he recalls the events of the previous days and realizes where he is.
“Come up and check out the view kid.”
Motioning for his son to get up and follow him, Jeralt waits patiently as he obediently prepares and straps on his gear prior to leaving together.
Climbing up the creaking wooden stairs, the youth opens the latch door and is momentarily blinded by the sunlight streaming in. It only takes a second for him to adapt, and as his vision clears, he sees the majority of the mercenaries excitedly staring off into the distance as they look at the approaching shoreline under the early morning light.
The adolescent’s cobalt orbs can’t help but widen at the view. Even at this distance, he notes the mountainous terrain flush with vibrant green broken apart by flowing rivers of liquid sapphire.
Merely from this short glimpse, the landscape appears to be extra vibrant compared to what he’s known from his travels through Fódlan. The cry of seagulls flying overhead and the spray of water in the air merely serve to make the image especially picturesque in his eyes.
For almost every passenger aboard the ship it’s a novel experience leaving Fódlan and crossing the sea, so they’re understandably a bit rowdy. As many move forward to catch a glimpse of the sight, Byleth does the opposite and sits undisturbed on one of the railings, taking in the scene.
It’s quite literally a whole new land laid before him, full of things to discover and learn. Even in his current state, such ideas are plenty to color him intrigued.
Lost in thoughts all alone, he fails to react as he’s roughly pushed over the edge he was sitting on, only managing to see two familiar boots as gravity pulls him down into the waiting arms of the cold ocean’s embrace.
Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t yet know how to swim, never quite finding a river deep enough during his earlier childhood.
Desperately moving his arms and legs he tries to rise above the curtain of water, but the weight of his gear merely serves to drag him deeper into the depths. Attempting to claw himself upward to no avail, a sense of panic manages to break past his emotional barrier as his lungs begin to ache for air, his chest feeling like it will soon burst.
Inside of his psyche, Sothis twitches in her sleep, perhaps sensing the current desperate situation and the child’s panicked emotions. She doesn’t wake, however, her breathing quickly regaining its soft cadence after the momentary lapse.
Below the deep blue waves, Byleth continues trying to force his way up, and in his hazy vision, he manages to glimpse a shadow plunge in toward him. His savior swiftly reaches him and manages to grab his collar, rapidly pulling him above the waterline.
Coughing up a storm, the boy greedily gulps down the salty air, never having felt so relieved to have it.
“Hold on Captain, they said they’re going to throw down the ladder.”
“No, don’t bother. We’ll swim there.”
As Byleth is turning his head to look at his rescuer, the words his father speaks cause him to freeze. As his brain tries to process their meaning, Jeralt undoes his son’s sword straps and effortlessly tosses the blade high into the air and onto the ship, then does the same with the visible daggers, waving the forward moving craft onward soon after.
Zane merely gives a quick sympathetic look as he turns back and yells at the group for having accidentally pushed the lad overboard, the vessel continuing to sail on all the while.
“Come boy, we better get swimming.”
Taken out of his thoughts the child looks up at his parent who simply motions to the far shoreline with his head.
An hour later, he collapses on a sandy beach, gasping for breath as his muscles relish the break.
“Good job kid, that didn’t take as long as I thought it would. See, that wasn’t so hard right?”
The roguish mercenary chuckles a bit as he walks out of the sparkling sea and towards the hastily constructed port where their boat is already docked, hands wringing some of the water from the attire lying over his compact armor.
‘Why are you lying exhausted on the beach so early in the morning?’
Resting on the sand, Byleth’s head snaps up before he remembers the existence of the captivating girl in his mind. He can feel her confusion and ever-present drowsiness through their bond and in a moment of carelessness begins to mentally respond.
‘My father made me learn t… actually, it’s not important.’
She grows even more confused at his response, but he refuses to elaborate. Making a fist, he attempts to bury the desire to speak with her and turns his eyes forward, struggling to his feet in the hot snow-white sand. He can’t talk to her, not ever. Not unless he wants to ruin and corrupt one of the few precious things that make him feel alive.
‘After all… monsters like me don’t deserve people like her…’ he thinks to himself.
***
Sitting on a massive fallen tree, Byleth listens to the mission statement that Zane is giving while attempting to enjoy the feeling of the sweltering sun on his skin.
Apparently, the southern side of the island nation has recently been devastated by a large typhoon and is requesting aid in cleaning up the damages.
In other words, they’re here for a non-combat mission, a fact that many of the battle-hungry mercenaries are adamant in being frustrated over. Those feelings soon quell though as they similarly come to enjoy the climate and foreign environment, reveling in the chance of leaving their own country.
Brigid is a relatively small nation to the west of Fódlan and the Adrestian Empire and is comprised of many islands, although it’s the centralized main landmass that most are familiar with.
All year long, the slightly darker-skinned natives enjoy a tropical climate but that does bring with its own disadvantages such as the occasional bad storm and typhoon when it’s that stretch of the year.
Brigid and Adrestia haven’t always had the best history regarding one another, but there has been no conflict between the two for many years and things are currently peaceful, though their relationship isn’t exactly close despite that.
Luckily, or rather intentionally, the group landed not too far away from the affected area, having circled around the main island to get here, and so it doesn’t take much time before they’re knee-deep in their efforts at disaster cleanup.
Fortunately for them, the locals were able to avoid a high number of casualties due to foretelling the appearance of the storm, but the destruction to the area is still costly and vast.
Looking on all sides of him, Byleth is slightly awed by the immense devastation surrounding his comparatively diminutive form. Countless houses and trees are destroyed and uprooted while various debris lay everywhere.
Glancing behind him, he marvels over the power of nature, examining how the healthy and lush treeline is greatly pushed back from what he assumes is the norm, staring through countless gnarled and felled dying trees.
He wonders how the smiling residents can stay so positive despite the circumstances as he returns to his task of separating the different remains and sorting them into massive piles.
Going about the work, he feels slightly alone which is new ever since the appearance of Sothis, but he’s happy that she’s currently dormant since that means he doesn’t have to face her. Perhaps it’s due to her having only recently awakened but the girl is active for no more than a few minutes each day so far.
As his thoughts inevitably drift to her despite his mixed feelings, he can’t help but recall her puzzling reaction to seeing the devastation. As soon as his eyes first made contact with the disaster site, he could feel her attention shift away from him as her emotions suddenly became slightly chaotic.
Although he thought to ask what was wrong, he held his proverbial tongue and merely remained as a bystander.
Ultimately, she muttered something regarding how the look of the destruction felt familiar and in conjunction with a mix of confusion, anger, exhaustion, and sorrow she slowly melded back into the recesses of his consciousness. Likely to rest despite having not been that active for the day.
As Byleth’s thoughts swirl around her, among other different things, he continues lifting heavy debris and sorting it into the appropriate areas.
Many locals nearby are extremely surprised to see such a young child lift such heavy things with little to no trouble and begin to gossip a bit.
Hearing their strange murmurings, the teal-haired adolescent looks up, but his gaze becomes a little colder as he sees the whispers and stares directed at him. In his mind, such things after all can only be related to them despising him.
He gives a fierce glare to the locals who are bashful seeing his foul mood, then moves off to find a new spot.
Similar events continue for a number of hours more before he finally stops as his stomach grumbles. Taking stock of his surroundings, he sees many others eating while sitting together and nods, deciding to go get some food himself.
Turning toward camp, he’s about to do just that but as he turns, he bumps into someone that had somehow evaded his attention.
Jumping back, he looks up and sees a strong older man with fierce-looking features and a deep scar below his left eye. Quickly pulling out a dagger, Byleth holds it menacingly in front of him as he adopts a low stance.
With his involvement on the battlefield, the boy’s senses have already become sharp despite his age and he can tell that the adult in front of him is dangerous.
He’s near as tall as his father and similarly well built, but his moderately older features, darker skin, and several tattoos give him a visually more intimidating look to the fledgling mercenary.
The middle-aged man smirks seeing the defensive actions and reaches into his pocket to take something out.
Just as the youthful warrior is ready to lunge, he manages to stop himself as the native pulls out a large fruit and presents it to him. Speaking in the tongue he’s come to learn as Tuatha, the unknown makes to offer it to him, at least that's what the cobalt-orbed adolescent believes is being said.
He blinks at the man and slowly lowers his dagger, eventually placing it in its sheath and examining the person standing in front of him anew.
The stranger only waits for a response and keeps holding out the fruit with a small grin plastered on his lips. Eventually, the youth gingerly takes the fruit, responding with a quiet thanks in Tuatha.
His tongue and lips work in a way wholly different compared to his native language, producing a sound that is entirely foreign to his norms, but not uncomfortable or strange despite that.
Surprise flashes on the older man’s face for a moment until he grunts and walks away with a tiny chuckle.
The wary youngster eyes his retreating form, taking note of his steady steps which he recognizes as those of a warrior. Byleth watches the anomalous island dweller soon rejoin a large circle of people who immediately gather around him, then he turns his attention down to the strange fruit.
Turning it in his hands he examines the unique pink color and texture, then takes a tentative bite. With that bite alone his pupils tremble as a strong and extremely sweet juice gushes into his mouth along with fleshy pulp.
Needless to say, he devours the fruit in record time.
Finishing the tasty morsel, he heads to the ocean and cleans his hands before hearing his father call his name.
“Byleth, come over here.”
Nearby, the same older man turns his attention to see the boy go, but as his gaze lands on the figure of Jeralt his eyes widen while his muscles tense.
Eventually, he relaxes his form and adopts a faint smile, mumbling under his breath, “Interesting…”
