Chapter Text
Darkness is eating away at your mind. Something brushing through your thoughts beneath those dark sea’s depths, pressure building from the sensation of something alien within your head.
You try to let out a noise of discomfort, a whimper, a breath even, but nothing leaves your throat. In a panic, you try to move away. And it feels as if you are but you can see nothing but emptiness all around you.
Looking down at your hands you see… nothing. And yet, as you blankly open and close what you know is your hand, the sensation of moving muscles continue even as all there is to see: is still nothing.
It’s as if you exist and don’t at the same time.
Where… are you?
What’s happened to you?
Those questions bubble up through the desolating state of your thoughts. Sluggish. Vague.
As if sensing your slowly brewing consciousness, the dark sea flows in, biting at the questions. And the momentary fear that pulls at your chest just… flows away.
All that remains is the sensation of your heart beating a calm, gentle pace within your rib-cage. And then… weariness overtakes you, pulling you down deep beneath the empty ocean’s waves.
Has your bed always been this uncomfortable? It’s the first thought to cross your sleep-addled mind as you slowly awaken from unconsciousness.
It feels… cold. And yet as you begin to shift your legs, an entanglement of pressure around them finally registers.
“...!” With a start you open your eyes. And promptly realize: you’re on the floor, and your legs are caught up in a heavy blanket.
“Uhh.” Did you… fall outta bed in your sleep?
Turning to take in the bed in question, you frown. … This, isn’t your bed. For one, it’s way too big compared to the small thing you had back in college. For another - you kick the blankets off of your feet, then give up as they only tangle further, yanking off the blanket with both hands - this lush looking blanket is way too much for your tastes.
Blowing out a breath to move strands of your fringe away from your eyes, you just sit there, on the cold floor, letting your brain catch up with your wakening body.
Okay so, that isn’t your bed, you’ve established that. But, the bigger thing here is… that this isn’t anywhere close to looking like your room either.
It looks… kinda like a dorm room of some kind. Albeit an old-fashioned one. Wooden panel walls and flooring…
You brush your right hand over the edge of the huge snow-white rug, just shy of your feet, the fibers soft against your skin. Just your luck that you didn’t land on this when falling out of that bed but on the wooden floor instead.
Sighing you get to your feet, stumbling a couple of steps back as you try to reorient yourself, sweeping a proper look around the room.
“Nope, definitely not my dorm room,” you mumble to yourself, rubbing at the nape of your neck. Is this… some kinda prank someone’s pulled? You wouldn’t put it past your neighbour…
You still, breath catching in your throat.
Have you been kidnapped?
Rushing over to the bedroom door, you yank at the door knob and - it swings wide open, letting you out onto a cavernous corridor. … There’s two dudes wearing armour further down it.
Slowly, quietly, you close the door again.
“Oh my god,” you whisper to yourself, running a hand through your short hair. They’re in legitimate armour. … Or at least, it looked like it.
This isn’t a prank.
Breaths leaving you in rapid pants, you cast a swift glance again around your room, looking for anything you can arm yourself with. … There! Beside the drawers!
You make a bee-line for dagger-tipped frames hanging from the wall. Grabbing them, you carefully grasp the handle near the end of the inside pieces of the frame on one of them, giving it a brief check over with a frown.
Whatever these are, they’ll do for now.
Raising one before you, you inch back towards the door, reaching out to open it with your free hand - bells sound from somewhere in the distance. A door opens outside, then another.
Where there had once been quiet, now voices begin to fill the hallway beyond.
Your throat going dry, you stand where you are, heart beating heavily in your chest. Shaking your head, you let out a breath and yank open the door, peering out at the sources of the noise.
People of all kinds are walking past your room - all of them wearing odd or old-fashioned looking clothes. You glance down at your own… and blink.
You… what are you wearing? Gingerly, you grab hold of the blue fabric that counts for some kinda lounge-wear, being careful not to spike yourself on the dagger-tipped frame you have tucked under your arm.
It looks like it’s caught between modern and medieval. The fabric thin but soft to the touch.
“Are you alright, sire?”
Freezing, you look up, catching eyes with an armoured man.
“Uhh, yes?” It automatically tumbles out of your mouth, and you click it shut, frowning lightly. Sire? “No… I don’t know. Why are you dressed like that?”
“I am on guard duty sire, I’m required to wear this,” he responds, tone peppered with obvious bemusement. “Although it’s not really my place to say, I wouldn’t imagine anyone would appreciate you waving around your training gauntlets dressed in your lounge-wear.”
“I - uh - no, probably not.” Stepping back, you decide that you’ve had enough of this particular conversation, and promptly close the door, hiding once more back in this unfamiliar room.
Sighing, you plop your forehead against the door’s surface. What the fuck is going on.
That ‘guard’ didn’t try to kill you or anything at least but… you’re in a weird-ass place, with clothes that are definitely not yours on and… You give up.
You’re going to get out of these clothes and into something that looks less like you’re going to go marathoning whilst sleepwalking for the next fifteen hours.
Dropping the ‘gauntlets’ onto the bed for now, you begin rummaging around through the drawers for anything less odd.
… And turn up with shirts, thankfully, and some kind of strangely familiar black and gold uniform. Is this… actually some kind of college then?
Trying to even out your breathing and not think too hard right now over it all , you slightly awkwardly get dressed, shrugging on the dark, gold tinted jacket and shoving your now sock adorned feet into the white boots laying beside the drawer.
… It doesn’t feel uncomfortable to wear at least.
Casting a glance back at the gauntlets, you grab them again, fitting your hand around the frame on one as you open the door and finally, finally get the courage to brave the gaping hall and it’s passing inhabitants.
Some of them glance at you, but none seem to care too much about the weapons you’re now holding, for some reason. And you idly consider whether threatening someone might help reveal where you are in full - after all, surely these weirdos did something to you - though brush it aside moments later. If they’re being so lax about you being here with them equipped, maybe it wouldn’t matter too much to them.
You wander ever further away from the room, with no idea where you’re going except that you want out. And as it rings more and more about your mind, you pick up speed, until you’re all out marching down the corridor, slipping past people who get in the way.
Bright morning light pierces through the stone archways about you. You slow down, mouth gaping open slightly. In the distance, you catch the bustling of crowds of people going about their daily routine, greenery blaring out here and there amongst the paved stone pathways and stairs.
It stretches on and on, curving around yet more patches of green land and idly, as you take in the absolute enormous size of everything, you step down the set of stairs before you.
“What in the hell is this place…?” you whisper to yourself, eyes roving from one area to another, until… something catches your interest out of the corner of your gaze, and slowly, you raise your head to look up.
Huge walls loom above, connecting to arching stone pathways and small buildings and you realize… “This… this is a monastery.”
A very familiar monastery.
It all suddenly clicks; the uniform, the gauntlets, the guards… the splaying expanse of land that you’ve now found yourself in.
Even the bloody room.
It’s all incredibly familiar.
Because you’ve roamed through this monastery as a particular player in…
“Oh no.”
You’re in Garreg Mach.
The gauntlets drop out of your grip, clattering onto the floor.
You stand there, internally screaming.
“... Hey.”
“Hey, Fódlan to ____.” A hand waves in front of your face and you flinch, glaring briefly at your interrupter, until that wavy red hair has you do a double-take.
“I - uh, what?”
“I was just saying, you deciding to take the long route ‘round to class?”
Chocolate brown eyes peer into your own and - god, this can’t be real. For all appearances, this guy looks like… “Sylvain?”
Sylvain blinks. “Uhh yes? Do I have something on my face?”
No, no way. He’s here right in front of you. He looks… real. This monastery really looks real too, like the feel of your clothes and the smells, the sounds all around you - you can’t help it, you reach out and poke him on the chest.
“Um. Yup, that’s my chest.”
Fucking hell, he’s really real. “Oh no. No. I can’t - I’ve gotta go.” You turn away from him, tripping back up the stairs. But don’t even get very far before you feel a hand close around your wrist, pulling you to a standstill.
“Wait! Where are you going? The classroom’s back this way.”
“And I’m going this way. No way am I going to class.” Not when you’re this close to collapsing on the floor and curling up in the fetal position.
“Don’t tell me, you’re flunking out to go training again.”
“What are you talking about?” You turn back to scowl at him. Only to falter a little on staring him in the face again. God help you, this is bizarre.
He points to the ground. “You dropped them.”
You follow the gesture to stare at the gauntlets.
The warm sensation of his hand around your wrist suddenly feels like a heavy weight, red hot and frightening.
Yanking away from his grip, you take a couple of steps back and, the world wavers around you.
Nausea suddenly clamps down hard on your stomach and you attempt to raise your hands to cover your mouth on automatic. Your vision’s whirring faster than your eyes can keep up with as you collapse to your knees. The scraping sensation of stone against the skin beneath your clothes is the last thing you feel.
Before you pass out.
“... don’t know, it just happened.”
“... keep an eye on him for now. It’s a worry, but...”
Slowly opening your eyes, you find yourself staring up at a stone ceiling. The voices, still garbled to your ears, quieten. And slowly, you turn your head, taking in the sight of Sylvain, another student you can’t clearly see behind him and… a woman who looks a lot like Manuela.
… You’re still here.
“You’re awake,” she says, bringing her hands together before her. “Good. How are you feeling, dear?”
“Rough,” you manage to croak out, attempting to push yourself up into a sitting position. But she places a hand on your chest, gently but firmly pushing you back down onto the mattress again.
“You should rest. I don’t want you moving around too much after that little scare.”
“What… happened?”
“You fainted,” Sylvain says, folding his arms across his chest, leaning back a little from the bed as he examines you, traces of worry etched across his face. “Professor Manuela thinks it’s to do with your blood sugar levels. You haven’t been eating enough.”
“Right.” She nodded. “So you’re to stay here, get some rest and something to eat, rather than focus on your studies or your training for today.”
… You don’t know if this is a good thing or a bad one.
On the one hand, you can get out of whatever they’re doing for class work, but on the other… they’re probably going to keep you trapped in here for a day.
Great.
Behind them, the other student shifts, fully catching your attention. The blond hair and angular features immediately have you freezing.
“As long as he will be okay that is all that matters,” Dimitri says and you feel like you’re dying inside all over again.
You abruptly turn and shove your face against the pillow.
Why is all of this happening? And why to you?
“... Should one of us stay here?” you hear Sylvain say.
“Well, I do have a class to teach and I doubt he’ll be in need of any faith magic.” You can hear a rustle of clothes, the clack of shoes on stone - presumably Manuela’s getting to her feet. But you’ve had enough of seeing them standing and sitting right there, looking so much like real people. “If things change, you have my permission to get Mercedes to help.”
“I will take my leave alongside you, Professor.”
“I take it you’re wanting me to stay then, Dimitri?”
“You had more or less offered.”
“Right.”
Finally, you hear them leave… Or at least, most of them. You peek out from the side of the pillow’s material, watching as Sylvain sighs and takes a seat by your bedside. “You cause me way too much trouble, you know that?”
“You didn’t have to stay,” you tell him, wishing he’d left with them.
“And let you go running off? Don’t think so.”
It’s your turn to sigh, rolling over onto your back, resting your hands on your chest, clasping tightly to one hand. Is it really that obvious? … Wait. He knows your name. … Do they all know it?
A cold chill runs down your spine.
How?
How in the hell do they know your name?
Scrambling to sit upright, in the same instant Sylvain hurriedly reaches out to you, you turn to level a glare at him.
“How do you know so much about me.”
He stops dead, hand hovering in the air before him. “... I don’t?”
“You know my name, and enough to read what I’d been wanting to do since I woke up here.”
He drops his hands into his lap, his mouth falling open. He closes it, then opens it again, head tilting slightly as his brow lightly creases. “____, we’re students here. Names and understanding a little about one another comes with the whole house’s package.”
Pausing, a small humourless smile crosses his lips. “I think you’ve gone without food for so long it’s messed with your head. I’ll ask one of the guards to get in touch with the cooks, pretty sure one of them will be fine bringing something to you.”
Pushing back the chair, he gets to his feet.
“I don’t want anything to eat, I just want answers. … Hey! Didn’t you hear me?”
He promptly ignores you, striding over to the door and you growl in frustration, kicking back the blanket.
Great. Just great.
One more mystery to add onto the ever-growing pile of mysteries.
What else do they know about you? And how many of them actually do?
… God, you so want this to just be some fucked up dream.
Covering your hands with your face, you rub at your eyes.
“Obviously, it’ll take a little while,” Sylvain says, plopping back down in his chair.
“What?”
“The food.”
“Oh. … I literally have no appetite you know.”
“You might do once it’s here. I think they’re making Daphnel stew, not my favourite but it’s still pretty good you know.”
“Daphnel stew….” Laughter bubbles up inside you and it takes all of your strength just to condense that down to a snort. Shaking your head. “Of course it is. … This is all such a mess.”
“Well yeah, because you’re refusing to eat right,” Sylvain adds, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. “Come on, it’s only a day, then you can get out of here and go do… whatever it is you were planning on doing again.”
Like, running away and never coming back? Sounds like a good a plan as any when faced with waking up in a fictional world. … Not that you have any idea where you’d go outside of this monastery.
But since he’s here, maybe you could pick Sylvain’s brain a bit over all this? At least this way you could get some answers - for as much good as it’ll do.
“Why’d Dimitri drop by?”
Sylvain huffs a laugh. “Probably so he can say he’s doing his duties as our head of house. … Though he was worried over you, more than likely.”
Head of house? So are you in… You glance back down at your uniform, then to the jacket that’s hung up on a hook beside the bed. Are you in the Blue Lions?
There’s a knock at the door and Sylvain goes to answer it, coming back with a tray with a bowl of stew on it. He sets it down across your lap.
“Just try it, okay?”
For a while, you just look down at the bowl and its contents. Then you raise a hand above it, feeling the heat of the rising steam.
The pleasant savoury aroma assaults your senses. Your stomach growls in response.
Sylvain sniggers, and you shoot him a flat look.
“... Fine,” you tell him. Fine.
You pick up the spoon and ladle some of the stew onto it, before popping it into your mouth.
It’s… frighteningly delicious.