Work Text:
With the end of the six year long war, there had been much to do with unifying the new Fodlan Empire. The first year passed quickly — reorganising the territories, redistribution of resources and aid, rebuilding efforts post-war, Edelgard’s proper coronation — and the one year celebration of the Unification of Fodlan was quickly approaching. As the Minister of the Imperial Household, Hubert had much to prepare. Peacetime was something that he was still getting used to; his daily routines were quite different from when he was planning a continent-wide war, and then a secret underground war. However, the busyness of his schedule remained unchanged, if not now encompassing more mundane things such as the upcoming unification festival.
Despite their efforts to unravel the Church of Seiros’ long standing web of lies, progress was slow, especially amongst the commoners where literacy rates were significantly lower. Surprisingly, Bernadetta had been the one to offer a logical solution: disseminating a picture book that detailed the events of history.
Hubert sat in his private study, deep in thought. Therein lay a new dilemma, someone with sufficient artistic prowess to communicate such details. Ideally, someone who had some knowledge of the war efforts, though it could be easily enough arranged for the artist to be supervised.
Sifting through his mental list, he recalled a conversation he had overheard between the Professor and Ignatz Victor towards the end of the war. Something about a wish to paint Lady Edelgard’s eventual victory over the now-fallen King Dimitri.
Ignatz Victor, second son to a family of Merchants.
Above average archer.
No other notable qualities… except his passion for painting.
Indeed, he recalled that Lady Edelgard had once expressed admiration for Ignatz’s artistic talents. And although she herself lacked the skills — not that he would ever say that to his lady — Hubert was confident in her eye for the arts.
He would need to verify Ignatz’s skills before commissioning him for such a large undertaking.
His spy network had long been repurposed for more peaceful work. Upon receiving their orders, Hubert’s agents had been swift in procuring the information he required on Ignatz Victor. He perused the sheaf of documents, scanning each page for any pertinent information and filing those facts away.
Family (potential hostages), affiliations (no threats identified), movements (no suspicious activity), motivations (possible routes of bribery)… there was nothing in particular that caught his eye.
Then he reached the last page. It appeared to be a loose sheaf of parchment, the torn margins indicating that it had been torn out from a book. It was a smudged charcoal sketch of a very familiar scene. The battle at the Tailtean Plains.
Although Hubert had many skills, artistic pursuits were never part of his upbringing and he would easily admit that he had no eye for appreciation of the arts. However, when he looked at this crude sketch, two figures facing off, drawn with bold, uncompromising strokes…
He filed the documents away except for the sketch. Gut instinct told him he had found the artist he needed but he would get the opinion of others more acquainted with the arts, just to be thorough.
Hubert picked up his quill and began to compose a letter.
Ignatz had been wandering the smaller villages on the outskirts of Garreg Mach when someone approached him. He was more than surprised when he was handed over an envelope bearing the Adrestian Imperial crest, delivered to him by an inconspicuous messenger. Before he could ask a single question, the messenger swiftly departed.
He cautiously examined the envelope in his hands, feeling the paper between his fingers. The uniform colour and smoothness was typical of high quality stationery. Though there was no name on it, the glossy red wax seal stamped with the crest of the House of Hresvelg was unmistakable.
He had not been particularly close to anyone from the old Adrestian Empire and couldn’t begin to think of who or why anyone would have gone out of their way to track him down to deliver a letter. Surely, it could only be bad news for him. His mind seemed to fixate on worst case scenarios, each one worse than the previous. With great trepidation, he carefully broke the seal with trembling fingers, and pulled out a single folded page.
Ignatz Victor,
I would like to cordially invite you to the Imperial Palace in Enbarr. Your skills in painting have not gone unnoticed and we wish to commission a painting for the upcoming Reunification Festival.
Another messenger will find you the day after you receive this letter. Please give your response to them. If you choose to accept, the route for your safe travels will be organised accordingly.
Of course, you will be well compensated.
Hubert von Vestra
Minister of the Imperial Household
He took a moment to absorb the contents of the letter. Blinking in disbelief, he turned over the letter to the other side to see if there was anything else he missed. Blank. He double checked the envelope. Nothing else inside.
His heart still racing from his initial fears, he let out a shaky calming breath. He wasn’t sure at what point his paintings would have caught the eye of Hubert von Vestra but he knew an opportunity when he saw one.
It was with his parents' blessings that he had abandoned the path of knighthood and was attempting to pursue his dreams as an artist. Although he still had a fair amount of savings remaining from his wages as a member of the Black Eagle Strike Force, he knew that he needed to balance pursuing his passions with making a living. This was an unexpected opportunity that he could not afford to turn down. His next destination had been Boramas, but it looked like he would be heading down south towards Enbarr instead.
It took a little over two weeks of uneventful travel before he finally reached his destination, Enbarr. Ignatz's carriage rumbled along the cobblestone roads, slowly navigating through the traffic towards the imperial palace. He opened a carriage window and poked his head outside, eyes wide with excitement as he looked around, soaking in the sprawling city of Enbarr.
The bustling streets, lined with stalls and merchants, gradually gave way to wider avenues adorned with statues and fountains. Tall, imposing buildings stood shoulder to shoulder, the architecture became more grand. The opera house in particular was a sight to behold, their patrons leaving and entering in elaborate dress.
Eventually, the majestic silhouette of the imperial palace emerged in the distance, perched imposingly on the hill like a guardian overseeing its dominion. The palace's spires reached skywards, adorned with intricate carvings that spoke of opulence and power. Ignatz couldn't help but marvel at the sheer scale of the structure.
The rest of the journey was a blur, too caught up in taking in the long-waited sights. Before he knew it, he had been guided to a parlour room to wait for the arrival of the Minister of the Imperial Household.
The parlour itself wasn’t overly decadent but the wallpaper was a shimmering jewel green with gold trimmings — befitting of the name the Emerald Parlour. A pair of chaise lounges faced each other in the centre of the room with an intricately carved mahogany low set table in between. The plush beige carpet gave way pleasantly with every step. But what caught his eye the most was the painting over the unlit fireplace. Was that an original work from the famed tenth century Adrestian artist Bastian Lehmann?
So caught up in his fascination with the work, Ignatz failed to notice someone entering the room.
“That painting is an original, I thought you might appreciate it.”
“Ah!” Ignatz yelped. He quickly whirled around and saw Hubert standing close to the lounges, a maid entering the room with a serving cart behind him. Hubert was much the same as Ignatz remembered, wearing all-black garbs, similar to what he wore during the war time except now without the armoured pieces. Still severe and intimidating as ever, his piercing chartreuse eyes seemed to see right through him.
“Minster Vestra… er, Your Excellency?” Ignatz tried out, giving a stiff bow. He wasn’t sure exactly how to address his former classmate, now that it was after the war, the gap in their standing felt larger than ever.
Hubert waved a hand dismissively. “As former comrades-in-arms, I believe we can dispense such formalities. Please, take a seat.” He gestured to one of the lounges in the centre of the room, and Ignatz hasility complied, almost tripping over the coffee table.
A maid wheeled in a tea set along with a small platter of refreshments. She poured each of them a cup of pre-brewed Dadga Fruit Blend; Ferdinand kept track of all their classmates’ tea preferences and aside from being one of Ignatz’s favourites, this particular blend was also one that Hubert had begrudgingly admitted to not minding.
After tea was served, the maid bowed once and left the room, leaving the two men alone.
“You wanted me to paint something for the Reunification Festival?” Igantz asked. He nervously went to pick up his teacup, but realised it was too hot to hold comfortably, and retreated his hands back into his lap, fidgeting them awkwardly. He meant to ask for more details about the commission, but instead he blurted out, “Why me?”
Hubert did not immediately respond to the question though he arched a brow at that, as if to silently encourage him to continue. Ignatz felt compelled to fill in the silence and rambled on.
“W-what I mean is that I’m sure there are a lot of famed artists in Adrestia, or even in the old Alliance that you could’ve commissioned. For such an important project like this…” Ignatz trailed off, unsure. Then, his eyes lit up as if he had found his resolve. He eagerly leaned forward in his seat, “That is, of course, I will do my best! In fact, I have already been thinking about what sort of portrait would be most fitting for the event. I’ve already prepared a bunch of preliminary sketches on the carriage ride over. Please, let me know if any of them are suitable.”
Ignatz reached over to his well-worn leather satchel and brought out his sketchbooks, eyes sparkling with excitement at the idea of this project. As he opened the pages of his sketchbook, Hubert held up a hand to interrupt him. “Do you not wish to negotiate your fees first?”
“Oh, right!” Ignatz replied, flustered at the reminder. When it was clear Hubert did not intend to say anything further, he tentatively continued, “Er, did you have a price in mind?”
Hubert gave an amused huff. “If this is how you carry out your negotiations, I am surprised you have enough funds to live off of.”
Ignatz gave a weak chuckle, picked up his tea cup and took a sip.
Ignatz took a deep centering breath in, then out. He closed his eyes and drew his thoughts back to that fateful day one year ago on the Tailtean Plains.
Muscles aching, lungs burning with every breath, the pain and guilt of killing dulled over the years with every life he took, but there was no time for conscious thought. Now, it was purely about survival.
Torrential rain as if the very heavens are crying, a sea of grey and despair, intermittent splashes of blood red, landscape dyed more and more crimson as the battle rages on.
The Imperial army slowly gains ground, cutting through the Faerghan side, then through the monstrous beasts, then the Church reinforcements with their eerie towering golems.
Advancing forward, each gruelling step is a step closer to victory, to the end of the war.
And then, his breath catches in his throat. He sees the sight that he makes sure to burn into his mind.
Alone in the centre of a crumbling stone ruins, King Dimitri is knelt down in defeat, Emperor Edelgard’s imposing figure standing tall and proud. But it is not triumph in her eyes. Nor is it guilt, sorrow.
It is the impassive face of an Emperor.
His hand moved, and his brush flew across the canvas — a man possessed.
Ignatz awoke with a start from his nightmares, bolting upright as he looked around frantically to find his bearings. He had been back in the Talitean Plains and a Pegasus Knight had rushed straight for him, lance plunging into his chest—
“You are awake,” a familiar raspy voice called out, startling Ignatz. He whipped his head over to the voice and saw Hubert standing a few steps from his bedside, arms crossed as he looked at him appraisingly. He hadn’t noticed the presence of another person in the guest chambers.
As he reorientated himself, he remembered where he was and what he was doing. That’s right… the war ended a year ago and he is alive and well. He placed a hand over his chest and he felt his frantically beating heart inside his intact chest, where it should be.
“Yes… I… I think I fainted,” Ignatz recalled, dropping his hands to his lap.
Hubert approached the bedside, eyeing him appraisingly. “Hm. The physician reported nothing other than fatigue, sleep deprivation, and hunger.”
As if on cue, Ignatz’s stomach growled and a wave of dizziness washed over him. He suddenly became aware of his severe hunger pangs. When was the last time he ate? Being so lost in his painting, he wasn’t sure.
The painting! He remembered blacking out just as he put on the finishing touches to the painting, having just enough sense to angle his body away from it as he collapsed. He opened his mouth to tell Hubert about the painting but was stopped by a bowl of gruel being handed over to him.
“Eat first. We will talk about the painting after,” Hubert ordered.
With trembling hands, Ignatz reached for the bowl and began to feed himself. Hubert left the room as the imperial physician re-entered to examine him once more.
After Ignatz had eaten, he had fallen asleep again and did not stir for another half a day. Upon Hubert questioning his staff, he was shocked to discover that the artist had already completed the painting in that time; so lost in his work that he barely rested or ate for the week he had been here. As much as Hubert appreciated a good work ethic, even he was aware of his own (unfortunate) human limitations. He made a mental note to have his staff insist on regular breaks, if he was to keep him on board long-term.
It had taken another day still for Ignatz to recover his strength and now, they stood in the room that had been repurposed for Ignatz’s use. When he had last been here, there had been a plain white sheet laid out on the ground, a large blank easel set up, and tablets covered in paint supplies.
Now, in the centre of the room, the canvas and easel was draped in a large white sheet, paint splattered the sheet on the floor, the paints on the table some form of organised chaos. The curtains drawn shut — to maintain even lighting conditions Ignatz had said — though the lanterns had been lit.
Ignatz walked forward and uncovered the easel with a flourish, looking at Hubert expectantly. Hubert did not know what to expect but upon laying his eyes on the completed painting, he felt spellbound . He had known of the concept of art being moving but he didn’t realise breath-taking was literal.
Even though he had no eye for art, he knew that he was looking at something special. Standing before the canvas left him with a profound sense of awe. It was as though he was transported back to the day of the battle; he could taste the air of the rain-drenched battlefield, a potent mix of earthy petrichor and metallic tang. The magnificence of his Emperor, her red armour standing out in the gloomy greys of the battlefield sent a thrill down his spine.
His silence must have unnerved Ignatz, who had begun to fiddle with the drape in his hand, looking unsure.
“It is more than satisfactory,” Hubert finally commented, and Ignatz immediately perked up as if he had been praised more thoroughly.
“I’m glad! I was worried that it wouldn’t be suitable for display at the festival itself but the scene needed to be drawn. Her Majesty’s figure that day was burned into my mind… the fiery beauty and hope in the midst of a field of destruction…”
“Beauty in destruction?” Hubert raised an eyebrow. It was certainly a beautiful piece of work but the rhetorics of an artist were lost on him. “I’m afraid I will have to ask you to elaborate on that.”
Rather than put off by the questioning, Ignatz appeared to become even more passionate having an engaged audience. “Don’t you see it?” he gestured vigorously towards the canvas, at the bold reds and the sweeping golden hues around Edelgard and Amyr. “That striking, noble figure, burning brightly with the fire of revolution!” He pointed next to the blue hues surrounding the figure of the fallen King Dimitri. “Changing the landscape of Fodlan, challenging the church, why, it could be said she was challenging the Blue Star itself. Creation, death, rebirth, and the struggles in between… within that destruction and despair lies the dawning of a new era.”
Taking in this explanation, Hubert reappraised the painting with fresh eyes, allowing himself a few moments longer to soak in the details. He would not claim to completely understand what Ignatz meant however…
“The dawning of a new era, the Reunification of Fodlan. It certainly is a powerful piece,” Hubert agreed, “Though in truth, this commission was actually something of a test.’
“A test?” Ignatz asked worriedly. His hands gripped the drapes tightly, knuckles turning bone-white.
“Yes, if this commission went well, we were hoping you would stay on with us for a larger project.”
Relieved that it wasn’t something more serious, Ignatz sighed and loosened his grip on the drapes. It took a moment for it to dawn on him exactly what Hubert had said. “A larger project? What do you mean?”
Hubert allowed his lips to quirk up into a small smile as he began to explain their plans.
It was the night of the Reunification festival and Ignatz stood before the large blank canvas. He closed his eyes, and cast his mind back to the events of today.
The Emperor stands on a balcony overlooking the square where her citizens have gathered, tall and proud, in all her regalia. Her hair done up in an elaborate updo around the golden twin-horned crown.
Her speech captivates the audience, whether it be with her well-crafted words, the heartfelt sincerity, or her regal demeanour. They hang onto her every word. A great cheer erupts from the crowd at the end of her speech, the atmosphere electric.
By her side, half a step back, stands the prime minister. He, too, cuts an impressive figure in his crimson formalwear. The two of them make a captivating pair as the leaders of Fodlan.
But Ignatz’ eyes are drawn to the shadows. For in the bright light of the Emperor, is her ever-loyal Minister. The dark figure hides from the eyes of the public, working ceaselessly for the betterment of the Empire, yet never basking in that same glory.
Where there is light, there is dark, and the two work hand in hand for a better tomorrow.
Confident paint strokes appeared as his brush flew across the canvas — a man possessed.
The year 1192 marks the fifth year anniversary of the Unification of Fodlan and the city of Enbarr is buzzing with excitement. This year’s festival, the up-and-coming artist Ignatz Victor, who is sponsored by the Emperor herself, is opening an exhibit in the Enbarr Art Gallery.
His paintings had already begun to gain fame after his debut pieces, The Red Star and Light and Shadow, were exhibited following the first year Unification Festival.
Known to be both an artist, and a fierce warrior who had participated in the Reunification War alongside the Emperor herself, he was in a unique position to be able to depict the war first hand. His exhibit had been widely publicised, a gallery illustrating a first hand account of the war, and the events leading up to it.
There was still some controversy as to the contents. Some said that it was propaganda orchestrated by the Emperor, others agreed that it was merely unveiling the hidden truths of the old Church of Seiros.
Either way, everyone agreed that the talent of Ignatz was a rare talent only found once a century, and that his name would go down in history.