#sreng

[slotumn]

[wanderingmind867]

If Fire Emblem Three Houses is indeed getting a spin-off in Fortune's Weave, my hope is actually not for a prequel. At least…not a prequel in the same place as Three Houses. I don't know exactly why. Some of it is because I don't want a prequel that just leaves us on a tragic, somber note. And any prequel would undoubtedly do that. Fodlan is not the happiest land by the time of Three Houses. There's prejudice and massacres and secret ancient civilizations plotting in the shadows and so much more. I don't want a prequel, in as much as I want something like a spin-off or a sequel or something.

My fingers are currently sore as I write this from inside the college. I'm waiting for my second class to begin, but I have like forty minutes before it does. So maybe I can use this time to describe what I want from continuing stories in the world of Fire Emblem: Three Houses. As a disclaimer though, let me just remind people that I've never played There Hopes and I never want to play Three Hopes. My knowledge of Fodlan comes solely from playing Three Houses.

I've already tried to explain why I'd want a sequel to Crimson Flower before, and I don't feel like rehashing all that. But I can explain why I want spin-offs instead of prequels (or at least prequels that double as spin-offs or something). Adrestia, Faerghus and Leicester are all interesting countries. But we've already seen a lot of the sights there. We know Enbarr, Fhirdiad, Arianrhod, Derdriu, etc. We know all the signs in Fodlan. Even seeing them in the past wouldn't be nearly as interesting as fleshing out the other regions on the continent, in my opinion.

Besides the three countries we saw in Three Houses, there's a great many other lands to explore. There's Almyra, where Claude and Cyril and Nader are all from. There's Petra's home, the island nation of Brigid. There's Shamir's home, the far off other continent of Dagda. There's also the far off continent of Albinea, apparently a frigid land where not much grows. There's Sreng, although I don't remember a lot about them. Hell, there's even Agartha! The underground, hidden country of Agartha, which we only ever see in one chapter on some routes of the game.

Of all these continents, I think Almyra is the one most likely to get a spin-off. Almyra already has a decent amount of characters in Three Houses, so it wouldn't be hard to build onto it and create a new game set there. But personally? I think Dagda or Albinea would be interesting. I would love a Fire Emblem game set in a mostly icy terrain, and I think albinea could really deliver on that. I think Dagda also has potential, if only because we know so little about it. I want a game fleshing out the world of three houses, but I don't want to completely retell the same story we told before.

I think setting a new game in Almyra or Dagda or Albinea would be the right way to go. If we want to stay in the world of Three Houses, then let's worldbuild. Let's see the landscapes and political situations of these different continents. Are there different mythologies and gods in different lands? Could we get a game set in a foreign continent that runs concurrently with Three Houses? That would be pretty interesting. There's lots of potential here. That's really all I'm saying. There's lots of potential storylines here, and I'd love to see these things explored.

So yeah, I'm hoping Fortune's Weave or whatever the name is chooses to explore more than just Adrestia, Faerghus and Leicester. I'm all for staying in the world, and I'm even fine with a prequel. But I'd love it if we got more focus on Almyra or Dagda or Albinea or something. That's just what I'd most like to see from a new game in the same world.

[coucou-art]

What are some of your headcanons for Sreng and Morfis since the game refuses to give any lore about them

the game gives us way too little information so here‘s what I get from Sreng and Morfis;

Sreng

a land chaotically held together by clans and bandits, with hot climate and rocky desert

sreng people‘s passion: fighting for territory within. they constantly battle for territory and supremacy (or for battle’s sake)

most of the best weaponsmithing in the world can be found in Sreng. Obviously Zoltan, the legendary weaponsmith comes from Sreng

the people of Sreng either are extremely tough and fearless warriors living by a strict code within the clans or they‘re some of the most devious bastard snakes you can meet. anyhow lots of killing over here

Sreng harbors the highest population of beasts and monsters in the world. in some parts of Sreng beasts and monsters are worshipped as holy creatures. Some very few courageous ones are even able to ride those monsters and in some clans this is also a qualification test to select their clan leader

the men of Sreng may be strong and scary as hell, but the women of Sreng could just as well serve as leaders. Those women are metal af and can easily take on most of the male’s work as well. women are definitely on a par with men

there‘s many mineral ressources in Sreng. also a big reason why the clans always fight for territory. they‘re especially rich in iron, copper, fossil umbral steel, salt around the borders and rare local gemstones

Morfis

a city-state/metropolis known as the ‚city of illusion‘ surrounded by a vast sand desert

you‘ll have a hard time traveling there unprepared, because you‘d lose yourself in the desert and wander around forever without getting to the city. It‘s hidden behind an ‚illusion‘ of desert, and without proper guidance you would hardly find the entrance. think Fata Morgana but reversed if that even makes sense

it doesn’t show much of itself to the rest of the world, but that metropolis is actually wealthy as hell. very far developed and full of magic, and canonically has a great economy due to its trading routes if I‘m correct. and some of the most beautiful and mystical women inhabit that land. I like to compare those to the stereotypical ‚Circassian beauties‘ of our world

most of the gold that exists in the world originates from Morfis

below all the brilliance there‘s also a shady side to it. They have a slavery culture and some powerful people undertake human trafficking (which btw Carina‘s mother fell victim to and is how she came to Fodlan. she was meant to be sold to a group of people I can’t name yet and somehow got away but pshhhtt)

I could come up with more headcanons if I had more time. But please let me know what you have in mind, too!

[aodhan-art]

One of the most enjoyable commissions I’ve ever done so far - Sreng and Bres as the Barbie and Ken meme. I think they’re a perfect tag yourself meme now!

[bowbowis]

I May Have Been Wrong About Lambert and Sreng

Previously I've accused Lambert of being responsible for the conquest and ethnic cleansing of southern Sreng. After reviewing the relevant information however, I believe that may have been an erroneous assumption (one which, in my defense, both Fire Emblem wikis also make). Instead it seems the annexation happened no later than 896, during the reign of King Banfig.

From the in-game book Military History of the Partholon, which is found in Chapter 10 of Azure Gleam:

Great Tree Moon, Year 896 Banfig confers the northern part of his territory on Laetita [Gautier]. She is given the title of margrave and tasked with defending Faerghus's border. Laetita sets to work strengthening defenses in the north, constructing strongholds throughout the Ruska Mountains on the border with Sreng, and reclaiming the Lance of Ruin from the Church of Seiros.

It's not clear where the border was before the conflict in which Laetita distinguished herself. The book seems to offer conflicting information

Harpstring Moon, Year 892 The Sreng people launched a large scale invasion. They crossed the Ruska Mountains in the north and descended south into Faerghus. King Banfig built a string of strongholds along the north of his domain, from Blaiddyd to Fraldarius, including Conand Tower.

The first paragraph would seem to imply that the border was already at the Ruska Mountains when Sreng invaded. However, the placement of Conand Tower in the north of Banfig's domain seems to dispute that. The phrasing "along the north of his domain, from Blaiddyd to Fraldarius" seems to imply that "[Banfig's] domain" is referring to the whole Kingdom, not just Blaiddyd territory. Conand Tower is located in the southern part of modern Fraldarius territory, far to the south of the Ruska Mountains, which would seem to imply that Faerghus had not yet annexed most of the peninsula.

Here's a map for reference:

Red: Approximate Location of Conand Tower Green: Ruska Mountains (Modern Faerghus/Sreng Border) Blue: Speculated Former Faerghus/Sreng Border

Of course none of this changes that Lambert launched another invasion of Sreng; nor that Itha, Gautier, and most of Fraldarius territory are sitting on land that once belonged to Sreng and is now devoid of its native inhabitants. It would simply mean that Lambert is not the king who annexed the southern part of the peninsula.

It's also possible that it's explicitly stated somewhere that Lambert is responsible for the annexation. I'm not going to subject myself to Azure Gleam again just to find out. For now I'm agnostic on the matter.

[randomkposts]

Faerghus has a Famine problem, and I think that is related to their treatment of Duscur and Sreng's people.

So Faerghus has a famine problem. We don't deeply examine it in game, but it does show up through characters. Sylvain makes a comment on the meals, and how they couldn't eat like this at home, and Ingrid's Galatea home has severe famine going on. 

I'm going to make some assumptions about Fódlan history. Andrestia is based on the Roman Empire, a conquering nation. It can be assumed that they conquered the continent and appointed the lords whose families appear in the game. The official church line says that the 10 elites were heros who fought against Nemesis, in truth they got their crests through the blood of murder victims. The elites were killed but their families were spared. 

And so the continent was united in conquest. For there to have been conquest, there had to have been people there first. And that is where I think Duscur and Sreng come in. They were probably the original natives of the land, and their smaller sections of the map (and described condition of Sreng, rings some bells to me about residential areas)

(Hmm, I'm Canadian, and have made effort to learn about Native issues. I can't say I'm the most qualified person to talk about, but I attempt to at least have information. )

So the treatment of Duscur is reminiscent of treatment Native Americans have faced. Things like being blamed for crimes, the genocide their culture and people have survived (much was lost in the process), and sectioning them off to specific areas. 

This is a result of colonialism, and in the process important knowledge is lost. It's not new to Japan either, if they had wanted to get a bit more nuance in the portrayal they could have considered Ainu. 

But I am getting distracted. Important knowledge lost would probably include farming practices that sustain the land. 

Or the locals probably have a good reason for doing something you consider crazy. Take for instance Australian Aboriginal burning practices. 

They have knowledge of grass and how well it will burn, and they knew what type of fires to burn for each land,for how long, and how often to do it. 

"Aboriginal techniques are based in part on fire prevention: ridding the land of fuel, like debris, scrub, undergrowth and certain grasses. The fuel alights easily, which allows for more intense flames that are harder to fight.

The Aboriginal people would set small-scale fires that weren't too intense and clear the land of the extra debris. The smaller intensity fires would lessen the impact on the insects and animals occupying the land, too, as well as protect the trees and the canopy."

Australia's indigenous people have a solution for the country's bushfires. And it's been around for 50,000 years | CNN

The fires in Australia have been burning for months, consuming nearly 18 million acres of land, causing thousands to evacuate and killing po

It takes skill and knowledge, something that was diminished by colonizers, and while they are trying to recreate it, they do not have the same knowledge as the locals who did it for thousands of years. And global warming escalation is making it worse.

Or, new people have the land, and they don't know how to use it like the locals would, and don't want to ask because they are too busy looking down on the locals.

Sreng has been invading Gautier for over 200 years. The war of heros was over 1,000 years ago. 

Faerghus rebelled in 747 and winning in 751, and Leicester rebelling from Andrestia  in 801 leading to more war. The Kingdom intervened by occupying and annexing Leicester as a protectorate. The Alliance was formed in 901

101 was the formation of the locket. 

1160 was the year of the plague, Dimitris mother died from it 2 years later.  And 1668 was the invasion and Annexing of the southern part of Sreng. 

So from what I can tell, Sreng has been fighting Gautier since the rebellion of Leicester.  But exact timing is iffy. 

Its harder to get a timeline for how long Faerghus has been occupying the lands. Fraldarius is one of the oldest nobel house on record, but I can't confidently say that they have had the land they live on for more than 500 years. Probably less. 

I don't think that Duscur was driven off their land all at once so much as given a smaller and smaller land that is Duscar,as Faerghus annexed it. Or probably got annexed from both Faerghus and Andrestia on both ends as they established borders. 

It's entirely probable that the nobles chased the locals off the lands and claimed it as their post rebellion, and in doing so gained land that they didn't know how to take care of like the locals would. 

It could be they didn't properly balance the acidity in the soil from their crops. Or any number of issues they didn't address because they didn't ask, and assumed they knew what they were doing, and now generations later the descendents are doing as their ancestors did, and getting bad results. 

Like, North America has a worm invasion. North America did not have worms before people came over from Europe (they died off in the global ice age, if there were any) , and decomposition was done by the forest leaves and such. So worms are spreading, and changing things like soil organizations, plant communities, erosion, forests ability to store carbon, and with the newest worm invasion reducing insects. 

Ah, the point is the land is more fragile than you credit it for. Faerghus has a famine problem and I think that the driving out (and Genocide attempt) of its original inhabitants is related to that problem.

[mt-musings]

To Inherit the Night - 18

Hubert von Vestra x OC

Cecily Leclerc will do whatever it takes to eradicate Those Who Slither in the Dark, even if it means killing the man she's loved since the Academy. That is, until her brother Yuri is captured, his life taken hostage for hers.

Hubert will do anything to help Edelgard realize her dream. No cost is too high--except, perhaps, the life of the urchin girl who stole his heart before the war, a girl Lord Arundel is hunting down with the rabidity of a wild dog.

A girl he wants alive for reasons Hubert has yet to uncover.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18

Read on AO3

Poisoned Words

Sylvain had never seen his father angrier in his life. He’d kept Sylvain far away from Saoirse’s old bedroom, but he’d still been able to piece enough of it together.

Miss Niamh was dead. Probably Saoirse too. They hadn’t found her body yet, but there had been so much blood.

Miklan had done it. Or at least was involved. His father had properly disowned him for it, though no one had seen hide nor hair of him since the’d found the body. 

Sylvain just felt numb. 

Maybe it didn’t quite feel real yet, or maybe it just felt so bad he couldn’t feel anything anymore. He just stayed in his room, alternately staring at and ignoring the book he’d been reading to Saoirse. It was an adventure story, her favorite kind, and it even had pictures. They’d almost finished it the night before. 

Now she’d never know the ending. 

He couldn’t help but think it was all his fault. After all, his father never would have found out she had a Crest if he hadn’t dragged her down to the creek and neither would Miklan. 

He’d only ever made her life worse.

“Hey—“ Sylvain called, jogging to catch up with Saoirse. Her hair was intricately braided back, though there was a bruise on her jaw. He wondered if she'd got it in training or if it have been while running around with Yuri--he didn't like the thought of her spending time with someone so dangerous. Dimitri had said the Ashen Wolves House Leader ran a gang of small time thugs, that he'd been in trouble with the Church.

Saoirse whipped  around, eyes narrowing. She'd been avoiding him ever since their first encounter. 

“Sylvain, if you try and ask me out, I will burn down the entire monastery with you in it.” He stepped back, hands raised at the venom in her voice. He knew he deserved it, he was just surprised to hear it coming from the same girl he remembered crying for him to get rid of the flying bugs around her. 

“Wow—ouch, you really hate the idea that—okay, okay, yeah, no, was not going to ask you out! Was just going to ask if you wanted to check out what the southern merchants brought up this time. I heard they had some interesting books.”

“Not as a date?” she asked, looking disbelieving. 

“No. Just—just, you know. We used to be friends.”

“We used to have things in common. And we were children.”

“We still have things in common! Like you still like to read.”

“You read to me. I didn't know my letters.”

“Yeah, but you still like stories, right? You always have a book with you.”

“Not really. They’re mainly just to help me catch up in class.”

“I could help you catch up—“

“Sylvain,” she said sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I know you mean well, and I appreciate it, I do, but—Isn’t this hard for you too? To pretend like nothing happened?”

“I’m not pretending—“

“Miklan killed my mother. He probably set that monster on us that maimed me in the first place. He sold me to awful mages.”

“I know, I know, and I wish I could do something—“

“It’s not your fault, Sylvain. It’s not. And I know I’m not being fair, because you were always a really good friend to me, even though I was just a servant—“

“I never thought of you that way—“

“But I was. And every time I see you it reminds me of being happy—really happy—and I hate it. I hate it because I remember my mother and the life we had and then I remember the light leaving her eyes because of me and I want to throw up.”

“It wasn’t because of you, it was because of Miklan.”

“That’s the other thing—if I ever see Miklan again, I will kill him, and I can’t kill my friend’s brother. It’s not right. So just think of that every time you see me and then you’ll hate me and it’ll be better for both of us.”

“I’m not—Miklan deserves whatever’s coming to him. He might be my brother and how he grew up wasn’t fair, but he’s a bad person. He does terrible things. I wouldn’t fault you for—you know. For your mom.”

She glared at him, the anger marred by the tears welling in her eyes. “Why—Why do you keep trying? I’m not—I’m not nice. I’m not nice to you, or mostly in general. We’re not even in the same House—“

“Because you were my friend. And at first I thought I got you almost killed and did get you maimed, and then, for the past decade I’ve thought I got both you and your mom killed because I wanted to be your friend and dragged you into my mess with Miklan. I’m just—I’m just really glad you’re not dead. Maybe that’s selfish, considering everything that you’ve gone through since—“

“Since I live in a sewer,” she finished  blithely. 

“You live in a sewer?” Sylvain asked, looking horrified and somewhat broken by the statement. Cecily snorted and shook her head, though the smirk didn't quite reach her eyes. 

“It’s actually a bunch of secret tunnels, it’s pretty cool.”

“Why don’t you live in the dorms like everyone else?”

“Because we don’t have any money? And most of us are criminals? And Seteth would kick me out within a week, maybe a ten-day if I was lucky.”

“If you need money—“

“I don’t, Sylvain. I get by fine. Just—It’s not all bad. Yuri’s taken care of me since he found me and the people in Abyss are nice. Or interesting, at least. And I learned how to read and write, and now I’ll get to learn magic and fighting at the Academy. Wouldn’t have gotten to do that otherwise,  So, I mean, it worked out.”

“You would have,” Sylvain said, dropping his gaze to the ground.

“What?”

“You would have. That’s—that’s why Miklan wanted to get rid of you. Because—because my father wanted to draw up an engagement between the two of us, because of your Crest that saved us from the beast. And he was going to take care of you and your mom and get you into lessons and you would have come to the Academy with me.”

Cecily stared at him blankly, tears streaking down her face. He wanted to reach out and wipe them away, wanted to comfort her—but he didn’t think she would find it comforting, not in the way he meant it. He watched her wipe them away too hard, like she wanted to remove any trace of the emotion.

“It was all for a Crest?”

He just nodded, fighting back tears of his own.

“Did you agree to it?”

“The engagement?”

“Yeah.”

“I—I did. I knew if it got out that you had a Crest some noble would marry you and I thought—I thought it would be better for both of us because at least we were friends and I could look after you, so no one would take advantage of you.”

“Would have put a damper on all your skirt-chasing.”

“Oh yeah, all the girls looking for their Crest-baby ticket to being a margrave’s wife. Really would be missing out there,” he said, disgust plain in his voice.

“You know, no one makes you go out whoring.” 

“They’re not—“

“I’m talking about you. I can’t figure out if you’re punishing them or yourself.”

He laughed, the sound devoid of any humor. “You never were one to tiptoe around anything. Even when we were little. But—just so you know, I wouldn’t have, if we’d gone through with the engagement. The skirt-chasing, that is. I wouldn’t have put you through that.”  

She stared at him for a long time, face crumpled in grief, before she spoke again. 

“Yeah, well, it wouldn’t have lasted anyway, since I don’t have a Crest.”

She turned on her heel and disappeared down the hall without a glance back. 

“I told you she was a little traitor,” Felix said, shoving the paper into Sylvain’s hands. He glanced at it, eyes widening as he saw the article.

Marquis von Vestra Marries Commoner

Enbarr’s own Imperial Minister of the Household wed Cecily Leclerc at a lavish gathering at the Imperial palace, the ceremony presided over by the Emperor herself. The ceremony was attended by nearly three hundred guests and included a night of dancing, drinks, and merriment, though it was noted but those in attendance that the Marquis spent much of the night in discussions with other Imperial Ministers, rather than attending to his new, common bride. The union falls in line with the Emperor’s new policies surrounding the elevation of the lower classes.

He scanned the rest of the paper, mind whirring. Sersh had married him. 

She’d married Hubert. 

It couldn’t have been her choice—she’d never work with the Empire, for whatever reason she’d never shared. He’d seen the look on her face after Edelgard’s attack on the Tomb, seen the hurt and betrayal. He’d seen the deep wound to her chest before Yuri had a chance to heal it, seen the blood that soaked her from fighting her way out.

He’d seen the tear tracks cutting through the grime on her cheeks.

“Hubert—Hubert must have made her. He has to have something on her.”

“Or she’s been playing the Alliance for fools for years. Didn’t it ever strike you as odd that she came at just the right time to lead everyone out after the vanguard attacked at school? She’s a snake, Sylvain, she always has been.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re just too blind to see it because you still feel guilty—“

“It’s not about that! She didn’t—she wouldn’t have. Not after whatever happened in the Tomb. Dimitri knew that—“

“And the Boar was known for his sound decisions? Face it, Sylvain, she’s never stood with the Kingdom, not even in school. Probably not even when she worked for your father. They were from Sreng, after all. Everyone knew it. She was probably waiting for an opportunity to get back at the Kingdom.”

“You didn’t know her.”

“Neither did you. Not since not since you were both children. Not since Miklan—“

“You’re wrong, Fe. I just—I just know. I know she wouldn’t.”

“Then you’re more of a moron than I thought,” Felix said, stalking off and slamming the door behind him. Sylvain turned back to the article, a pit in his stomach at the thought of the sort of thing that could have made her agree to such a union.

Hubert pushed his hair out of his face, breathing hard. He’d not expected the battle to be so close, though that was his oversight. Charon had always been poor, its troops sparse as its natural resources. He didn’t know how the Kingdom managed to sneak that many fliers past his scouts without alerting him. 

They were dead now, but he had to ensure the trick couldn’t be repeated. 

He spun his wedding band idly under his glove, considering his options. 

“The two northernmost scouts were dead. Ambushed,” Ferdinand shouted as he returned, slowing his horse from a gallop. Hubert swore. 

“Hubert—you’re bleeding!” Ferdinand exclaimed, striding forward to press his hands to his shoulder. Hubert had nearly forgotten ripping the stray arrow from his flesh in the midst of battle, too worried about keeping their left flank from being overrun. 

“It is a matter of little importance.”

“Little—You! Get a bishop over here, double time,” he nearly shouted at a passing brigand. Hubert fought the urge to roll his eyes. It was hardly a serious injury. Painful, sure, but not debilitating. 

He’d dealt with worse.

“You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

“Are you truly so foolish, Hubert? One fight with your wife and all sense of self preservation leaves you.”

“It is a shallow wound.”

“Your excellency, I was summoned,” said a bishop, breathing hard as he came to a stop in from of Ferdinand. He nodded towards Hubert.

“The Marquis was injured, I need you to see he is fully healed. He is technically still supposed to be on his honeymoon, after all.”

“Congratulations, your Gra—“

“Just—see to the wound and get out of my sight,” Hubert spat. The man nodded, pressing his hand to the wound, the gentle warmth of the healing spell soaking through his skin as his skin knitted back together. The bishop double-checked his work before scurrying off with little more than a bow. 

“You need to talk to her, when you return.”

“This is hardly the time or place.”

“And yet it weighs on you. I can see it, my friend. You know, whenever Thea and I get into an argument—“

“I implore you, shut up.”

“I am only trying to help you. You know Edelgard said—“

“There is no reason for you to be discussing my inadequacies with Her Majesty!”

“Hubert—that’s not at all what I was going to say! Only that she wishes, as I do, that you’d take some time with her, help her adjust. You cannot blame her for being upset if she is in an entirely new place by herself. Frankly, Thea and I are worried about her—you know Thea’s sent five invitations for tea since she arrived and she’s declined each one? I mean, it was plain enough to see at the wedding that she was struggling with the transition to Society, but you can’t allow her to simply lock herself away, especially from her friends.”

Hubert blew out a breath. He’d been the one declining all of Dorothea’s invitations—Cecily’s handwriting was difficult to mimic, but he was good enough at it to fool their friends. It wasn’t exactly as if he could tell them all that he’d blackmailed Cecily into marrying him and now had placed her under what amounted to house arrest so that Lady Edelgard’s uncle wouldn’t torture her to death. 

“She’s been busy, working on a new initiative. She’s taken it upon herself to see the House’s staff educated, as well as some of the surrounding commoners, in line with Edelgard’s vision for a merit based society,” he said, the lie coming easily, perhaps because it wasn’t quite a lie, though he knew Cecily hardly had any plans so large scale. 

She simply was kind-hearted, wished the staff opportunities she hadn’t had, no matter how she bared her teeth at him and threatened. It was something he greatly admired, even as he exploited it. 

“You didn’t—Hubert, you should have told me if she was working on something so important to our goals! After all, if I am to be Prime Minister, I should be working with her on any sort of educational initiatives for the masses.”

“I rather think we’re busy enough, trying to win this damn war.”

“I think we should discuss interim steps—after all, it would do wonder for moral, though the logistics—“

“See that the line is held, I’ll return to Enbarr and inform the Emperor of our success,” he said, turning away, back towards the command tent. He didn’t want to admit that anything Ferdinand had said had struck home. After all, it wasn’t as if she was truly alone, she had staff to talk to, though he doubted she trusted them much, considering she apparently spent her time trying to sniff out his agents. 

Was she lonely? She’d seemed a creature that enjoyed a bit of solitude at the Academy and her previous work denoted that she spent great swaths of time alone.

No, he was being ridiculous. She enjoyed reading and gardening, and the manor offered plenty of diversion. All that mattered was that she was safe in the house, far from Arundel’s clutches. That way he needn’t worry about her safety while he dealt with the damnable war. 

She was getting closer. 

She spent most of the day locked in the laboratory, working on her next iterations of her catch-all antidote. Hubert had stormed back to the capital the same night she’d fired his agents, though he hadn’t yet replaced them.

And he’d let her keep the tutor. 

If she was going to be forced to play along to this whole fucking farce, then she’d at least use the whole ‘meritocracy’ line Edelgard liked to throw around for her benefit. What would her and Yuri’s lives been like if they’d had other avenues open to them? If they’d been able to go to school without lying and killing and stealing to get there? They wouldn’t have even have had that opportunity if that kind old man hadn’t taught Yuri to read.

She stopped herself from continuing down that train of thought, of acknowledging the only reason she’d ever learned. 

She glanced at the clock she’d brought down from one of the spare bedrooms—most of the staff should have been at the little village now for lessons. She’d managed to convince Thomas it was for the best, and perfectly acceptable for anyone there to join in as well. 

Which also meant that she had the house mostly to herself.

She eyed her most recent antidote darkly for a moment, giving it a good shake. It was darker than she though it should be, but then again, it could be the new addition meant to neutralize the paralytic element. She sighed before grabbing a second, much less exciting vial—one that just contained a watered-down super dose of all the common poisons she usually encountered. 

She hesitated a moment before popping off the cork and downing it. It burned, slightly, on the way down, something she’d grown used to over the past few weeks of trials. She tapped the timer to begin, bracing both of her hands against the counter as her mind starter to go soupy, her limbs slow and clumsy, though the effects seemed less as she’d slowly begun building up the semblance of a tolerance. The pain was easier to ignore, familiar long before her experiments began. 

And she was getting closer. The effects had been lingering far less than they had in the start, though she still felt sick all the time. But once she’d perfected it?

It’d be a game changer when dealing with the Agarthans. She wouldn’t have to worry about getting drugged any longer, not as long as she had a dose or two of antidote, and she had a feeling if she chased it with the serum she’d completely counterbalance its effects. She just wasn’t going to waste the vials she had on a trial. 

If only she could figure out how to make it herself. 

Perhaps the outpost she’d find would have record of the formula. She’d found pieces, but never the whole thing, something that, deep down, she was grateful for. 

It meant they couldn’t use it on others.

She wretched into the bin, though there was nothing much for her to throw up—she hadn’t exactly had much of an appetite since she’d begun her trials. Still, she waited for the timer to ding before scrabbling for her vial of antidote, her fingers clumsy. She downed the whole thing, fighting the urge to throw it up with the rest. It took a few minutes for the nausea to pass, for the world to lose the syrupy edge. She sunk down to the floor, pressing her face to her knees. 

She could still feel the remnants of the paralytic, muted, though they were. It would wear off, in an hour or so, but she couldn’t bet on that sort of time, had she need of it. 

She stood and began scratching her notes into the journal she’d begun at the start of her trials, noting the differing effects. Perhaps if she added mugwort—

“Your Grace? I had tea prepared,” Thomas called through the door. She quickly hid the journal and the bundle of poisonous herbs she’d been using in the drawers before crossing to the door and opening it. Thomas’s eyes widened as he spotted her.

“Oh—your Grace, you look ill. I shall call one of the healers from the palace—“

“There is no need, I’m simply feeling a bit under the weather. I’m afraid I’m not feeling up to tea toady.”

“You’ve hardly eaten the last four days, I truly think—“

“I promise, I am fine. I may just retire early tonight,” she said with a placating smile. She’d taken to ‘going to bed’ earlier and earlier in the time since Hubert last left, if only to be free of the eyes that followed her everywhere, that took notice of every little thing she did. 

It was suffocating. 

Thomas nodded, but she could tell there was more he wished to say. She brushed past him, intent on finding a few more books on poisons to take back to her room before she retired for the night. 

Perhaps they’d have the answers she was looking for. 

Remire was burning. 

Cecily could smell smoke and blood and burning flesh, the sounds of villagers crying out for help, their screams of fear ringing out from the clouds of smoke. She knew the professor was calling out orders but she couldn’t hear over the screams, the roaring in her ears. 

A crazed villager leapt out from one of the burning buildings and slashed at her with a chipped sword. She stepped out of the way, slashing his throat as a reflex. There was something terribly familiar about the bulging veins on his face, the rabid bloodthirst driving him to kill without thought of his own safety. 

It reminded her of the others they’d tried injecting with the drug, when she’d still been locked up in Arundel’s cells. She’d hear them screaming, tearing each other apart. 

All she could hear was screaming.

She darted ahead, letting the shadows guide her through the choking smoke. This had to do with the Agarthans—it had to. She could practically hear the crackle of their dark magic, feel the oppressive weight of their malcontent. 

She burst through a cloud of black smoke, only to spy a familiar bulbous figure. 

She’d never known his name, but she’d seen him, trailing after Arundel to poke and prod her, to slice her and cut her and beat her and break her bones and pump her full of poisons and—

His attention shifted to her and he cocked his head, brows furrowing as he recognized her. 

“The little Ravenous One—Thales has been looking for you. You would have been exalted, had you not run. It is, after all, thanks to you this little experiment was such a success,” he said, smiling cruelly at her.

“No,” she whispered, her blood going cold.

Her blood.

She lashed out, sending a bolt of shadow hurtling towards his chest. He only barely dodged it, though it still tore through his shoulder. He cried out and she bared her teeth at him, calling the  shadows to her to tear him to shreds—

The professor burst through the line of smoke and she let the shadows disappear, raising instead her bow. She didn’t seem to notice the shift, her eyes locked on Solon. He disappeared before Byleth could dispatch him, in a flash of sickeningly familiar black magic. 

Cecily stood frozen as the others rushed forward, knowing they wouldn’t find him—the teleport wasn’t like the sort her classmates used. He was long gone. 

She stared at the destruction around her, the dead. 

Dead because of her. Because of what she was.

She dropped down to her knees, heart hammering against her ribs. Her breath was coming too fast, the world around her too loud, the blood on her hands too much, too sticky as it dried. 

She was always covered in blood, sticky and slow-drying, leaving her itching and filthy, but she couldn’t move enough to scratch, to wipe it from her skin. Until they realized how potent it was, how useful. 

She didn’t know how long Yuri knelt next to her, trying to bring her back to herself.

“Cecily—Cella, where does it hurt? What happened? Cella—“

“Yuri?” She replied, as if under water. She shook her head, forcing herself from the memories. She looked up at Yuri, eyes misting over with tears as she forced the words from her lips in barely a whisper. 

“It’s my fault.”

Hubert read the missive twice before throwing it back down on his desk. It had been sent over a week before he’d returned from the front line by Thomas, stating that the Marquess had fallen ill and was refusing to be seen by a healer. He ran a hand over his face, squeezing his eyes shut. 

He considered for a moment simply sending a healer in his stead and ordering her to be treated, but he doubted she’d comply. Thomas had also written that she’d sent the tailor away without allowing him to take her measurements or ordering a single outfit. 

He packed up the mountain of work that had amassed in his absence and stalked towards the stables. 

He arrived before dark, leaving his mare with the stable boy, who once again seemed in particularly good spirits. 

He crossed to the house without a word, handing off his bag to the footman as he entered to be brought up to his study. 

“Where is my wife?” He asked, eyes scanning the entrance hall for any differences. He found none.

“Downstairs, I believe, your Grace. She’s been working downstairs.”

“Downstairs—what could she possibly—“ he broke off, swearing, and headed towards the cellar where his father’s laboratory was located. He pushed through the door without bothering to knock. 

Cecily was hunched over the counter, her face pale. She met his gaze with wide eyes, mouth falling open in surprise before her brow creased in anger.

“What on earth—“

“Hubert—fuck, get out,” Cecily spat before crossing to the bin and getting sick in it. He ignored her, instead stepping forward to hold her hair back as he scanned the workbench. Across it lay portions of several poisonous plants and a familiar array of powders. 

“What did you take?” He asked, terror seizing him as he catalogued the toxins on the bench—wolf’s bane, digitalis, nightshade, water hemlock, oleander, not to mention all the powders he couldn’t identify at a mere glance. He immediately began to compile antidote formulas for each plant, glancing around for the needed ingredients. He was somewhat surprised at how well-stocked the shelves were, much more so than the last time he’d spent any time there. 

“Just—leave me—alone. I’m fine, just leave—“

“You just poisoned yourself!” He nearly shouted, already pulling down boxes and jars without any clear plan. Cecily groaned into the bin, audibly fighting her nausea to retort.

“On—on purpose!” 

“Like that was any better! Instead of so much worse!” 

He found himself pulling at his hair, his mind going hopelessly blank—had he been asked to mix a poison he could have with his eyes shut, but it had never been a priority, or indeed a need, to know much in the way of undoing them. Still, the chemistry was simple enough, simple enough until he could get her to Linhardt for care. 

“Tell me what you took so I can mix an antidote.”

“Fuck off.”

“What did you take?”

A timer rang on the bench that he hadn’t noticed before. Cecily groaned and heaved herself towards the bench, pulling the large stone mortar towards her. Hubert made to block her but she somehow ducked him, even as she could barely stand. She grabbed a handful of the mixture in the mortar and forced herself to eat it, washing it down with water from the silver pitcher. 

She sank to the floor with a groan as Hubert pulled the mortar towards himself to smell the contents—charcoal, mugwort, and ginger were the strongest. 

An antidote then, though he still didn’t know to what or why. 

He crouched next to her, once more gathering her hair from her face. 

“Tell me what is going on.”

She looked up at him with bloodshot eyes, her face pale and smeared with charcoal. She was still breathing hard, but the worst of the reaction seemed to be passing.

“Pass—pass the water.”

He did as he was instructed, watching carefully for any further distress, any sign that the antidote hadn’t worked as she’d intended it to. She took a few deep drafts before dipping her sleeve into the remainder to wipe at her face. 

“What are you doing?”

“Just leave it.”

“Cecily, I’m not joking.”

“I’m just working on a theory. There’s fuck all else to be done around here.”

“You poisoned yourself, on purpose, to test a theory?”

She didn’t answer, just stared at him, eyes narrowed. She stood suddenly, still unsteady, and made to cross to the other side of the workbench where a notebook lay open next to a quill and a bottle of ink. She scrawled out notes in silence, once more ignoring him. He, in turn, swiped the notebook from her in an attempt to make sense of what she’d been working on. It was only then that he realized it was written in code, in her still-clumsy hand of half-script half-print.

“Are you done? I’m sure you have to get back to Enbarr.” Cecily’s voice was icy, her gaze even more so. She looked at him with such pointed loathing that he almost wanted to recoil, to do as she so clearly wished and slink back to the palace without another word. But he didn’t, instead tossing the notebook back on the workbench as he surveyed her properly. She was still too thin—far too thin for being in the care of the manor for nearly a month. Her hair hung in lank waves and there were deep shadows under her eyes. She wore one of the simpler dresses he’d ordered—she must have worn it often, for it showed more use than any noble woman would have allowed. 

He flung open the door to the laboratory and called for Thomas, who appeared moments later, looking harried. 

“See that a bath is drawn for the Marquess and something mild prepared for dinner. We will dine in our apartments tonight.”

“Of course, my lord.”

She waited for Thomas’s footsteps to fade before addressing him again.

“There’s no need for you to stay.”

“My wife is ill. Whether self-inflicted for idiocy’s sake or not, that is enough.” He noted the sharpness in his own voice—noted it, but didn’t bother to try and tame it. 

“I am fine, Hubert. Go back to the Emperor, we needn’t suffer each other’s company any more than necessary.”

He ignored her, taking hold of her arm, partially to steady her, partially to ensure she complied, and led her out of the lab and back toward the main house. She didn’t fight him, as he had expected. She leaned into his side as they climbed the stairs to their chambers, clearly trying to hide how winded she was. 

It only made him feel worse. 

He dropped her arm at the door to their bathroom, still worried her legs might give out. Still, the words that came out of his mouth were barbed, laced with the anger still boiling in his chest over her ridiculous lack of self-preservation.

“I’ll wait outside to ensure you don’t attempt drowning yourself next.”

“You’re so dramatic. It wasn’t even a lethal dose to begin with.”

“Oh, yes. I’m dramatic.”

“Get out. Unless you changed your mind and intend to watch me bathe, lech.”

He glared at her before taking a step back, enough that it allowed her to slam the bathroom door in his face. He crossed back to the bed and sat down, burying his head in his hands. He still hadn’t quite been able to tame the panicked beating of his heart, nor the terror at finding the array of the garden’s more deadly plants having clearly been sampled. 

She was supposed to be safe, tucked away in the manor away from the fighting, away from their enemies. His one solace in this disastrous war, and here she was, flirting with death and for what? To spite him? Was it some sort of sick boredom? Had she gone mad?

He crossed to the door and set off down the hall to find Thomas. There had to be some sort of explanation for her behavior. 

“Has the Marquess been acting oddly?”

“No more than usual. She has been spending much of the time she’d previously spent in the library in the laboratory since discovering it, but other than that her routine has differed little. My concern was in the last two weeks, when she’d seemed to fall under the weather. She refused a healer and it didn’t seem too serious, though I noted that she seemed to be losing weight, which I found worrying, given her physique. Which is when I wrote to you, hoping you might have further insight.”

“She’s been testing that garden’s poisons. On herself. To prove some theory or another, apparently.”

“Ah.”

“Ah?”

“The Marquess has been researching antidotes quite religiously as of late. She even had me send out for a few volumes from Enbarr. I thought it simply academic curiosity as she oriented herself with the gardens.”

“Unfortunately I’ve found practical application is where most of her interests lie. Inform me of any titles she sends out for in the future. Or any curiosities she is pursuing that could be of danger to herself.”

“Of course, my Lord. I apologize for not thinking to do so sooner. Would you like me to bar her from the cellars in the future? She spent some pains restocking your father’s laboratory, though I must admit I’m not aware of everything she brought in.”

“It’s fine, I will inventory it myself. Alert me when dinner is prepared.”

“Of course.”

Hubert crossed back to their bedroom, waiting for Cecily to emerge from her bath. She made him wait nearly a half hour before she stepped out, wet hair streaming down her shoulders, wetting her night gown. 

“Is there a reason you’ve been researching antidotes?” he asked, forcing himself to keep his tone level. 

“Do I need one?” she shot back.

“I’m—I’m not trying to argue with you, I’m trying to understand.”

She took a deep breath, leveling her tone. “It is of interest and would have been useful in my previous line of work, but I hadn’t the resources available. And I’m bored.”

“Bored,” he said, trying not to let anger slip into the word.

“Idleness does not suit me, Hubert. I hate it.”

“That doesn’t give you reason to poison yourself.”

“You keep focussing on the poison! My antidote worked, more effectively than my last four trials, I may add.”

“Four—Cecily, are you insane? You are the Marquess Vestra—“

“I don’t care what your family does, Hubert, I do not experiment on servants, no matter what title this union has forced upon me. Your father kept quite extensive notes—“

“My father was a bastard. That is why I killed him.”

She stared at him a moment, eyes wide. She she hadn’t known, then, that he’d been the one to fulfill the execution order.

Interesting.

“My point still stands.”

“It is ludicrous.”

“Tell me you would not kill for a universal antidote. That it would not serve your cause. Tell me then that my research is ludicrous.”

“It is too great a risk. I forbid it.”

“You forbid it? And what do you expect to do about it? Lock me in my bedchambers again with no human contact? Remove any useful books from the house? Chain me to the wall? Cut off my hands and pluck out my tongue—“

“Enough!” Hubert thundered back, the thought of such things enough to turn his stomach. Cecily simply glared back at him, jaw clenched. 

“You cannot just leave me here to rot, Hubert. You will not like what grows in my place,” she snarled, mismatched eyes murderous. He took a step towards her, finger pointed at her chest.

“You will do what I damn well say, or you will face the consequences. This isn’t a negotiation. Why can’t you just be happy I got you out of whatever rat hole you were living in?”

She glared at him, the threat of tears misting over her eyes. The sight tore at his heartstrings, but did little to quell his anger. 

“I will make you regret ever trying to find me. I swear it, Hubert.”

“Mind if I join you?” Hubert asked as he crossed to the only occupied table in the library. Everyone else had long gone to bed, but she was still working, as he so often found her.

Cecily looked up to at him and shook her head, shifting aside a pile of her scrawling notes, a few maps, and a stack of books so he could sit.

Glancing quickly at the spines it seemed that his source might, in fact, have been correct. There wasn’t a single tome on spellcraft or magic among them, instead thick histories and exhaustive chemistry tome. She went back to her notes as he set his own books on the table and sat down, carefully cross-referencing  two books and a yellowed map. They worked in silence for a few minutes before she spoke.

“I know you’re here to tell me off, so just get it over with,” she said, voice dull—resigned. She didn’t look up, though her quill had frozen over her page as she waited, shoulders curled inward, almost as if she expected him to berate her.

She almost looked ashamed.

“You dropped your magic studies,” he said, careful to keep his voice soft. It was true, he was often harsh in his criticism to their peers when they’d earned it, but she’d done nothing of the sort.

He couldn’t imagine ever speaking to her harshly.

“I did.”

“You have talent.”

“But I can’t manage the calculations. So it’s better for me to just stick to what I can do.”

“I told you—just, let’s begin where you got lost. You’re clever, it’d be a shame to let any talent go to waste, especially when the Empire is in need of it.”

“I’m not going to be of any use to the Empire, Hubert. We both know that. I’m just trying to learn everything I can, while I can.”

He stared at her, brow furrowed. That truly was the great failing of the system, that clever people, driven people, people with talent couldn’t rise above the station they’d been born into.

Only for a little while longer, though. Edelgard’s new Fodlan would operate upon merit, instead of circumstance of birth, and he knew within it Cecily would thrive, that she’d have choices beyond scraping by as a petty criminal in her brother’s gang, choices that would give her a much better life. Given how hard she worked and how quickly she managed to pick everything up—Dorothea said she’d only learned to read a few years prior—he’d ensure she’d find a good position within the palace where she could grow into her potential.

And he certainly wouldn’t mind the opportunity to see more of her.

“Are you sure?” He asked, an awful constricting feeling in his chest. She would have even less time at the academy than she’d planned on, a whole year less, if things kept on schedule.

She just nodded, jaw tight.

“Well, if you change your mind, you need only ask.”

She stared at the wood grain for a moment, her expression odd.

“Thank you, Hubert. I do appreciate it,” she said, voice soft.

“Think nothing of it,” he replied, just admiring her in the flickering candlelight. She closed her books and turned to him, just staring for a moment.

“Do you want to see the new book on poisons I found? It’s actually banned in Faerghus,” she said, grinning, eyes sparkling with mischief. She was the only person he knew who got giddy about poisons. He huffed a laugh, unable to help his own smile.

“Of course. Dare I ask where you found it?”

“Better if you don’t,” she said, pulling the book from her bag. It was old, the paper brittle and she flipped through it with particular care. She stopped on the page she’d been looking for, pointing to it with rampant enthusiasm.

“This one says it liquifies the brain and makes you bleed from the eyes! The ingredients are pretty rare though,” she said, grinning at him. He just smiled as he listened to her ramble on about all the best ones in the book, and what she thought them best paired with for maximum effect. He was quite content to listen to her all night, if she wished.

Yes, he’d definitely have to make sure she got a position in Enbarr—he doubted he’d ever find anyone else who would be this delighted to discuss particularly nasty poisons with.

He doubted he’d find anyone else as delighted to speak with him.

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AN: If you enjoy reading my stories, please consider dropping a like or a comment. I really love interacting with people and it really keeps me excited and motivated to keep posting.

[shadowshrike]

FEW3H NPC Analysis Pt. 3 - Countries outside of Fodlan

We all know that Fodlan has a fraught history with its neighbors. Claims of invasion, impending war, and forced isolation by the Central Church have made a mess of discussions about foreign policy by fans of the games. So in 3 Hopes, what prejudices and reconciliations do we see between Fodlan's general populace and those outside their borders?

This analysis takes a look into how citizens of Fodlan feel about various foreign countries through what the NPCs say. Sreng, Duscur, Almyra, Morfis, Dagda, and Brigid are all mentioned at least once by generic units throughout the camps in 3 Hopes.

Disclaimer: This is just for fun. The data was manually tagged & compiled, so may have errors. Also, counting was weird for this one, so %s might be off. Dataset used

Analysis Background

Sentiment was split by foreign and domestic army members for all but Scarlet Blaze, where there are no NPC foreigners in your camp. The Tragedy of Duscur also got a separate category because it's a major negative event people mention, but the NPCs do not necessarily equate that to Fodlan or Duscur being evil.

Summary

Sreng is viewed completely negatively on all paths because there's both a language barrier and generations of invasions from them, much like Almyra before Nader swapped sides. You'll notice Almyra has similar negativity attached to it. For those who need more context, I've detailed Sreng's history and common misconceptions that have been disproven in 3 Hopes at the end of this analysis.

Scarlet Blaze NPCs largely don't care about the world outside Fodlan, though they're aware of international trading. Golden Wildfire NPCs mostly ignore foreigners or only talk about them being a threat. Azure Gleam NPCs dislike Sreng for their invasions but are making massive strides with Duscur.

Scarlet Blaze

Unsurprisingly, Scarlet Blaze doesn't talk much about other nations since it's primarily focused on domestic affairs, and Brigid's promised 'new relationship' is kept secret. In the small amount of text it does have, it mentions Morfis and trade routes across the sea that seem to be well-established.

Golden Wildfire

Despite the focus on Almyra early in Golden Wildfire, it has the least amount of awareness or positivity shown by NPCs about foreign nations. Of the positive comments we get, the two by Fodlan natives are about Tiana's story (which they think is a fairytale) and rumors of Nader being both horrific and kind. It's noted that Almyran NPC(s) follow Fodlan rules because Nader says they need to, but all Almyran voices and mentions disappear entirely after chapter 12.

There is also no mention of Almyra by Fodlan NPCs after Chapter 9, nor of sharing cultures or trusting or hating them at all. Some members of the army are pro Sreng attacking the Kingdom (their enemy) when that happens in Chapter 12, going as far as saying they should have told Sreng the Margrave was dead, though that plan was shot down by Claude.

Azure Gleam

Azure Gleam is relatively meaty when it comes to foreign relations, featuring both the restoration of Duscur and ongoing Sreng raids potentially orchestrated by Cornelia. Their one mention of Dagda and Brigid is negative because it mentions the old war, not because they dislike the people from there. Since Petra is an optional recruit, all talk of her spearheading Fodlan relations as Queen is locked to her dialogue.

There is a notable amount of culture-sharing going on with Duscur from both sides in Azure Gleam. Naturally, the positive sentiment is somewhat stronger from the Duscur Generals than Kingdom soldiers, since the Duscur troops are volunteer-only and can self-select away from the Kingdom army.

Regarding Sreng

There are a lot of misconceptions around Sreng and Faerghus' relationship due to 3 Houses being unclear regarding who owned what land when. This has led to most people in the past (myself included) believing that Lambert stole a bunch of land, causing Sreng to attack them in retaliation.

New textual evidence in 3 Hopes suggests they are NOT attacking to 'get back land' from modern Faerghus. It is likely that, while still an aggressive act, no part of Sreng was annexed in Lambert's campaign. Sreng has been raiding raided Fodlan for 300+ years with no change in border.

Per the ingame description of Sreng:

"Sreng was once the name of an enormous peninsula to the north of Fodlan. Today, only the northern half has kept the moniker, while the southern half now falls under the dominion of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. Several warlike clans call this great wasteland their home. Certain areas of the region are comprised of rocky desert."

Yes, "Sreng" used to refer to a peninsula to the north of Fodlan. However, you can see from the map that the full peninsula includes not just Gautier, but Fraldarius and Blaiddyd territories as well.

You could argue that the peninsula here doesn't refer to the whole thing, implying the Gautier lands near the border were 'stolen' recently, but we can see that's unlikely from the "Military History of Partholon":

Harpstring Moon, Year 892 The Sreng people mounted a large-scale invasion. They crossed the Ruska Mountains in the north and descended south into Faerghus. King Banfig built a string of strongholds along the north of his domain, from Blaiddyd to Fraldarius, including Conand Tower.

Wyvern Moon, Year 895 Having finally forced Sreng to retreat, Faerghus was in position to counterattack. However, Sreng's resistance and the harsh, snowy conditions caused them to abandon their attack. Thus, hostilities drew to a close. After the campaign, a young and fierce general by the name of Laetitia Zoe Gautier, royal knight and descendant of the elite hero Gautier, was widely praised.

Great Tree Moon, Year 896 Banfig confers the northern part of his territory on Laetitia. She is given the title of margrave and tasked with defending Faerghus's border. Laetitia sets to work strengthening defenses in the north, constructing strongholds throughout the Ruska Mountains on the border with Sreng, and reclaiming the Lance of Ruin from the Church of Seiros.

If you map out this history, it implies Gautier territories have belonged to Faerghus since at least 896 in the least-generous reading. In the most generous, the fact Faerghus failed to counterattack Sreng in 895 means that land was already Fodlan's when Sreng invaded in 892. It is entirely possible, given what we know about Nemesis, that the peninsula was actually split during his time, although there is no concrete evidence of this.

At least 10 generations of hostilities with no land exchanging hands is supported by other in-universe factors as well. Most notably, that Sreng and Faerghus didn't have any language sharing until Leif was taken, which is highly unlikely for territories conquered within the last generation.

Leif himself said his raid was necessary for his way of life, perhaps a reference to Sreng's resource poverty or culture, but not that the Gautiers stole his land.

Don't hate us for this! Our way of life hangs in the balance!

He also says:

This payback has been years in the making, Gautier! Hahahaha!

But that doesn't necessarily have to refer to any sort of land exchange. More likely it relates to cultural or personal history.

Per the "Military History of Partholon" :

Horsebow Moon, Year 1169 The Kingdom Army is progressing northwest through the peninsula, but while engaging the Sreng chief Oleg and his forces, a gigantic beast suddenly enters the fray. It lays waste to both sides. Lambert sustains grave injuries, and Oleg disappears into a ravine. Oleg's son offers his own youngest child Leif as a prisoner to House Gautier to broker peace.

Leif was a war prisoner from the nation that had killed that Margrave Gautier's wife, and yet was raised by him. At that point, the Margrave was known as the Wall of Ice and had given up on peace between their peoples. He was notorious for being a great general, but a poor, cold father to even his blood sons. Seeing how Miklan and Sylvain were treated, it's natural that a prisoner of a hated enemy like Leif would grow up resentful of Faerghus, and specifically, Gautier.

Unfortunately, there is still a large loose end in Sreng's recent history. We still don't know why Lambert's campaign happened - vengeance for the Margrave's wife? A deterrent counterattack to stop the ongoing raids? A failed attempt to conquer? What we do know is that Sreng has been raiding Faerghus for generations, before and after it, continuing a cycle of mistrust between their peoples.