Garreg Mach Monastery - Early Evening - Clear
Cyril Eisner
The celebration had needed to wait a couple of days, in the end, and the first day of Harpstring Moon had rolled around before they got to it, but that was all right. It had enabled the staff to throw together a large meal for everyone with plenty of food from the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, as well as a number of Blue Lion-themed desserts, including a cake modeled after the house banner, which was currently serving as a rather impressive centerpiece to everyone's enjoyment.
Before he'd had much opportunity to partake, however, he'd been summoned to see the Archbishop in her receiving room. He counted it fortunate that these celebrations were not like mercenary ones, else someone might have tried to convince him to imbibe, and he doubted the Archbishop would much approve of such things, even if they had negligible effect on him.
As it was, it was completely sober and still a bit hungry that he made his way to see Rhea, who as usual was flanked on one side by Lady Lyanna. He dropped into a shallow bow, as seemed appropriate, and then rose, expression blank as usual.
Rhea was smiling in a soft manner, gentle almost. Her hands were folded in front of her, and she nodded her head in Cyril's direction, perhaps as an acknowledgment to his bow. “Your work with the students was remarkable," she began, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I can see Jeralt has trained you well," she continued, gesturing towards Cyril with her hand. “I do hope you were able to use the occasion to bond with the students," she stated, though the smile on her face didn't seem to reach her eyes. They seemed a bit darker than they usually were.
Cyril considered this for a moment. “They are..." he wasn't quite sure how to finish the sentence. It was true that the students seemed to be unusually fond of him compared to how other people in his life had been. They regularly sought his company at mealtimes, and seemed to possibly even enjoy being taught by him. And he would not deny that since coming here he'd felt...
At ease. Not completely—there were certain things about this place that he was not sure would let him rest easy. But when it came to everyday routine, to training and instructing and making lesson plans and eating in the dining hall and all that sort of thing, there was a marked difference between this and the life he'd always lived, where his father was distant and the men were wary of him because of his reputation. The students at least showed from no wariness at all to not much after a while, and it felt... nice.
“I believe so," he said, remembering well his father's distrust of Rhea and his own instinct towards not exposing his weaknesses. “They seemed satisfied with the result, at least."
There was a strange smile on her face when he'd answered. It wasn't quite one that was genuine, but moreso on the wary side. As if she'd expected him to answer poorly. “I am so happy to hear it. Nothing would please me more than if you used this coming year to grow closer, still," she finally stated, her smile turning somewhat melancholy. She turned her attention towards Lyanna, though, as if she were expecting her to speak.
“Of course," Lyanna continued smoothly, “the mock battle is merely practice. The real fight is the Battle of Eagle and Lion, which will take place during the Wyvern Moon." She straightened slightly, adjusting her glasses. “You are expected to properly train your students so as not to humiliate the academy during the long-held tradition that is the coming battle."
Cyril gave her a short nod. It sounded straightforward enough.
“As for today," Rhea began, glancing towards Lyanna before returning her attention to Cyril. “I have called you here to tell you of your mission for the month ahead," she continued, pausing only to smile lightly. “Your class is to dispose of some bandits causing trouble nearby." She spoke with a calm and even tone, as if disposing bandits seemed rather natural to her. It was obvious that she meant that his class was to kill them, however; she didn't seem fazed by it.
“Bandits?" Cyril's tone only barely belied his skepticism. His students were talented, there was no mistaking that. But he did not yet think most of them ready to see real combat. To take human life.
Lyanna seemed to sense his hesitation. “Those affiliated with Garreg Mach Monastery have a moral obligation to help those in need, regardless of social standing."
Cyril almost said something—that hadn't been his protest at all, but he bit his tongue. The more they talked and the less he did, the better.
“Students are no exception. Each month, before the newly-birthed moon departs, all students must complete their assigned mission. You shall work to complete the task at hand alongside your students and report back to the Archbishop after your deployment. Understood?"
Cyril narrowed his eyes slightly, but nodded, just slightly. Lyanna almost mirrored the expression, and did return the tight nod.
“I will provide you with the necessary details later."
Rhea looked like she was about to say something more, however; it was at this time that someone else entered the room. “Ah, Professor!" it was Amalthea, and she had the same happy smile on her face that she always wore. “The others said you'd be here! We're getting ready—"
“Amalthea von Kreuz, you will hold your tongue," Rhea spoke, her voice loud and almost domineering. It was enough that even Amalthea had a shocked expression on her face. “We are discussing matters of importance; you are not welcome here. Return to the main hall. At once." Her eyes were narrowed, and it was easy to see that she was vexed by the interruption.
From the corner of his eye, Cyril saw Lyanna flinch, then quickly suppress it. For a moment her expression darkened, but a mere second later it was smoothed over, as though it had never occurred at all. For his own part, he felt a flash of—something. An emotion he didn't know, sharp and hot, lanced through his chest like a tiny bolt of lightning, but his tongue did not know what words to give it.
“Apologies, Lady Rhea, I didn't..." Amalthea spoke, but Rhea fixed her with a stare, and Amalthea bowed in an apologetic manner. Her head almost went to her knees with the force of it, and she turned on her heel and hurried out of the room. Rhea turned her attention back to Cyril, though, her eyes narrowed and the smile still on her face, but still just as dark as it had been.
“I can sense something special within your heart... I have high hopes for you." She departed afterwards.
Lyanna lingered a moment longer, staring out the way Amalthea had gone, then back the way Rhea had departed. Her eyes, strangely pained somehow, landed on Cyril. “Professor." She spoke quickly, but without the crispness that usually characterized her words. “Amalthea. Would you—?"
Cyril at once understood what she was asking, but not why. Shouldn't this be something she did? Still, he nodded, and her shoulders slumped with relief. “The Archbisop is expecting me. I must—" She pursed her lips together, then turned and hastened after Rhea.
Unsettled, Cyril left the same way Amalthea had, using his long strides to catch up to her and place a hand on her shoulder to stop her progress forward. “Thea," he said quietly, recalling what some of the other students called her. “May I refer to you as Thea?" His tone was quiet, but he was surprised by the amount of... something, in it. Like it had lost a little of the usual flatness.
She had visibly flinched when his hand landed on her shoulder, and she'd spun around so fast that her eyes were wide with fear. As if she'd been caught by something and wasn't sure how to flee. Her eyes were slightly red, and there were fresh water marks trailing down her cheeks. When it seemed she recognized him, she immediately brought her hands up and tried to wipe her face. She made a light hiccup sound as she attempted to dry her face, and once she seemed ready, she smiled at him. It wasn't quite the same, though.
“I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't... I didn't mean to interrupt," she stated, but she was still shaking lightly. “And... and of course! You can call me Thea. I'd... it's..." she didn't seem to know what she wanted to say, and fell silent, her eyes going from his, and landing on the floor.
Crying wasn't something Cyril knew how to deal with, even if he could at least identify it. If anything, it only sharpened that crackle in his gut, and he felt his jaw tighten, but relaxed it. He didn't want to make her think he was angry—
Anger.
Was that it? The heat? He was... angry, on behalf of Thea. At Rhea, for speaking to her like that. For making her cry over something that was neither her fault nor, as far as he could tell, even a significant matter. “It's all right," he said, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. A month of training had made a difference, but she was still so thin. And young enough to feel fragile in his grip. Like if he squeezed too hard, something would break. And here she was, weeping after a scolding from the archbishop.
It wasn't that he thought she shouldn't be. Only that he had no idea how he was supposed to prepare someone like her for the reality of taking life. Even criminals were still people, and these were children, being asked to kill.
Of course, he'd killed long before he was an adult, too. But he'd been acquainted with the reality of such things his whole life, not raised in a monastery, or a noble household, or even a merchant one. Places where death was a rare tragedy, an extraordinary and momentous occurrence, not a mundane, everyday thing like it had become for him. If it were up to Cyril, he and people like him would do what fighting there was to be done, so that others never had to get so used to it.
“There was no cause for her to yell like that," he continued, more firmly. “If she'd expected not to be interrupted, we could have met in her office, but we didn't. You didn't do anything wrong, okay?"
Her lower lip trembled, but she shook her head. “No, she was right. I shouldn't have interrupted like that. I should have waited outside for you, but..." she paused to take in a breath, and seemed to calm herself, “but I didn't. I'll just wait next time. I just... wanted to say they were getting ready to cut the cake for us, and... I didn't want you to miss it."
She swallowed thickly, her tears stopping for the moment, as she glanced up at him. He was nearly a foot taller than her, after all. “Thank you, Professor." Her smile, at least, seemed to regain some of its brightness. “I'm fine, now. We... we should go back before they start without us."
He wanted to argue, almost. To make sure she understood that there was nothing rude or improper about what she'd done, but somehow he thought she was just... going to think that. It seemed the Archbishop's words had more weight than his own, and perhaps that was to be expected. He did fish a handkerchief out of his pocket, though, one of several he owned, and handed it to her.
“Then we'll go eat some cake," he said quietly. “And you can use this so no one notices you cried." He had a feeling she wouldn't want that kind of attention—that she preferred to put on a happy face even when the situation didn't call for it. He couldn't understand that, exactly, but he could respect it, and respect her wish for it.
She took it, her lips trembling still with her smile as she glanced at him. “Thank you, Professor," she stated, wiping her face with it. Once she appeared to be presentable, she tucked his handkerchief away in her pocket, and took in a deep breath. Slowly, she released it before her usually bright smile was back on her face. She folded her hands behind her back, and tilted forward a bit.
“Now... let's go get us some cake! It always makes everything better!" She at least sounded better.
Cyril huffed gently, but nodded as though the acquisition of cake was in fact a serious mission they needed to undertake.
“Cake it is."
Before he'd had much opportunity to partake, however, he'd been summoned to see the Archbishop in her receiving room. He counted it fortunate that these celebrations were not like mercenary ones, else someone might have tried to convince him to imbibe, and he doubted the Archbishop would much approve of such things, even if they had negligible effect on him.
As it was, it was completely sober and still a bit hungry that he made his way to see Rhea, who as usual was flanked on one side by Lady Lyanna. He dropped into a shallow bow, as seemed appropriate, and then rose, expression blank as usual.
Rhea was smiling in a soft manner, gentle almost. Her hands were folded in front of her, and she nodded her head in Cyril's direction, perhaps as an acknowledgment to his bow. “Your work with the students was remarkable," she began, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I can see Jeralt has trained you well," she continued, gesturing towards Cyril with her hand. “I do hope you were able to use the occasion to bond with the students," she stated, though the smile on her face didn't seem to reach her eyes. They seemed a bit darker than they usually were.
Cyril considered this for a moment. “They are..." he wasn't quite sure how to finish the sentence. It was true that the students seemed to be unusually fond of him compared to how other people in his life had been. They regularly sought his company at mealtimes, and seemed to possibly even enjoy being taught by him. And he would not deny that since coming here he'd felt...
At ease. Not completely—there were certain things about this place that he was not sure would let him rest easy. But when it came to everyday routine, to training and instructing and making lesson plans and eating in the dining hall and all that sort of thing, there was a marked difference between this and the life he'd always lived, where his father was distant and the men were wary of him because of his reputation. The students at least showed from no wariness at all to not much after a while, and it felt... nice.
“I believe so," he said, remembering well his father's distrust of Rhea and his own instinct towards not exposing his weaknesses. “They seemed satisfied with the result, at least."
There was a strange smile on her face when he'd answered. It wasn't quite one that was genuine, but moreso on the wary side. As if she'd expected him to answer poorly. “I am so happy to hear it. Nothing would please me more than if you used this coming year to grow closer, still," she finally stated, her smile turning somewhat melancholy. She turned her attention towards Lyanna, though, as if she were expecting her to speak.
“Of course," Lyanna continued smoothly, “the mock battle is merely practice. The real fight is the Battle of Eagle and Lion, which will take place during the Wyvern Moon." She straightened slightly, adjusting her glasses. “You are expected to properly train your students so as not to humiliate the academy during the long-held tradition that is the coming battle."
Cyril gave her a short nod. It sounded straightforward enough.
“As for today," Rhea began, glancing towards Lyanna before returning her attention to Cyril. “I have called you here to tell you of your mission for the month ahead," she continued, pausing only to smile lightly. “Your class is to dispose of some bandits causing trouble nearby." She spoke with a calm and even tone, as if disposing bandits seemed rather natural to her. It was obvious that she meant that his class was to kill them, however; she didn't seem fazed by it.
“Bandits?" Cyril's tone only barely belied his skepticism. His students were talented, there was no mistaking that. But he did not yet think most of them ready to see real combat. To take human life.
Lyanna seemed to sense his hesitation. “Those affiliated with Garreg Mach Monastery have a moral obligation to help those in need, regardless of social standing."
Cyril almost said something—that hadn't been his protest at all, but he bit his tongue. The more they talked and the less he did, the better.
“Students are no exception. Each month, before the newly-birthed moon departs, all students must complete their assigned mission. You shall work to complete the task at hand alongside your students and report back to the Archbishop after your deployment. Understood?"
Cyril narrowed his eyes slightly, but nodded, just slightly. Lyanna almost mirrored the expression, and did return the tight nod.
“I will provide you with the necessary details later."
Rhea looked like she was about to say something more, however; it was at this time that someone else entered the room. “Ah, Professor!" it was Amalthea, and she had the same happy smile on her face that she always wore. “The others said you'd be here! We're getting ready—"
“Amalthea von Kreuz, you will hold your tongue," Rhea spoke, her voice loud and almost domineering. It was enough that even Amalthea had a shocked expression on her face. “We are discussing matters of importance; you are not welcome here. Return to the main hall. At once." Her eyes were narrowed, and it was easy to see that she was vexed by the interruption.
From the corner of his eye, Cyril saw Lyanna flinch, then quickly suppress it. For a moment her expression darkened, but a mere second later it was smoothed over, as though it had never occurred at all. For his own part, he felt a flash of—something. An emotion he didn't know, sharp and hot, lanced through his chest like a tiny bolt of lightning, but his tongue did not know what words to give it.
“Apologies, Lady Rhea, I didn't..." Amalthea spoke, but Rhea fixed her with a stare, and Amalthea bowed in an apologetic manner. Her head almost went to her knees with the force of it, and she turned on her heel and hurried out of the room. Rhea turned her attention back to Cyril, though, her eyes narrowed and the smile still on her face, but still just as dark as it had been.
“I can sense something special within your heart... I have high hopes for you." She departed afterwards.
Lyanna lingered a moment longer, staring out the way Amalthea had gone, then back the way Rhea had departed. Her eyes, strangely pained somehow, landed on Cyril. “Professor." She spoke quickly, but without the crispness that usually characterized her words. “Amalthea. Would you—?"
Cyril at once understood what she was asking, but not why. Shouldn't this be something she did? Still, he nodded, and her shoulders slumped with relief. “The Archbisop is expecting me. I must—" She pursed her lips together, then turned and hastened after Rhea.
Unsettled, Cyril left the same way Amalthea had, using his long strides to catch up to her and place a hand on her shoulder to stop her progress forward. “Thea," he said quietly, recalling what some of the other students called her. “May I refer to you as Thea?" His tone was quiet, but he was surprised by the amount of... something, in it. Like it had lost a little of the usual flatness.
She had visibly flinched when his hand landed on her shoulder, and she'd spun around so fast that her eyes were wide with fear. As if she'd been caught by something and wasn't sure how to flee. Her eyes were slightly red, and there were fresh water marks trailing down her cheeks. When it seemed she recognized him, she immediately brought her hands up and tried to wipe her face. She made a light hiccup sound as she attempted to dry her face, and once she seemed ready, she smiled at him. It wasn't quite the same, though.
“I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't... I didn't mean to interrupt," she stated, but she was still shaking lightly. “And... and of course! You can call me Thea. I'd... it's..." she didn't seem to know what she wanted to say, and fell silent, her eyes going from his, and landing on the floor.
Crying wasn't something Cyril knew how to deal with, even if he could at least identify it. If anything, it only sharpened that crackle in his gut, and he felt his jaw tighten, but relaxed it. He didn't want to make her think he was angry—
Anger.
Was that it? The heat? He was... angry, on behalf of Thea. At Rhea, for speaking to her like that. For making her cry over something that was neither her fault nor, as far as he could tell, even a significant matter. “It's all right," he said, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. A month of training had made a difference, but she was still so thin. And young enough to feel fragile in his grip. Like if he squeezed too hard, something would break. And here she was, weeping after a scolding from the archbishop.
It wasn't that he thought she shouldn't be. Only that he had no idea how he was supposed to prepare someone like her for the reality of taking life. Even criminals were still people, and these were children, being asked to kill.
Of course, he'd killed long before he was an adult, too. But he'd been acquainted with the reality of such things his whole life, not raised in a monastery, or a noble household, or even a merchant one. Places where death was a rare tragedy, an extraordinary and momentous occurrence, not a mundane, everyday thing like it had become for him. If it were up to Cyril, he and people like him would do what fighting there was to be done, so that others never had to get so used to it.
“There was no cause for her to yell like that," he continued, more firmly. “If she'd expected not to be interrupted, we could have met in her office, but we didn't. You didn't do anything wrong, okay?"
Her lower lip trembled, but she shook her head. “No, she was right. I shouldn't have interrupted like that. I should have waited outside for you, but..." she paused to take in a breath, and seemed to calm herself, “but I didn't. I'll just wait next time. I just... wanted to say they were getting ready to cut the cake for us, and... I didn't want you to miss it."
She swallowed thickly, her tears stopping for the moment, as she glanced up at him. He was nearly a foot taller than her, after all. “Thank you, Professor." Her smile, at least, seemed to regain some of its brightness. “I'm fine, now. We... we should go back before they start without us."
He wanted to argue, almost. To make sure she understood that there was nothing rude or improper about what she'd done, but somehow he thought she was just... going to think that. It seemed the Archbishop's words had more weight than his own, and perhaps that was to be expected. He did fish a handkerchief out of his pocket, though, one of several he owned, and handed it to her.
“Then we'll go eat some cake," he said quietly. “And you can use this so no one notices you cried." He had a feeling she wouldn't want that kind of attention—that she preferred to put on a happy face even when the situation didn't call for it. He couldn't understand that, exactly, but he could respect it, and respect her wish for it.
She took it, her lips trembling still with her smile as she glanced at him. “Thank you, Professor," she stated, wiping her face with it. Once she appeared to be presentable, she tucked his handkerchief away in her pocket, and took in a deep breath. Slowly, she released it before her usually bright smile was back on her face. She folded her hands behind her back, and tilted forward a bit.
“Now... let's go get us some cake! It always makes everything better!" She at least sounded better.
Cyril huffed gently, but nodded as though the acquisition of cake was in fact a serious mission they needed to undertake.
“Cake it is."