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Snippet #2784268

located in Fódlan, a part of Fire Emblem: Apotheosis, one of the many universes on RPG.

Fódlan

A continent divided into three different factions: The Adrestian Empire, The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, and the Leicester Alliance.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Senka Rinaldi Character Portrait: Cyril Eisner
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I.Y. 1180 - Blue Sea Moon - Wednesday the 2nd
Monastery Second Floor - Afternoon - Clear
Cyril Eisner


It had been a hell of a few days.

The journey back to Garreg Mach from Lonato's castle had been an uncomfortable one for just about everyone, from Catherine's lingering discomfort, to Devon's poorly-disguised grief to the worrying everyone was doing about Sorcha. The last, at least, turned out all right; she'd woken at the tail end of the trip yesterday, and though she would be on bedrest in the infirmary for several more days on Manuela's orders, she was expected to make a full recovery.

There was also, of course, the building tension between Senka and Mercer, and the latter's obvious melancholy. Cyril thought he sort of understood where both of them were coming from; hopefully, it was one of those wounds that time would be sufficient to heal. In either case, he'd be able to check in a bit later with Senka, as they were both assigned to the kitchen rotation tonight. But first... he had to make his report to Rhea and receive his next assignment.

When he reached the small chapel that sat adjacent to Rhea's office, he found only Lyanna. She was dressed much as usual, and caught his eye, gesturing him over as he entered. “Professor Eisner. The Archbishop has been slightly delayed in a meeting. She desired for me to catch you up on certain developments before her arrival. I trust this is acceptable to you?" She narrowed her eyes at him slightly, though she had to tilt her head up to do it. She was taller than her sister, but certainly not gifted in the height department either.

Cyril inclined his head. “Of course. What has changed?"

She pursed her lips, clearly suppressing a sigh. “Catherine found a note on Lord Lonato's corpse. It describes a plan to assassinate the Archbishop during the Goddess's Rite of Rebirth." She paused, then seemed to anticipate his next question. “It is perhaps the most important ceremony conducted by the Church of Seiros, and requires the Archbishop and I to both enter the Goddess Tower, otherwise unaccompanied."

“And the concern is that people could infiltrate this tower in an attempt to kill her?" he asked.

She shook her head. “Not... especially. Honestly the plan seems very... slapdash, to me. Nevertheless, we must take all threats seriously. We have as many of the knights on this as we can spare, but we would also like to put you and your students to the task of guarding the monastery during the ceremony. They have, by this point, accumulated a great deal more experience than their peers, and this seems a relevant occasion on which to use it."

To that, he said nothing. He wouldn't have been able to suppress something sharper than he thought she really deserved.

As though she sensed it, Lyanna released the sigh she'd been holding in. “I... I heard that the Princess was severely injured," she said softly, glancing at her feet before hesitantly lifting her eyes to his. “I know Professor Casagranda is a capable healer, but if you are not averse, I would also like to pay her a visit. There may be... more, I can do."

Cyril was genuinely surprised at the offer, something that must have shown through at least a bit on his expression.

Lyanna smiled mirthlessly. “Don't make that face. I have a heart, too, you know. And... you've taken good care of my—of Amalthea. She never stops talking about you, or her friends. If I could shied them all from this, I—" She cut herself off abruptly as the door to Rhea's office opened.

Rhea glanced in Cyril's direction, a smile forming on her lips as she approached. “Apologies, there was something I needed to take care of," she stated, nodding her head in a mock bow. “I am glad to see that you have retruned safely. The goddess is gracious with her divine protection," she continued, her eyes narrowing slightly with her smile. “But it was not only her divine protection that shielded you, was it? You are just as skilled as I had hoped."

Hoped? I have no idea what she's up to, but it sure seems like she knows you from somewhere, doesn't it?

Cyril wasn't entirely sure how to take it, either, and a glance at Lyanna's face revealed nothing more than a slight unease, which could have been a lot of things. “I owe much to my students," he said simply. “They've been through much, but they continue to improve."

“I am not so sure," was her reply, and the smile on her face seemed rather strange. It seemed a bit strained. “I heard that some of the students were... hesitant about fighting militia. One of them was even injured, the foolish girl. She should have known better than to spare an enemy life that way. Look at what happened to her, because of it," she continued, referring to Sorcha, it seemed. She shook her head, though, before the smile returned to her face.

Cyril had to fight to keep the emotion from his face at the casual way she dismissed what had become of Sorcha. Lyanna winced slightly.

“We must punish any sinner who may inflict harm upon believers, even if those sinners are civilians," she didn't seem too fazed about saying that. She smiled, then, something more akin to a grin of someone who was plotting something. “I pray the students learned a valuable lesson about the fate that awaits all who are foolish enough to point their blades towards the heavens."

“I am aware that Lyanna has filled you in on this month's mission, correct?" She didn't wait for Cyril to answer. “It is my hope that you will accept this mission. You will have my gratitude. While there is no need to fear for my safety," she paused and glanced towards Lyanna, “we cannot turn a blind eye to those who would blaspheme so heinously."

“We accept, of course," Cyril said. He wasn't stupid enough to think it a genuine request—he knew an order when he heard one. “I will use some of our time together this month to plan patrol routes for the day, and submit them to you via Lady Lyanna, perhaps?"

“Very well," she nodded, “Oh, and one more thing, Professor," she paused long enough to regard him with a stare, “do make sure you and your students are fully prepared to do whatever it takes to see the mission through. We cannot have another setback. If the princess is deemed unsuitable for this type of work, perhaps you would do well to find another student to replace her." She dismissed herself, after that. Lyanna threw him a knowing look as she followed.

Thoroughly disgusted with the conversation, Cyril shook his head faintly and left the other way. He had kitchen duty to get started on, after all.

He found that he actually managed to arrive a little early, so he checked over the menu before pulling down the pots, pans, and spices he and Senka would need for the dish in question. Apparently they were to make saghert and cream for the following day. It was a little more complicated than most of the dishes, but seemed to be rather universally popular, so he could see why it was on the rotation.

It wasn't long before Senka arrived, regarded him with a nod of her head, but mostly remained quiet. She'd been like that for the last couple of days ever since Sorcha had been injured. She had mostly kept to herself, and seemed to ignore just about everyone except for Cyril. “Professor," she greeted, her voice a little harsh from wear. She'd nearly screamed at Mercer the day of the battle, and seemed to have overworn her vocal cords from it. She sighed softly, though, before she moved to the other side.

“What is the menu for today?" she asked, keeping her gaze elsewhere.

“Saghert and cream," he said quietly, setting the recipe sheet down on the counter so she could read it while he retrieved the tomatoes they would need to dice. The only really complicated thing about kitchen duty was adjusting to cooking in such large quantities. Dividing the tomatoes, he gave her a fair chunk less than half, pulling down a cutting board for her and making sure her knife was properly sharpened before seeing to his own.

Cyril didn't really know how to help people in situations like this one. He was surprised by the degree to which he desired to. But then, even he recognized that his students were having... some sort of effect on him. He found that he wanted to help them, to protect them, and more than anything to see them happy. It was a peculiar thing, a complicated feeling he didn't remember having ever felt before.

Perhaps considering how new it was, it was hardly surprising that he didn't know what to do with it. “How is she?" he asked. He doubted Senka had left her side for long.

“She's recovering about as well as she can," was her soft reply. “She speaks, she's in and out of consciousness, but for the most part," she paused to swallow a lump in her throat, it seemed, “she's alive." She went to work on her tomatoes, dicing them in slow motions. It was clear that she wasn't quite aware of her surroundings, or wasn't as focused as she usually was. Perhaps she hadn't been getting enough sleep?

“Her... birthday is this month," she finally spoke, glancing towards Cyril for a moment before turning her attention back to her tomatoes. “I want to make her something, and to invite her other friends to spend the day with her, however," she paused, wincing slightly as he placed her knife down. She walked towards the sink to wash her hand where the knife had nicked her, and wrapped it in a clean cloth. “I do not think I, alone, will be sufficient enough, to convince everyone," she continued.

Cyril set his knife down, making a small motion with his hand, asking for her own without words. The strange thing about healing was that it was downright difficult to do on oneself, even for really simple things like a cut.

“Why don't you think you'd be enough?" he asked, patiently awaiting her decision.

“She has many friends," she began, hesitantly giving him her hand. “And..." she paused, her brows furrowing lightly, “they do not like me. Other than our group, I am not well-received by many of the students here. And they know nothing of my past, not even my heritage." She must have been referring to her Duscur heritage. She'd said, before, that she had enrolled under the identity of someone who was from Faerghus with Almyran heritage.

“And I am certain she would like to have Mercer there as well," her lips pursed into a fine line at that. “Hence why I would not be sufficient enough to convince them."

Carefully, Cyril eased away the cloth. The cut was still bleeding a little; carefully he focused on what remedial healing he knew. “I understand why you are unhappy with him," he said, keeping his eyes fixed on what he was doing. “But I don't think he would refuse to come if you asked. And... forgive me if I overstep in observing, but I do not believe Sorcha considers anyone a friend of hers who is unfriendly towards you."

The magic snapped into place, and the wound disappeared. Cyril dabbed away the remaining blood with the cloth. Senka's hand was quite cool, compared to his own, small and soft, with elegant, tapered fingers. Not so soft as to suggest she'd never done work—none of his students had hands like that anymore. But still very much so compared to his, rough with calluses and scars from battles he could barely remember. He found himself hoping that hers, at least, would never reach such a state. That there would not be so much violence and death in her life that it left the physical marks to match the impressions it had already left on the rest of her.

Thoughtlessly, he traced her fingers with the tips of his own, until all that remained of the contact was four little points, his digits curled up a little to balance the very ends of hers on their own ends. Distantly, he wondered if he shouldn't let go, shift his hand the rest of the way away, but if she wasn't doing that, he saw no need to, either.

What a strange thing.

She didn't seem to pull away, at least, and merely regarded him with an even stare. She took a deep breath, though, exhaling slowly and shaking her head. “I'm afraid of what I might say if I asked him. You know I am not... gentle in my words. I am angry with him, yes, but I know how much he means to Sorcha. She values him as her friend, and I would not want to be the one who ruins her birthday for her. If... I invite her friends and not attend, that will be enough. I can do something on my own for her. But the least I can do is make her cake, and some food for the friends who do go," she answered. She still spoke with little confidence in herself, and perhaps she was still struggling with the events at Magdred, or perhaps before.

“Thank you, Professor. It means a lot that..." she paused, furrowing her brows before she slipped her hand with his, “you care enough about us. I would appreciate the help in making her favorite dishes, if... you would be so kind," she stated, keeping her gaze with his.

Slowly, Cyril shook his head. Only slightly, so as not to break eye contact. It felt important, somehow, not to do that. “And what if she did that for you?" he asked. “Invited other people to attend a party for you on your birthday, but did not appear herself? I suppose I have not known you both for very long but..." His eyes narrowed, in thought rather than irritation.

“It is true that she is more outwardly sociable. But you are as much her best friend as she is yours. I do not believe she would enjoy a celebration you were not a part of, regardless of who else was there." He tilted his head. “I will help you with the food... if you will agree to go." His expression softened into a near-smile.

“Even if you don't talk to anyone but me."

“How can I refuse an offer like that," she stated, a slow smile crawling across her face. “I will accept the conditions with the terms," she continued, her expression softening with her smile. It was the first time she'd smiled since she'd told Vridel and himself about her history. “Even if you are the only person I speak with, I will go. I don't want Sorcha to be upset with me, and..." she paused, her hand clenching his a little tightly. It was unclear if it was intentional or unconsciously.

“I want to join my friends as well," she added. She was smiling softly at this point, her gaze never leaving his.

“Good," he said, eyes narrowing at the corners. Reflexively, he squeezed her hand back when he felt the pressure increase.

You know, if anyone else sees this, they're going to think something's going on with you and this girl, the one in his head piped up. She'd been doing that more lately. Especially since his conversation with Amalthea, just before the mission.

Like what? he asked, almost absently.

You really don't know? What a dense vessel you are, she replied. Then stopped short. Wait—

All at once, pain lanced through Cyril's head, whiting out his vision for a moment. He flinched, reaching for his temple with his free hand, and hissed softly. It felt like he'd been struck in the skull with one of his own lightning spells.

“Cyril?" Senka stated, concern evident in her voice. “Professor Cyril, are you alright? Do you need to go to the infirmary?" she asked, her hand tightening around his as her other came to the spot where his free hand rested on his temple. “Do you need me to do anything?" she continued.

“No," he replied, voice rough with the effort of managing the pain. Fortunately, it was already starting to fade. But with it, the girl's presence had receded, and before he could ask her about what she'd said, at that. “I'm... I'll be fine." He released a hard sigh, lifting his eyes back to meet hers.

He could have left it there, he knew. Senka wasn't the pushy type. But...

“It's my memory," he said, which was more or less true. “Sometimes it's like I'm close to remembering something, and then it—" he grimaced, shrugging slightly. “Hurts. To be honest, I hardly remember anything beyond a few years ago. Just pieces. I don't even know how old I am." It was an absurd sort of thing to not know. He could understand that now, where before he hadn't really known what he didn't know, so to speak.

Senka furrowed her brows and tilted her head to the side. She dropped her free hand when he seemed to be fine, and sighed. “It sounds like something doesn't want you to remember. If it's painful to recall something in your past, chances are you are either suppressing it because it was traumatic, or it's your body's natural defense against causing unwanted strain to it. I cannot say for sure, but I do know the former is a possibility." She pursed her lips and regarded him with a quiet stare. There was no judgement to it; simply observation and curiosity.

“Where were you recently when this happened?" she asked.

Cyril hummed. “You mean when's the last time it happened?" He blinked. “I was having tea with Amalthea. I asked her more about the Church and what they teach. She told me the Goddess's name is Sothis, and for some reason, that—"

The girl had reacted very strangely to that name, though it wasn't clear to him why. “It was like that meant nothing and everything to me, all at once. I can't explain it. I thought I remembered something about the Red Canyon, too. I knew its name was Zanado, even though no one uses that, anymore." He exhaled heavily, then shrugged. “I don't expect I'll ever know why any of it happens. I... get the impression that there are people around me who know more than I do, but they don't tell me anything."

She regarded him quietly, humming a thoughtful noise in the back of her throat as she tilted her head down in a contemplative manner. It was another moment of silence before she met his gaze again. With a quick glance around, she must have deemed it safe before she spoke, “It is possible that they cannot tell you because it is forbidden," It was quiet the way she spoke, as if she were being cautious not to be over heard.

“There are things in the library, books and tomes, from before the Church, however; they keep those in places not accessible to students. I am perplexed as to how they have not burned them yet; they burn anything that predates the Church," she continued, her brows furrowing lightly. “If you desire, we can see if anything there will help you with your memories, also," she paused, raising her free hand towards his face, “may I? I wish to do for you what you did for me during our Crest training. I don't think it will be much, but it might help for the time being."

He nodded slightly, lowering his head towards her so it would be easier. “I wasn't sure if that helped," he admitted. She'd been going through a lot, quite understandably. “Or if I did, at all. All of this—having people that I really," he paused, trying to find the right words, and went with the simple ones. “Care about. That's new. I've never tried to help someone that way before. There was never anyone to help." His father was... distant, in some ways. Not the type of person to lean on his son in any case.

As for the suggestion about the books... he didn't see why not. It wasn't as though he was too concerned with keeping Rhea's rules, or the Church's. And if she thought there was something in there that might really give him answers, then he figured it was worth a shot.

“It did... help, I mean," she answered, touching her magic-laced fingers to his temples. Her magic, naturally cooler perhaps because of where she's from, filtered through as she smiled at him, softly still. “I am not very good at caring about other people. It... has been hard to convince myself into thinking that there can be people who will not..." she paused, furrowing slightly, “who will not leave, and who will not hate me; people who I can care about, but..."

“I care a great deal about all of you, including you. If there is anyway I can be of further service, I will gladly do what I can." She sounded sincere about it.

“Thank you," he said simply. He may have even leaned a little into the touch, glad perhaps that for the moment there would be no voice in his head to scold him for it. The magic was soothing, chasing away the vestigial remnants of his pain, and he felt himself relax, the line of his shoulders easing.

He could understand it, the difficulty with trust. “And... I feel the same. So if I may assist you in any way... please ask."

She hummed a soft note as way of response, it seemed. “Of course, Professor. Actually," she paused, smiling still as she stared at him, “if you could help me with Sorcha's celebration, I would appreciate it, immensely. You know as well as I do that Vridel has a rather large stomach, and Sorcha is no stranger to large meals, either. Mercer... I am aware of his gluttony as well, and Amalthea adores her sweets. Preparing that much food might be a little out of my capabilities, but if you would be so kind as to help?"

He huffed softly, feeling the tiniest of answering smiles curl his mouth.

“I would do so gladly."

She looked vaguely surprised by something, and there was a faint color to her face. “You should smile more often. It suits you," she stated, pulling her hand from his and walking towards her station. She cleared her throat a little, “Perhaps we should... finish the menu, for now."

The smile inched just a little higher, and Cyril nodded, finally relinquishing her hand with a faint flicker of reluctance. “As you wish."