Garreg Mach Armory - Afternoon - Cold
Cyril Eisner
Cyril sighed, running the cloth along the blade of the Arrow for what was probably the thousandth time. Fine as it was, it didn't really need any more polishing. Or sharpening, or anything at all.
Somehow, in the aftermath of his father's death, he'd gone back to some of the old things he'd had to do for the mercenary company. Not that he'd ever really stopped doing chores just because he became a teacher, but lately he'd been seeking out those things, instead of just doing them when they came up. He doubted Barn C had ever been cleaner, or the practice weapons better-maintained, or the ones in the general armory sharper. He'd tried to make things, too, his tiny little crafting projects, but somehow everything came out wrong, and after the fourteenth or so mangled miniature knight on horseback he'd just... given up.
Sothis was unusually quiet in his head, too, as though she were giving him space. He'd decided he didn't blame her, for what had happened, and he knew she understood that, but she was keeping her distance anyway, and some part of him appreciated it. He'd never known a loss like this before. Part of it was that he'd never really been attached to people beforeâexcept his father. And so when one of the men in their company died or moved on, it had been... unfortunate, but a fact of life. A thing he could accept with a certain amount of equanimity. This was the complete opposite of that.
It still felt, a little, like his world had stopped. If not for his studentsâhis friendsâand Senka, he doubted he'd be able to handle anything at all, right now. Because of them, he knew it would just take time, before things started to feel like they moved again. Before much of anything felt like it mattered again.
He could still teach, at least. Had found that it was what got him out of bed most mornings. The opportunity to see familiar faces he cared about, do familiar things. Even this had somehow become taintedâthe students outside of his few friends had been treating him strangely, of late. The girls especially tended either to act skittish and nervous around him or else... far too direct. He knew why. At any other time it would have bothered him profoundly but in this one he found he could only start taking meetings in public locations, so everyone would be comfortable and nothing worse would come of it for Senka.
Still... the nine he thought of as his students above all others did not show even the slightest hesitance. Not even, as now, when Sorcha entered the armory weighed down with practice gear, to find no one but him inside.
In fact, she gave him a little smile, just a subtle thing, with a touch of melancholy. He knew she'd been dealing with a fair share of her own difficulties, including fallout from this particular set of rumors, which painted her as at best woefully oblivious as a house leader and at worst also involved in some kind of sordid affair, and others. It had been going around for a while that she'd somehow seduced Mercer, either as part of a bid to reclaim the Alliance for the Kingdom or just because she was a scarlet who enjoyed that kind of thing. It was honestly absurd in the extreme, but he supposed that she must be used to such things.
âHello, Professor Cyril," she said softly, starting to rack the items she'd brought in with her. When he nodded a return greeting, she paused, regarding him for a moment from the corner of her eye.
âI'm... sure you're sick of people asking how you're doing by now, so I won't, if that's okay."
She'd more or less hit the nail on the head. Belatedly, he recalled she'd lost her parents as well, in addition to a fiancé of some description, and most everyone she'd ever cared about. Perhaps she knew because she knew.
âI'd appreciate it," he said honestly.
She made a sympathetic sound in the back of her throat. âI need to oil my bow. Do you mind if I sit with you?"
He'd paused, at some point, in the motions of the cloth along the haft of the Arrow, but the reminder drew his attention back down to it. He shook his head, and resumed.
âNot at all."
After she'd retrieved the necessary supplies for the task and unstrung the bow, Sorcha sat across the table from him, setting the weapon down. It really was a nice one, reinforced with silver and made from a sturdy, flexible yew variety that he recognized as growing in Alliance territory. Her Crest, which he'd never known her to use, was engraved into one of the silver panels, a much sharper and more jagged shape than the smooth lines of most of the others.
For a while, they just worked in silent tandem, Sorcha not forcing conversation and Cyril content not to volunteer any. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to her, just that speaking was... difficult. Right now especially, but still, often, in general. It had never come easily to him, fiercely introverted as he tended to be. She was, too, though he could tell she'd had to learn to work past that. Probably a necessity for someone who would one day be a Queen.
Eventually, though, she spoke. âI'm sure you know this already," she mused softly, running the oilcloth up one curve of the bow. âBut my father and stepmother were killed when I was about thirteen." She spoke of it like something indistinct, and not for the first time, he wondered if she might not understand his fuzzy memory better than most did.
âSo much of what happened that day is a blur, but... I remember the moment it happened with complete clarity. That man... the Flame Emperor. He was there. I remember the mask." Sorcha remained intent on her work, speaking in a distant tone of voice. âIfâif it's really all connected the way it seems to be, then... we might owe the same people the blades of our lances."
âYou... saw what happened? To your parents?"
She nodded slightly, meeting his eyes after a moment. Pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, she half-smiled. Mirthless, rueful. âYes." Her eyes darkened, fell. âTo my father, at least. And Glenn, and the knights. I still don't know why they didn't kill me. Some people say it's because I wouldn't have been worth the effort, because what chance did I have of uniting Faerghus and hunting them down?"
Sorcha expelled a breath. âBefore my father died, he asked me. To promise that I would find who had done this, and avenge them." Her hands stilled in their work. âI thought for so long that I was doomed to fail him. Now that I have a lead, a real one, Iâ"
Cyril felt a stirring of anger towards the late king. He had been raised to fight, and yet in his last moment his father had told him he loved him. Had made no mention of vengeance. Had not tried to burden him with something that might take years, if it was possible at all. And yet Lambert had told a thirteen year old girl, his daughter in his dying breath not that he loved her, not that he was sorry for all the ways he and his country had failed her, but that it was her responsibility to avenge the slaughter she would no doubt see in her mind for decades to come? He could scarce conceive of the self-importance, of the indifference to her, that would have to drive such an act.
âYou know you're not bound to that, right?" he asked, carefully and gently so she would know he wasn't chiding her.
âAren't I?" she murmured, staring at her hands. âIt's what everyone expected. The whole tragedy could have been avoided if not for the vengeful feelings of an entire group of people who can barely stand me as it is. If I abandon the search for the culprits, or fail to destroy them when I find them... they'll never think I'm strong enough to lead them."
He could see the dilemma, could believe that there were those in her country, not insubstantial in number, who really did believe such things. Who really would hold it against her if she didn't hunt down and execute whoever had been responsible for that, no matter what it cost her. No matter that her heart was too warm for her blood to ever be so cold as that.
âIs that why you came here?â he asked, referring to the Academy generally. It had always sort of puzzled him, that someone with so very little inclination to battleânever mind that she was skilledâwould attend a school designed to teach the arts of warfare. But now, it sort of made sense. If she believed this was something she must do, he could see why she would want to do it efficiently, and as well as possible. Put it all to rest.
âYes.â She sighed quietly, running the side of her thumb along her bow. âI thought if I could just⊠get used to it, I guess. Then Iâd finally be what they wanted. The kind of Queen my country needs. But from the very get-go, I kept messing it up. You had to bail us out of that training exercise, and then I almost got myself killed and worried everyone⊠it feels like itâs been one failure after another, honestly.â
Sorcha shook her head. âYou, Sen, Mercer, Vivi⊠even when itâs not battle, I feel like other people are always saving me from things. And so even though I came here for something like that⊠I think what I want most now is to be the kind of person who can save all of you sometimes, too. In battle, sure, but not just there. Soâmaybe itâs selfish to think about this way, but if thereâs ever anything I can do for you, Professor⊠I rely on you a lot, so it would be nice to know you can rely on me, too.â
Cyril smiled softly. Somehow, even knowing his friends thought things like that about him was enough. More than heâd ever known to hope for. âI do,â he said, perfectly honestly. âI rely on you in battle, to keep the sky clear, and outside of it, tooâin this case to keep me from wallowing.â
She flushed a little. âI didnât mean to make everything about me,â she said, apologetic.
But he shook his head. âNot at all. It reminded me that other people have gone through things like I have. And that thereâs a way out the other side. A way to keep moving forward. Thank you, Sorcha.â
She beamed at him. âAnytime, Professor.â
Somehow, in the aftermath of his father's death, he'd gone back to some of the old things he'd had to do for the mercenary company. Not that he'd ever really stopped doing chores just because he became a teacher, but lately he'd been seeking out those things, instead of just doing them when they came up. He doubted Barn C had ever been cleaner, or the practice weapons better-maintained, or the ones in the general armory sharper. He'd tried to make things, too, his tiny little crafting projects, but somehow everything came out wrong, and after the fourteenth or so mangled miniature knight on horseback he'd just... given up.
Sothis was unusually quiet in his head, too, as though she were giving him space. He'd decided he didn't blame her, for what had happened, and he knew she understood that, but she was keeping her distance anyway, and some part of him appreciated it. He'd never known a loss like this before. Part of it was that he'd never really been attached to people beforeâexcept his father. And so when one of the men in their company died or moved on, it had been... unfortunate, but a fact of life. A thing he could accept with a certain amount of equanimity. This was the complete opposite of that.
It still felt, a little, like his world had stopped. If not for his studentsâhis friendsâand Senka, he doubted he'd be able to handle anything at all, right now. Because of them, he knew it would just take time, before things started to feel like they moved again. Before much of anything felt like it mattered again.
He could still teach, at least. Had found that it was what got him out of bed most mornings. The opportunity to see familiar faces he cared about, do familiar things. Even this had somehow become taintedâthe students outside of his few friends had been treating him strangely, of late. The girls especially tended either to act skittish and nervous around him or else... far too direct. He knew why. At any other time it would have bothered him profoundly but in this one he found he could only start taking meetings in public locations, so everyone would be comfortable and nothing worse would come of it for Senka.
Still... the nine he thought of as his students above all others did not show even the slightest hesitance. Not even, as now, when Sorcha entered the armory weighed down with practice gear, to find no one but him inside.
In fact, she gave him a little smile, just a subtle thing, with a touch of melancholy. He knew she'd been dealing with a fair share of her own difficulties, including fallout from this particular set of rumors, which painted her as at best woefully oblivious as a house leader and at worst also involved in some kind of sordid affair, and others. It had been going around for a while that she'd somehow seduced Mercer, either as part of a bid to reclaim the Alliance for the Kingdom or just because she was a scarlet who enjoyed that kind of thing. It was honestly absurd in the extreme, but he supposed that she must be used to such things.
âHello, Professor Cyril," she said softly, starting to rack the items she'd brought in with her. When he nodded a return greeting, she paused, regarding him for a moment from the corner of her eye.
âI'm... sure you're sick of people asking how you're doing by now, so I won't, if that's okay."
She'd more or less hit the nail on the head. Belatedly, he recalled she'd lost her parents as well, in addition to a fiancé of some description, and most everyone she'd ever cared about. Perhaps she knew because she knew.
âI'd appreciate it," he said honestly.
She made a sympathetic sound in the back of her throat. âI need to oil my bow. Do you mind if I sit with you?"
He'd paused, at some point, in the motions of the cloth along the haft of the Arrow, but the reminder drew his attention back down to it. He shook his head, and resumed.
âNot at all."
After she'd retrieved the necessary supplies for the task and unstrung the bow, Sorcha sat across the table from him, setting the weapon down. It really was a nice one, reinforced with silver and made from a sturdy, flexible yew variety that he recognized as growing in Alliance territory. Her Crest, which he'd never known her to use, was engraved into one of the silver panels, a much sharper and more jagged shape than the smooth lines of most of the others.
For a while, they just worked in silent tandem, Sorcha not forcing conversation and Cyril content not to volunteer any. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to her, just that speaking was... difficult. Right now especially, but still, often, in general. It had never come easily to him, fiercely introverted as he tended to be. She was, too, though he could tell she'd had to learn to work past that. Probably a necessity for someone who would one day be a Queen.
Eventually, though, she spoke. âI'm sure you know this already," she mused softly, running the oilcloth up one curve of the bow. âBut my father and stepmother were killed when I was about thirteen." She spoke of it like something indistinct, and not for the first time, he wondered if she might not understand his fuzzy memory better than most did.
âSo much of what happened that day is a blur, but... I remember the moment it happened with complete clarity. That man... the Flame Emperor. He was there. I remember the mask." Sorcha remained intent on her work, speaking in a distant tone of voice. âIfâif it's really all connected the way it seems to be, then... we might owe the same people the blades of our lances."
âYou... saw what happened? To your parents?"
She nodded slightly, meeting his eyes after a moment. Pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, she half-smiled. Mirthless, rueful. âYes." Her eyes darkened, fell. âTo my father, at least. And Glenn, and the knights. I still don't know why they didn't kill me. Some people say it's because I wouldn't have been worth the effort, because what chance did I have of uniting Faerghus and hunting them down?"
Sorcha expelled a breath. âBefore my father died, he asked me. To promise that I would find who had done this, and avenge them." Her hands stilled in their work. âI thought for so long that I was doomed to fail him. Now that I have a lead, a real one, Iâ"
Cyril felt a stirring of anger towards the late king. He had been raised to fight, and yet in his last moment his father had told him he loved him. Had made no mention of vengeance. Had not tried to burden him with something that might take years, if it was possible at all. And yet Lambert had told a thirteen year old girl, his daughter in his dying breath not that he loved her, not that he was sorry for all the ways he and his country had failed her, but that it was her responsibility to avenge the slaughter she would no doubt see in her mind for decades to come? He could scarce conceive of the self-importance, of the indifference to her, that would have to drive such an act.
âYou know you're not bound to that, right?" he asked, carefully and gently so she would know he wasn't chiding her.
âAren't I?" she murmured, staring at her hands. âIt's what everyone expected. The whole tragedy could have been avoided if not for the vengeful feelings of an entire group of people who can barely stand me as it is. If I abandon the search for the culprits, or fail to destroy them when I find them... they'll never think I'm strong enough to lead them."
He could see the dilemma, could believe that there were those in her country, not insubstantial in number, who really did believe such things. Who really would hold it against her if she didn't hunt down and execute whoever had been responsible for that, no matter what it cost her. No matter that her heart was too warm for her blood to ever be so cold as that.
âIs that why you came here?â he asked, referring to the Academy generally. It had always sort of puzzled him, that someone with so very little inclination to battleânever mind that she was skilledâwould attend a school designed to teach the arts of warfare. But now, it sort of made sense. If she believed this was something she must do, he could see why she would want to do it efficiently, and as well as possible. Put it all to rest.
âYes.â She sighed quietly, running the side of her thumb along her bow. âI thought if I could just⊠get used to it, I guess. Then Iâd finally be what they wanted. The kind of Queen my country needs. But from the very get-go, I kept messing it up. You had to bail us out of that training exercise, and then I almost got myself killed and worried everyone⊠it feels like itâs been one failure after another, honestly.â
Sorcha shook her head. âYou, Sen, Mercer, Vivi⊠even when itâs not battle, I feel like other people are always saving me from things. And so even though I came here for something like that⊠I think what I want most now is to be the kind of person who can save all of you sometimes, too. In battle, sure, but not just there. Soâmaybe itâs selfish to think about this way, but if thereâs ever anything I can do for you, Professor⊠I rely on you a lot, so it would be nice to know you can rely on me, too.â
Cyril smiled softly. Somehow, even knowing his friends thought things like that about him was enough. More than heâd ever known to hope for. âI do,â he said, perfectly honestly. âI rely on you in battle, to keep the sky clear, and outside of it, tooâin this case to keep me from wallowing.â
She flushed a little. âI didnât mean to make everything about me,â she said, apologetic.
But he shook his head. âNot at all. It reminded me that other people have gone through things like I have. And that thereâs a way out the other side. A way to keep moving forward. Thank you, Sorcha.â
She beamed at him. âAnytime, Professor.â