Sorcha Blaiddyd, from Fire Emblem: Apotheosis, a roleplay on RPG

Sorcha Blaiddyd's Story

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#2019-09-20 00:06:08, as written by Aethyia

I.Y. 1180 - Wyvern Moon - Friday the 24th
Outside Garreg Mach - Late Evening - Cloudy
Sorcha Blaiddyd

Celebrations were beginning to die down, and Sorcha was feeling a little tired, duly. It turned out that Professor Cyril could play the lute, and sing, too—he'd taken just long enough to regale them with a silly drinking song and a few things they could dance to, before the music had been taken over by a few of the others with instrumental talent. It turned out Sofia was something of an aficionado, able to play both the harp and flute quite well.

The box Vridel had brought turned out to contain small fireworks, things that made pops and sparkles and the like, but by now they'd worked their way through those. Several people had fallen asleep or passed out already—she couldn't be too sure which, in most cases. She couldn't help grinning to herself when she noticed Senka had in fact fallen asleep on Professor Cyril's shoulder. He was still awake, but being careful not to jostle her. Sylvi had passed out over Devon's stomach, it seemed, and Dierdre had fallen asleep and was tucked into Sofia's side.

Devon was sprawled on his back, snoring lightly, on one of the blankets, where Professor Hanneman still seemed to be talking about his research. Professor Manuela was listening with half an ear at least; Reynard and Sir Jeralt were playing some kind of card game on another.

Sorcha had finally acquired a cup of ale, on Jeralt's insistence that he needed help finishing the cask. She was looking into it dubiously, seated a bit away from the fire on an otherwise-unoccupied blanket.

“You're staring at it like it's going to bite you, or something," Mercer spoke suddenly, close enough that he was hovering over her shoulder before pulling back. He plopped down next to her, though, and laid his hands behind his head, and glanced up at the sky. “If you don't want to drink it, you don't have to, Sor," he continued, closing one of his eyes and keeping the other one open and on her.

“You can just dump it; I'm sure Captain Jeralt won't mind a bit, and understand."

She pursed her lips. It was sort of hard to explain her reluctance; it wasn't as though she was afraid, or thought drinking was inherently bad or anything. It was just...

“I don't mind, really. It's just... I got to thinking. It's sort of tradition, where I'm from, that when someone turns sixteen, they're given their first drink by their family, as a way of sort of... welcoming them into adulthood, a bit. Not that they're fully an adult then, but it's sort of a step. It's not a big deal, just the sort of thing my father would have sat me down in his study and done. Maybe."

They hadn't really been close. Sorcha had loved him, dearly, but her father was also a king, and in some ways that seemed so far away from her. Like he was a distant star, visible but unreachable, and she stuck with her feet on the ground. “There's supposed to be a toast—it's stupid. But I never did it, and I guess I'm a year and some too late."

Mercer rolled on his stomach, then, and pushed himself up. Without a word, he left her. It was another minute, though, before he returned, a cup in hand filled with ale. “How's this supposed to go? Dear Sorcha, you're a young woman now and I know you'll be a capable queen, someday?" he stated, lowering his voice as if he were attempting to sound more like an adult than anything. He was doing a poor job of it, though, and the grin on his face suggested that he knew he was.

“Or is it something less silly?"

Sorcha snorted quietly, shaking her head. “I have no idea, honestly. I guess probably some people do that. Take it really seriously and talk about being an adult or something. My father probably would have talked about our duty to our country and people." She shrugged. “I'm guessing some people just make a little one to the future and drink, though."

She paused, tilting her head a little at him and offered her cup forward a bit. “Like... here's to the future, may it be good to us. Or something." Maybe that was silly, too. She'd not spent too much time considering what her father might say; it was difficult enough just imagining him spending a moment alone with her. She had little basis for how that worked. In fact... the most vivid and personal memory she had of him was the night he died. And what he'd said to her then...

She thought maybe she was doomed to disappoint him.

“Hm," Mercer stated, staring at her with slightly narrowed eyes. “If it's something simple like that, then maybe..." he trailed off and lifted his cup to hers. “May Sorcha always keep her smile so that it can keep my days bright and full of hope for the future," he spoke in such a serious tone, and his face conveyed that he was being serious. He bumped his cup into hers, before taking a drink from it.

Sorcha flushed, bringing the cup to her lips immediately to disguise it. The ale wasn't so bad; she certainly didn't have the problem Thea seemed to have with too much burn or anything. Still, she wasn't going to rush it, and so after a couple of swallows, she settled it down again between crossed legs. “Are there any traditions like that in the Alliance or Almyra?" she asked, both for the subject change and because she was genuinely curious.

“Things people do when they become adults, or close?"

“We're required to make our first blood sacrifice." He said it with such a straight face that it sounded as if he were being completely honest about it. He snorted softly after a few moments, though, and shook his head.

“Nothing like you do. In Almyra, we're considered adults when we make our first kill. They usually take everyone who is coming of age out to hunt," he replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “In the Alliance, it's a bit different. For young women, they have a rather lively dance, but for the young men," he pursed his lips for a moment as if he were trying to think. “We're required to do bow tournaments of sorts. It's not a typical one, though, because the bow is the Alliance's Specialty. These tournaments are usually designed for showing courage by facing an arrow being shot directly at you. You can't blink, you can't flinch, or move in any way. If you do... well, you can imagine what happens."

Sorcha considered this, nodding slightly after a moment. The Alliance tradition especially sounded rather draconian, but it wasn't so different in Faerghus. “You probably know by now that military service is compulsory for able men in my country," she said, looking down into her cup again. When had it almost emptied? “There's some people who don't really consider a man a man unless he's shed blood in battle—his own or someone else's." She pursed her lips—frankly, the thought was ridiculous on so many levels it was hard to name them all.

She looked back up at him, seeking his eyes where he sat in front of her. Though the fire was to the side, she felt the greater warmth, the greater draw, from him, and this fact terrified her. If she didn't keep talking, she feared what she might do about it.

“You've done that, then? The—the thing with the arrow?" She knew that if anyone had the steely nerve required, it was him. He might not act like it, but she knew.

“I did," he replied easily. “The person who was my archer was..." he pursed his lips together and took another drink from his cup. “Gloucester. You can imagine how many times he tried to actually hit me. I think one even sliced the side of my temple," he stated, brushing his hand over the side of his face as if to put emphasis on it. “But he was always a terrible shot. Never really good with the regional weapon of choice."

Sorcha didn't think about it. Feeling an irrational spike of worry—he was here and just fine after all—she set her cup to the side and rose onto her knees, lifting one hand to brush over the same spot at his temple, half-expecting to see a scar. “That's worse!" she said, only whispering, but with emphasis. “He could have easily hit you somewhere else if he's a poor shot!" She couldn't believe the Alliance would do something like that, when there was a risk of political disagreement getting someone killed. Or just... bad archery doing the same.

Mercer grinned slightly, but grabbed her hand and pulled it away from his face. “He actually almost did hit me," he chuckled pulling her hand towards his heart and holding it against the spot. “Right here, you know. If I hadn't caught it, I probably would be dead. Don't expect me to go catching arrows, now, though. That was a one-time thing. Couldn't do it again even if I tried," he replied lazily, keeping her hand over his heart. It was beating at a steady rhythm, calm-like just like his expression was.

Her heart almost sank a little when he pressed her hand to his. The beat of it was steady, like this was any other conversation. Hers, meanwhile, was pounding so hard in her chest she was surprised she couldn't actually hear it, and her face was warm. “I—I'm sure you could," she said, attempting valiantly to keep up the thread of the conversation. “Maybe not every time. But when you really needed to." It was a compliment, of a sort, though about as awkward as the rest of her was in this situation.

“Oh, and what would you do if I didn't catch one when I really needed to?" he asked, arching a brow in her direction. It seemed almost curious in a way, as if he were interested. There was a slight skip in his heart beat, then, before it resumed its calm beat.

“You—you want to know what I'd do if you were shot?" Sorcha couldn't hide the edge of distress that the thought put in her voice. It had happened, of course. On the battlefield, they were injured sometimes. But something about the question struck her differently from talking about a graze or even a glancing stab, the kinds of injuries they might fight through. “Well I know a little white magic but... but don't get shot, okay?"

It wasn't exactly an answer, maybe, but she hadn't quite understood the question to begin with. Her eyes fell to where he still held her hand against his chest, and the pink on her face deepened before they turned back up towards his. “Please."

He rolled his eyes at her a bit, shifting so that he could look her directly in the eyes when he spoke next. “I meant if it were something that couldn't be healed by magic, nor any other means. If it were a fatal shot. What would you do?" his tone was light when he spoke, but there was an edge to it. Something at once desparate and curious to know her answer. Maybe it was the alcohol in his system, but his heartbeat began to pick up. It wasn't beating like hers was, but it wasn't as calm, either.

“And I couldn't make that promise to you. Not getting shot. It's... it comes with the territory, you know."

“W-why are you asking me that?" Sorcha's voice cracked over the question. Something about the situation, or maybe his tone of voice, wouldn't let her laugh the question off with a joke about 'good riddance' or some other mean thing that she could deadpan at him when the mood was a lighter one. Instead she found herself really imagining it, really imagining an arrow finding him in the heart during a battle, or something...

Her vision blurred; she blinked, and hot tears streaked down her face. Ineffectually, she swatted him with her free hand. “Why would you ask me that?" she repeated, so soft and raspy she wouldn't be surprised if he couldn't even hear her properly. “Stupid—you're being stupid." The words were hushed, more miserable than harsh, and she struggled to swallow around the lump in her throat. She couldn't seem to dislodge the image from her mind—or maybe it was in her heart, now. It certainly felt like it, like someone had squeezed it in their hand and refused to let go.

“Because it matters to me," he spoke softly, pulling her close to him and using his free hand to wipe away some of her tears. “I want to know if I've left the same impression on you as you've done to me," he continued, pulling her close to him so that he could wrap his arms around her in a comforting manner.

Stupid.

How could he not know? How could he not know they way she felt? How the big tangle of horrible things in her guts scared her half to death? How when he so much as tugged on one of the threads, like now, it felt like she was going to come undone? How could she care so much about someone she'd only known for half a year?

And yet there was a very real sense in which she'd known him so much longer than that. Carried some tiny fragment of him with her for so long. Clung to it, to the reminder that somewhere, there was someone in the world with the kindness and patience to want to cheer her up, spend time with her, instead of simply being irritated that she was crying.

And in the six months, well... how could he not know that their practices and silly contests and the time they spent flying were her favorite times of the day or week? How could he not know how much she relied on him, how much having him in the sky with her in the battles they faced made her feel like she could do it, like she could make it out the other side of each one? How the only reservation she had about their engagement was that for him it was a favor for a friend, while for her it was like a dream come true?

It seemed like it should be the most obvious thing in the world. The impression wasn't the same at all, because he wasn't just a dear friend, or a trusted companion—he'd stolen her whole heart. And something told her she'd never get it back.

Sorcha could bring herself to say none of this, not when it meant he might pull away, might unwrap his arms from her back, so instead she slid hers around him in turn, clinging tightly. “You're so stupid," she accused without heat. She probably sounded like the petulant child he'd first met, and part of her was mortified, but the rest of her couldn't care, could only tighten the hold of her arms.

He huffed quietly, disturbing her hair a bit as he squeezed her a little tighter before relaxing his hold. He didn't let go, though. “So I've been told," he muttered, adjusting himself so that he could reposition her in a more comfortable position. Once he seemed satisfied, his hold on her tightened again. “But that's alright. As long as I'm your stupid, that's all that matters," he nearly whispered it into her ear, his breath ghosting over it before he rested his head against hers.

It was such a strange thing to say that Sorcha didn't quite understand its meaning. She put it down to how much he'd had to drink. Maybe she'd had too much, too. It would explain why the entire world felt like it was tilting, though she'd not had that much, really. It would also explain how she'd somehow wound up in his lap, and why that didn't seem like such a bad idea at all. It was comfortable, and like she'd told the others, it wasn't though she affected him so much it would be weird.

Satisfied with her hazy logic, Sorcha settled a little better, muttering something she only kind of realized she was saying. “Well, you are right now." She squeezed her arms around him to emphasize the point.

He chuckled lightly, resting his head on top of hers. “That's all that matters," he muttered softly, before his faint breathing could be felt on her hair. His arms had relaxed, but they were still wrapped around her, and it felt like he wouldn't let go. Not any time soon, at least. It wasn't a moment later that Sorcha could hear a soft snore escape him, and it was easy to tell he'd fallen asleep. He whispered something, though in his sleep.

“I love you," but it was hard to pinpoint the source for his words.

The sleepy murmur hit her in the heart; Sorcha felt her chest clench. He was drunk and unconscious and she couldn't let herself take him seriously even if he weren't, but... Goddess, how she wished it were so.

Turning her face in towards his chest, she did her best to suppress a quiet sob, not wanting to wake him, and stayed like that until the last couple tears had squeezed from between her eyelids and she, too, was asleep.

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#2019-09-20 03:57:41, as written by Nemeseia

I.Y. 1180 - Wyvern Moon - Saturday the 25th
Trail to Gronder - Late Morning - Drizzle
Mercer von Riegan

Mercer groaned lightly, rubbing his eyes to shake them loose of debris. Yesterday's festivities left him with a bit of a headache, and he'd been surprised to find that he'd been entangled with Sorcha all night. He hadn't meant to fall asleep like that, but... last night was a bit hazy for him, too. He remembered they were talking about something, but he wasn't sure what. It felt important somehow, but he shook the thought from his mind. Thinking too much made his head hurt, and he'd rather not be in any pain until they reached Gronder field. It was at least a two day ride before they'd arrive, but that meant they were all traveling. Rhea, for some reason, decided to travel in a rather lavish carriage.

If Mercer hadn't known any better, he'd say it was fit for royalty, the way it was trimmed in gold and silver. It had the Crest of Seiros engraved on the sides, which made it obvious it was the church traveling, never mind that the large banners were being carried as well by some of the cavalry members. While he didn't mind riding a horse, he currently wished he was mounted on Sir. The air in the sky always made him feel better, but instead, he was surrounded by all the members of his house, Sorcha's, and Vridel's.

Teach was somewhere, too, but he wasn't really paying much attention until someone rode up beside him and kicked him with their foot. He glanced to spot Dierdre, glaring at him for some reason. What did he do now? “Sofi has an herbal remedy if you need it," she murmured. Mercer snorted softly through his nose.

“Is that how you get my attention? By glaring and kicking me?

“It worked, didn't it?" He couldn't argue with that logic. He shook his head, though.

“I'm fine, thanks." Dierdre shrugged her shoulders, and pulled the reins on her horse so that she was riding beside Sofia again, and possibly conveyed his reply if the way she was speaking was anything to go by. He couldn't really hear her.

Teach, to the contrary, seemed to be actually doing quite fine. Despite his victory, he and his father seemed to have been responsible for clearing the evidence of last night's party and prepping the animals for march. He was, at the moment, handing a canteen of some sort to Professor Manuela, who wore a grimace and hadn't quite managed to neaten her hair all the way, and Senka. He had one in his own hand as well, that he'd periodically sip from as they rode. Steam wafted from the top of it.

Sorcha was riding next to her best friend, looking faintly disturbed. She kept shooting odd glances in his direction, but did not approach. Devon, Sylvi, and Reynard seemed to be mostly fine, though very time Devon looked at her he blushed, which was pretty obvious. Hanneman seemed quite content, chatting amicably with a nearby soldier, possibly of his Crest research. He really loved talking about it, but it also could be that he was just using it as a way to talk to himself without seeming stranger than he already was.

Vridel was probably a bit hungover, too, but he didn't look the least bit dissatisfied except whenever the carriage hit a rut in the path behind them, which unfailingly make him frown, or sneer, or some other thing, no doubt at the reminder of the person inside it. Fortunately, the Knights were in charge of its security specifically; the rest of them just had to ride.

He didn't really blame Vridel, though. He knew quite well of Vridel's disdain for the archbishop; most of them held it for her. She wasn't a pleasant person, though it was still anyone's guess as to why that was. Instead, he nudged his horse a bit so that he fell in line with Vridel, offering him a lopsided grin. Thea was, adorably, on Vridel's other side, but she seemed rather content and happy. She was wearing a rather large smile on her face, and her eyes almost seemed to sparkle in the sun. He would have chuckled if he knew it wouldn't hurt his head.

“So, is the bad fish giving you a headache?" he asked.

“The stench is overpowering," Vi replied dryly, wrinkling his nose as if he did in fact, smell something unpleasant. He sighed a moment later, patting his blood bay horse idly on the neck and glancing briefly at Thea before returning his attention to Mercer. “You doing all right, by the way? You look a little queasy."

Mercer snorted unceremoniously. It was worth the shot of pain through his head, though. “Nothing I can't handle," he replied. “I'll be fine as long as I don't have to think much, or do much," he added, frowning slightly to himself. He would be fine in another hour or so, anyway.

“What about you? Do you want me to see if Sofia will part with her herbal remedy for you?" he began, though his lips pulled up into a grin as he leaned in a little closer towards Vi. “Or do you want me to ask little Thea if she has something special to give you?" He was teasing, of course, but that didn't mean he couldn't have a little fun.

Vi arched an eyebrow, a satisfied little smile crossing his face briefly before it faded and he shrugged. “No need," he said breezily, speaking at volume enough to include Thea in the conversation. “Amalthea is already quite helpful with particular magics. I'm feeling rather hale, actually." He side-eyed her, as if watching keenly for her reaction to this statement.

Thea looked slightly disturbed for all of a second before she pursed her lips in their direction. “But I haven't done anything like that, yet," she spoke, moving Sunflower closer towards Vridel. Mercer snickered softly, though, at the last statement. Yet. He arched a brow at her and leaned over a bit. It almost put him in front of Vi, but he was nice enough to keep out of the prince's personal space at the moment.

“So... does that mean you thought about doing something? Like what?" he stated, watching as her brows furrowed slightly. She pursed her lips at him, though, as her face took on a little color.

“That is none of your concern, Mercer. And I meant that if he needed me to use my magic for anything, I'd do what I can. You all know I'm not very good with it, but I try," she murmured, which only served to cause Mercer's grin to grow. So she had thought of something; she just wasn't going to tell him. “And Vi knows that if he needed me to do anything, I will. So, you hush," she continued, giving him a light glare, but Mercer couldn't take it seriously. It looked too much like a wet kitten trying to glare at him, and it was adorable. It wasn't intimidating as she was probably hoping it would be.

“Is that so?" he stated, pulling back so that he was sitting properly in his saddle. “You hear that, Vi? Thea says that she'd do anything you ask her to."

Vridel hummed, as if considering this offer quite seriously indeed. “And here I'd never thought much of my luck," he mused, a lopsided half-smirk curling one side of his mouth. “But it seems I'm a lucky fellow, indeed."

When it came time to name his demands, however, he only extended a hand towards Thea, almost as if for a shake. “Perhaps the lady would oblige me with one of her patented restore spells?" From the little glimmer to his eyes, he was expecting this to mean something to her beyond the surface implication of the words.

To his surprise, Amalthea actually pouted in Vridel's direction. It seemed that it did, indeed, mean something to her. “That was... alright, I was a little jealous." She muttered the last word so softly that Mercer almost missed it. Jealous, she said. Of what? What was she jealous of? Mercer shot Vridel an arched brow before Amalthea took his hand, white magic already at the tips of her fingers. Her hand, however, didn't go completely to Vridel's. Instead, she leaned over a bit so that she could place her fingers on his temple, as if that were where it was truly needed.

“Now I'm a little jealous. Why don't I get to experience this little patented spells?" he murmured, aware that he was pursing his lips in a pout. Amalthea rolled her eyes at him, though.

“If you were nice like Vi, maybe I would, but no. You're a stupid fish face, so..." she stuck her tongue out at him, causing Mercer to laugh.

Vridel himself looked like a cat who'd just taken a canary to the ranks of the recently-deceased when Mercer was rather unceremoniously shot down. “Step off, stupid fish face. You can ask someone else if you need healing. Hers is mine." He narrowed his eyes, a touch of seriousness in his expression despite the lightness of his tone. It disappeared quickly, though, and he caught the hand at his temple, bringing it to his mouth for the lithest of brushes.

“I am indebted to your kindness, fair lady," he murmured, releasing her fingers a moment later.

It took a lot of restraint for Mercer to not laugh at how utterly adorable Amalthea's face was when Vridel kissed the back of her hand. Her face turned a bright red color, and she made a strange sound that sounded almost strangled.

“Well that's not entirely fair, and here I thought I was your favorite person, Thea," he stated, pursing his lips in her direction. She huffed lightly at him, causing Mercer to smirk.

“No, I never claimed you were," she muttered. Now Mercer was slightly curious, and he slid his eyes towards Vridel.

“Then who is your favorite person, Thea?" She smiled at him, and Mercer knew she was caught.

“Vridel, of course. Why wouldn't he be? He's been more helpful to me than you have been, though I think almost everyone has," she replied almost effortlessly. Mercer nearly fell out of his saddle from laughing so hard. He earned a few stares from the others of their group, but he didn't mind them.

“Ouch, Thea, I'm hurt." She just shrugged her shoulders.

“You think that hurt? Wait until the battle. The Blue Lions are going to win, and we'll end up crushing your house," she replied, a large grin forming on her face.

Vridel chuckled. “You know, I wouldn't be surprised. You Lions are quite formidable." he arched a brow over at Mercer, flashing half a grin. “The Deer, on the other hand... well they're just pathetic."

“Hey now, that's just rude," Mercer retorted, pursing his lips at Vridel. Amalthea nodded her head in agreement, though, which made Mercer feel a bit better about the statement.

“I don't think that's fair to the other members of the house. After all, they have Mercer as a leader," she replied.

“Low blow, Thea. Low blow," he replied, placing a hand over his heart and feigning a hurtful look. She merely smiled at him, something smug, causing Mercer to laugh. He had a feeling a certain someone was rubbing off on her.

“That's a girl," Vi said, reaching over to ruffle Amalthea's hair.

“Don't get too cocky, Vi—you're going down, too." The new voice was Sorcha's, and he knew even just from the sound of it that she was smiling as she spoke. She and Senka rode up alongside the three of them.

“Oh probably," he agreed. “Everyone in my house but Reynard is useless, and I'm just an empty-headed flirt, didn't you know?" He fluttered his eyelashes at her with mock innocence, referencing of course how rumors about him tended to paint him.

Mercer laughed, rolling his eyes at the commentary. “I would switch Houses for you if I were not so attached to this one," Senka stated, nodding her head in Sorcha's direction. “But unfortunately, your house is not as enticing. I'm afraid I'm going to have to stay with the Blue Lions."

“You could always come to the Golden Deer."

“I'd rather not. You're the house leader; that's enough of a reason to stay away."

Sorcha snorted a laugh at Senka's remark, and nodded seriously. “Clearly, I am the more desirable House Leader," she said primly, sniffing with false imperiousness.

“Why does everyone always gang up on me?" Mercer murmured, though he wasn't offended. Actually, he was rather pleased. Even if they were trash talking him, he was glad that they were all together, doing this.

“Because, Merc, it's easy. And you mostly leave yourself open to it, which everyone knows you shouldn't do," Thea supplied as a way of answer. He rolled his eyes, but smiled.

“If she says it, it must be true," Vridel quipped smartly. “So I guess we'll see which of our dumb asses manages to eke out second place tomorrow, eh fishstick?" He arched an eyebrow at Mercer.

Mercer snorted. “If it's anything like last time, it won't be you," he replied easily enough. He was, oddly, looking forward to the battle, now.

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#2019-09-20 08:30:42, as written by Aethyia

I.Y. 1180 - Wyvern Moon - Monday the 28th
Gronder Field - Midafternoon - Partly Cloudy
Cyril Eisner

Cyril stood among his students, helping them prepare for the mock battle. This one as rather more intensive than the last, of course, and he would not himself be able to participate, which was fair enough because Hanneman and Manuela weren't either. They were with their houses too, though, providing last-minute assistance and advice. In a few minutes, all of them would be called back to the overlook, the hill on top of which Rhea, Lyanna, and many of the Knights of Seiros already stood, spectating on the events below.

With a hand signal, he gathered his students among them. They wore the special tunics like last time, but this time, Sorcha had a royal blue cloak around her shoulders, marking her as a house leader—houses could fight on without their leaders, like any army could, but eliminating them would yield considerably more points for the team that did it. The cloak seemed too big for her, almost, like it had been made with a broad man in mind instead of a slender—if strong—young woman.

“All right," he said, looking between the assembled Blue Lions. “There's a bit of a trick to this battle. The winner is the last House standing, even if only by one member. But it doesn't pay to let the others break on each other alone, because you are also gaining points for each opponent you take off the field—one for every regular House member, and ten if you can get Mercer or Vridel." He felt himself smile slightly at that. Challenging targets, both, a fact he was rather... proud of, in a way.

“Have you decided on an initial strategy?"

This, of course, was entirely Sorcha's prerogative. She was the leader for this battle, and the Blue Lions would stand or fall by her decisions.

She nodded once, firmly, but he could not help but note the way her hands shook on her bow, which she shifted onto her back a moment later.

“Okay. So with the points thing taken into account, I think..." She pursed her lips. “The most dangerous Black Eagles are Vivi and Reynard. Reynard's hard to target, but Vivi's not. I think we make for him first—try to take him off the field as early as possible. His magic could keep his team up for a long time if we don't."

Cyril nodded. Vridel was already one of the most adept magicians he'd ever met, especially with the white arts.

“I'm willing to bet that if we make a strong charge for Vivi, Mercer will seize the opportunity and follow. He's an opportunist, and clever, so he'll want us to break ourselves on the Eagles while he picks up just enough points to win afterwards. We're going to let him think he's doing that. So everyone should do their best to look like you're working really hard, so that when he brings his people in to flank they think they'll be getting a lot of killing blows. But they won't be, because except for Vivi and Reynard, we're going to be going easy on the Eagles at first."

“Isn't that kind of risky, since they won't be going easy on us?" Devon asked nervously.

“Yes, but I think we'll be okay. Plus... there's more to the plan. Sen's going to take a small group around to flank the Deer from behind. The primary target there is definitely Mercer, so the only people going with her are going to be those with some range. Devon, that includes you. You get the first shot. If you can hit Mercer unawares, you can probably take out half the color on his tunic or more with one arrow."

“Are you sure? You're a better shot than me, Sorcha."

She grinned a little. “Maybe, but if I wasn't on the field, he'd notice. That's why I'm going to be the distraction. Once the flank has happened, we're going to stop playing around with the Eagles, too, and crush everyone who's left between our halves." Her grin turned sly, and she smacked her fist into an upturned palm. “Sound good? If anyone has questions or concerns, I'm happy to hear them. This is our fight, not just mine."

Senka was grinning the entire time Sorcha had been explaining the strategy. They had probably discussed it beforehand, which explained why she wasn't mounted. “Don't worry, Devon," she spoke, placing a hand on Devon's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I will be providing support as well. I might not be as good in the white arts as Vridel, but my dark arts are better than his. It will be easy to take out Mercer if we manage to combine our efforts," she continued.

“Oh, this sounds exciting. I can help a little bit and heal those who need it, but like Senka said, I'm not good with white magic, either. I'll do my best, though!" Amalthea added, clutching her axe a little closer to her.

“Hm, just keep your focus on the enemies, Thea. We don't need you bouncing all over the place," Sylvi stated, before turning her attention on Devon. Her grin turned into something sly, though. “And you'll be fine, Dev, I believe in you." She winked at him before turning her attention back to Sorcha.

He turned a rather interesting shade of red, but nodded with a bit more firmness. “I—I won't let you guys down," he promised.

“I believe everyone has accepted your strategy, Sorcha," Senka stated, smiling at her friend in the process.

Cyril nodded, too. “It's clever," he said honestly. It took advantage of the personalities of her opponents, too—he was sure Mercer would notice something off about the situation, but also fairly confident he'd act as Sorcha predicted anyway, which was the important part. Vridel was no slouch either, but with such a decisive opening move, he was likely to be all but trapped.

Sorcha blushed slightly with the praise, but nodded more resolutely this time. “Okay. We'll do this then. It goes without saying that if any of you gets tangled up with the likes of Reynard you need to call backup immediately. Same for Sofia and Dierdre—they're more experienced and tougher to take down accordingly."

The others nodded, a few discontent looks on the faces of the members of the class that did not also regularly conduct missions, but she was taking provisions for this, and it seemed to mostly satisfy them, at least.

“Then I take my leave here," Cyril said, giving his class a mild smile. “You have what it takes. So go do it." He gave Sorcha's shoulder a brief squeeze and made fleeting eye contact with Senka before he turned to depart.

He crested the hill at the same time as Hanneman and Manuela, and went to stand with them. Shamir, Alois, and Catherine were nearby, too, as was Lyanna, though she stood as usual next to the Archbishop.

Rhea was looking out into the field, her eyes scanning in a calculative way. She was smiling in that way that didn't seem to be a true smile, but those around her believed it to be. She lifted a hand, though, as if to silence the battlefield for a moment. “May the goddess watch over you. It is time," she spoke, lowering her hand as if to give the signal. Indeed, the men who held the flags depicting the House emblems, lowered them as well, as if giving the signal to start.

Mercer kept his House neutral at first, watching from his advantage point. He had been situated on a hill with some shrubbery to hide his forces. Dierdre was further to the back, perhaps because she was a mage and could use the long-distance of her magic to her advantage. Sylvi, however, moved in the direction of the Black Eagle house, followed by Amalthea and the others. Senka remained in her spot with Devon, though it wasn't for long. Once the others were further, she and the small group Sorcha designated, made their way around, and concealed themselves in the shrubbery until none of them could be seen.

“They are off to a decent start," Hanneman spoke, looking rather proud of himself. “I believe my House has a decent chance of winning, this time," he added, smiling a little to himself, it seemed.

Cyril crossed his arms over his chest and smiled. The Blue Lions' push was by far the most aggressive opening move, forcing the Black Eagles to prepare to meet it, even though the Deer hadn't moved yet. “We'll see," he said simply, unable to help the little smile on his face as he watched the two sides clash.

Manuela yawned a bit, though she was observing the field with interest nevertheless. “We should take bets," she said.

“What, like for money?" Shamir replied, arching a skeptical eyebrow, but Manuela waved a hand carelessly.

“Or kitchen duty, or something, I don't care. What's teaching if you can't have fun betting things about the students?"

“Absolutely not," Hanneman shook his head, furrowing his brows in the process. “It is clearly showing favoritism as I would place my bets on the Black Eagles."

Catherine snorted but nodded her head. “Oh, I'm definitely in. But what are the stakes? And what are we betting?" she asked, arching a brow in Manuela's direction.

“I can get behind this idea. Sounds like it could be pretty fun," Alois stated as he joined the small circle. “I'll bet whatever we're waging, and then some, on the Blue Lion House. Gotta cheer on my favorite person," he replied, perhaps refering to Thea.

Manuela perked up at the clear willingess of at least some people to participate. “Let's see... everyone here's on the kitchen rotation, so. When we make up next semester's schedule, the winner gets to pick the student they work with and the loser has to work with Deirdre."

Cyril chuckled. “What if more than one of us picks the losing house?" he asked.

“Second loser has to work with Sylvi," Manuela replied immediately.

“That's a serious wager," Shamir deadpanned. “I'll bet on the Lions."

“As will I," Cyril replied.

“I'll bet on my Golden Deer, of course," Manuela replied. “Hanneman's betting on the Eagles whether he likes it or not. What about you, Catherine?"

By this point, the Eagles and the Lions had met near the middle of the field. Vridel, wearing an impressive crimson cape not unlike Sorcha's blue one, knocked out a Blue Lion student almost immediately. Reynard was as yet nowhere to be seen.

“Awful lot of Blue House bets, kinda makes me want to bet on them, too, but..." Catherine began, grinning slightly before shrugging her shoulders. “I guess I'll throw my lot in with the Golden Deer. That Mercer kid isn't quite as dumb as he tries to make himself out to be."

“My word, already deciding things for me, Manuela," Hanneman huffed at her, though he didn't seem too bothered by it. Alois laughed something loud and patted the other man on the back. Manuela stuck her tongue out behind his back.

“We should make the bet a little more interesting, though," Catherine began, grinning in a sly manner. “Kitchen duty is too mild of a thing, and it's completely boring. Besides, even if I'm on the rotation, there will be days where I can't always do it. Missions, and stuff, you know? It should be something with a little more finesse to it, or flair."

Mercer had, indeed, begun to move, though. It seemed he was directing most of his forces towards the Black Eagle house, though he and Dierdre remained behind. Perhaps to further spectate. Amalthea had taken out a rather impressive looking Black Eagle student who was, perhaps, twice her size. She didn't seem too bothered by it if the smile on her face was anything to go by. Sylvi was locked in a duel, it seemed, with a mage. It was obvious the mage had the greater advantage, but she seemed to be holding her own before she managed to take them out.

“All right," Manuela replied, obviously curious. “What do you propose we bet, Catherine?"

Shamir grimaced.

Slowly, the battle began to really take shape. The Eagles were fighting off assault from two sides, though as predicted, Vridel's magic kept them up longer than they would have otherwise stood. A small group of Lions made directly for him, Sylvi leading the charge and punching through the line, Amalthea right behind. The others were left to cover them, and while some of them weren't doing the best job acting, others weren't doing the best job holding back, so it more or less evened out, and looked like Sorcha's house wasn't too coordinated, rather than like an intentional gambit.

Sorcha herself launched into the sky, cloak whipping behind her. “Mercer von Riegan!" she shouted across the field, pointing her lance right at him. “Get over here and fight me, you lily-hearted weasel!" Though she had technically insulted him, if in a rather exaggerated fashion, the grin on her face made it rather obvious she didn't mean it too seriously. Even from this far away, though, Cyril could see the way her posture simply radiated challenge.

He figured it probably wasn't too bad, as distractions went.

“Speaking of bets," Shamir added, huffing softly. “Do we have one for when he finally caves and kisses her?"

Cyril snorted.

“I thought he already did?" was Catherine's reply. “I mean, they make it so obvious, I'm surprised he hasn't."

“Ah, the romances of the youth," Hanneman spoke in an almost dream-like fashion. “I'd be willing to bet he finally does at the millenium ball, this year," he stated, grinning almost as if he were proud of himself.

“Oh, I'd say before then," Catherine supplied. “Besides, with that much tension built up," she stated, motioning at Mercer who was laughing at Sorcha's statement.

“That may be, Sorcha Blaiddyd, but I'm a safe lily-hearted weasel," he replied with ease. It was, however, enough to get him to move, at least. He motioned for Dierdre to follow him.

“See what I mean? And it's gotta be the same for the prince. I mean, no offense," Catherine's tone took on a quieter one as she glanced in Lyanna's direction. “But it's obvious the little verdant-haired girl has a thing for him. It's so adorable."

“You mean Amalthea?" Alois stated rather loudly, causing Catherine to cringe.

“No tact, this one." She narrowed her eyes at Alois.

“So which one do you think caves first?" Manuela asked, turning her attention to Cyril as though he'd know.

He supposed he was the one who spent the most time with them collectively. “Hard to say," he replied with a shrug. “Vridel's more at ease with it at the moment, I think, but Mercer's the more impulsive one. Don't forget the girls, though. They're wildcards, and might just take the initiative themselves." He thought this was slightly more likely with Sorcha, as she could be provoked to it perhaps more readily then Thea. Or perhaps it was more than Mercer was more likely to provoke in that specific way than Vridel was.

Sorcha flew forward to meet Mercer in the air, getting in close right away so that it was sword against lance. Probably better, for keeping his attention fixed. Which was what she needed to do, to give the flankers time to line up the right shots.

Interestingly, Reynard still had not appeared. Cyril assumed Vridel had sent him to do something specific, and it probably involved 'assassinating' one or both of the opposition leaders, which he was himself in quite a good spot to do considering that he too was a skilled bowman. It might be a question of who got where first.

Sylvi and Thea had at last broken through the Eagles' line—both of them went after Vridel, who fended off the first stroke of Sylvi's axe with a deft parry of his blade. They traded blows, though he seemed less willing to do anything but dodge Amalthea, for some reason.

Thea didn't seem to like that much, and seemed fairly angry about it. “I suppose that depends on what you mean, the girls. You're leaving out one of your students, Professor," Catherine stated glancing at him with a sly gaze. “A little quiet, that one, but you know what they say about the quiet ones," she stated.

“I suppose it depends on how fawn of him she is," Alois interjected, grinning to himself before laughing at his own joke, perhaps? Hanneman merely furrowed his brows at Alois, before shaking his head.

“That was in poor taste, Alois." Hanneman didn't seem too pleased, but Catherine snorted.

“Vridel! Fight me honestly!" Amalthea seemed to shout over the battlefield. She had paused in her attacks to merely stare at him. Sylvi had been taken out by then, and had walked off towards the other students who'd been killed.

But Vridel seemed still to refuse, and his insistence cost him; a cluster of the Lions were able to knock the last of the color from his tunic, forcing him out of the fight.

Cyril cleared his throat softly. “I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Lady Catherine," he deadpanned.

Shamir chuckled. “I think he means mind your own business, partner."

At that moment, an arrow arced through the air from the cover the Deer had begun in, its blunted tip catching Mercer in the side just as Sorcha made a thrust for him. His tunic faded to a pale gold, and Cyril could see her grin at him, read her lips as they formed a word.

“Gotcha."

“Oh, but where would the fun in that, be, hm?" Catherine stated. “It's fine to admit that sometimes these things happen. Not like anyone here gives a shit about two adults," she stated, though Hanneman shot her a questioning look. She merely waved a hand in front of her face, though.

It was at this point a ray of magical arrows also collided with Mercer, Sagittae from the looks of it, draining the rest of the color from his tunic. He looked extremely surprised to be taken out, and Dierdre didn't have much of a chance to retaliate as Senka took whatever remaining color she had in her tunic, with a wind spell.

It was down to Sofia, and a handful of other Deer members, and one lone Black Eagle member who had yet to show up.

With nowhere else to turn, the Lions fell upon the Deer, their numbers still sufficient to put pressure on the other group. Still, Sofia didn't give in easily, digging her people into a defensive position and earning them several more points by fending off any Lion who grew overconfident.

It was only when the Lions had been narrowed to Sorcha, Devon, Senka, and Thea that Reynard appeared, in a rather spectacular fashion—with an arrow to Sorcha's back. Wielding her lance on Sofia, she was too far to retaliate, as were the rest of her team, and his second shot took her out of the fight entirely.

This seemed to renew Sofia's confidence, and with Reynard pressuring on the other side, they managed to eliminate Devon, too. But then Thea caught a solid blow on Sofia's shoulder and she was out. While Reynard swapped to knives and nearly took out Senka in the process, her strength combined with Thea's, out in the open, was just enough, and the last Black Eagle fell as well.

The Blue Lions had taken the victory.

“That is the end of this year's Battle of the Eagle and Lion," Rhea spoke, a strange gleam to her eyes as she stared at the remaining Blue Lions. “The winners are.." she paused, “The Blue Lions! Congratulations." Thea looked extremely happy, and made her way towards Vridel. She threw her arms around him, and gave him a rather tight squeeze, it seemed, though it was hard to say why she was hugging him, and not the other members of her house.

“I suppose that means we're stuck with Sylvi for Kitchen rotation," Catherine stated in a good-natured laugh. “But that's nothing to poor Hanneman getting stuck with Dierdre for the entire next semester," she grinned in his direction.

“Congratulations, Professor Cyril. It seems your House are the winners, yet again," Hanneman stated, though he didn't sound upset about it.

“Wait, so what do the winners get? Shamir, Cyril, and I all bet on the Lions," Alois stated, causing Catherine to roll her eyes.

“You get to pick your partners," Manuela said with a sigh. “As Professor Cyril trained the winners in addition to choosing them, he can go first."

“Senka," he said immediately, knowing it would only feed Catherine's grin but not especially concerned.

“Thank the gods," Shamir said wryly. “I was worrying we were going to lose the dream team. My stomach thanks you in advance. Also, I pick Devon."

“Same as Shamir, you guys can whip up a mean meal," Catherine stated, grinning nearly wide enough to split her face in half. “But we already know you're going to pick little Thea, Alois, so you can save it for the rest of us," she added, casting a glance in Alois's direction. He pursed his lips at her and frowned. Before he could say anything, though, Rhea appeared along with Lyanna, and glanced at the small group.

“Professor," she greeted, nodding her head towards the others. Catherine gave Rhea a short bow, and motioned for the others to give both of them some privacy. Once the others had departed, Rhea's expression softened, as if she were smiling at him. “I can only call your guidance of your students... quite versatile. That was a brilliant plan of Sorcha's to utilize her strategy the way she did," she spoke, bowing her head slightly.

“Compared to their performance in the mock battle during Great Tree Moon, the students have grown significantly," Lyanna added, seemingly genuinely pleased to note it. “It is clear that this is a result of your guidance."

Cyril inclined his head towards her, but shook his head faintly. “They've worked hard of their own accord, as well," he said gently. “And Sorcha's strategy was hers, ultimately."

“It is clear that she has benefited greatly from your guidance," Rhea spoke, her eyes narrowing slightly. “In appreciation of your efforts, and to show our high hopes for the future of your students, we will reward your class with some much needed time to relax. They may hold off on their classes for the next three days," she stated, smiling a bit in his direction.

“Please continue to instruct your students as a model teacher."

So, you've done well for yourself, the girl in his head added. I'd have been upset if you failed to teach them even this much, though. She was certainly stingy with praise, something which more amused than bothered him.

Lyanna breathed a soft sigh. “It pains me to assign such a disturbing mission to you at such a blesséd time," she added with a shake of her head. “However... next month your assignment will be to journey to Remire Village to investigate a abnormal occurrence there."

Remire? But that's where you and your father lived before you came to the monastery. What's happening there?

Cyril was equally curious, but also sure that Lyanna would explain.

“I've yet to ascertain the details, but it seems the villagers have been acting strangely," she said, her brow knitting. “It will take some time to collect enough information to act on, so you should expect to move out near the end of the month."

He pursed his lips. “There's nothing further to go on?"

“Not yet," Lyanna admitted. “I'm sorry—I know you've spent time there. The knights will work as efficiently as they are able, I'm sure."

“I pray this is not a bad omen," Rhea added, closing her eyes momentarily and sighing through her nose. She clasped her hands, as if in prayer, and bowed slightly over them. “May the Goddess protect you all."

Lyanna paused a moment, then removed something from a cylinder tied to her belt. “I'm sure your students have plenty to celebrate anyway, but I think they'll find their certification results to their liking as well," she said, then gave him a little smile. “I took the liberty of including those for the young Lord, the Prince, and the others who are in your Saturday rotation, if they'd like to know."

He accepted the scroll with a nod.

“Thank you, Lady Lyanna, Archbishop Rhea." With a small nod, he departed, heading down the hill to where the others were. Sylvi and Devon had lifted Sorcha onto their shoulders, and someone—likely Thea—had assembled her a flower crown, which she now wore on her head, nestled over the braids that kept her hair neat.

“Long live the Queen," Reynard said with a touch of irony.

“No thanks to you," she fired back.

Amalthea had something else in her hands as well, and it looked like another floral crown. “This one is for you, too, Professor!" she stated as she handed it to him.

Cyril accepted it, but gave a small shake of his head and put it on Senka instead. “I appreciate that very much, Thea," he said with a genuine smile, “but only the winners should wear crowns today, I think." They might have been his students, but they'd earned their own victory this time. Senka accepted it with a small smile.

“What about me, Thea?" Mercer stated as he appeared. She merely stuck her tongue out at him, causing him to chuckle. “I see how it is," he stated before grinning in Sorcha's direction. “And congratulations on the victory, Sor. You've earned it," he stated, smiling at her.

“I was not expecting that sneak attack, but I knew you were up to something when I didn't see Senka. I thought maybe she was going after Vi," he continued, his eyes sliding towards Senka. She merely smiled at him, something a little smug.

“You should consider yourself lucky. I usually do not make a habit of going after the weaker party," she replied smoothly. Mercer just snorted, and shook his head.

“I figured you would," Sorcha said with a grin, tapping Sylvi and Devon on the shoulders so they'd set her down. Once her feet had touched the ground, she continued: “I knew I had to layer my traps if I was going to fool you. Poor Vivi was just screwed since that meant he was my bait."

“Yeah, thanks for that," he drawled. “I knew the Empire was going to suffer for this political engagement. I told you all so." He very clearly didn't actually mind, however.

“You sent your assassin after me!" Sorcha rejoined, pointing an accusing finger at Reynard, who smirked faintly. “You don't get to complain about me attacking you if you do that. Besides, I beat Mercer, too."

Cyril actually chuckled, the sound escaping with such a lightness it surprised even him. There was an undeniable warmth in his chest, one he recognized now as being put there by them, the people he cared so much about.

“By the way," he added, handing the parchment off to Senka first. “You all passed your certs this month, too."

“Correction, Senka beat me. She's the one that dealt the final blow," Mercer retorted, causing Senka to shake her head.

“She's my House Leader; technically, she still beat you," she replied while taking the parchment from Cyril. She glanced at it, a flicker of surprise in her eyes as her facial features softened almost considerably, as if she were truly happy with her results. “It looks like I've been elevated to a B-cert for my magic, instead of an upper C-cert," she stated softly. “And I've reached my upper C-cert for my sword skills and a B-cert in riding," she continued, passing the parchment to Thea next.

“Oh, yay! I passed both of my certs for heavy armour and axe! I now have an upper C-cert in both!" she stated happily. Mercer took the parchment next, and smiled at his results, but neglected to say what his certs were at, now, and passed it to Devon. He seemed rather pleased, though.

Devon had reached mid-C in both bows and knives as well as riding, Reynard C-plus in bows and a B-plus in knives. Vridel's scores echoed Senka's, plus another B in axes. Sofia had reached a B in lances and a C-plus in her armor. Sylvi received a B in her axe, but had finally managed to get a C in her brawl. It meant that she could finally use gauntlets in battle, which would put her one step closer to her dream. Dierdre received a B in her magic as well, and a D-plus for her brawl. Almost everyone did, actually, due to Cyril's training.

Sorcha frowned slightly when it came around to her. “Dammit. I knew that shot was off," she said with a sigh. “C-plus in bows and lances, B in flying." She paused, scanning to the bottom of the list.

“Sweet Goddess, Professor, are these scores real?" She looked up at him with wide eyes. “Your lowest is a B-plus, and when are you ever going to need to fly?"

He shrugged. “Probably never, but I need to be able to teach you and Mercer how to do it, right?"

“It's alright, Sor, I got a C-plus in both my sword and flying, so that puts you one up on me," Mercer spoke. “I got a B in bow, though," he shrugged as if it were nothing.

“This is great! We should all celebrate! For our victory and our new certifications!" Thea suggested.

“I could get on board with that. It'll also help break down the so-called barriers around our Houses," Mercer stated, folding his hands behind his head. “We can do it when we get back to Garreg Mach, too. And maybe after everyone's had a day to rest," he continued.

“Sounds like a plan to me," Sylvi stated, smiling as she looped an arm with Devon's.

“We'll plan on it, then."

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#2019-09-28 07:21:45, as written by Aethyia

I.Y. 1181 - Guardian Moon - Thursday the 1st
Abbey - Morning - Freezing
Sorcha Blaiddyd

Sorcha couldn't deny the relief she felt, that she was not doing this part alone.

When they'd initially reported events to the Archbishop, Alois had been with them, and she suspected that plus the immediacy of things had softened the response. But now, a couple of days later, she wasn't sure it was going to go over well.

Frankly, to her it made perfect sense that they'd do this, but the Archbishop wasn't exactly a bastion of sense. Even Sorcha knew that now, and so it was with a sense of grim determination that she made her way to the abbey alongside Mercer and Vivi. Rhea was probably expecting Cyril, but, well—she was going to have to deal with them instead. The Professor's father had died two days ago, and for once it was their turn to protect him from something. In this case, having to deal with work and the pit-traps that came along with dealing with Rhea in any capacity.

It wasn't long before they reached the archbishop's office, and Mercer knocked lightly on the door frame. “Come in," Rhea responded as Mercer took the first step inside. When Sorcha and Vridel appeared as well, a frown had marred her face. “I wasn't expecting you three," she spoke, evident disdain laced in her voice. She shook her head, though.

“No one ever does," Mercer spoke in a nonchalant fashion, shrugging his shoulders lightly as he glanced towards Rhea. “But considering Teach's current state, figured it'd be best to have us come instead."

Sorcha and Vridel both nodded, but it was she who spoke. “I apologize for any inconvenience," she said, politely but not with too much deference, “but since I'm the Professor's house leader and we all go on his missions, it wouldn't be too much trouble for us to relay your orders to him, Archbishop."

Rhea's eyes narrowed slightly before she nodded her head. “Of course. There are no orders for him this month. He is to let his heart mend, for he has lost a valuable member of his family," she spoke, her features softening for just a moment. Mercer arched a brow at that, though, seemingly confused.

“Jeralt was our most celebrated knight. I am filled with grief at his loss, as must be the Professor," she explained as if sensing Mercer's confusion. “He was an ally of many years... and also a dear friend."

“Hasn't it been years since you last saw Captain?" Mercer questioned, watching as Rhea's eyes narrowed lightly.

“It has been twenty one years, to be exact."

Twenty-one years... she wondered if that might not be right around how old the Professor was. He'd said something once about being born not long after his father left the monastery, after all.

“Why'd he leave, anyway?" Vridel asked, rather bluntly by Sorcha's estimation but not quite rudely or anything. “The way the other knights talk about it, it sounds like they all thought he was dead for all those years."

“I do not know. There was no reason for him to leave," she replied, perhaps to the surprise of Mercer whose eyes widened slightly. He didn't think she'd answer, perhaps. “He... fell in love with one of the nuns here at Garreg Mach. Their love produced a child... whom she died giving birth to."

“That doesn't explain why Captain left, though," Mercer spoke, catching the archbishop's eyes with his own. She narrowed her eyes at Mercer, but sighed softly.

“It was her decision. She weighed her own life against that of her child's and, in the end, implored me to save the child. Jeralt... never truly accepted that decision. He took the child and disappeared without warning."

So it was the Professor they were talking about here. “Weighed her life against the child's? What does that mean?" If it were a mater of healing alone, surely there were enough people capable of it here at Garreg Mach that a sick nun and her sick child could both be taken care of, and yet the way Rhea said it seemed to imply that it had needed to be one or the other. That didn't make any sense.

“That is not for me to say," Rhea replied, her eyes hardening for a second before she shook her head. “In time, the Professor will come to know the truth. For now, do what you can to support him in his time of need. This is the only thing I am entrusting you all with. That is your mission; take care of him," she spoke. It looked like she wanted to say more, however; Alois barged into the office, looking slightly hurried.

“Sorry for the interruption, Lady Rhea. There's something you must hear immediately," he spoke, glancing towards Sorcha and the others. “A report from the knights patrolling the area..." he trailed off as if he expected Rhea to know what he was talking about.

“Very well, Alois. The three of you are dismissed," Rhea stated as she turned towards Sorcha, Mercer, and Vridel. “Remember your mission."

Sorcha nodded—there was no way they were getting more out of her than that, now.

Leading the way out of the office, she headed towards the dormitories, glancing back and forth at the other two. “Well... at least we can tell the Professor how old he is, I guess."

“We can tell him a sight more than that," Vridel replied. “Though your question was a good one—what on earth did she mean, about his mother choosing to favor his life over her own? I'm sure the Archbishop is a talented healer, but this is a monastery. It's full of people who can handle things like difficult childbirths."

“Maybe that's why Jeralt left with Teach. Maybe he knew that she did something to his child's mother, and didn't approve of it. You heard what she said, Jeralt never accepted what she did, maybe that's why he left?" Mercer added as he shook his head. His lips were pursed into a fine line before he ran a hand through his hair, musing the strands so that it was a little disheveled.

“Always so damn cryptic, though," he murmured before glancing towards Sorcha and Vridel. “It always seems like one mystery is solved, and then five more pop up in its place. She's a woman full of secrets and she's not going to tell us. I highly doubt Teach wants to talk with her, either, but at this point, I don't think we'll have much of a choice. Especially after what happened to Jeralt," Mercer's voice went soft at the end as he slumped his shoulders.

Sorcha's heart twinged. It had been doing that, rather horribly, every time she so much as looked at him since the ball. She pushed the thought aside, knowing they needed to talk but also aware that other things had to take priority right now.

“I hate this," she said softly. “I hate feeling like there's this whole world we don't know about, hidden in the cracks of our own. It's like... I can see some of the gaps now, but every time I look even a little deeper, something gets in the way." To find out that their Professor might well be hosting the Goddess in his head, that he had some kind of power to manipulate time and this strange connection to the Church... it was making her want to look closer at her own life, too.

Sorcha didn't really think she was all that important in the grand scheme of things. But she had suddenly been put in the position of being heir to a entire country four years ago, and... and it seemed somehow that for all the threats of someone else being put there instead, it had never materialized. And then there were all the things she couldn't remember, the one way she and the Professor did seem to be the same.

But if there were strings being pulled here... who was at the other end of them? Solon? Monica? Dare she wonder if it might be the Archbishop? It was so hard to tell what everyone's motives were.

“Yeah," Vivi said quietly. “Believe me, we know."

“Trust us, we know. I'd put my money on Rhea, but I don't think it's just her. If Solon and the others are at large, it's quite obvious they don't like Rhea, or at least she doesn't like them. And I'm sure you've noticed since the beginning, Sor," Mercer paused to glance at her, “she's tried to get us killed on more than one occasion. All of the dangerous missions that proper knights should handle, and yet she sends a handful of children to do it. She's lucky we have Teach as our Professor, but then again, it might just be that he's our professor." He pushed a heavy sigh through his nose.

“Just be careful not to be alone with Rhea, though, Sor. Who knows what she might try to do if we ever approach her by ourselves." He visibly shuddered.

She hated to admit it, but he was absolutely right. “Honestly, I... I found it so hard to believe at first. Why us? Why hate us so much? The Academy's been running for centuries, and no one ever talks about the Archbishop being like this. Which makes me think she isn't always. Or at least isn't always so... involved."

She stopped dead.

Vivi, stopping with her, raised a querying brow. “Something wrong? Aside from the obvious?"

“You guys have looked at a lot of records and stuff, right?" She was pretty sure they'd been digging around in all of this for a while, given the way they always seemed a step ahead when it came to information. They'd both known Cyril could stop time, after all. “Are there... are there pictures of previous Archbishops, or just names?"

“None that I've seen," Mercer spoke, his eyes narrowed lightly in Vridel's direction. “But I think we know someone who might," he continued, keeping his eyes on Vridel as if watching for a reaction of sorts.

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and he nodded. “I'll ask her. If it's dangerous for her to look, we'll have to do without, but she has seen an image of the Goddess, so maybe she'll know offhand. Why though?" He looked keenly at Sorcha. “You suspect Rhea's older than she appears?"

“It just... keeps coming up," She admitted. “Maurice was alive after more than a thousand years, and while maybe that could just be the transformation... there's what Alois said about Jeralt, and how Lady Rhea looks exactly the way my uncle described her. I don't know, but... look, your castles have tons of old portraits of important people, right? Your predecessors? How come there aren't any of former Archbishops here? In fact there's only the saint statues, and and those are practically hidden. It doesn't make any sense to me."

“Sor has a point. Let's take into consideration that Maurice lived not because of his transformation, but because of something else. What if... it was his Crest? What if it was his Crest that supplied his long lifeline? I mean, it would make some sort of sense. You all have Crest members in your family, haven't you found it odd that some of those Crest bearers always lived to be ridiculously old? At least the ones who weren't outright killed in battle?" Mercer asked as he quirked a brow.

“If it is a Crest, then that means that Rhea might have one as well. It's also possible that there aren't any pictures of former archbishop's simply because the Church is supposed to be free of vanity. Why have images of former archbisops when you have one here and now?" he added, before running a hand through his hair, again.

“There's just so much we don't know. And so much more that seems to just keep coming up."

She sighed. “It feels like going in circles," she murmured, voice heavy. “And somehow... I don't know. It feels like we're running out of time. All of us being here, like this—I think it might be our only real chance to find the truth of it."

A discouraging thought, with only three months remaining.

Three months, and then they'd be scattered to the winds, with or without what they needed to know.

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Sorcha Blaiddyd

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a character in “Fire Emblem: Apotheosis”, originally authored by Aethyia, as played by RolePlayGateway

So begins...

Sorcha Blaiddyd's Story

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