Chapter 9: Confirmation

Seteth had insisted that Cyril didn't need to work while attending classes, but Cyril refused. He spent the rest of the day running about the monastery, finding church workers to swap working shifts with him until he could devote his early mornings to Shamir's training, late morning and afternoon to instruction with Byleth and the Golden deer, and nights to working. That left little time for sleeping, but how else would he be able to make sure that the stables were cleaned properly? That enough wood was chopped for monastery activities?

"Just make sure you don't fall asleep on a sword," Shamir said with a sigh.

"I-I wouldn't!" Cyril cried.

Shamir shook her head. "We'll see soon enough. Good luck."

Cyril clutched that luck close to him as he walked to the Golden Deer classroom. It felt odd to be entering it during instruction hours. Out of habit, he peeked over the doorframe, even knowing that it would be full of students.

Claude stood near the center of the room. A small group surrounding him, talking and laughing. The tall, musclebound student he had run into before was part of that group, clapping a lithe boy on the back with enough force that the boy shuddered like a twig and almost dropped his glasses.

The Goneril noble was next to Claude too, chattering without care as she braided the blue hair of the girl seated on the chair in front of her. Claude had an amused expression when he answered to something that the Goneril noble said.

If Claude's mother was an Almyran servant in the Riegan household, she most likely got there through the Gonerils. Still, Claude could smile lightly at the Goneril noble in a way Cyril knew he couldn't. Perhaps that was the difference that having Riegan blood made.

The short-haired girl that had defended him the day before sat next to the blue-haired girl. One foot was crossed over her knee and a bow was balanced between her leg and arm as she cleaned the curve of the bow. Her attention was largely focused on her task, but occasionally she would laugh at something that was said.

The Gloucester noble was already seated. His notebooks and pens were laid out neatly in front of him and he flipped through the pages of a textbook, seemingly oblivious to the chatter in the center of the room.

The only other student that sat apart was a girl with long white hair seated on a bench in the front of the room. She was scribbling furiously into a notebook and a small stack of books laid open beside her.

"Good morning."

Cyril turned quickly to see Byleth nodding at him. "M-morning."

Byleth gestured towards the classroom. Cyril blinked.

"That means come in, Cyril," Claude said with a twinkle in his eye that made Cyril well aware that Claude had known he was watching the whole time. "Haven't you been standing there long enough?"

Cyril bristled a bit, but walked into the room, doing his best to ignore the fact that every student had now turned to look at him. At least Byleth was following close behind him. That felt a little reassuring.

Claude stepped forward to meet him halfway. He placed a hand on Cyril's shoulder and swiveled so that he stood behind Cyril, facing the rest of the Golden Deer.

"Alright, let's do some quick introductions!" Claude said.

The remaining chatter stopped. The Gloucester noble shut his book. The white haired girl set aside her pen. The blue-haired girl's braid was tucked into place with one last flourish by the Goneril noble.

The focus was on Claude. Cyril wondered if they noticed that they all leaned slightly towards him as he spoke. "You've all got it easy. This is Cyril." He patted Cyril's shoulders for emphasis. "Now then, Cyril, you've got it harder."

"That's Leonie." The short haired girl gave a small nod.

"Marianne." For a brief moment, Cyril made eye contact with the blue haired girl, but her gaze dropped immediately.

"Hilda—"

"Hi again!" the Goneril noble chirped. This time, Cyril was the one who dropped eye contact first.

"Raphael," Claude continued, gesturing to the musclebound student who was grinning the widest grin Cyril had ever seen.

"Ignatz." The boy with glasses jolted slightly and gave a small bow.

"Lysithea." The white haired girl had slight smile on her face as she nodded. Cyril frowned. What was she so pleased about?

"Lorenz—"

"Lorenz Hellman Gloucester!"

"I'm pretty sure he knew your family name already," Claude said flatly. "And that's everyone. You got it all, Cyril?"

"Ummm…"

"Don't worry about it. You've got the rest of the year to learn." Claude gave Cyril's shoulder another reassuring pat before lifting his chin to shout over the heads of the students that stood between them and Byleth. "Hey Teach! Let's have him sit next to Lysithea!"

"Sure," Byleth said.

The white haired girl didn't look displeased. She was barely any taller than him as well, and looked closer in age than the other students. Cyril relaxed slightly. This was doable.

"You take good care of Cyril here, Lysithea," said Claude. "You kids have to stick together."

Red flared on the girl's face faster than Cyril could blink. "Claude, are you unable to restrain yourself for a single morning?!"

Lorenz sighed and shook his head. "Enough of this, we've tarried long enough. The ninth bell rung several minutes ago."

Lysithea huffed but refrained from rising any further to Claude's baiting smirk. She gestured for Cyril to follow her to the front bench. "So...how old are you, Cyril?"

"Uhhh, fourteen?"

"Is that so?" Her small smile turned into a bright beam as she drew herself up. "You know, if you ever have any trouble following along in class, I would be happy to help you."

Once again, Cyril wondered why she looked so pleased. "Umm...sure?"

"Of course!" Lysithea chirped cheerfully. "It's only to be expected for older students to help the younger ones."

As much as Cyril was loathe to admit it, the lesson was difficult to follow. He felt like he had been thrown onto a wyvern without a saddle and told to fly. Tactics, calculating positions for ballistas, placements of cavalry…

Cyril's head spun. The lessons weren't what he expected at all. He had wanted to learn how to swing an axe, maybe some sword techniques. During his apprenticeship in the army, he had just been pointed in a direction to run. These were lessons meant for those who had pointed him to his destination, not for those who would follow the orders.

The other students were busy writing down the professor's lecture. Of course he had failed to bring a pen and paper. It was pointless for him to do so, but that made him feel all the more alone among the scritch scratch of pens. Cyril suppressed the urge to squirm in his seat.

At last the lecture ended.

"Ugh, training," he heard Hilda whine from the other side of the room. "Professor it's so hot today, can't I sit out?"

"No," Byleth said, sweeping past her to exit the classroom.

Hilda groaned again, but Cyril almost wanted to sigh in relief. Training with a weapon he could handle.

His relief must've been obvious anyways, because Lysithea gave a short laugh when she glanced at him. "It was a rather difficult lecture wasn't it?"

"A little bit…" Cyril admitted.

"Hmph, let's be honest now why don't we?" He looked up to watch Lorenz approach. "You were practically staring at the wall the entire time. As expected, you couldn't follow along at all, could you?"

Cyril flushed, but met his disdain with a glare. "At least I was paying attention! What, were you just watching me the whole time?"

Lysithea laughed, and that made Lorenz's light blush turn to stuttering words.

Claude leaned forward from the desk behind Cyril's to pat Lorenz's shoulder with mock sympathy. "There, there. If you'd like, you can take a copy of my notes later."

"I've seen your notes, and they are indecipherable," Lorenz said, shrugging off Claude's hand.

"What's got you so interested in Cyril?" Claude asked. "Don't tell me you're doubling back to your theory that I'm Almyran again."

"Oooh, I remember that," Lysithea said with a giggle. "He was so convinced about Godfrey having an affair with a servant, but it was your mother who was a Riegan."

Claude shook his head. "I still can't believe you all thought Godfrey was my father for two months. I must say, I much prefer your current theory that my mother ran off with a man from Morfis, Lorenz." His lips twitched into a smirk. "Unless, of course, Cyril sitting in this classroom has somehow convinced you that my mother left Fodlan for Almyra while we were in the middle of a war with them. All so that she could have a torrid affair with my father."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Lorenz snapped.

It was like a one two punch. First hit was that Claude's mother was not Almyran or in Fodlan. Second was that Lorenz no longer thought that Claude was Almyran.

Perhaps it was colored by the false assumptions he had held for three months, but Cyril couldn't see how it was possible that Claude wasn't half Almyran. His features, his braid, the ease with which he shot his bow in the Almyran style...

Claude caught Cyril's frown from the corner of his eye, and his smile set more coolly as his gaze went back to Lorenz.

"As I stated yesterday, attending the officer's academy is simply not a task that any commoner can complete successfully," Lorenz said, collecting himself. "I was simply confirming the fact that he was wholly unprepared."

Before Cyril could retort, Lorenz placed a notebook and pen in front of him. "At least be prepared with the proper materials." Then with what dignity he managed to collect, Lorenz left the classroom for the training grounds.

"You can take a copy of my notes later," Lysithea said before following Lorenz.

Cyril touched the soft leather cover of the notebook. Simple as it looked, Cyril could tell it was high quality. Even the edges of the pages had been sanded down to a silky smoothness, a far cry from the scrap paper he had occasionally used to draw on. It was nice, even if rather useless to him.

"Ready to go?"

At Claude's voice, Cyril blinked away his reverie. It was only him and Claude in the classroom now.

Cyril narrowed his eyes. "...you are half-Almyran."

Claude laughed. "You really think that?"

For a moment, the laugh made the idea seem ridiculous. It was so light, so careless. Gently mocking him for a wild idea with no root to ground it.

Cyril shook himself. "It's been awhile since I was there, but I know what an Almyran looks like."

"I know you do," Claude said. His laughter had stopped, but the ghosts of it remained as a smile. "I appreciate you keeping it quiet."

Cyril's heart leapt, as if a great weight had suddenly been lifted. An odd weight that Cyril hadn't noticed at all until it was gone. In its place, an inexplicable tangle of excitement took root. There was nothing to say, yet he felt there was everything to say, but nothing in sentences that he could give form to.

All that came out after several long heartbeats was, "How do they not know?"

"It's not like most of them know much about the world outside Fodlan," Claude shrugged. "Foreign is foreign. It all blends together. You'd be surprised how much you can get away with by encouraging people's assumptions of what's impossible."

"But...Fodlan was at war with Almyra for one hundred years!" Cyril protested.

Claude gave a low laugh, gaze suddenly distant. "That just makes it all the more unthinkable."