Great Tree Moon – Three Houses (Life at the Academy) 23rd of the Month -v- Mercedes-v-

The view from the monastery astounded her. Set at the peak of the mountain, with sharp slopes on all sides, the monastery afforded a wonderful view to the north, east, and south over the wide plains, dark forests, and distant cities and mountains. From the vast height they looked down from, it all appeared miniature, tiny and close together. Villages were no farther apart than the width of her thumb. There were no borders, no boundaries denoting separation of territory or country. It was… peaceful.

She loved this view. At her time in the Royal School of Sorcery she had gained access to towers that rose over the city. Those sights had offered marvelous views where she could look down on the people bustling about the streets and imagine what their lives could be. It did not compare to something like this. Nothing could compare to the beautiful scenery of Fodlan laid out for her admiration.

This early in the morning, before the dining halls were opened and classes began, there were not many up and about. It was solitary, almost lonely, with no one to share this breathtaking view. The selfish part of her enjoyed that; having this simple pleasure to herself made her giddy as if she had a secret. It was not the kind of secret that needed to be hidden, of course. Once Annette grew accustomed to her daily routines Mercedes would have to bring her here for them to enjoy the view together. That secret, once shared, would likely spread all through their classes.

Though she had only arrived a week ago, she had learned the rhythms of the monastery easily enough. Always an early riser, Mercedes had decided to make the most of these quiet moments. Whether at prayer in the chapel or quiet contemplation, she knew she must revel in every second of every day. It would not last. But for now, she could enjoy it, and wonder what Emile would think if he were here to see it.

As far as she had seen, there was only one other person in this area of the monastery, excluding the laborers. The young man that had arrived the day before along with his father. She wondered if he would be a student here. Annette claimed he had introduced himself, and greeted most of the students in their own House, and the others. Mercedes had not had the pleasure yet. For a moment she had caught sight of him, that first day. Standing at the entrance of her classroom, his arms crossed and expression grim as he exchanged words with Prince Dimitri. His dark blue hair and dark clothes had struck her immediately though, and made sure she would never forget his startling frown or the solemnity of his gaze. The students of the academy had uniforms, though there was a fair amount of personal tailoring allowed. Perhaps he was a late entry and had not received his student package yet.

Letting her thoughts rest on that trail, she adjusted her skirt and leaned back against the bench. There were a few clouds in the sky. It would not rain. That was good. There was nothing wrong with rain, but to have it on their first day of classes would have spoiled some of the excitement. She wondered what these classes would be like compared to the Royal School of Sorcery. There it had been strict, grueling. More often than not she went to bed exhausted and spent. The worst part was how little free time was allowed. Hardly enough time to bake, though she and Annette had snuck off more than once to make late night treats for the class. For that matter, who was their professor? That was still uncertain. It was unlikely that a school of this prestige would find itself missing teachers. It could be that they left the professors as a surprise.

There had been some sort of incident two days ago, according to Sylvain. The handsome young man, a flirt if ever there was one, told Annette that their house leader, Dimitri, had gone out on a trial run with a man who was supposed to be a new professor. They were attacked by bandits, and the professor had run off. If that was true, that meant the academy was scrambling to find a new professor. She did not know whether to believe that. The idea struck her as absurd, coincidental. The kind of thing that only happened in fantastical stories. If such a thing had truly happened, then the logic of fairy tales was that the replacement professor would prove to be some great and tragic hero.

At least her classmates seemed like good people. There was Annette, of course. Coming to the Officer's Academy was much more bearable with her good friend by her side. Both had experienced apprehension over their acceptance, and when Mercedes' letter arrived a day before Annette's, they had shared an emotional dinner over the thought of parting ways. They had only known each other for a little while now, but Mercedes could not imagine her life without Annette in it. The bubbly and dorky girl was unflappably courageous and hardworking. More importantly, she looked after Mercedes and Mercedes looked after her. If she could ever claim a sister in life, it would be Annette.

Then there was Prince Dimitri. She knew of him, of course. Everyone in Fodlan knew of the prince and the tragedy that had befallen the royal family. Her heart ached for him and the loss of his loved ones. Still, he struck her as a warm and noble young man. It would be good to have one such as him leading their house, and eventually leading Faerghus.

Always at the prince's side was the Duscur-born Dedue. Mercedes had not spoken to Dedue yet. He was a quiet man, spoke rarely, and carried himself with a stern dignity that honestly could be mistaken for hostility. The people of Duscur were foreign to her; they were foreign to many people in Fodlan. Hopefully he would open up in time. She had all sorts of questions she wanted to ask him. About his people, his culture, his food, and his gods.

Ashe was still a bit of a stranger. The shy, soft-spoken boy had joined their class for meals the past two days, but he was content to listen rather than speak, and always hurried off to help whenever an opportunity came to assist others. Mercedes liked the caring nature he showed. Once he grew more familiar with them all, she had no doubt they would become fast friends.

Sylvain was… well, she knew boys like Sylvain. Handsome, funny, and confident. The first words he offered on meeting Mercedes was a beautifully crafted compliment she knew he had to have honed over countless trials and errors. It was… sad, to see the smile on his face and how it did not reach his eyes. Someone, or something, had hurt him in the past. She longed to find out and comfort him if she could. He had such a nice smile. In the meantime, she accepted his lighthearted, almost casual flirting that he directed at just about any girl in his path. It was fun, after all, to receive those words. Especially when it was clear there was no deeper meaning to them.

The only girl Sylvain seemed to ignore was Ingrid. That girl was a natural beauty, though she did not seem to realize it. A serious and dedicated servant at heart, Ingrid walked as if the world itself rested on her shoulders and had made it clear her goal was to become the best knight she could. There was something else, something she was not saying. Something that weighed on her enthusiasm and darkened the tails of her breath. But Ingrid's smile was infectious, and her barbed jabs at Sylvain never failed to make Mercedes laugh.

The last one in the class, Felix, was a mystery to her. Well, not a mystery exactly. He was angry. It showed in his scowl, his eyes, and the way he spoke to others. What his anger came from she could only guess. He, Sylvain, Ingrid and Dimitri all knew each other from before the academy. From what she had gathered, they had known each other since they were little children. In time she would find the reason, and hopefully find a way to make him smile.

She hoped they would all become good friends. The Officer's Academy had a fearsome reputation. It would test them all and having a class of friends would make it more bearable, and much more enjoyable.

"You should get breakfast."

The voice of the newcomer was flat, disinterested. It was a peculiar voice, she decided. Stiff but not formal, sharp but not aggressive. As peculiar as the man who wielded it. Turning to the speaker, Mercedes offered her brilliant smile.

The new boy. Well, boy did not seem the proper word. If ever there was a youth who could be called a man, it was the blue-haired one standing just on the other side of the bench. He had approached without her noticing. Not a terribly rare feat given how she could so easily lose track of the world around her. The aged wisdom in his eyes, the hard set of his jaw, and the suffocating aura of competency that clung to him warned Mercedes that he was not a 'boy.'

"You are Byleth Eisner, is that correct?"

"I am." His gaze traced across her face for a moment. She could see the wheels turning in his head. "Mercedes von Bartels, formerly von Martritz, correct?"

The precise and impersonal greeting unbalanced her for a moment. She stared at the young man, digesting what he had said and deciding if he had asked a question.

"You only need to call me Mercedes. I must have lost track of time. Have the bells rung?"

"They have. Your classes start in an hour."

"Are you going to class too?" She looked over his outfit. It was a variation of what he had worn on his arrival. A black cape that rustled faintly as it moved, with grey trousers and a black vest. His color scheme was dull, but not depressing. The faint glint of metal under his sleeves hinted that he was wearing armor under his vest and pants. An interesting choice in the monastery. They were as safe as could be. He had been training, of course. It made sense to train in as realistic a setting as possible.

His eyes traced across her face, scrutinizing her the same way a researcher scrutinized a textbook. For an uncomfortable moment he remained silent. Then he gave a slight nod and held out his hand to assist her to her feet.

"Make sure you have enough time to eat and get your things for class."

"Of course!" She took his hand, noting how strong and rough his grip was. His hand was calloused from a rough life; it chafed against her soft skin. "I can't wait to meet my professor. Has anyone told you yet, who you will be with?"

"They have. Blue Lions house. Prince Dimitri's class."

"Oh, that's my house!" Mercedes felt her heart leap. "And my class. Oh, we are going to be good friends. I know it. And we should start by sharing breakfast."

"I already ate," he told her. "See you in class?"

"Absolutely." She clasped his hand and squeezed before turning to rush off to breakfast. She really had lost track of time. Annette would be looking for her.

"Mercedes!"

Stopping so quickly she nearly overbalanced, Mercedes turned back to look at the man. He stood by the bench, her shawl held in his hand.

"Oh, I forgot that." She hurried back and accepted her shawl. "Silly me. I can be dreadfully forgetful at times."

He left towards the main hall. The classrooms were on the other side.

"He must be eager to get to class" Mercedes mused aloud. Wrapping her shawl over her shoulders, she chided herself for her absentmindedness and rushed off towards the dining hall.

-v- Sylvain -v-

"I'm telling you, that professor ran off." Sylvain set his books down on the desk he had chosen. Some of his classmates had arrived earlier than others, and picked seats as were available. There was no assigned seating here. Technically, they could switch seats every day if they desired it. He had picked the second row, on the opposite side of the room from Dimitri. Not because he wanted to distance himself from the prince, of course, but because he knew Dimitri would be terrible for joking about and Dedue was… well, huge. The broad shouldered Duscur native would block the sight of whoever sat behind him. Unfortunately, Sylvain knew that meant no one would sit behind the towering student, and that could easily be misconstrued as hostility or dislike.

Sylvain knew Dedue. They were on good terms, and Sylvain had made sure to joke to Dedue about how large he was and blocking the board, if only to deflect suspicion away from why no student would likely choose to sit behind him.

"If the professor ran off, then how are they supposed to find a replacement so quickly?" Ingrid rolled her eyes, treating Sylvain's comments as she treated most everything he ever said. "We know two of the possibilities. Professor Casagrande and Professor Essar. Surely, they would just pull one of the other class's teachers to fill the third slot. They can hardly leave the Faerghus prince, the Adrestian emperor-to-be, or even the future leader of the Leicester Alliance without a proper teacher."

"I wouldn't mind being in Professor Casagrande's class," Sylvain said. "She can school me any day."

"Ugh, please never say that again." Ingrid set about organizing her desk space. As usual, she tidied up neatly and with utmost precision. Books stacked on the right side. Ink and quills above, with a stack of parchment on her left side and enough space in the center for her current assignment. Sylvain just put his stuff on the table and would sort it out as he went.

"If you don't believe me, ask Dimitri." Sylvain looked across the aisle. Dimitri had set his desk space and stood in front of his desk. The young royal looked back over his classmates, watching them set up their desks and looking out for anyone who needed help. Most of them had arrived. The two cuties from the Royal School of Sorcery had not come in yet. They had to run back to the blonde's room. She had been up and about early and forgotten her books and materials in her room. He could not lie, the view in the room would be stunning regardless of who their professor was. They both looked like the front-row sitting kind of students. Which meant they would be directly in front of him.

"Dimitri" Ingrid called out for their prince's attention. "What is the word on our professor?"

"We have one" he answered, offering the faintest smile at the cryptic answer.

"Of course we-" Ingrid sighed. "I am surrounded by children."

Leaning his hip on the desk, Sylvain crossed his arms and looked out over the others. Felix had taken the spot behind Dimitri. Ever since Duscur, he had become sullen and withdrawn. Directly behind Felix was the grey-haired boy, Ashe. Now, he was an odd one. He came from House Gaspard, but Sylvain did not know of Lord Lonato having any more children after Christophe. Adopted, then, or perhaps a nephew or cousin brought into the house. He did not act like a noble. In fact, he seemed uncomfortable around the noble-born students.

"We're here" a breathless voice shouted. The petite figure of the class's resident prodigy, and no doubt soon-to-be class cheerleader, skidded to a halt in front of the class doors. Her arms were overflowing with books and papers, and an equally breathless blonde knockout was hot on her heels. The pair stumbled into the room, heaving for breath and glancing about to ensure they had not been late.

"Whew, there needs to be a more direct route to the classrooms from our dorms" Mercedes gasped. She set her pile down on the nearest desk and spent a moment sucking in air.

"Aw, exercise is good for you" Annette countered. She staggered slightly under her load; she had twice as many books as anyone else and all sorts of extra inkpots, quills, and various tools. The stack reached her nose, and her eyes twinkled merrily as she greeted everyone. "Good morning, everybody! Sorry we missed you at breakfast. What seats are available? Ooh, is that front desk o- ah!"

A book started to slip from her arms. She went to grab it, shifting her grip awkwardly on everything else, and the end result was more books sliding free until the whole mess spilled out of her arms. Her slippers lost their grip on a piece of parchment. Arms windmilling frantically, the girl hung suspended in the air for a fractional moment before she plunged down face-first towards the stone floor.

Sliding out of his seat with liquid-ease, Felix caught the falling redhead and pushed her back to her feet.

"Watch your footing" Felix warned her. He was not smiling. He hardly smiled anymore. "You don't want to go breaking something."

"Oh, wow, you are fast." Annette gripped his arm for a second to steady herself. Rather than being shocked by the fall, she seemed almost exhilarated. "Me, hurt myself? Oh, we don't have to worry about minor injuries. Mercie is a fantastic healer. She was rated as one of the best white magic users at the Royal School of Sorcery. Isn't that right, Mercie?"

"It is something I was rated highly in" Mercedes confirmed, blushing faintly at the praise.

"That is good to know, but I was not referring just to yourself." Felix pointed at the mess on the floor. Both of her inkpots had spilled, coating books and parchment with sticky ink.

"What? I… oh…" Annette's face fell, a look of utter defeat souring her expression. "Oh no, you can't be serious."

"Here, let's help you out."

Sylvain and Ingrid hurried over to help her collect her things. There were rags up by the chalkboard. Dimitri handed them over and the cluster of students went over her things, recovering what was undamaged and carefully wiping up the ink from the books. Her inkpots were nearly total losses, but only one book showed real damage. The others would have stained covers, but that was hardly cause for despair.

Showering them with gratitude, Annette piled up her massive stack of books and things on the far side of the front desk where they would not distract or get in the way. Mercedes took the right-side seat, something that Sylvain appreciated immensely as the girl leaned over to set her things. Yes, he could stare at that backside all day long. She was no slip of a thing, that was for sure.

Ingrid elbowed him roughly to snap his attention away from their classmate's derriere.

The monastery bells tolled the hour, and a non-uniformed figure strode into the classroom. The classroom fell silent, watching as he strode down the aisle and approached the teacher's desk. Dimitri nodded to the man, and Sylvain felt a sudden rush of unease as the pieces clicked.

It was the oddball they had run into the day before. A serious guy, about their age, with a permanent scowl on his face and an utter lack of humor. Sylvain had thought him a new student, and shared a couple coarse jokes that were, in retrospect, terrible to share with a professor. And Dimitri had known! How had he not told them. A sparkle of humor danced in Dimitri's eyes as the prince took his seat. The smug, satisfied near-smile told Sylvain that he had intentionally left them in the dark.

"That's our…" Ingrid's brows furrowed. "But he's not any older than we are."

"Good morning, class." The young professor picked up a piece of chalk and started writing. Eisner. "My name is Byleth Eisner. I will be your professor for this year. Apologies for the lack of notice, but this occurred relatively last minute due to an unfortunate personnel conflict. The one who was supposed to teach you developed an unhealthy phobia of doing his job, apparently."

His delivery was flat, monotone. Unsure if it was a joke or not, the class remained silent. The professor carried on without a hint as to whether he had expected a laugh.

"You may call me Professor Eisner. Teaching is new to me, so I will ask your forgiveness in advance, as the first few weeks may be a bit rocky. Rest assured that I will ensure you receive the level of education and development expected of this academy. Official classes do not begin until next week. In the meantime I will lead you in mingling within your class and house, touring the monastery grounds and local town, and ensuring that you are properly prepared for the year.

"They tell me your class is considered the 'elite class' of the Blue Lions house. Throughout the year you will interact regularly with the other two classes of Blue Lions, as well as the other houses Black Eagles and Golden Deer, from the Adrestian Empire and Leicester Alliance, as I am sure you are aware. To that end, there is a special event for your class at the end of this week. This weekend we will be travelling out of the monastery for a mock battle. Your class will be put up against the 'elite classes' of the other houses. It will be a test of basic skills and strategic ability. It will also serve as an assessment."

The professor glanced over the students. "This is going to be a busy year. To that end, I will give you five minutes to finish settling in. Then we will begin with introductions. Who has questions?"

He voiced the question like an accusatory statement. No one spoke for a moment, willing someone else to bite the arrowhead on the first question. It was Felix who raised his hand first.

"What qualifies you as a professor?" Felix glared at the professor, a challenge thick in his tone. "How old are you, anyways?"

"Old enough" the professor answered. "As for qualifications, that was going to wait for the introductions, but I can give you the short answer. I am, or was until yesterday, a mercenary. My path has taken me from one edge of Foldan to the other. I have fought and lived in the Empire, the Kingdom, and the Alliance. Their cultures, their people, their tactics… I know them all."

"So you are a killer."

Dimitri bristled at Felix's blunt question. The prince visibly resisted the urge to turn around and snap at Felix for such an uncouth accusation.

"Yes."

Equally disturbed by Felix's challenge, the class was uncomfortable with the emotionless way the professor answered it. Sylvain exchanged a bewildered look with Ingrid.

"The archbishop picked me for this job," the professor continued. "I would not have pictured myself here, but it is the role I have been given and I will endeavor to complete it."

"How many people have you killed?"

"Felix" Ingrid hissed. "You can't-"

"I don't count them" the professor answered, holding up a hand to silence her. He did not look away from Felix. The two were staring intently at each other, neither willing to break the stalemate. No one knew exactly what Felix was doing, other than seeking to rile the professor. But that was Felix. He was always looking to win, to conquer. Sylvain wondered if he considered the professor's youthful appearance as an insult.

"Because the number's so small?"

"Because I don't count them" the professor restated. "Some do. I don't."

"How good are you with a sword?"

"It is how I made my living."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"That is because you are asking the wrong question." The professor gestured for Felix to stand up. "The question you want to ask is 'can you beat me.' That is what you are leading to, isn't it?"

Felix's eyes narrowed. He carried a blade. Several students did. Personal weapons were allowed on monastery grounds. Felix's sword was a sturdy, decorated steel blade. It was not the blade he would be using once he graduated from the Officer's Academy. But it was a good sword. Sylvain had dueled Felix multiple times in the recent past alone, and always marveled at his speed and skill. There were not many their age who could beat him in a one-on-one duel when he was out to prove a point.

"We may as well get this over with" the professor said. He also carried a sword. It was a straight blade, a bit longer than the standard Faerghus army sword. Sylvain felt a hint of disappointment when it appeared from its scabbard. There was no fancy marking, or decorated engraving. It was an unimpressive blade. "You need proof that I am qualified. Understandable, considering we are near the same age. It is an unusual situation. A quick duel, then."

Felix drew his sword slowly, eyeing the professor with something that almost looked like malice. "And what would that prove?"

"If you win, then you are free to eye me with disdain and derision for the school year. If I win, you will learn some respect."

"Win condition?"

"First to yield." The professor stretched his arm, shaking his muscles loose.

"Professor Eisner" Ingrid half-rose from her seat. "I really don't think you shou-"

"It will be fine" the professor assured her. He faced Felix and brought his sword up in salute. "At your pleasure."

They tapped blades and drew back. Rather, Felix drew back as the professor stood at his desk. Eyeing each other warily, the pair of swordsmen took stock of their opponent and planned their first move. The other students watched with rapt attention, uncertain whether to be amused, horrified, or anxious over the results.

Felix was a damned good swordsman, after all.

It was Felix who struck first. Lunging forwards with the infamous speed he was known for, the son of Rodrigue Fraldarius lashed out for the professor's stomach. It was a blockable move; he was not aiming to kill the professor, after all. But it would force his opponent to sweep the blade either high or low. At his speed, the amount of force generated by the parry would have too much momentum to riposte. Sylvain had seen Felix end numerous duels with that opening move. His opponents panicked at his speed, overbalanced their defense, and he would retract at the last moment and end them with a contemptuous flick across the chest.

To someone who did not know dueling, it looked like a killing strike.

The professor's eyes tracked the blade, and he did the last thing anyone expected. Releasing his sword, the professor let the blade fall to the ground. Moving with impossible speed, so quickly that Sylvain struggled to track his action, the professor turned parallel to the sword, grabbed the weapon just under the tip, and yanked forwards. Felix's weight was on his front foot, coiled and ready to kick backwards and halt his lunge mid-strike. The unexpected tug sent him staggering forwards, completely thrown off balance by the maneuver. A surprised oath started to form on his mouth.

Before the sound could form coherency, Professor Eisner's other hand came up and grabbed Felix's shirt. His foot kicked out and around, trapping Felix's leg. Driving Felix back with his elbow, the professor swept him entirely off his feet and drove him to the floor. He stopped just short, jerking Felix's fall before his head cracked against the stones, and held him there, suspended with only a single foot able to touch the floor.

"Do you yield?" the professor asked.

"What…" Felix glanced about desperately, trying to wrap his head around what happened.

"Yield."

"I yield," Felix agreed. He let his sword clatter to the floor and meekly raised his hands. Satisfied with the humble acceptance, the professor pulled Felix back to his feet and recovered their swords. Blood trickled down his fingers. Ignoring the crimson dripping to the stone floor, he motioned for Felix to take his seat. Too confused to argue, Felix did as instructed. It was clear he was trying to wrap his head around the professor's disarm maneuver.

"Does that answer further questions about my qualifications?"

"Um… professor." Ashe was gaping at their professor with a ghost-white expression.

"Yes?"

"Your… your hand. It's bleeding."

Ashe might as well have told the professor that the sun was out. Professor Eisner held Ashe's gaze for an uncomfortably long moment. "I am aware."

And that was it. Nothing further was said or done about it. Syvlain's skin crawled at the utterly inhuman, emotionless response. What was this guy?

"Do you know magic?"

Annette asked the question, pushing past the classroom's awkward silence. Unlike Felix, her intent was educational, not challenging. The professor regarded her silently for a moment, digesting how to best respond.

"I am not an expert, but I am familiar with healing and fire spells."

"Wind magic?"

"Unfortunately, no." He had no qualms about admitting where he was lacking, at least.

"Oh." Annette's shoulders slumped.

"The academy has access to a veritable wealth of tomes and spellbooks" he assured her. "And if I am unable to appropriately guide you in your studies for certain topics, there are many here who can assist. Professor Hanneman, I have been told, is a well-learned spellcaster with a vast repertoire. I will see if he can find time to give you one-on-one tutelage, if you would desire it."

"That would be amazing, Professor!"

She perked right back up at the idea. Sylvain grinned at her exuberance. This was going to be a fun class.

Once they finished arranging their desks, the professor gave a more formal introduction.

Byleth Eisner, the one and only time he figured they would refer to the professor by his full name, had been born to a man named Jeralt Eisner. According to Dimitri, Jeralt Eisner was known as the Bladebreaker, and had been a powerful Knight of Seiros. Professor Eisner deflected that attention, stating that was before his time. He had grown up on the road, following his father until he came of age to battle himself. They served with the Battelborn, a company of mercenaries co-founded by Jeralt, where they made their living until encountering Dimitri, Edelgard, and Claude just a few days before.

Sylvain had heard of the Battleborn. They were a premier mercenary company, sought after by many for the skill and experience. Unusually for such a company, they also had a reputation for splitting the company into many small parts and hired off their members either as the whole company, groups, or sometimes even lone men.

If their professor was part of the Battleborn, his skill could not be questioned.

Yes, it really was going to be a fun class.

-v- Manuela -v-

"Oh, this looks like it will be an exciting year. I can tell already that I will not be bored." Manuela tracked the incoming barmaid with barely restrained anticipation. The harried girl carried a pair of large clay mugs in one hand and a thick glass in the other. All were filled to the brim, expertly carried to avoid spilling a drop even while dodging through the crowded tavern.

"You have quite the mob of rapscallions in your class, that is for sure." Hanneman thanked the barmaid and plucked his glass from the arrangement. Unlike the malt beers of his companions, he chose brandy. It had something to do with his heritage, she was sure of it. That, or he refused to share a drink of the same quality as one she would have. That would be the stuck up kind of thing he would do.

"Well I hope you remember that when my class thrashes yours next week." She took a long pull from her mug, draining half of it in one go. "Ah, that is a good starter. So, tell us, Byleth. What are your thoughts after the first day?"

The third chair was occupied by the stern Byleth Eisner. As was their customer, Manuela and Hanneman celebrated the first day of class with drinks at the Gold Flagon, one of the nicer taverns in the town of Garreg Mach. As was also their custom, they invited the newcomer along.

Byleth eyed his mug, appraising it as a seasoned butcher appraised a fresh-caught kill. "It is different from mercenary work."

"Ha! That's an understatement." She downed the rest of her mug and slammed it on the table. The barmaid turned to the noise, noted the well-learned signal, and hurried off to the bar to fetch Manuela another mug. "That isn't a job in the world like teaching these brats."

"Those brats include the future leaders of Faerghus, Adrestia, and Leicester" Hanneman admonished with a scowl. "You should remember that."

"Oh, I do remember that. I remember it every time Lorenz makes sure that everyone knows he thinks he is a better fit to lead the next generation of the Leicester Alliance than Claude."

"Well, I don't know about your mob, but Lady Edelgard is a proper regent-in-training. Excellent manners, a shrewd head on her shoulders, and she understands how to control her classmates. I am grateful to have such a studious class."

"The one thing we can agree on is that our classes match us well" Manuela snickered and looked at Byleth, who had made no move to test his drink. "And what does that make the Blue Lions? A house of quiet and surly brutes?"

She said it as a jest, to provoke some sort of reaction out of the taciturn young man. Byleth did lift his gaze to glance at her. He remained silent for a moment, then tipped the mug and drained the entire thing without pausing for breath. The mug clunked down, and he signaled for the approaching barmaid to grab another.

"They are serious students. I have prodigies of every kind, or so I have been told."

"Serious. Prodigy. Yes, that sounds about right." She dared Hanneman to add to or challenge her assessment. The scholarly professor had busied himself with nursing his brandy at a much more reasonable pace than his companions.

The barmaid returned to their table with their second round. Manuela snatched hers up eagerly. "I should warn you, Byleth. You won't be drinking me under the table."

"Wasn't the plan" he muttered, though he attacked his drink with the same unflinching ferocity as his first. Manuela watched in silence, debating whether or not to take him as a serious challenge. Either way, she planned on at least ten rounds before the night was over. No point in taking too much time on each one.

"I can't believe you people" Hanneman muttered. "You are professors at the most prestigious academy in Fodlan. And here you are drinking like…"

Byleth leveled his gaze on Hanneman. He seemed like he might say something, but chose against it. That was disappointing. Manuela had wondered if she could rope Byleth into antagonizing her nemesis.

"You are correct. I will refrain from further drink."

"What! You can't just bend over and kowtow to him!" Manuela thrust an accusing finger at her compatriot. "How dare you, Hanneman! Byleth can drink as much as he wants to. Byleth, don't let that old grump spoil your fun."

"Fun?" Byleth shrugged. "If you say so."

"Well then, what do you do for fun?" Manuela slapped her empty mug on the table, signaling for another round. While she waited, she leaned onto the table and propped up her chin in her hands, making sure to squeeze her ample breasts between her elbows. The bold move had its desired reaction. Byleth's roving gaze screeched to a halt in the mesmerizing cleavage she displayed.

He was handsome, after all. And a man chosen by the archbishop herself must be brimming with quality. Just the kind of man she might be looking for. If he could hold his drink, so much the better.

"Fun?"

"Yes. You know, fun." Manuela snickered. Byleth tore his eyes away from her cleavage, meeting hers without the slightest hint of embarrassment or lust. His gaze was… frighteningly even. As blank and cold as when he had first walked into the room. Manuela readily admitted she was a vain person, but his utter lack of a response shook her to the core. She had yet to find a man that did not have at least some kind of reaction to her teasing.

Across the table, Hanneman glowered at her for her unseemly display. Now that was a reaction she would never grow tired of.

"I wouldn't know."

Both Manuela and Hanneman gaped at Byleth.

"Wouldn't… preposterous! What do you mean, you don't know?" Even Hanneman had hobbies, things he considered 'fun.' If a daft old bore like him could have fun, then a strapping young man like Byleth surely had his own hobbies. "What do you do to relax, to stimulate your mind and tickle your senses?"

Byleth exchanged looks with Hanneman, then Manuela. He then motioned for the barmaid.

"I fought when I was paid to. Slept when I needed to."

"Do you fish or hunt?"

"For food to eat, yet."

"Do you write? Paint? Play an instrument?"

"I wrote letters, reports."

His responses were distressingly utilitarian and unhelpful. That only spurred Manuela's curiosity. Her teasing was forgotten as a third mug landed in front of the dour young man.

"I thought you said you weren't drinking any more."

"I thought you were done asking questions."

He drained the third mug, set it down, and motioned for a fourth.

One thing Manuela did know, this would be one tough nut to crack. She looked forward to the challenge.

24th of the Month -v- Jeralt -v-

"This pond is too easy."

The basket of fish would have agreed with him, had fish the ability to speak. This was not why he went fishing. He did not fish to catch a horde, to fill the mouths of a dozen families with only a few hours of effort. The fish here were good for that, and his growing collection attested to his words as surely as if he had a solicitor put it in writing. Crayfish mostly, with two carp of unimpressive size. The monastery's pond was deep but not terribly large. It was the source of the only break in the fortress-like walls of the facility, stretching out to reach the outlying buildings of the town. There were fishing nurseries there, thriving ones that utilized well-honed skill to keep the pond filled with easily-caught food. The pond fed many hungry mouths, and allowed for the taverns and dining establishments to maintain low prices, which encouraged repeat customers and eased the burden of those eking out a living on the less-than-fertile mountain.

But it ruined his enjoyment of fishing. He fished to clear his mind, to let go of his worries and fears. The fish bit too quickly for him to find that relaxation, even without putting bait on his hooks. By the time he started to find that sweet spot, another one would be gnawing away. At this point he had considered leaving off a hook altogether, but then it wasn't fishing. That would be holding a stick in the air like a fool.

"You could stop."

The gruff, unsympathetic voice at his side must have been feeling the same frustration.

Would have been, had it belonged to anyone else. He doubted Byleth felt frustration.

He doubted Byleth felt much of anything.

"The fishing isn't what's important" he conceded, shooting a sidelong glance at his boy. Always grimacing, never smiling, the dour blue-haired man had a pile of fish almost as large as his own. The two of them could probably clean out the pond, given a week of fishing. "It's spending time with you."

"If you say so."

Byleth's line snapped taut. Drawing the fish in with clinical precision, his son exhausted the crayfish and lifted it out of the water without showing a flicker of effort. He could be catching a fish or killing a person, and it was always that same face. That same empty, listless stare.

Jeralt's chest tightened, a reaction he was frighteningly familiar with. One day, some day, he might see something other than that grimace on his son's face.

"Jeralt."

"What's the matter?"

Their eyes met, and Jeralt wished for the thousandth time he could read something in his son's expression. Just a hint of his thoughts, a glimpse into what lay under the surface. There had to be more going on inside Byleth's head than his outwards appearance indicated.

"You're doing it again."

"Ah… sorry, I guess I am." He rubbed his neck and offered a sheepish grin. "So, we've been out here long enough. How about we talk about your first day. You're still alive, after all. That's got to be a good sign."

Byleth examined his fishing rod for a minute. After carefully weighing his options, he set it down.

"It is different."

"The classroom takes different skills than the battlefield."

"It does" his son agreed.

As usual, their conversations were short and… frustrating.

"Like any of your students yet?"

Byleth stared at him, either not comprehending the question or refusing to answer it. After giving him a minute, Jeralt gave up and switched tactics.

"So I heard you went out drinking with your colleagues. Manuela and Hanneman, yes? Rumors say that Manuela is a champion drinker."

"She could match you" Byleth agreed. "Except she pays her tabs."

That was a low blow, a shot across the bow if ever there was one. Jeralt clutched at his heart and staggered back in mock pain.

"Ah, that's harsh. My own son calling out my drinking habits. Did you have fun with them?"

"Fun?" Byleth's expression pinched just slightly. "They asked me that."

"What, if you had fun with them?"

"Not specifically. Generally. What do I do for fun."

"Ah." He nodded sagely. "Trying to become friendly with you. It's good to engage with your colleagues like that. Get to know them, find out what makes them tick."

"So I know their weaknesses," Byleth stated, nodding sharply.

"What? No!" Jeralt frantically waved his hands. "No, Byleth. So you can be friends. I know you didn't get close to people in the Battleborn, but that was mercenary life. You're in a stable position now. You should try and make friends with some people. Try and live your life."

"I… am living my life."

Once again, he did not know if Byleth simply did not understand the question, or chose to be obtuse.