…Is Sothis dead?
Did I kill her…?
Those are two questions that have been eating at me as I bury this horse – Dorte, friend of Marianne – in another uncomfortable fit of silence that seems to have seeped into everyone since my return to the Monastery two days ago. It's a bizarre thing to be complaining about, of course – given how much comfort I took in silence once… but now it seems as if I'm being throttled by it.
With minimal effort, Marianne and I are able to drag the fallen beast – riddled with arrows, swollen, and beginning to stink from rot – into a shallow pit on the side of the road to Arundel. She scarcely even breaks a sweat as we do… and I don't either, but… I'm used to performing feats like that. My impression of Marianne von Edmund up until this moment was one which understood her to be a shy and vulnerable woman who gets hit upon by Sylvain Jose Gautier.
Now I realize that she has a great deal of strength as well.
But, with that knowledge – a question arises:
…Why doesn't she hit back if she possesses such power?
As we begin to shovel the first few heaps of dirt onto her fallen comrade, she notices me noticing this vitality of hers, and a painfully awkward miasma pervades between us – at least until something seems to snap behind those exhausted gray eyes of hers.
"Ah, uhm… I suppose that must have seemed… strange…? I have a Crest, Professor. It provides me with… abilities at times like these." she explains – answering a question I didn't ask aloud.
I should probably figure out why these damn crests are so important to everyone. That's the first thing Marianne has said to me all day apart from "Thank You, Professor Byleth" – which she uttered without looking at me eye-to-eye after I arrived at the stables. Her scleras were also pink and swollen at that point, rather like Claude's on the night of the third. She must have been crying as well, and at this realization I wonder how grief would take me – if I ever had to grieve? I've observed so much of it lately after just generally ignoring it before.
Past that, I'm thinking this crest business must be a rather negative thing as well, if it's at the top of Marianne's mind in spite of all that sadness that was so omnipresent earlier in the morning.
It's worth noting that Edelgard also seems rather interested in Crests – which I'm beginning to gather go hand-in-hand with the Church as well… given how everyone here seems to have one. Edelgard hasn't gone quite that far in any of her statements about the nobility, though – so I wonder if there's a correlation between those things in addition. Obviously, I'm not the best at drawing conclusions like that.
This is to say that Marianne and Edelgard both strike me as intelligent people who spend a fair bit of time in consideration – and most likely have far more information than I do about this sort of thing… which again, makes me wonder why I'm a Professor, and they're students.
Still – that raises a point that I had not really invested much thought into, either – given that Marianne and Edelgard are both female and interested in this crest stuff.
Are crests only important to women?
This seems to take shape as a logical explanation in my mind until I realize that:
No – that can't be, because Linhardt and Hanneman are interested in them, too.
Which is to say – that debunks a suddenly emergent theory about crests being associated with "that time of the month". As I strike that potentiality from my mind – Marianne looks like she betrayed too much about herself, and in the spirit of… whatever the opposite of silence is – I feel compelled to respond in kind:
"I think I've got one of those, too."
But this just confuses her terribly. The shadows under those eyes of hers seem to increase in area whenever this happens… and that hurts to realize.
"Um… You think?" she asks – as if I don't think enough already. I feel like I'm thinking far too much.
Shrugging, I try to defuse the fog of confusion that is beginning to take shape above our heads:
"Hanneman says he's never seen one like mine before."
And much to my surprise, Marianne takes some comfort in that statement – a very strange thing to take comfort in, I think… but I'm happy it worked. Those shadows seem to retract from the surface of her cheekbones a bit, and I can relax a bit more in my own conversational footing.
"Ah… I have one like that as well. N-not yours, perhaps – but an unknown crest." she informs me, putting her hands behind her rear and swaying back and forth in place.
Unlike Edelgard – the Heir to House Edmund's legs don't move at all as she shifts about, as if they're permanently glued to the ground. All of this body-language of hers gives me the sensation that I've reached the extent of Marianne's willingness to share things with me.
So I choose not to push my luck by simply confirming my thoughts on the matter:
"Impressive." I answer.
Still, she looks incredibly uncomfortable at this statement of mine, and seems to be waiting for a follow-up that I don't feel particularly compelled to cut through the silence with. Shrugging, I heap another shovel of dirt on Dorte. Eventually, another squirm is detected in my periphery, and I look back towards the Blue-Haired Feelings Bottler.
I sense a great deal of kinship with her when I come up with this snap appellation as well. As if we're both afflicted with a curse that we cannot explain to each other, but is identical in all aspects.
"Oh… you're not going to ask me to show you?" she presses.
…You can show other people crests? That's news to me.
I thought Hanneman's weird little pentagram doohickey was the only way to figure that out... If that sort of thing can be publicly shown off, though – why aren't more people showing off their crests to others? There's a lot about this bullshit that just makes zero sense.
Marrianne is looking at me like she made another terrible mistake, and honestly – I'm thinking she did, because now I'm curious and this is really going to start fucking bugging me.
Maybe I should approach Edelgard and get her analysis of this when she returns. She's brilliant, after all. It also might very well be a way to avoid that very awkward discussion she wants to have with me when she returns… because I don't want to lie to Edelgard… but telling her that I may have murdered some green haired resident in my head (and sometimes my dorm) named Sothis would probably make her think I'm some sort of unhinged maniac.
There's also something else at play there too, but I again find myself with insufficient finesse to describe it, as if there's some part of me that's missing and that if that part of me was found… I'd be able to understand this fugue of complicated emotion…
Let me describe the circumstances instead:
On the 29th of Great Tree Moon, Edelgard asked me to be more gentle.
And I'm going to hold myself to that for the rest of my days, because I keep my word…
But maybe I also like being gentle with My Student, and she seems to reciprocate at times, so…
I want her to always think I'm gentle, particularly with her – but also with others.
Especially the Eagles, because I care so much for them as well… that I'd die for them without a second thought.
And… maybe yesterday was a confirmation that I couldn't die for Raphael, nor save him… because he was not an Eagle, and that my obligation to save others starts among those I'm sworn to look after… and that it firmly ends there, too.
If Raphael became my enemy someday, what then?
If I was forced to choose between Edelgard and Raphael… there'd be no question.
If one day, Raphael charged at my Eagles – I'd strike him down without a pang of guilt.
…Is that what Sothis told me?
If so, why did I strangle her?
There must have been something else, I suspect.
And that suspicion begins to make my chest burn, just like when I saw my House Leader in that ponytail…
In a rather frantic bid to get my mind off my torso, queries begin firing off:
Would Edelgard want to know what Crest Marianne has?
Is Marianne implying I should actually ask her what her Crest is?
The Doe did ask me why I wasn't interested, didn't she?
Is it strange not to be interested at all in people's crests?
"...Should I ask?" I inquire, but immediately regret doing so.
The face that Marianne makes when I ask those two words immediately gives off the impression that I'd wandered into hostile territory wounded and unarmed. Marianne shakes her head vigorously, which is the only movement of Marianne's that I've ever really felt the need to describe as anything other than passive or reactive.
"...Uhm… I… no, I would appreciate it if you didn't." she notes.
Women send all these mixed messages to me lately and I just can't understand any of it. Particularly this burning sensation that is bedeviling my attempt to describe on parchment.
At this point – what else can I do but shrug and say:
"OK."
And as I confirm that, Marianne lifts her shovel and delivers one last great heap of dirt to cover the corpse of her erstwhile companion.
"I'm thankful we could do this. I was concerned Dorte might think of me as a nuisance, so it's nice to seem useful to him now..." she notes, trailing off.
I feel a strong desire to hug Marianne and tell her that she's not a nuisance. And usually… There's some sort of caveat to that, as if there was a spigot shut tight that restrained my ability to manifest those thoughts into real actions, but… ever since I strangled Sothis… that faucet seems a little leaky.
I'm feeling like I might want to give Marianne a hug – if only to communicate that I value her. Perhaps I cannot protect her in exactly the same way that I can protect the Eagles… but knowing that she's in a state like this is just beyond unacceptable to me. Under most circumstances, I'd just send Ferdinand to give her a hug, of course – as Ferdinand is the best hugger in the whole world.
I should qualify that I've never gotten a hug from anyone else apart from Ferdinand von Aegir in my entire life, but…
I'm thinking I've got to share that gift with Marianne. Right fucking now, actually. Even if my face can't move – my arms and legs can.
"You brought him food." I observe, contemplating my approach vector.
"Even so, I–" she starts.
…And instead of getting all fancy or graceful or anything that – I just seize the initiative by dropping my shovel, taking two steps forward, and wrapping the Heir to House Edmund in the most Ferdinandian damn hug I can.
"Marianne – Horses enjoy being fed." I tell her. I'm sure Dorte enjoyed his last meal, especially if Marianne prepared it for her.
Edelgard also seemed to enjoy being fed, but she's not a horse in spite of having a ponytail… so maybe it's a human thing to enjoy as well. And.. if My Student enjoys that – I'll feed her forever and ever if she wants me to. I should feed the other Black Eagles too, I think – as I slowly sway Marianne in my arms – who is simultaneously seizing up and relaxing with each movement.
"Ah…! Um… Professor Byleth… We're hugging…?" she stammers out.
Releasing her from the embrace, I contemplate adding a head-pat – but the look of pure shock on the Heir to House Edmund's face advises me to save that for another day. Perhaps this is because my ability to wrap Marianne in my arms is not quite as perfected as my Red Lancer's. Still, I feel like I leveled up a bit.
"Ferdinand's hugs are S-Rank. He tutored me." I explain.
I wanted to add that I'd be thankful for her burying me too, if I died… but that's a bit macabre, isn't it? Dying doesn't bother me so much… but more of what happens after death. The responsibilities that one leaves when they die. And that's a rather recent worry of mine, given how I've been making a bunch of very serious and determined propositions to protect the Eagles… a promise that I intend to follow through as long as I am able.
As I think about these things, Marianne seems to settle down a bit, obviously much more comfortable with both feet on the ground. I hadn't realized that my hug had enough force behind it to lift her from the ground.
"...D-do you mind if I say a prayer to the Goddess for Dorte?" she asks.
Are prayers like funerals? Initially I thought they were kind of simple requests, but I'm getting the impression that all-day affairs like funerals must incorporate a lot of prayer. I'm envisioning those prayers to be rather on the lengthy side, I suppose – but it's hard to really hold firm on these assumptions given how totally unaware I am about… everything, huh?
Why did they make me a Professor in the first place… this keeps ringing in my ears like a tolling bell.
Why does My Student call me Her Teacher?
"...If you'd prefer me not to…" she adds, trailing.
Realizing that my gaze has fallen to the ground in contemplation – I drag my eyes back up to Marianne and nod.
"As long as you finish up by sunset." I reply.
That's a reasonable request, right? What would Edelgard think if she heard I was hanging out with Marianne at night? She sent Hubert to make sure I wasn't chatting with Dimitri and Dorothea at those hours, at least.
"...Um… it would only take a moment…."
Nodding, I reply:
"Go for it."
And she does, clasping her hands together, closing her eyes, and stating:
"Dear Goddess… I ask you to grant Dorte the guidance to find a sunlit path to the other side…"
Marianne says a bunch of other things too, but I find myself not paying attention – my mind drifting back to Sothis. Should I say a prayer to the Goddess for her, too?
I suppose it would be the right thing to do, given how I killed her. With that in mind, I say to myself – now comfortably alone in my own thoughts:
Dear Goddess… I ask you to grant Sothis the guidance to find a sunlit path to the other side…
Today is Sylvain's Birthday.
As Marianne and I ride towards Remire's watchtower at a gallop, I notice three figures at the top of that structure – one with blonde hair, one with blue hair, and one with red hair. When the red-haired one waves at me, I realize I must have encountered the Lion Pride. Under most circumstances, this wouldn't invite much trepidation… but the red-maned Lion happens to be Sylvain Jose Gautier, hitter-on-er of Marianne von Edmund.
Swinging my mount around and blocking any further advance, I ask Marianne the following:
"Can you go on ahead?"
"Ah… I suppose so, Professor… But If you'll be brief… I could wait." she replies, ever-considerate of my own needs in spite of the looming threat waving at us from twelve-feet-on-high.
This prompts me to draw my sword and angle it towards the watchtower.
"I'll protect you from Sylvain. Go on ahead."
Marianne's head tilts when I do this, perhaps underestimating my feelings of determination to ensure she's not hit upon again by the Heir to House Gautier.
"I see…?" she says, and tightens her reins.
Nodding resolutely, I reply:
"Thank you, Marianne."
Another few moments of awkwardness pervades until a smirk overtakes Marianne – and perhaps she realizes the fact that I'm trying to protect her. A glance up towards the watchtower – which reveals the sheer depth of the shadows around her eyelids – seems to evidence this.
"I-I should be thanking you, Professor."
Shaking my head at this – I realize that this is the least I could do.
"Stay safe." I say – and I mean it.
"Hey, thanks Professor – almost forgot you could make withdrawals from the commissary's booze bank!"
Leaning on low walls of the watchtower belfry, Sylvain pours my birthday gift for him – a bottle of Srengian absinthe – into a flask. Then, quite comradely, he offers some to Felix Hugo Fraldarius, and Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, the aforementioned blue-hair and yellow-hair who are with him in this tower, along with myself. The Heir to House Fraldarius accepts with a nod – filling his own flask, and the Heir to Faerghus declines with a shake of his head.
As the two other cats take their first sips, Dimitri catches my attention and notes:
"Professor – Lord Rodrigue apparently served with you. I had no idea."
Dimitri seems to hold the fellow in some esteem, but I'm really bedeviled to place who the man really is in spite of fighting alongside him. Back then – I wasn't paying attention to faces much.
"Neither did I." I reply with a shrug.
Another one of those uncomfortable silences wells up before Sylvain chokes on his next go at the Absinthe. This prompts everyone to relax a bit, which is followed by a headshake of the surly swordsman and a bitter smirk from the Blue-caped House Leader.
"I'll never know how Ingrid knocked this back so fast..." Sylvain adds as he rights himself with a few deep breaths.
My attention returns to Dimitri after this, as I notice him absent-mindedly stabbing one of the support beams of the watchtower with the blade of his dagger – the one that looks rather similar to Edelgard's.
I suppose that type of tic should concern me, but I don't really imagine he could damage the structural integrity of the outpost with such a thin, ceremonial weapon. Still…
When he notices my gaze, the Prince lets loose another inquiry:
"...Exactly when did you start your military career, Professor? Forgive me if that's too personal a question."
Sixteen is the obvious answer, but I had accompanied my father at times when he was on campaign, especially when Remire was threatened by some bandit group or another. Getting babysat by a succession of village mayors probably wasn't the best option for parenting – but the old men always seemed grateful that I was there – presumably because they could call on a faction of elite mercs at a moment's notice to defend the settlement.
"Five years ago." I say, a bit unsure about that response, though – because I hadn't ever bothered to put markers on such things before.
Dimitri takes the answer at face value, however – and nods.
"That… roughly corresponds with a civil war in the Kingdom."
I can see where this is going, I guess. Nobles always seem to be of two minds about mercenaries – they shield you from all criticism when you're on their side, and they blame you for all the problems in the world when you're the enemy. Getting ahead of the latter accusation, I note:
"We didn't participate in civil conflicts. My first fight was hunting bandits at Lake Teutates."
That much I recall. Still, that rather imprecise bit of information perks up Felix from a brooding state.
"The Old Man got wounded at Teutates. Broke his best lance, too. You were there?" he asks.
Cracking my neck joints with my palm, I wonder how best to explain something I'm mostly failing at remembering. Much of my life before battling on the Throat are a blur – most events felt like they passed by in a moment.
"That was my first mission. I replaced one of my father's scouts." I say, giving the barebones facts. That's all I can really do.
Still, even this description manages to perk up the Lions' Red Lancer.
"Oh, Leonie– right? She's always talking about how you stole her job." Sylvain says.
Shaking my head at this – I reply with the only comment that comes to mind:
"Fuck Leonie."
The Heir to House Gautier nods enthusiastically. I sense a great deal of his passion behind those brown eyes of his – which makes me feel a bit of kinship with. Perhaps he despises my father's apprentice as much as I do.
"Yeah, I would, too…!"
Correction 12/25/1180: He does not despise her as much as I do.
Felix gruffly clears his throat at his comrade's expression of agreement:
"That woman fights like my Old Man, and he's a one-trick pony too. Both fucking suck."
The Heir to the Kingdom rankles up at this unprovoked attack on the Elder Fraldarius, and rests the base of palm on his forehead in frustration, sending his blonde bangs everywhere.
"...How can you talk about your own father like that, Felix?" he groans.
Felix just glares at the fellow he calls the boar, and spits onto the platform's floorboards. Yet another abortive silence seeps in, and I wonder if I'm the reason such things exist in the first place. Would there be an awkward silence if I had saved Raphael? Am I wrong for thinking that I could have?
As I bring a hand to my chin to consider this – I find my attempt stymied by Sylvain:
"Hey, Professor – your dad fights with a lance too, right? What's the deal with you using a sword?"
I could answer with my father's original rationale – he was spending too much money on swords with both he and I using the tool as our weapons of choice. Lances tended to be more durable – or at least easier to replace. Knowing the three noble scions before me, however… I doubt that will really resonate – particularly because two of the three are lancers themselves. Might as well just explain my own reasoning for sticking with the way of the blade:
"Personal preference. I can use a lance, though."
Scratching his hair, Sylvain presses forward with a follow-up:
"So why the preference, then?"
At this point, a realization strikes – that I can't just observe people talking and expect conversations to continue unprompted. That was something I took for granted as a cog in my father's mercenary company, an unspeaking subtenant who killed on command. I had a responsibility now – particularly as an educator – and couldn't simply allow questions like that to float by without giving them a satisfactorily detailed answer.
That's what teaching is, right? Clearing my throat, I reply:
"It's easier to improvise if the weapon breaks. With lances, the enemy is at distance. If you break a sword, you're close enough to use your hands to finish the job."
And that's the truth, or at least my truth – when a lance breaks, you've got to get much closer to your target to gouge out their eyes or strangle them properly.
"Hmph. We're of like mind on that." Felix notes.
I feel like that's the first thing Felix and I have really agreed upon. Looking towards Dimitri for any commentary, he seems to be gazing right past me. After a few moments, he inquires:
"Professor, if you don't mind me asking… What was your first command experience like?"
I'm not sure Dimitri is going to like any answer to this question that I could provide. If I describe my platoon mates being rent to shreds by Almyran Wyverns on the Throat… or the coup at El-Aghelia, I doubt either will fortify his own shaky opinion of his leadership abilities.
"Which unit size?" I ask, stalling rather desperately.
This prompts a moment of contemplation from the Prince of Lions. His ocean-blue eyes drift towards the burned out remains of the palisade and the collapsed blockhouse before us. No doubt he considers the deaths inside – particularly Raphael's – a personal failure of his. I've seen that look before on soldiers who feel personally responsible for this or that calamity.
They don't live long after they start evidencing that expression.
"...What was the largest formation you've led?" He asks, absent-mindedly.
"Battalion." comes my answer.
The size of the group prompts his neck to crane back to me. Driving his ceremonial dagger into the support beam again and wiggling it around inside the indentation he's stabbed into it, he says:
"Battalion, then."
Leaning back on the unmolested wooden post opposite to him, I simply reply:
"The entire force mutinied and died." and do so very matter-of-factly.
My transactional answer seems to strike all three of the Lions like lightning, freezing ramrod straight in place. Sylvain appears the most surprised, with Felix existing in a middle ground between ambivalence and amusement. Dimitri, however, gives me the impression that he's all too familiar with betrayal.
"...I see." Comes his commentary.
Understanding that I may have killed whatever celebratory mood was once present, I take a few steps over to the Heir to the Kingdom in an effort to be comradely. Mimicking his usual hand-on-the-shoulder maneuver, I take some comfort in the fact that Dimitri's surprise at this moment gives way – albeit momentarily – to a minor relaxation of the tension that had overtaken his entire body.
In an attempt to seal back the storm clouds that I envision exiting his earlobes, I say:
"You did your best."
And that's the truth, I think – at least from what I gathered in the after-action-report. I can't say I'd do much different, circumstances as they were. I certainly doubt I could improvise a gas-attack based on the natural resources of Remire village.
"I… don't know if that's true, Professor." He contests.
Thankfully, Sylvain seems to pick up on the shift in mood and endeavors to bail out the rapidly sinking ship of our ersatz celebration:
"Hey, we should be getting back to the monastery, yeah?"
Felix gets up without protest and begins to descend the ladder. Sylvain is next to follow, after beckoning Dimitri and myself… but the Heir to the Kingdom doesn't move. Instead, his eyes bore into mine.
"...Professor Byleth, Might I ask you a favor?"
I nod. As much as my House Leader would protest… I do feel rather sympathetic about what happened to the Lions'. If a Deer was lost on my watch… well, it's best not to think about it. While I consider those uncomfortable thoughts anyway, Dimitri rights himself and clears his throat:
"...As you might know, the Lions will not be issued a mission this month due to Professor Hanneman's facial injury. In light of that, I'd like the opportunity to observe your methods on the Eagles next expedition as a mission supporter… If that's not too great of an imposition upon you and your class…"
I suppose he must mean what's destined to be a mop-operation against Lord Lonato. We haven't gotten the mission details yet, of course – and likely wouldn't for another couple of weeks, but… I can read the tea leaves, I think. Given the overextension of the Knights, I would expect them to call upon the students.
At first – I think of declining this outright, or at least deferring the matter to Edelgard. But a thought begins to creep into my mind as I part my lips – namely… is that what My Student would want me to do? Is that something that Hubert would do? Does she want me to push her a bit, in effect?
And in light of these questions, I decide to throw caution to the wind and reply:
"Sure. We'll probably need all the help we can get."
Author's Note:
Winter: thanks for the in-depth review as always. On the topic of Monty Python/movie references – While Holst is going to be doing his best Black Knight impression in Part 2, I actually lifted that letter from the Zaporozhian Cossacks message to Sultan Mehmed. Had that in my back pocket for 2 years, and then a war in Ukraine happened. Crazy, isn't it?
And while I wasn't thinking Fight Club – two films I can promise will be getting homages in the next few chapters are Django Unchained and American Psycho. Jeritza never gets to chew the scenery enough in White Clouds, and I want to ensure that happens here. We'll be paying a visit to his apartment soon enough.
As far as Husbandbert being a good, healthy relationship partner out of the gate: Haha, no. There's a character arc for that later.
Julian: Hubert married (rather: was forcibly married to) Petra. The rationale and storyline for this will be established later. As you can clearly guess, though… not what those two exactly wanted. Byleth is going to have to fix a few of El's mistakes when he comes back.
Bunun: Worse fate for Petra – In a loveless, sexless marriage with Hubie or Dead? Give me your gut response. As for Chapter 65, most of the month is going to be Byleth figuring out what happened as a subplot. Theological answers shouldn't come easy Crimson Flower.
