It was summer –one of those days that seem endless. One of those weeks that seem endless, when you're stuck in the middle of it, equidistant from the weekend at either end. Everyone was flagging as they waited for the afternoon session to end; even Lysithea who was usually so focused, and Claude who always had a comment to make.
The Professor was pacing across the top of the room in front of her desk as she lectured –presumably to keep herself active as she interspersed her speech with questions –undoubtedly to keep her students awake.
"These days, the Gautier cavalry are known for their speed, but at the time messages were being relayed on foot. Leonie, why would you choose to rely on messages relayed by spoken word instead of paper?"
"To prevent interception."
"Very good. Ignatz, why would you choose parchment over aural relay?"
"O-oh, um, to prevent distortion?"
"Correct. As was the case in the battle of 1005, the message the Margrave Gautier sent was-"
A knock sounded on the classroom door. Three hard pounds that echoed through the room and caused the entire class to come alert.
"Enter!"
The armourer from the marketplace entered and paced up the central aisle to the Professor, presenting her with a box perhaps a little longer than her forearm and no deeper than two hand-spans. The wood was exquisitely lacquered and inlayed with carvings of warrior women astride pegasi. When Lorenz got a look at it, he blanched and turned away, but no-one else reacted.
The Professor thanked the armourer quietly, ignoring the arch look that spoke of disapproval he shot her, before he departed again. She placed the box on her desk, just exactly where everyone could see it and returned to her lecture.
"The Margrave sent the message "Send reinforcements, we're going to advance" but does anyone know what the message was that arrived in Fhirdiad?"
Lorenz, recovered from whatever had afflicted him, raised a hand and spoke at the Professor's quick gesture "Send three-and-four pence, we're going to a dance."
The class snickered, but the Professor nodded. "Well done. The story goes that the Queen sent five battalions –and a coterie of ladies-in-waiting to dress them." She waited a moment for the giggles to subside before continuing "Generally, in a battle that covers the length of a border like that, whether you send instruction in writing or orally will come down to what you have available in the moment, but it pays to be aware of the pitfalls of each. Are there any questions at this time?"
Claude's hand shot up faster than a wyvern in flight "What's in the box, Teach?"
"Any questions on the topic at hand?" Professor Byleth did not roll her eyes –of course she didn't, but everyone got the impression that she had.
"Aw, c'mon Professor" Hilda chimed in from the back "you can't take mystery deliveries in the middle of class and expect us not to be curious. Are you finally taking my advice and replacing those blocky vambraces with something prettier? Ooh, the silver ones with the lovely scrollwork I suggested?"
"As you're so enthusiastic about it, Hilda, you may remain behind after class to find out. Now-"
As the Professor continued into the next topic, Claude was very aware that a metaphorical trap had slammed shut mere inches from the tip of his nose. A glance over his shoulder confirmed that Hilda knew it as well as he –she had been caught in the jaws of it.
For all that it had stretched interminably before, the end of the lesson came faster than she was prepared for.
Claude, bless him, tried to linger, to help face whatever danger he'd led her into. He was good like that, at a pinch. She'd probably be able to weasel dinner out of him for the rest of the moon.
But the Professor was prepared. Had just such a task for the House Leader to take care of and suddenly weeks of tactics and strategy lessons made it very clear; this trap had been set for her, and though Claude may have opened the door, she was the only one it would have closed behind.
Well, it couldn't be anything too bad, Hilda supposed. Not in the classroom in broad daylight. Not in such a pretty box.
The Professor was leaning against the corner of her desk to one side of the box, arms crossed beneath her breasts and looking almost thoughtful in repose. As Hilda approached she looked up and tilted her head towards the box in invitation. "Go ahead, Hilda."
Hilda's fingers fanned over the lacquer –this was a work of exquisite craftsmanship. Whatever it was had been bought, likely commissioned, dearly. She tripped the latch and the lid lifted on silent hinges to reveal a knife, a dagger really, resting on a bed of red silk.
"I've not touched much on specialised weaponry yet." Commented the Professor "Rapiers, Maces and the like, but you can consider this an advance lesson for extra credit. What do you make of it, Hilda?"
Hilda wasn't a collector, like Ferdinand, but she was a bit of an artisan herself, and knew a thing or two about assessing a tool for a job, so this would probably be fairly easy credit. She lifted it delicately out from the silk.
"Weeeeeell… it's pointed, so, for stabbing rather than slashing. It's longer than you'd expect a dagger to be though, both blade and grip -was it measured for someone like Raphael? But it's so thin, and the cross-guard hardly exists at all! Even I can tell that's not very good for combat, Professor!"
"It's not a weapon that is used in combat. Well, except in desperation."
"What's the point of a weapon that isn't-" Hilda cut herself off, jaw clicking shut. She knew what this was, looked again at the blade in something approaching horror "Misericorde" she whispered. "A mercy-blade"
"Indeed." The Professor agreed "There's a scabbard in there somewhere as well, if you would kindly…"
Hilda set the knife down as quickly as possible without dropping it and pulled the silk aside to find some of the finest leatherwork she'd ever seen below. It was by parts embossed, gilded, dyed, studded, raised and cut away -stitched so finely the seams were invisible. Patterned with gladiolus interspersed with Pegasus feathers.
Surmounting all was the Crest of Goneril.
It had been made for her.
The Professor's voice was suddenly behind her, low and insistent in her ear.
"Unless he's very unlucky, it won't be Claude. If an enemy decides they want the last heir of Riegan dead, they'll confirm the kill. As for the rest? Well, the smart money is on Lorenz or Leonie. A horse is a large target after all and even the best trained from Gloucester's stables can still be spooked. How many riders do you supposed have spent their last hours being slowly crushed by their most loyal steed?" A shiver passed down Hilda's spine as the Professor's breath passed across her neck and her voice resumed at the other ear. "Or maybe it will be Marianne? There's something cruel in white magic, that so few can turn it on themselves, deliberately anyway. But if you leave a cleric wounded badly enough their body will exhaust itself to keep them lingering on the edge, in pain, for days even though they're already past the point of return. They're such obvious targets as well, especially those who serve the Knights directly. All that blinding white, just like the robes Marianne received when she was certified a priest."
Her instructor stepped back, and Hilda swallowed against the rising knot tightening her throat, but was otherwise completely unable to move.
"What do you think, Hilda? Who will be the first you bring an easy death to?"
"I –I.." Hilda tried and somehow found the resolve to turn around and face the Professor "w-why would…"
"I've decided to grant your request, Hilda. You are going to learn to provide support from the sidelines. This weekend you and I are taking on a supplementary mission outside the monastery, you can drop by my room after hours on Friday so we can discuss the logistics. That is all."
The Professor swept past her frozen form to the desk, clearing up the books and papers she had been referencing during class. Hilda stumbled a pace forward, then another, then-
"Hilda." She glanced back over her shoulder, the Professor was still focused on her task but tipped her head anyway "Don't forget the knife."
Hilda dropped the scabbard and fled.
When she woke in the morning, the box was sitting on her dresser.