Disclaimer: Fire Emblem and Kid Icarus do not belong to us. They belong to Nintendo.
Chapter 7: Teatime Minuet
"For the last time, I am not going to some dumb tea party!"
That's what Dark Pit had said, at least. Loudly, insistently, and emphatically at that. And yet.
Here he is.
Sitting in the Shepherds' barracks, at a table with a frilly cloth delicately draped on it, as his would be kidnapper hums absently to herself in the barrack's kitchen.
He's still puzzled as to how exactly this had happened. He's stronger than some dainty human, that's for sure. And he doesn't even like tea! He's never had it before, but he understands what it is and fairly certain about his opinion.
Parasol Girl – Maribelle – pays him no mind as he ruminates. He glances around the barracks, and his eyes fall on a small well worn teddy bear tucked onto a shelf.
"Nice bear," he says.
"Hmm?" Maribelle doesn't even glance his way, engrossed as she is with – well, with whatever she's doing. By the looks of things, some arcane ritual. Dark Pit watches, fascinated despite himself.
She had filled up some water, putting it to boil on a stove with a snap of her fingers. As it heated up, she had begun to pull jars and such from various cabinets. She had done so with great speed and precision – impressive considering how full some of those cabinets were. Dark Pit glanced at what she had pulled out. A white teapot, several jars tied with pretty ribbons, a knife and several spoons, and an entire basket covered by a cloth that Maribelle had brought into the barracks after sitting him down.
Idly he wondered if she should've made his escape while she had been out that brief moment.
There is a whirl of motion, and Maribelle puts aside the knife. Pip watches, with some apprehension, as she walks over to the table.
"Here you are," she says, placing a plate on the table, "The tea itself will be ready soon."
"Uh…" Dark Pit begins. Maribelle leaves before he can articulate anything, and he's left with the plate of...sandwiches? The remains of perfectly good sandwiches, at least. They are thin rectangular strips of bread, without crusts, and as he takes one carefully he can't help but frown at how delicate it seems. Dainty. A closer inspection doesn't disabuse him of the notion. As he peels the bread back he sees naught but some sort of spread and bits of cucumber. And that was about it.
He considers the thing carefully before eating it – doesn't even take two bites to finish – and he reflects for a moment.
It's not the worst thing he's ever eaten. Far from it, really. But its hardly filling. He could eat a whole plate and feel nothing.
Maribelle has already gone back to her ritual, so he proceeds to eat another sandwich, and another. Idly he watches as he snacks. The water appears to be boiling now, and Maribelle takes the vessel and pours some of the water into a vessel that looks exactly the same. And then she gives that vessel a shake after a moment before pouring the water out.
Why he can't even begin to fathom.
'Man', he thinks as he grabs the second to last sandwich scrap, 'humans are weird.'
Maribelle adds a few spoons from a jar that he can only hope at this point is tea, and carefully pours the water. Why she hadn't just added the tea in the first place is yet another unfathomable thing.
There are no more sandwiches, and he's lost what little plot he had in the first place. Does it always take this long to make tea? That can't be right. Humans lived for so little in the first place, and they spent it like this? There were so many better things to do. Maybe this was why Pit and Palutena always went for takeout coffee.
The garrison has exactly one window, and absently he stares outside, at the sunset streaked sky.
About now he could be high in the sky, far away from here. Destination: Wherever he pleased! Some faraway arcadia, lush and with a huge waterfall. The open ocean, with nary a cloud above him. Or perhaps to the edge of the world, where the sea met the sky.
Maybe he'd find Pit and heckle him a bit.
The very thought brings a smile to his face.
"You seem pleased," Maribelle notes, replacing the empty sandwich plate with something even more mystifying. Lumpy, vaguely cylindrical blobs, which despite their shape smell good. Great, even. Much better than the pitiful sandwiches from before. In separate tubs to the side of the plate were what appeared to be jam and cream.
"I am glad you enjoyed the sandwiches," Mabibelle said, putting plates and teacup in a shallow bowl thing in front of him.
"They were okay," he says, grabbing one of the lumps. It turns out to already be cut in half. Maribelle watches as he spreads some jam and cream on them, only offering a "hmm" before walking away. She returns in but a moment, the teapot in the ugliest wooly looking 'coat' he's ever seen.
While he gawks, Maribelle carefully pours out some tea into his cup. He stares at the steaming liquid as Maribelle pours her own cup.
He doesn't get all the fuss about this tea crap, but a hot drink is a hot drink. And a hot drink isn't a bad thing at all. Taking the cup with both hands, which is difficult with how small and delicate it is, he takes a moment to enjoy the warmth that spreads through his fingers. Just hot enough that its nearly uncomfortable. It smells great at least, flowery and fruity and all the stuff tea is supposed to be. He guesses.
He takes a sip and immediately makes a face.
He can't really describe the taste. There's a bitternesss that he's not fond of, and a hint of that nice fruity smell from before. Mostly it Tastes, and its hot.
"Would you like some milk or sugar?" Maribelle asks, taking a dainty sip.
"I don't need any," he says almost immediately. For the first time, Maribelle's polite expression falls as she raises a single eyebrow.
"I do hope you aren't saying that in some foolhardy attempt to be more mature."
"I'm not!" he insists, taking another sip to prove that.
Maribelle says nothing, and then there is silence. After the, if quiet, hustle from before it feels eerie. Maribelle doesn't even make any noise as she drinks her tea.
Its weird.
Finally, Maribelle places her empty cup and the small plate that for some reason she'd also been holding the entire time on the table. Then, folding her hands together, she stares straight at him and asks, "Are you aware of exactly how many mistakes you've just made?"
"...No," he says mulishly, "But I bet you're going to tell me."
Maribelle begins.
"You weren't holding the teacup correctly, you were too loud, you weren't making enough conversation, you ate the scones improperly, you ate all the finger sandwiches, and your posture is worse than your manners," she lists off, as fast as a Bullet Blade.
"The hell can I be too loud and not loud enough?" he bursts out after she takes a breath, "and how the hell do you hold a cup wrong!?"
"You have no problem with being loud," Maribelle grouses, "But you're atrocious at pleasant conversation. And when one drinks tea, one should be silent. Not slurping like some barbarian."
Dark Pit takes an extra loud slurp of tea and smiles at the murderous look Maribelle sends him. He nearly spills tea over him when Maribelle stands up and walks towards him.
"As for how one holds a teacup incorrectly," she lectures, "One must hold it with you first finger and thumb like so," she attempts to show, "between the handle, which rests upon the middle finger."
Bewildered, Dark Pit attempts to do so, only for Maribelle to shake her head.
"No, no, no! You don't hook through the handle, and you certainly don't place your thumb like that-"
"What, am I supposed to stick out my pinky finger too?" Dark Pit snaps. Maribelle makes a face.
"If that's a joke, its terribly gauche."
"If I made that many mistakes," he growls, holding back the urge to smash the dainty teacup in his hands, "Why didn't you tell me before?"
"If I had done so," Maribelle scowls back, "Then what should've been an evening tea would become midnight dregs. Honestly, are you daft? The tea would've become cold by the time I managed to get you up to speed."
"Oh no!" he mock gasps, "How terrible! Couldn't you just microwave it?"
"Pardon?"
"Huh, guess you don't have those here…" he mutters, scratching the back of his head. Maribelle narrows her eyes at him.
"I've nary an idea of what you are talking about, and yet I feel offended. And stop fidgeting!"
"What does all of this matter anyway?" he continues, pointing at her and taking pleasure in her growing anger, "Like, what's even with all these rules? Its tea."
"Naga grant me strength…" Maribelle mutters, "You don't know the first thing about tea, so I don't want to hear you talk about it as if you know anything about it. Tea is more than just a drink. It is the means by which the very world is changed."
"You've lost me," Dark Pit thinks for a moment, "And you've lost your marbles."
He's rewarded with a kick in the shins, that nearly sends him tumbling to the floor.
"From where do you think deals are made?" Maribelle continues primly, "From where treaties are drafted? It is through tea that the lords and ladies of Ylisse meet with each other. It is said that the Hero King Marth himself met his future wife, Lady Caeda, following an afternoon tea party between their mothers."
"I don't know who those guys are. And what does any of this have to do with me?"
"You are meeting with the Exalt tomorrow, are you not? Surely I don't need to explain things to you," Maribelle scoffs, "So long as I breath I refuse to let some oaf embarrass the Exalt, or the halls of Ylisstol!"
"Again, what's that gotta do with me?" Dark Pit asks, "How's anything I do effect Emmeryn?"
Maribell's already sharp gaze becomes daggers.
"The Exalt," she stresses, "Invited you as a guest. Thus, your actions reflect on her judgement, and thus herself. And I won't let you," and here, to Dark Pit's surprise, Maribelle pounds her fist onto the table, rattling the tea finery, "be the return of her troubles!"
Dark Pit waits for Maribelle to calm down, waits for her to self consciously retract her hand, before pointing at her.
"I think you're taking this way too seriously."
"Oh why am I even bothering?" Maribelle laments, nearly putting her head in her hands. She shoots him a cold glare.
"And why are you even here? You clearly don't care. You could've left at any moment. Do you just enjoy making a mockery of people?"
"For the last time, I'm not going to some dumb tea party!"
"You can, and you are!" Parasol girl snaps, and Dark Pit sneers down at her.
"What are you going to do? Hit me over the head?" he asks sardonically. Honestly he's a little curious if she actually will. The look that she gives him certainly seems to indicate that she's thinking about it.
And then he sees her gaze glance towards her injured wing, and his sneer turns venomous as he waits for the threat.
"Hardly," Maribelle wrinkles her nose, "If you insist on being a fool, well...At the very least, let me take a look at your wing."
"Huh?" he asks, blinking.
"Your wing?" Maribelle repeats patiently, "I did say that I would at least take a look at it."
"...Just like that?" he asks, carefully. This had not been how he thought this would go.
"What do you take me for, some sort of extorting brute?" Maribelle snaps, before surprising him by taking his hand and dragging him down the hall, "Now come along!"
"Hang on, wait-!"
She had ended up taking him to the Shepherds barracks, where she had plucked one of those weird healing staffs that they used here and looked over his wing for a long moment. In the end she said that she couldn't heal it outright – what a ripoff! - but that she could reduce some of the pain and inflammation.
And after that, she had begun to make tea. It was only after glancing back, clearly surprised to still see him, that she had begun doing all of this.
Dark Pit grunts, before reaching for his empty teacup.
"Is there, uh…" Maribelle furrows her brow and he presses on, "more?"
"Pardon?"
"More tea?" he grunts, looking away.
Maribelle blinks at him, astonished, before smiling.
"That would be, "May I have some more, please?"," she lectures, still smiling.
"Oh come-!…May I have some more, please?"
"See? Was that so difficult? Now, for your meeting tomorrow you absolutely must bring a small gift. Some sweets of some sort-"
Emmeryn was nervous, though outwardly she was as calm as she normally appears. And the object of her nervousness is, of all things, a spot of tea.
'What an absurd thing to be nervous about,' she thinks to herself, 'Would Chrom be nervous in such a situation?'
After a moment of thought, she amends to herself that he probably would be, and the slight laughter the image brings to mind eases her nerves somewhat.
"Are you certain that you don't want me to escort him, your Grace?" Phila asks from her position in the study – just far enough away not to loom but close enough to protect her.
"Yes, Phila," Emmeryn repeats, "I don't want to force him to do anything."
She had cleared time in her schedule to meet up with the castle's most unique guest, but she had done so first and foremost to apologize. She had said some things to Pip that, on reflection, she rather wished to take back. But forcing him to attend would defeat the whole purpose.
"And if he doesn't show up?" Phila asks, phrasing the question delicately when Emmeryn knows that she's already certain of the fact.
Emmeryn sighs.
"It can't be helped. Though it would be a waste to drink this tea by myself," she adds, giving Phila a hopeful smile.
"Your Grace..." Phila begins, only to be interrupted as Pip throws the doors open, marching into the room with the subtlety of a Great Knight.
Right away Emmeryn notices that Pip was different. He was still dressed in his usual fashion, but it was clear that some care had been taken today. He looked, for lack of a better word, less scruffy. His hair, if not combed, neater. His clothes, if not ironed, then unwrinkled. Not only that, but he was holding a small parcel in his hand. A parcel that was familiar.
"Is that from the Mille-Mae Bakery?" Phila blinks, asking the question before Emmeryn could. Pip flushes, snapping towards her.
"No! And anyway, how do you know that name?"
"Are you well today, young man?" Emmeryn asks, both to stave off the oncoming argument and to save her knight from the embarrassment of admitting that the Captain of Ylisstol's Pegasus Knights frequented one of the capital's more famous bakeries.
Pip stops scowling at Phila and turns towards her. Partway through he seems to realize he's still scowling, with effort, schools his face into something more neutral.
"Uh, here," he says, walking to the table and placing the parcel on the table, "I was told to...bring a gift," he says gruffly as he takes a seat.
Emmeryn wonders, as she stands up to boil the tea, who exactly had told him this. So far Pip had given the impression that things such as etiquette were far beneath his notice. Phila trades a glance with her, clearly surprised with the seemingly overnight change in the young man. Emmeryn glances back once she sets the fire, and sees Pip looking around the room curiously. Though as he catches her glancing at him, he quickly turns back towards the table, and nothing in particular.
When she walks back, she removes the cover from a plate of scones that she'd had prepared before.
"Please, feel free to take some," she says.
Pip almost puts his elbows on the table, but at the last second seems to realize. And after a conflicted moment, he doesn't. Instead he takes the napkin, and places it on his lap. And Emmeryn suddenly has a realization.
Emmeryn has known Maribelle for a long time. She is Lissa's dearest friend, and frequently the very loud and demanding voice of reason during Chrom and Lissa's escapades. Not for the first time, she wonders what could be achieved in the future if the girl became consort to the Exalt. Phila had recounted, with a smile, of the sight of Maribelle dragging away Pip, despite his protests.
Emmeryn will never say such aloud, but the very thought of such a scene is amusing. But as fun as it is to watch the angel navigate eating the scones to the level of rigor that Maribelle had certainly instilled, she had invited Pip for a reason.
"Are you well?" she asks.
Pip looks up from his careful application of clotted cream.
"Fine?" he hazards, brow furrowed, "If your talking about my wing, its alright. I mean, it could be better, but…"
"I would be glad to take a look at your progress afterwards," Emmeryn promises, "But that's not quite what I'd been asking about."
"Huh?"
"How has your stay at the castle been?"
Pip continues looking at her as if she's asked him a question in Valmese rather than Ylissen. And now that her mind is on the topic, for all that he's cagey about his origins Pip must be from somewhere near the Halidom considering his easy grasp of its speech.
Emmeryn's idle thoughts vanish as Pip finally speaks up.
"Boring, mostly."
She hears Phila stifle a noise. Certainly from a point of view, the castle had been anything but dull as of late. They hadn't seen this many small "incidents of chaos" as Frederick often had referred to them ever since Chrom had become old enough to stop going along with Lissa's plans. But Emmeryn thought she could see where the young man was coming from.
"I see," she says, "And what of Ylisstol?"
"...You mean the town?" Pip asks at last. When she nods her head he shrugs.
"I've only seen it from the castle, so…"
Before Emmeryn can respond to that, the water boils.
She nearly botches it in her haste, but she manages to make what she feels is a decent batch of tea. Yet by the time she returns, Pip is back to being silent, looking out the study window. She doesn't know if he's aware, but there's an expression on his face. Almost unreadable, but she recognizes the longing in it. Wistfulness.
"I apologize for the wait," she says. Red eyes snap towards her and not for the first time Emmeryn feels strange, a colour she associates with Phila set in a stranger's gaze.
"Its no problem," he says, aiming for polite and not quite getting it. While she's impressed with Maribelle, she can't help but be slightly happy that even her force of personality couldn't smooth the angel's edges. There's something...endearing about it.
"Do you take milk? Sugar?"
"Uh…" she can practically see the gears whirl furiously as he considers, "...A pinch of sugar."
She doesn't let her smile show, and she makes sure to be surreptitious about the exact quantity in the 'pinch' she adds.
They sit for a moment with their respective cups. Pip doesn't attempt to engage in small talk, the way that he should've, and Emmeryn can't bring herself to fill the silence, as she should. Its nice, just sitting in silence. She can't remember the last time she's had such a peaceful moment.
But Pip soon goes back to staring out of the window, and Emmeryn screws up her courage.
"I'm sorry, Pip."
Pip doesn't respond, and for a moment she wonder if he even heard her. But then his expression changes, as if it took him a minute to properly understand what she'd said, and he turns towards her. His expression is wary, but mostly confused.
"What?"
"You're bored here, aren't you?"
"Well, duh," he scoffs, yet his expression is still careful. Searching.
"You haven't been outside the castle walls either?"
"No…? But what's that gotta do with anything?"
Emmeryn is silent for a moment.
"When you first came to Ylisstol, I suggested that you wear a cloak."
Pip scowls, clearly recalling her words, and she presses on.
"It wasn't fair of me to ask you that," she keeps her voice soft, but makes sure her words are firm, "To ask you to hide parts of yourself for the comfort of others was wrong. I would've never asked another guest to do that, and I shouldn't have asked you that either."
Through her apology, Pip grows more and more fidgety. He glances here and there, and wrings his hands slightly. His wings twitch, as if he's not sure to hunch over in his seat or appear as big as possible. When she finishes, Pip is silent for a moment before staring at her.
"Its not like that's your fault," he says, "Not like you told people to stare or stuff. Its just...people being people."
He sounds bitter about that and Emmeryn resists the urge to wince.
"Be that as it may, it was still wrong of me to ask," she repeats.
Pip stares at her, and she hold his gaze.
"...Thanks," he says at last, gruff voice sounding uncomfortable and pleased at once.
"You should be thanking me, you know," Maribelle says, "I don't do errands."
"It was a bakery," Dark Pit feels the need to point out.
"Not just any bakery," Meribelle retorts, "Besides, you absolutely refused to go. A favor remains a favor."
"Fine, soon as my wing gets better I'll pay you back," Dark Pit already knows exactly how he'll go about it. Just drop in, buy something, and fly off. The minimal amount of gawking necessary.
Maribelle doesn't deign to respond to that. Instead, she sighs for what must be the seventh time in half an hour.
"Something wrong?" he asks.
He doesn't expect her to nearly slam her teacup onto the saucer and bury her face into her hands.
"My dearest Lissa has been gone for nearly two days!"
"Uh…" Dark Pit begins.
"Oh! I shudder to think what dreadful hardships my Lissa is facing as we speak!" Maribelle laments, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. Pip takes a sip of tea, unsure what to do, before speaking.
"She's probably fine? Like, she's with Robin and her brother and all those other guys, right? What's the worst that could happen?"
"Okay…" Lissa mutters to herself as she eyes the bandits and their hostages, "The good news is that I've gotten behind the enemy lines. That means I can save the hostages!"
She fidgets in the darkness for a moment. In the distance she hears Sully make a bandit rue all his life choices up till this point.
"The bad news…" she clutches her heal staff closer, "...is that I'm a cleric."
"P-Princess? What are you doing here?"
Lissa barely holds back a scream, and nearly brains Donnel over the head. Its a good thing she didn't. The clang that would've resulted would've definitely given away their position.
"Donnel!" she hisses at the bewildered village boy, "What are you doing here?"
"B-Beggin your pardon, ma'am!" he stammers, staring at the admittedly heavy end of the heal staff, "I-I was followin you!"
"Oh. Uh, thanks. And keep your voice down," Lisa thinks furiously for a moment, before grinning, "Actually, keep following me!"
"Princess?"
"I got an idea," she can't help but laugh, even as her nerves buzz anxiously, "Wait till Robin sees this!"
"Any number of things could happen!" Maribelle snaps sullenly.
"You're overreacting," Pip rolls his eyes. Maribelle's glare softens after a moment.
"You have faith in Robin," she says. Pip scrunches his nose.
"I wouldn't got tossing that word out just like that...Look, she seems smart. She's got zappy magic," he makes a hand motion to indicate so, drawing an eyebrow raise from Maribelle, "And she's officially the tactician, right? Its not like she's going to be reckless on purpose."
"I suppose not," she says after a moment, "And stop slouching."
"Shan't," he says in his best impression of her voice. She gives him a look, and he hides his smile with a sip of tea. It still, for the most part, tastes like hot water. But a hot drink is a hot drink, and as Maribelle begins to go on a monologue about posture or whatever, he can feel the warmth of the drink spread through his body, all the way to his feathers. And though he'll soon take to the skies once more-
-he wouldn't mind doing this again.
Things got busy. And, despite the relative domesticity of this chapter, it was really difficult to write for some reason. It was fun when I finally pushed past writer's block though! Now I can put away all these notes on tea.
Thanks for reading. Tune in for the next chapter!