Hey all! I apologize that my update pace has slowed a bit, but I give you my word, Scarlet Carnation will NOT be abandoned. I do have a bit of a busy schedule, but I will do my absolute best to update as often as I can!
As always, big thanks and shoutouts to my mates: Biomatrix2012 for being my beta and GreenLight432 for helping provide a lot of structure for these next two chapters, and willowloves for the inspiration!
I, Hubert von Vestra, have been enlisted by Her Majesty to transcribe what may be called a new dawn for some, or the beginning of the dark ages by others.
It has been but a fortnight since the events of the Holy Tomb, and I fear the dark cloud of the professor's absence still hangs over us. I am left to wonder how long it will linger. Her Majesty has been in only what I may call a manic quest to clear the debris of what is left of the Holy Tomb.
Her fingers bled at the end of each day as she moved the broken stone, piece by piece, accompanied by most of what used to be the Black Eagles. To date, it appears we have barely touched the piles upon piles of rock that blankets the floor of the Holy Tomb. None seem deterred, however. Just as sure as the sun rises, my former peers leave their quarters and trudge to the entrance of the tomb as miners to a cavern, Emperor Edelgard and Ms. Nevrand at the forefront. Their faces have lost their color, their smiles are scarce.
I am merely thankful that Ms. Arnault and Lady Ordelia have taken it upon themselves to grow ever closer to Her Majesty, bandaging her wounds at the end of each long day and ensuring she consumes enough sustenance to continue to the next. The two young women have become a necessary crutch for Her Majesty to face each new sun though I fear I have fallen out of her favor. It is possible she had mistaken my desperate attempt to save her life to mean that I cared not for our teacher, and thus, has rarely spoken to me since that fateful evening.
Though her words are few, and her glances even fewer, I will not sway in my dedication to Her Majesty as it was built into my bones to serve and protect her with my very life.
I find myself often tossing and turning in the pitch black of the night, worrying for not only her state of mind, but her physical condition. I have begun to see the sparks of anger that she used to carry with her before her enrollment at the Officers' Academy. Her temper rivals that of Rhea, who, to my surprise, has chosen to stay at Garrech Mach. She does not march to the Holy Tomb but rather has locked herself away in her quarters, and on the rare chance she does leave, she wears nothing but a pale underdress, perhaps finally reflecting what lies inside. However, almost every night since the attack, crashing and signs of a fit of rage can be heard from her room.
None dare venture toward the noises, except for Seteth. Much like Ms. Arnault and Lady Ordelia, it appears he has become a lynchpin in soothing the beast until there's nothing left but tears.
Flayn has become quite distant from her father, often choosing the company of Lady Ordelia or Lady Varley. Still, Seteth follows her around the monastery as a scorned child attempting to win back her love.
I often ponder what transpired in the Holy Tomb for such a drastic change in Rhea, though I have no doubts our professor was the seed that caused the chain of reactions within her. Rhea has not spoken of that night, much to Her Majesty's dismay. It was not but two days ago that their latest feud tore through the silence of Garreg Mach.
"What did you do to him?" Her Majesty's face would flush with the deepest scarlet I had ever seen.
Rhea would turn her head away defiantly, often choosing not to reply.
"We are uncovering the Holy Tomb, one stone at a time, and you lack the decency to tell us if our efforts might be fruitful?" Her Majesty would hiss as she tightened her hands into fists.
Rhea would purse her lips and only offer the words, "what transpired is for the eyes and ears of Sothis, alone and not for the likes of a usurper."
These fights would often last hours at a time, though they continue to increase in frequency. I am uncertain how long they can maintain this uneasy, strained pace.
Surprisingly, it would be Ms. Nevrand who would cautiously put her arms around Her Majesty to remind her that bickering would not reveal the tomb's secrets. This leaves me with one less opportunity to provide further annoyance to her Majesty, for which I am grateful.
Though she hides it well, I can see the same darkness within Ms. Nevrand that I have seen within the Emperor herself. She has done her best to ensure the professor's students would end the day with a jog, telling us we must keep to our routine to clear our minds. Her Majesty often complies, as if she still views Ms. Nevrand as what she was before: our teacher's assistant.
However, many nights I find myself wandering the shadows of Garreg Mach, I will more often than not see Ms. Nevrand leaning her forehead against a brick wall. From the distance at which I observe, I am unable to see if there are tears under her tough exterior, but what I can witness are the multiple strikes against the wall with her bare fist. It is only when I misstep on a simple pebble that she briskly makes her exit, unable to be seen in such a state. As much as she tries to deceive and cover her vulnerabilities, it is clear she is the most devastated next to Emperor Edelgard.
Ms. Nevrand often makes herself scarce as more imperial soldiers continue to arrive at the monastery, preferring to keep her communications with our professor's students almost exclusively. Within mere days of the events of the Holy Tomb, travelers from surrounding lands began to flock to our gates. Gaggles of concerned voices could be overheard from the walls, many wailed at the fallen church. However, there were a few that wept for the loss of the Enlightened One.
Thankfully, Prime Minister Ferdinand von Aegir seems to have taken his new duties quite seriously. With Her Majesty's approval, he has begun massive deployment to keep the villagers at bay, offering them food and quickly erected shelter to quiet their whining, finally leaving my nights in as much serenity as I'm able to muster.
Many of the villagers refuse to leave, though I have not heard the Prime Minister nor the Emperor make such demands, much to my dismay. Lady Dominic does not seem to take offense, however, to the motley gathering of transients that line the walls of Garreg Mach, desperate for a scrap of news.
She and Lady Galatea often leave the gates to sympathize with the peasants, handing out what little food we have in storage or offering words of courage. If we were not dealing with a shortage of supplies, I might even approve of their actions as they regularly add "with regards from Emperor Edelgard and the Enlightened One" with each scrap they hand out.
I had not expected the former Blue Lions' loyalty to have shifted so drastically that they would begin an influential campaign as soon as they identified an opportunity, but I suppose it is still the remnants of our professor within their good intentions and strategy.
Ms. Pinelli had even attempted to join Lady Dominic and Lady Galatea in one of their humanitarian campaigns. There was a man dressed only slightly above the rest that was incessant all within his bellowing range knew he was a lord that hailed from Fhirdiad. There was no doubt in my mind his domain must have been on the most extreme outskirts and firmly believe he neglected the word "minor" from his status.
"'Tis a shame we've no rope with us!" The overbearing, gruff man spit at Ms. Dominic's feet. "I would've taken delight in hanging a traitor to the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus today! You should be with your prince!"
Ms. Dominic recoiled as was in her nature while Lady Galatea attempted to hurry her away from the confrontational noble.
"That's right," the lord glowed while watching the two young women retract. I can only assume he believed it to be from his intimidating nature. I, however, know the two young women carried too much honor within themselves to engage with such a brute. "Treacherous bitches of dogs!"
Ms. Pinelli, however, was a different story. I do not doubt her honor, only her temperament.
Though the man towered at least a half a meter above Ms. Pinelli, and was easily three times her size, she insisted on pressing her chest against his with her chin held high.
"I would strike you," Ms. Pinelli spoke through her clenched teeth, "but I don't want to be accused of animal abuse."
"Oh!" The man howled with laughter to his entourage. "Look at this pint-sized commoner. She wears an academy uniform and believes it makes her stand on equal ground."
His men laughed as they circled around him and Ms. Pinelli.
It was at this point that not even Caspar von Berliez could quell her anger. Had the situation not been dire, I might have been able to muster a chuckle at the sight of him attempting to lift Ms. Pinelli from her feet to bring her back into the walls of Garreg Mach. His failure to do so was quite entertaining. She was easily able to overpower him and it took both Ms. Nevrand holding her arms firmly and Sir Alois gripping her legs to finally restrain her and end the fiasco.
It was then Ms. Nevrand gave Ms. Pinelli the choice of assisting Professor Hanneman and Linhardt in their research, or Professor Manuela in the infirmary. Neither of which suits her skills. She ultimately chose research over healthcare.
Though she often finds herself on the brink of unbearable boredom, the work of Professor Hanneman and Lindhardt has been of the utmost importance. They've taken it upon themselves to carry the torch for our professor and his potentially foolhardy endeavor to finally rid the world of crests. Don't mistake my intention, I do not mean to say that this vision is unwise. I only find such a feat to be the very definition of impossible.
However, I will never voice that opinion, as it has become the guiding hope of Lady Ordelia and even the Emperor, herself, and I am not within my place to smother such a beacon. But I find that with each passing day, hope never seems to diminish, even though the likelihood of recovering anything… alive grows further out of reach with each sunset.
I have tried to voice my concern to Princess Mcneary, that even if our professor managed to survive the massive weight that consumed his body, he would still need sustenance.
"I am having a choice in believing, Hubert," she offered me a weak smile as she put her arm firmly across her chest and bowed. "Never in my life was I hoping to witness a miracle as a Goddess inhabit someone who is being dear to me, and yet, I have been seeing it with my own eyes."
Though I silently admire her optimism, I find myself envious of the ability to hold onto such beliefs. What's worse, I fear the day when we find his body and how our comrades will endure. I have not spoken to a single one that has resigned to the possibility of his death.
Every day, Her Majesty still peers at her left hand before she begins work in the Holy Tomb. I can see a faint smile as she gazes upon a silver ring imbued with pastel jewels on a finger reserved for more intimate promises. Though her grins pale in comparison to what they used to be in our school days, I cannot comprehend the idea of never seeing her stand tall again.
Will the cracks finally crumble? Perhaps it'll be one more collapse that we must survive or, more than likely, perish in. I rue the moment when I see the light completely fade from each of their faces, and they would be finally able to see the world through my eyes.
Once, I had wished for those around me to cease in their fruitless efforts of optimism and… cheer. However, and again, this may be the ghost of the professor dwelling within me, but I find myself recoiling at the thought of the day when they see his body.
This brings me to today. I dip my quill in my well, full of suspicion of a folded note I had stumbled upon in the dining hall. It was folded many times, with the exterior of the parchment inked with crude and adolescent drawings of what appears to be a child's bear.
My mind tells me it's much too soon for any of our enemies to begin campaigns of espionage and infiltration. Still, my heart tells me that whatever's contained in this note could mean the difference between the very life and death of the rebellion we've created and those leading the charge.
I have turned over every piece of furniture, every bed lining in my room, looking for my poems. I can feel my heart churn at the possibility it's outside of my quarters as I know every nook and cranny of my haven and would have noticed a fallen piece of parchment. But nonetheless, day after day, I'll look again in hopes of the impossible. It is the second I've lost from my journal in half an imperial year, never to be seen again.
What if someone picked it up?
What if they're laughing right now in the dining hall reading it? What if they can never look at me again?
Oh… who would WANT to look at me after they read that?!
Oh, Goddess, I knew I couldn't do anything right! I should have never written it in the first place. I should have torn it up!
"You have the smarts of our family pig, Bernadetta! Perhaps I should marry her off instead! I'd probably stand a better chance of carrying on the Varley name."
My father's words continue to haunt me even in the confines of my quarters as if they echo off each wooden plank and back into my ears. His very voice makes me cringe and clutch the skin of my chest or arms, urging me to draw blood with nothing but my fingernails.
It used to be quieter. It used to be… almost calm.
That was over six new moons ago. That was the last time I noticed my father's voice in my head grow more silent. Of course, that's when he was still here.
That was when we all laughed no matter the situation because we had each other; we were as a single warrior, all one. Now it feels as if our heart has been torn out, and the remainder of us are nothing but the husk of a body struggling to carry forward.
Most of the Holy Tomb has been cleared of its debris; we can peer at the floor now, though there was nothing of interest. I think most of us are in bewilderment, we had expected to see the remnants of dried blood, or even his bo- no, I don't want to say it.
I can't bring myself to say it.
Though we were confused, I think we let out a collective sigh as this impossibility has left the door open for more possibilities.
"This is the work of the Goddess," Flayn assured us all, "Sothis must have taken his body from this plane. She will not let him fall, I am sure of it!"
I never took Lady Edelgard (Her Majesty? Emperor?) as a particularly religious person. Even though she knew and believed that Sothis dwelt within our professor, she never seemed to worship the entity that lived within. She treated the being as if she were just a separate entity, albeit one that was melded to our professor.
But as Flayn offered those words of encouragement, Her Majesty nodded in the affirmative, as if she had no choice but to believe Sothis was capable of whisking his physical being away to keep her heart from shattering.
I think we all believe that. At least, I think I do.
I believe Lady Edelgard does as well. Though most of the tomb is cleared, throughout most of the day, I can see her glance at her left hand, and a soft grin would creep upon her face, as if she were reminding herself of the good days. The days before the professor was nothing more than a mere ghost just out of our reach.
Lady Shamir had made the suggestion to Lady Edelgard that they begin restorations of Garreg Mach, especially if we intend to transform it into our stronghold. Her astute path of thought never ceases to amaze me. She gathered us, just as the professor used to, and made her concerns clear that enough time had dwindled and the slow game of war had begun.
Lady Edelgard has heeded her advice and ordered Ferdinand to make preparations to officially acquire Garreg Mach as a part of the Empire, much to Rhea's dismay.
I think that was the last straw for the former Archbishop. A couple of new moons ago, Rhea and Lady Edelgard nearly came to blows as Rhea demanded the Emperor leave the monastery to her domain.
When Lady Edelgard made her intentions clear of not departing, the argument escalated worse than before.
"I most certainly will not," Lady Edelgard stood firm in her stance. Not only did Lady Shamir stand confidently by her side (I'm pretty sure she got fired from the Knights of Seiros, but she will always be "Lady Shamir" to me just as Sir Alois will always be a "Sir"), but Dorothea and Lysithea have also absorbed some of the Emperor's courage.
"Garreg Mach will not allow itself to be consumed by the flames of the Empire!" Rhea's enraged voice echoed throughout the throne room.
"Then you will find yourself sorely disappointed," Lady Edelgard quipped. "I will not leave. If Byleth were to return, I want him to know exactly where to find me."
"A fool's errand, girl," Rhea sighed as her nostrils flared. "No one could have survived such a collapse."
"Then show me a body," the Emperor shrugged her shoulders. Her crown stood firm upon her silky white hair, which has grown much longer in the past six moons. "Unless in your 'teachings' you believe one simply evaporates upon death?"
"You're willing to cross blades with every faction of Fodlan so that your old, dead teacher may know where to find you?" Rhea scoffed, her disbelief over-exaggerated.
"I will cross blades with whomever I need to, Rhea," Lady Edelgard would only have to make the slightest motion toward Lady Shamir or Hubert, and I'm certain the war would have started then and there. "I urge you to not stand in my way."
Thankfully, Rhea knew when to concede, but I fear her rapid departure in the dead of night is the calm before the dark storm that hangs above us all. The next day, Seteth had undergone hours of questioning to ensure he had not allied himself with Rhea, mostly by Hubert and under the threat of physical torture, to which Hubert allowed himself to morbidly grin at. He insists he did not stay to feed Rhea information but rather to be with his daughter, Flayn.
On a side note, how is it that none of us have noticed Seteth's true relation to Flayn? It must have been foreign to call him her "brother" for all of those years…
I'm sure Seteth is still under close watch by Lady Shamir and Hubert, but he has been granted free access to roam the monastery as he pleases. I also take pleasure in seeing Flayn accept his effort to mend the tear that formed between them.
To this day, there are only rumors of Rhea's whereabouts but most agree that she's likely fled to the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus in search of allies. Lady Shamir said allies only beget war; after all, why have allies unless you intend to put them to use?
I can't say that I disagree as Lady Shamir's the closest thing we have to the actual professor himself. Even before the ceremony, they were already much alike, so I've no reason to doubt her words.
I even tried to capture Lady Shamir's own words on parchment, though she was reluctant to speak.
"Pl-please?" My stutter had grown exponentially worse since the chaos and destruction of Garreg Mach. "Lady Sh-shamir, I just want to ask…"
Shamir stopped her stride to turn and face me. She crossed her arms in front of her chest in the way that made me drop my eyes to the ground. She always had a way of standing tall, no matter the circumstance, "alright, go ahead and ask."
At that moment, I felt paralyzed as a rabbit caught in a trap, but I managed to mutter, "w-why do you always have fresh scabs on your knuckles?"
Shamir pushed a few wild strands from her face to behind her ear, "is that really relevant to the history of the Empire? I fell."
"Y-you fell?" I did not have the courage to call her out on her blatant lie. "Do y-you do this… often?"
"Yes," Shamir stated with almost no emotion in her voice. "What can I say, I'm clumsy and use my knuckles to brace my fall… or whatever."
I decided not to push the issue.
When I heard that Hubert had been ordered to transcribe the rise of the new Empire, I wished I had the courage to volunteer as well, but I only crossed my arms and shrunk my shoulders like the coward I am.
It is an enticing idea to have the professor be able to read everything that's transpired with us, I believe he would be proud. It would be a lie if I said I didn't long to have him pat my head once again, but I'm sure all in the Black Eagles feel the same.
When I collected the bravery needed to venture from my quarters the next time, it was Leonie and Caspar that had approached me no more than two meters from my door.
"Are you doing a transcription, too?" Caspar's voice carried the same enthusiasm, but had lost a lot of his genuine glow. Another unfortunate side effect of the professor's absence, I'm sure.
"Hubert wouldn't let us add to his," Leonie's disingenuity was clear. It was as if she struggled to merely act the same as she did before, but her eyes were nothing more than hollow orbs.
"He-he wouldn't?" I tried to mask my panic at being approached so rapidly.
"No!" Leonie scoffed. "Do you believe that? He said we'd only distract from the 'true' history or something like that." She used her fingers to make air quotes, "like we're fake or something."
"Um…uh," I wished I could control my anxiety. "Wh-what would you like t-to add?"
"Well, if it's for the professor," Caspar rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I want him to know how strong I've grown! I'm up to two sandbags on each side of my jogging stick now!"
"That's not history, Caspar," Leonie rolled her eyes as she sucked her teeth.
"Oh, I'm sure yours will most definitely surpass mine," he sarcastically quipped. "By all means, what would you care to add to Bernie's transcription?"
"I'd tell him not only have we conquered an empire, but now we've conquered Garreg Mach!" Leonie threw her fist into the air, as if she hoped the professor could see her. "And I didn't beat up any of the refugees, no matter how annoying they were… and well, that I hope he's proud of us."
"Not really sure we've conquered anything," Caspar shrugged his shoulders. "Edelgard merely succeeded her father, and we just annoyed Rhea until she left on her own accord."
"Yeah, that's what I said," Leonie was obviously annoyed. "Conquered."
Regardless if their contributions would ever reach our professor's eyes, I decided not to omit it. Leonie and Caspar have clearly tried to mask their pain through their banter and it is not my place to judge the worthiness of their words.
I promise I'll write again soon. But Lady Edelgard has requested our presence in the war room. While I feel my body shake and a queasiness in my stomach, I know I must stand tall, just as the professor would want me to.
I will leave this entry with another ode. I believe this to be the safest place to keep it as I've misplaced my other two and will assuredly endure the consequences sooner or later.
Locks so dark they nearly shimmer blue,
Tight lipped with your words so few.
I may lose myself in the ocean of your eyes,
Or crumble under the weight of my own guise.
You stand so tall with a face made of stone,
With no lover in sight to call your own.