This is a closed roleplay blog for Sitri Eisner from Fire Emblem: Three Houses. Written with love by Rune (she/her, 25, GMT-3). Established in September 2023. Affiliated with The Officers Academy as an Abyss resident. Art, PSD, pinned & activity check.
Sitri had always been frail. Giving birth proved to be too much for her in the end... On that fated day, it looked as though neither of you would survive. In those final moments, she spoke, saying, "My heart... Give it to my child." — Parting Ways
I ask that you kindly contact me if you wish to continue an ask. This is so I know to expect a response and to keep my thread count manageable. If I refuse your request it’s due to the latter, nothing personal. Thank you in advance for your understanding.
Notes on my portrayal.
Upon Sitri's death, Rhea gives up half of her heart in the hopes of reviving her. The events of Cindered Shadows occur in much the same way as in canon, save that Sitri is not absorbed into the Umbral Beast and she is eventually resurrected. Aelfric's fate is left deliberately ambiguous in case someone would like to write him in the future.
Since her death is public knowledge, Sitri chooses to take the alias Lilian, dye her hair dark brown and hide in Abyss to avoid people discovering that she has been revived, or worse, that she's an artificial being. She works as an apothecary and herbalist.
While these aspects will come up in prose, Sitri's identity, her connection to Rhea and her nature are unknown to all but the two of them (save Byleth, and even then she hasn't revealed that she yet lives). Sitri is an habitual and accomplished liar.
@setethsayeth sent: a memory that strains a relationship
Content warning for religious themes, dysfunctional family dynamics and suicidal ideation
It is part of Sitri's routine by now, to come into her mother's office and quietly join her with her own tasks. Fifteen minutes after the clock strikes one she slips in without knocking, books and craftwork always balanced atop a tray of baked goods. She sets the tray down on a side table to await their break, picks up her things, kisses Rhea on both cheeks and takes her place on the chair beside her. On most days Sitri spends this time studying, but she also reads for leisure, writes short stories and practices a variety of textile arts. Today, she is embroidering.
They sit in companionable silence as the afternoon draws on, the rustling of paper and the scratch of her mother's quill the only sounds to be heard save for the songbirds by the window. Sitri sets aside a cover for her mother's jewelry box, only half-completed after a year of careful stitching. She stretches her hands and neck, then continues to work on the decor for her handkerchief instead. A moment later, though, she places the fabric on the desk.
"You would do well to stretch yourself, Mama," she says softly, rising from her chair. "Wait a moment, I will pour you a cup of water."
"Thank you, Sitri," Rhea answers, gaze landing on the embroidery beside her hand as she stretches. "Oh, this is new, is it not? What is it that you are embroidering?"
"It is," the girl confirms as she returns to the desk with two glasses. "I thought of embroidering one of my handkerchiefs with the Crest of Flames."
"The Crest of Flames?" Rhea asks after having sipped at her drink. "Why?"
"Oh," Sitri murmurs, suddenly timid, "no reason in particular. I like the pattern, I suppose."
Her mother's eyes seem to pierce through her even unintentionally, and she shrinks. The truth hangs in the air between them, unsaid and unsayable.
She isn't sure when exactly she began to think that if she were devout enough, if she tried hard enough, she might be able to become the Goddess after all. She isn't sure when she decided that meant embroidering the Crest of Flames on everything she owns, either. It's silly, she knows it is, and it's childish too. Yet there are only so many ways to be devout, and she's determined to be that through whatever means she can. (Sometimes she thinks she ought to get the Crest branded onto her face. Maybe that would finally be enough devotion.)
"You like the pattern," Rhea repeats after a pause. Somehow it sounds like an accusation. Sitri ought to bristle, but she doesn't. Instead she looks down at her lap and bunches up the fabric of her dress in shaking hands. She hates that she's shaking.
"That is… not quite true," she admits in a small voice. "I mean, I do not dislike the pattern, but I just — oh, it is a silly reason. Forget I said anything."
Of course her mother doesn't simply set this aside, though. Things are never that simple. Instead she turns to face Sitri and takes her hands, her face so full of loving concern that it borders on sickening. Sitri can barely stand to see it, and she lowers her gaze again after the briefest of glances, this time dipping her head.
"What is the matter, my dear?" Rhea asks, one hand reaching out to stroke her daughter's hair.
(Not her daughter. Her creation, her vessel, even her failure, but never her daughter.)
"Well, I…" Sitri murmurs, then bites her lower lip. What is she meant to say? She cannot speak the truth, not when it hurts this much in the silence already. To say it would be to make her fears real. She doesn't want to become the Goddess. She doesn't want to be sacrificed. She only wants to stop hurting. "I… I…"
Her voice breaks. A tear rolls down her cheek, then another. She sits there, as motionless as a statue save for her trembling, head still hung low.
"Go on, my love," Rhea prompts softly, still stroking her hair. "You know you need not keep anything from me."
My love. How easily her mother lies.
"I… I do not want to hurt you," Sitri whispers at last.
“Hurt me? Sitri, darling, nothing you ever said or did could hurt me. What is it that troubles you?”
She should have lied. She should have lied just like Rhea always does to her. She makes it seem so easy. Well, it is easy enough for Sitri as well; it's lying to her mother that is hard, though the woman has no such reservations. She's such a foolish child, even now. Though she knows now that Rhea will and does lie to her, still she cannot give her mother anything but the truth, undeserved as it is.
“I am embroidering the… the Crest of Flames because… I've been thinking — hoping — that… If I am just devout enough… If I wish for it from the bottom of my heart…” Her voice falters and she wrings her hands, letting out a dry sob.
“Sitri, darling —” Her mother begins, and she can hear the pain and shock in Rhea's voice without looking up. She gives a shake of the head.
“If I do that, maybe the Goddess will come back within me after all. She nearly did, that day in the garden.” She doesn't sob, but continues before her mother can protest again. “I know it is a silly thing to do. But there is nothing else I can do, and I am sick of not being good enough.” Finally her head snaps up and she looks at her mother, her eyes full of tears. “Do not try and deny it, Mother. I know I am a failure. I know, and I am sick to death of it.”
It doesn't matter what she says, though. Her creator is nothing if not stubborn, after all. She knows that Rhea will deny it just as well as she knows that it's the truth, and she wonders why she ever gave an honest answer; why she ever gave an answer at all. She ought to have ignored the question. Her mother did so even when she was too young to grasp why.
“Oh Sitri,” Rhea is saying now, her voice full of tears even though her eyes are dry, “my dear, listen to —”
Sitri rises to her feet and slams her needlework down on the desk with such violence that their water spills and one of the glasses turns over outright, tumbling onto the carpet below while the water stains the Archbishop's regalia. The very same thing happened when she was four, she remembers with perfect clarity.
“No,” Sitri snaps, with a petulance that befits a four-year-old girl far more than one of thirteen, but she couldn't care less. “No. I've spent years listening to you, to your, your lies, and I'm sick of all of it! Oh, I should've lied too. I should've ignored you, like you did when I was so little I couldn't understand why. You never explain anything to me, so why should I?!”
The water is dripping still, slowly forming a puddle at her mother's feet. Neither of them have so much as glanced downwards, instead staring at each other; Rhea with open astonishment and horror, Sitri with more anger and hurt than she knows what to do with.
She grips her half-embroidered handkerchief and tosses it onto her creator's lap, needle and all. She wishes she could bring herself to throw the glass near her hand instead, smash it into a million pieces and leave Rhea to pick them up like the pieces of her heart. She trembles with ill-contained rage.
“Keep it,” she chokes out, “since you love the Goddess so much. Let us say it was a gift for you. If I have to swallow your lies, Mother, then you should also swallow mine. Do not answer. If you do I will start screaming, I swear I will!”
Wide-eyed and pale, Rhea finally stirs, not to speak but to reach for her — creature — with a trembling hand. She looks almost frightened. Good.
“Do not touch me either!” Sitri screams, and with a dry sob she turns on her heel in lieu of sending everything on the desk crashing. For a moment she remains there, shaking, some part of her longing for Rhea's warmth even as she refuses it. She hates her weakness. “I hate you,” she lies. It's easy this time.
She makes for the door before her mother has a chance to react, slamming it shut and bounding down the hallway. It feels as though her heart will give out under the strain of her distress.
“I do not think anyone besides yourself has worried about my neck, before," Rhea tries, though with a tone less sure than before,"for surely a woman who would bow under such a weight could not be entrusted to carry the prayers of all of Fodlan's most faithful?"
Sitri parries her words just as Jeralt once did, no far better than he ever could; for Sitri knows all that the man never did and she carries it so well now as an adult that even Rhea must marvel; there is a saying about leaving the nest, Rhea had never much paid attention to thinking it never would apply to her but perhaps she should have for even without literal wings Sitri soars.
And they can soar together, here.and now, rather than hunched down in the dark of the abyss or in secluded passages of the monastery.
(She supposes this is still somewhat secluded, but from the little Rhea has read on the subject sneaking away to gossip at banquets is quite the norm for nobility).
"Very well," Rhea says with a smile in her voice as she leans back in time with the sound of her unlatched clasp. "You have always had such a way with this. Far more so than any of my maids, try though they must."
She leans back fully now as she feels the first of her braids come undone with the clasp; these are the ones that encircle the crown of her head and hide the tip of her ears from sight. She often wears it like this to sleep for practicality's sake and so letting the knots out entirely is freeing, indeed; relaxed, Rhea recognizes Sitris touch as she carefully massages her scalp
"Your fingers are different..." Rhea says, mostly to herself. Rougher. They speak of her life in Abyss that creator and creation do not. "...an apothecary yes? You always did know so much about the plants here and now you even prepare them."
(She does not ask if she is happy to do such work. It seems cruel.)
"That is exactly my point," Sitri answers patiently, though she can't quite keep the satisfaction from her voice; nor the warmth. Her mother is hopelessly unaware, and she is just as hopelessly endeared. "No one worries about your neck because they see only Her Grace the Archbishop, and it is true enough that she does not bow under the weight of her headdress..."
She trails off, sweeping Rhea's long hair aside to expose the nape of her neck and bending to kiss it very gently. For a moment Sitri stays still, face pressed to her mother's skin, breathing in the scent of her. There are so many things she could say now, on pain and truth and love, but she knows her mother well enough that she chooses not to. Speaking of grief won't change it.
In the end she settles on, "... but the fact that you bear it doesn't mean it does not ache. I can see that."
She hears Rhea's smile and smiles as well, yet her expression soon falters. I could have been one of them. I could have been with you all the time. She swallows these words and others too: Of course I have a way with it, I have always done my own hair even though the Archbishop's daughter would not have.
Resentment catches in her throat but Sitri doesn't say that either. She doesn't say it's becoming harder to keep quiet, that it costs her something each time and she isn't sure how much more she can give.
"It seems to me that you might need better maids," she murmurs instead, and her smile returns. "Assuming, of course, that this isn't your bias speaking."
She goes on massaging Rhea's scalp, handling the strands with care, though her movements still when attention is brought to her fingers. Saints, why must every word out of her mother's mouth ache so? She wanted — wants — to spend time together, and yet...
Perhaps it's because this heart is new. Her hands may be rougher but her heart is softer, unused to the little hurts that her old one knew. In this second life she even believed her mother's love was — had always been — unconditional. She ought to have known better.
"... Yes," she agrees tersely and resumes working.
Byleth watched silently as the woman processed his words. This whole time, that nagging feeling didn’t go away. He wanted to get closer, and speak to her face to face. This was something he didn’t feel often… so why now? She was just a random stranger, someone he never talked to before..
Yet those eyes.. when he saw them, whatever he had that passed for a heart felt as if it would nearly give out. It bothered him, an unpleasant feeling sinking in his stomach. With these thoughts distracting him, he only barely processed the woman’s words before she turned around.
“Wait-“ He stretched out his hand. But she was gone, leaving him alone in the forest with his thoughts.
…this was irregular. He was distracted, which could be a death sentence in his line of work. Maybe he should consult his father about this… though it could also be he was just looking too deeply into this. Yet another unusual thing…
“So… what do you think?” He quietly asked, seemingly to nobody in particular…
Although Sitri has read many descriptions of the sea and even seen it depicted in paintings before, still she has never quite been able to visualize it; water as far as the eye can see and beyond that, without end... The world that the Goddess fashioned is full of wonders, to be sure, but this wonder is such that it has ever eluded her imagination. At times, confined between the monastery's walls as she has always been, it has even seemed too beautiful and grand to be real.
It is real, though, and its immensity takes Sitri's breath away.
She forgets herself the moment that the coast comes into view from within the carriage, pressing her face against the window with glee like a child's, and once they arrive it takes all her willpower to endure the necessary rituals of politeness before the Margrave finally invites her on a boat ride.
Not that he takes overly long, to his credit. Her anticipation is evident enough in the way that she praises the sea before him and Selena, letting her escort handle the actual polite exchanges for her, and soon enough they are off to the harbor.
Sitri makes it onto the boat with brisk steps, just barely able to keep from running outright, and she all but launches herself against the railings in her excitement. One hand finds purchase on the wood as she bends forward, stretching out the other to touch the sparkling ocean below, delighting in the breeze that sends her hair flying and the cries of the seagulls and the scent of sea-salt, all these sights and sensations so overwhelmingly lovely that she could weep for joy.
"Oh, Selena," she calls back, turning her head only briefly, "isn't this the most wonderful scenery you've ever seen?"
It struck me that this is a fitting day to put it out there that I have an alternate verse wherein everything is the same except that your muse's stay at Garreg Mach takes place during Sitri's childhood years. (If you write Byleth and you're interested in this, don't worry about it too much. A time warp can be involved.)
I'm not looking for much this month, just two new threads; one is from the affiliated mission board and the other is open to anyone. Without further ado...
Sitri has a vested but deeply personal interest in the legends surrounding the Valley of Torment given that she was intended to be the Goddess, and she is also interested in this new spell devised by House Daphnel since it could (she hopes) perhaps help her frail constitution in general. Her stated reason for looking for a partner for this trip, however, is that she's interested in the flora and fauna of Ailell since the pomegranate that grows there has special properties. Basically, if you want to venture into a place named for suffering with someone who's a little bit unhinged about the whole thing, look no further! [Faith +1, Golden Deer needed]
Sitri wasn't here for last year's Ethereal Ball but I figure she's heard about the rat orchestra, and she would have found the very idea incredibly charming, like something out of a fairy tale. Students going missing is... not nearly as romantic, however, and she won't abide by anyone "slandering" the monastery staff or the Knights since her mother and husband are counted among them. They're busy and she'll always help them where she can, including here. Again, if you want to investigate a mystery with a partner whose priorities are just slightly skewed, she's your girl. [Sword +1]
This is a game, of course, for Naesala to play. To ease some boredom, to steal some pretty little gems. He does not intend to make anyone uncomfortable -- but he also does not care if he does.
Such is the way of Ravens.
He takes her hand and pulls her out onto the dance floor, spinning her once as he does. He pulls her close and gives her a little smile, one that befits a man who has all the time in the world to waste, and little care about how he spends it.
He laughs. "You're not a bad dance partner, Lady Lillian. You must have had practice before."
He keeps in time with the music. Despite everything ravens are graceful creatures, even if their wings are black and not white. The music swells and fades and swells again; Naesala's eyes close, and he continues on. "Where did you learn?"
Sitri allows the man to pull her along without any further protests, her hair cascading down her back untied. He is the sort who will do as he likes regardless of what she says, evidently, and she is not bothered enough to confront him or make a scene out of it. It's just a dance.
Her steps are well-practiced, automatic. She moves in time with the music and follows his lead, yet she neither returns his smile nor gives him a reaction when he pulls her closer. She makes it a point not to laugh when he does, too. It's just a dance, and there is no reason to give him anything beyond that.
He is apparently unbothered, which is all the same to her, or it would be if he didn't feel the need to ask questions. It's a simple one, she'll grant him, but she hates any sort of prying. Well, Lilian is far from important enough to have had a noblewoman's education, but then so was Sitri. The best lies have some truth in them.
"I had a dance teacher," she says smoothly. That much is true. "I am no one of any importance, mind, only a bastard daughter — but I was fortunate to receive the education of a noble girl all the same." That is close enough to the truth, and like the truth, it stings. Sitri swiftly turns the conversation away from herself. "Where did you learn?"
"Distract it?!"
The request is made with no suggestions as to how to follow through, as if she'd asked him to do something simple like passing the salt at the dining hall rather than restraining an injured, angry animal that could bite his damned arm off.
Does she expect him to be gentle? He hasn't been afforded much practice with that. The sharp gleam of the wyvern's teeth as it writhes beneath the net doesn't give him much hope for the beast being gentle, either.
He lunges forward and wraps his hands around the wyvern's maw, intent to keep those teeth behind its lips before it has a chance to tear through its restraints. It shakes its head to and fro, bright yellow eye glaring up at Python as he leans his weight into his hold in an attempt to keep it relatively still. Pronged horns jut up dangerously close through the tight weave of the netting.
Python swallows.
"Hey, uh, do you consider yourself better with quick-acting sedatives or reattaching limbs? Tryin' to weigh my options on when to let go over here."
"Yes," Sitri confirms with as much patience as she can muster in the circumstances. "Like with —"
Your lance, she meant to say but doesn't, recalling halfway through the sentence that the man with her does not in fact bear a lance.
She may not be accompanied by the Immaculate One, but in her former life she would have been together with her husband on such a dangerous errand, and he could've done this easily. It's easy to forget that she can't rely on him, or on any Knight for that matter, no longer having the authority to summon them as she pleases.
Instead she's stuck with a lunatic. Good thing she's already halfway to the thrashing beast with her makeshift syringe in hand when he launches himself at it bodily, she supposes. Even without a lance, he could have acted as bait from a distance or — something other than physically wrestling a wyvern.
There's no time to berate him, or even to answer his question. She stops walking for only a split second, then bends forward and jabs the needle through scale and skin, putting all her strength into the motion. Once that's done, she throws her traveling cloak over the animal's head for good measure.
"Let go and get back," she tells her companion, though she herself stays only a few steps away from the wyvern to observe the sedative in action. Her heart is pounding loudly. "I said to distract it, get its attention, not physically restrain it. Saints. Are you wounded?"
When she stopped, Byleth eventually did as well, a slight distance away from her. She didn’t seem all that physically inclined.. why was she even participating in this seminar, then? Quietly wondering why, he jumped atop another tree branch, choosing to remain out of sight for now.
She sounded genuinely confused.. odd. Wasn’t the assignment explained before she entered the woods? “It’s the seminar on staying calm under physical and emotional stress.” He stated bluntly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. The soldier standing by at the entrance to the woods should’ve explained the basics, yet this woman appeared to be completely unaware. Unless.. this was supposed to be a diversion tactic?
“There’s a flag strapped to a tree somewhere. Find it and you win. Get captured and you lose.” He reiterated the rules for good measure. Whether she was aware of it before or not, she would be now. While he could still not place this strange feeling, a part of him hoped she would continue the seminar. It was almost like… oh, what was the word?
Tag, yes. A game of tag, as some children liked to play. Sometimes, whenever they stayed in a village, the children would ask some of the company’s men to play with them. That included games like tag. Never Byleth though, as perhaps he unnerved them as well.. but he always ignored it.
“You’re free to give up.. I’ll escort you to the forest’s edge in that case. Though it’s safe here, there are bears deeper within, so….” He trailed off as he mindlessly fiddled with a loose strand of his dark hair. The woman looked.. frail, but something about her made her seem nice. It would be tragic for someone of her constitution to get attacked by a bear…
That was right, she had meant to take part in a seminar — amidst the shock and panic, Sitri had forgotten all about it. So this was the semi...
... Wait. This was the seminar on methods to withstand interrogations that may "test your emotional and physical strength"? The method consisted on running away from someone with a sword who could, presumably, harm you if you were captured? This didn't even involve interrogations at all! More importantly, surely whoever organized this had no intention to harm the losers, right? Right?
Her mother would not have approved such a thing if there were any real risk, she told herself, though Goddess knew that Rhea might well have done so without paying attention to the details... Where on earth had Seteth been to bar this insanity? Actually, was this even properly authorized or had Byleth gotten roped into some kind of —
Byleth.
She started again, visibly this time. Never mind this absolutely insane seminar, she could bring her concerns to Rhea directly later. The fact that her son was the one chasing her was much more important.
All of this went through Sitri's mind in a flash while her adult child, whom she had last seen as a newborn, spoke. The weight of the last twenty-one years made itself felt in full for the first time; it was easy to forget just how much time had passed, for both her mother and she herself were unchanged, but to see her baby boy now like this —
Suddenly it was hard to breathe, and not from exertion. Sitri lifted the canteen to her lips in silence and drank deeply, then went on holding it with both hands to hide their shaking. When she spoke, though, her voice trembled only slightly.
"I give up," she said, still turned away from him as she had been ever since stopping, "and I have no need of an escort."
It was rather cold… good thing he was wearing a proper coat, he silently mused as he sat atop a large tree branch. This was supposed to be a unique seminar that focused on handling situations under stress, such as an interrogation. It made sense. Cracking under pressure when interrogated by an enemy could easily destroy any carefully crafted plans an ally made, after all.
He knew someone was to come here soon, he wouldn’t be waiting in the forest alone if that weren’t the case. After some time his ears began picking up the steady crunching of leaves, footsteps of someone coming closer. Locating the source of the sound, it was-
It was…. What? He locked eyes with an unfamiliar woman. Clearly, by the way she was staring directly into his eyes, she saw him as well. Yet, when he did… Though from the outside he made no notable change in expression, no sudden movements, it was as if a torrent swirled up inside his soundless chest, a powerful sensation. He couldn’t identify it as anything. Not sadness, not joy, not even confusion.
He quickly shook it off, though. He had a job to do, and so he would do it. Quickly getting on his feet, he gave chase, wooden sword in hand. He could tell where the woman was from the sound of her footsteps alone. To not make it completely unfair though, he made sure not to run as fast as he could. If he did, this “exercise” would be done in seconds.
“There are traps here.” He called out to her, making sure to smack his sword against a tree every so often- a way for her to ascertain his position, as well as the distance between them. “Until you find the flag- or until I capture you, I will give chase. Good luck.”
Right. Turning and running after staring at him like some kind of prey animal will definitely make her son think she's unhinged. It does not matter, though, Sitri tells herself. He'll never even know about their relation. All she needs to do is stay in Abyss during the day as she has been (although she's come to the surface in broad daylight a few too many times recently) and everything will be perfectly fine.
Or it would be, but she can hear his footsteps behind hers.
"Wha — Leave me alone!" She gasps, struggling to speak loudly while on the run. The loud noise of wood against wood is the only answer. Great, now he's threatening her. "Why are you — Ack!"
This last is let out as she runs right into a tree branch while looking over her shoulder. It stings. Somewhere behind her, he's still giving chase. She could explain herself, but she can't bear to look at him in order to do so. Not when she can't tell him the truth.
He doesn't, though, and by the time he speaks she's afraid that he's figured out who she is somehow, or else he thinks she's trespassing and she's suspicious and either way he'll take her to Jeralt and —
As his words sink in fully, she skids to a halt. Goddess, as familiar as she is with the terrain, she is not good at running.
"Excuse me?!" She calls out, thanking all the saints for the fact that she brought her canteen. His sword clangs again. Hell, he thinks the chase is still on. Actually, why is he even chasing her to begin with? Why is there a whole set-up for him to chase her? She fully forgets to drink, instead speaking up again: "Wait a minute! I did not agree to this! I did not even know about — whatever this is!"
As unconventional as a seminar on how to withstand interrogations sounds, it also sounds like it could be useful. Sitri hopes that she will never be interrogated, of course, but she can't know that she will not; if any of her mother's enemies discovered their connection, it might well come to that — or worse — according to Rhea herself.
She isn't sure she believes it, in truth, but she'll take the opportunity to improve her resistance just in case. The flyer mentioned physical strength, too, and that's another reason it interests her. With how weak her body is, any chance to strengthen it is welcome.
The woods are a strange place to host an interrogation, it occurs to her as she makes her way there, but it could be that the instructor has something else in mind. Besides, she knows these woods like the back of her hand, so she should not have any...
... problems.
Oh, dear. She does have a problem already.
There is only one other person among the trees, and that person is her son; the very same son that she's determined to avoid, for his own good and his father's as well. (If she were free to do so, she'd be closing the distance and cupping his cheek, marveling at how much he's grown and explaining the strange circumstances of her return to life, but of course she isn't.) Of course she would run into Byleth by sheer coincidence shortly after his arrival at the monastery.
Without a word, she stares at him with wide, frightened eyes for the space of a heartbeat. Then her gaze darts away from her son and to the trees, searching for an escape like a doe standing before a hunter.
She feels naked, exposed, standing before him like this. Her hair may be brown, but they still have the same eyes. They have the same face. He may not remember her, not the way Jeralt would, but he can still — still — What? Think his mother is back from beyond the grave?
Sitri turns and slips into the trees as fast as she can, all the same.
The arrow pierced her right arm, not deep enough to cause serious injury but enough to hurt all the same. Elincia grimaces, allowing herself a brief moment of weakness before plastering on another smile. The chase around the battlefield continues and she cannot let her students outpace her!
She feels a twinge of guilt as she readies her bow. Lilian is clearly out of breath and struggling. Yet she fights on courageously all the same. It would be dishonourable to go easy on her.
Besides, she’ll likely miss her retaliatory shot anyway. No harm done!
Elincia 1.5/5HP attacks Sitri 1/6HP with Steel Bow
Roll:17! Hit! -2 damage
Sitri has been defeated.
“Goodness! I did it! I actually did it!” a moment to celebrate, cut short as she spares a glance back to Lilian. No hard feelings, they might have agreed but she can’t help but feel rueful seeing the young woman looking worse for wear. “I’m sorry, Lilian! Are you alright?”
“I’ll find you later! Come on, Caspar! Just a little further, we’ve got them on the ropes!”
Sitri expected the other archer to shoot back at her, but she has to admit that she wasn't quite prepared for the arrow to properly meet its target (which is to say, her). The one before only grazed her and Elincia's aim has not been great otherwise, to put it kindly.
Saints, she is weary. She wishes she could have held out for longer, or at the very least struggled less while she was on the field. She has never been able to keep up with her peers, but the fact that she's used to this makes it no less frustrating. If anything, it worsens the sting.
Even with a new life, a new heart, she's as weak as she's always been. Sitri’s body is not up to the task of a spar, her mother told someone not so long ago. She should've remembered this herself.
Sitri has been defeated!
Sitri neither sighs nor collapses, despite how much it feels as though she will. She only staggers out of the way with as much dignity as she can muster. Her bow is left on the ground, since even the task of bending to pick it up again seems too momentous.
"I will be fine," she assures Elincia, putting on a brave face. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more, Emma... I'd like to stay and watch over you, but..."
But it's a feat that she's even gotten this many words out. Turning away, Sitri begins the long, hard walk to the tent.
Emma recognizes what is happening, though she isn't sure yet how to stop it the slow-motion carriage collision she feels she has found herself right in the middle of. When the fire was being focused on her, she felt like anything was possible; now that it is being focused on her friend, suddenly, she feels the pressure of her own incompetency hot on her cheeks.
It's a situation she recognizes all too well, though at least this time the only threat is the loss of victory and not the loss of a life.
"Oh no you don't!"
Light on her feet as she can be, Emma speeds in, yanks her weapon out of the ground, and lunges--
Emma 1/6 HP barely hits Elincia 3.5/5 HP with Javelin [Roll: 5, -.5 HP, Elincia 3/5 HP]
--gasping as she nearly topples with the force of her momentum, though at least managing contact as she does.
Emma's javelin sails by, but Caspar hardly pays it any mind. He's a man on a mission, and he's finally closed on in his target.
"Here we go!"
Up close and toe-to-toe, it's Caspar who has the advantage again. The thrill of the chase has him buzzing with energy, grinning at Lilian despite her scolding.
"Like I said, I'm not gonna go easy. I wish you the best at the med tent though, heheh!"
Caspar 2/5 HP hits and hits Sitri 3/6 HP with Iron Gauntlets [Roll: 8, 12; -1 + -1 = -2HP, Sitri 1/6HP]
His strikes are blunt and direct as ever, just as promised.
Sitri gasps when Elincia's arrow hits her, though she's glad that the other woman finally managed to hit someone (and glad that it was her, with her teammate's current state).
Yet soon enough she's just as hurt as the dear girl, because Caspar catches up with her and she doesn't have it in her to even try to dodge. She can't help but to bend under the force of his blows, just barely staying on her feet.
Saints, she is tired. She doesn't have it in her to banter anymore either. Her high spirits from earlier have all but fizzled out, and some part of her is wondering why she ever thought she'd be any help to the Golden Deer at all.
The better part of her, though, is determined to see this mock battle through. She owes Emma that much. She's reaching her limit, she can feel it, but she isn't quite there yet. She straightens again.
Sitri 1/6 HP hits Elincia 3/5 HP with Iron Bow [Roll: 16, -1.5 HP, Elincia 1.5/5 HP]
Her aim, at least, remains accurate even if her hands shake. It takes all of her willpower not to drop to her knees after shooting, and it's a near thing. Her legs are shaking too and it feels like everything hurts, but she can still keep going. She takes another gulp of water and tries for a smile, mostly for Emma's sake.
"Oomphgh--!!" Yowch, that one smarted--it is a lot easier to get hit where it hurts when you don't have the advantage of a mount! People really do just hit each other with their fists here, huh?!
(Fodlan's pretty cool, maybe she should check some of those classes out...)
She nearly buckles upon the impact, but holds sturdy, managing a response. "You'd better believe I am--" Instinctually, she stumbles back to introduce distance, summoning determination in the face of imminent danger. The girl feels her knees wobble, but she's not about to back down here, no sir! Emma reaches for her javelin...
...and comes up empty, realizing it is still embedded in the ground where she last threw it, a look of horror dawning upon her.
"--not! I'm not, actually, hold on!"
Emma 1/6 HP moves GD right
"Lilian, we've gotta get moving!"
Her path by now having drawn a loop, retracing steps laid prior, she yanks her javelin out of the ground. She's about to volley it back towards her pursuant, but she sees another arrow knocked on the horizon, and that immediately jumps to the top of the priority list. In a frantic, hurried motion, she lobs it with a "Hup!"
Emma 1/6 HP misses Elincia 3.5/5 HP with Javelin [Roll: 4]
It lands, comedically and ineffectually, in the dirt several feet away from its target.
Quite a lot of things happen while Sitri is catching her breath.
Firstly, the children go for another round of scuffling — as they ought to, she will admit, but still Caspar hits her teammate with such force that she winces in sympathy. He's going far too hard on her.
Secondly, the pegasus knight realizes that she's forgotten her javelin. Sitri meant to tell her as much, truly, but between running, fighting (or trying to fight) and wheezing she just didn't have the chance. Not that Emma recovering her weapon makes much difference, because the third thing that happens is that she promptly misses again.
Anyone would be off balance after a punch like that, though — and Elincia still goes for the poor girl, who's a stiff breeze away from being eliminated from the game. That's the fourth thing that happens while Sitri recovers, as well as the last. She's had enough.
"Come now," she says, looking at Caspar, "this is a mock battle, there is no need to hit that hard."
Sitri 4/6 HP hits Caspar 3.5/5 HP with Iron Bow [Roll: 19, -1.5 HP, Caspar 2/5 HP]
Now that she's both in range of him and well-rested she picks up the bow again, taking a few precious moments to aim. Despite her earlier words to him her shot is accurate and sharp, coming dangerously close to hitting him as hard as he'd hit Emma. Perhaps she should've given him a taste of his own medicine, but this will do.
