A Good Talk

(Academy Phase)

Dyneira = Byleth

I brace myself for Thursday — it is the day of the student-instructor conferences. I was unlucky enough to draw the Golden Deer card during the faculty meeting on Monday, so I know that the day is going to be exhausting. Both Jeritza and Manuela found this highly amusing, but Hanneman, ever to his credit, strove to help me through it — I suspect it was because I donated several hair samples for his research on my Crest three days ago.

"They won't take long, if you're methodical," he tells me at breakfast early Thursday morning. "Do not mince words — they may be your students, but you do not need to pity or coddle them if they are not doing well. Be frank, offer straightforward advice, and see what they do with it."

I fear this will not be enough to help the Golden Deer, though — compared to the the Blue Lions and Black Eagles, their House average is laughably mediocre, and, having pondered over the gradebook extensively, I know why: a few bad apples have soiled the bunch, those being Hilda and Raphael. With one, it is a matter of effort, and the other a matter of basic intelligence, and it's to the point that not even the superb marks of Lysithea and Ignatz can keep the House's average afloat.

And then there is Claude...

I have an idea, though, and I put it into action as the conferences begin. I start with my candidates, Lysithea and Ignatz, who readily accept my proposition, and then move on quickly to the flight risks. Raphael agrees easily enough, looking sullen and a little ashamed, but Hilda is simply appalled.

"Mandatory recitation?" she exclaims when I break the sorry news to her. "Professor, you can't be serious! I spend enough time in classrooms during the day — I can't abide looking at that blackboard anymore after the bell."

"And I can't abide your poor marks sullying my gradebook," I say flatly. "Lysithea has agreed to stay behind extra hours to work with your on both your tactics and your arithmetic, and you will meet her here every day after lessons end, on time, until your grades improve."

She is petulant — her lip juts out. "Or?"

Or? "Or I'll know the reason why."

"And then what? You'll yell at me?" She smirks, as if she's caught me in a trap. I don't blink.

"Or I'll submit a recommendation for your withdrawal from the Academy to Seteth," I say.

That gives her pause, and the irony is so strong that I almost scowl. So she wants to stay at the Officer's Academy, but she doesn't want to work for it? Maybe that's not it — maybe it's the idea of Seteth bearing down on her that makes her nervous. That would be enough to make me pause and reconsider too.

"Can't I do something else?" Hilda begs. "An extra-credit assignment or something? A mandatory recitation is just so bothersome. I have so many things to do after classes—"

I wait for her to elaborate, but she doesn't.

"—and you're not only dragging me, but Lysithea down too. Isn't that rather inconsiderate, Professor?"

"Extra credit won't save you," I say. "And neither will begging. Recitation, Hilda, every day, after the bell. Have I made myself clear?"

She leaves in an angry huff, but even when she's gone, I'm tense. She's hard to get a read on sometimes — I've exerted the hard arm of my authority, but will that be enough to get her to obey my orders? Time will tell. Goddess help her if she doesn't do as she's told — I don't easily get annoyed, but Hilda spitefully excusing herself from my planned intervention just might be enough to make me angry.

Much of the rest of the Deer go quickly. The majority is not as slovenly as Hilda in their studies, they just need the material to be delivered from another angle. I ask them to elaborate as to their needs, and as they open up — slowly, hesitantly — about their study methods, I break out my papers and fervently take notes. I continue to assign students to Lysithea and Ignatz's after-hours study sessions, but as the groups grow large, I quickly realize that the recitation leaders will need more support to keep their raucous peers under control.

I decide that I will add Lorenz as another leader to Ignatz's group, and consider recruiting Annette, Ferdinand, and Edelgard to the task too. No, Lindhardt, I think — as with Hilda, I am quickly running out of patience with him and his "weak constitution". He's smart, and having him help his peers study will keep him awake. Maybe Hubert too. I doubt a single soul would step out of line with him watching, though it might be hard to convince him to do such a thing if Edelgard was not somehow involved. Put him in her group, then.

The Golden Deer come and go, most of them looking a little miserable as they leave — Hilda's not the only one who finds having to put in extra work unpalatable. Unlike her, though, none of them argue — either they're still afraid of me, as Edelgard once posited, or they know they deserve it. I'd like to think it's the latter.

Finally, I reach the end of the list, where I find Claude. He's smiling, as always, when he comes in, which tells me that he's blissfully unaware of his academic peril.

"Hey, Teach," he says amiably. "Last but not least, eh? Should I expect this to be a short conference?"

"No." I sit behind my desk, and indicate that he do the same, in the chair for students. He does, leaning back and planting his legs wide.

"That so? Well, color me intrigued. In what way have I displeased our professor?"

I take a moment, trying to plan out this next targeted intervention. Strangely, this one feels more real than the others — Raphael at least is aware that he is despicably poor at sums, and the others made pledges, if half-hearted, to take active steps to improve their performances in elementary tactics, basic combat, composition and literature.

But Claude... He seems to neither know nor care about his failings in the historical unit over the past week. And what do you do with a student like that?

Maybe it's best not to jump right in, not just yet. "How are things?" I ask him.

"Things?"

"Yes, classes, training. Is everything all right?"

He raises his split brow. "Dandy. Why do you ask?"

I listen to his words, gauging their truth. But it's not the same as it is with Jeralt — I know Jeralt. When he speaks, I can hear what he feels, even when he desperately tries to hide it. But this young man I've known only for a couple of months. If there are secrets in his voice, my ears are unable to find them.

So I take him at his word and push into the real issue. "Your performance in the recent historical unit wasn't up to your usual standard. Are you aware of that?"

"I am," he says, surprising me. "I saw my examination score. I admit it wasn't pretty."

I steeple my fingers, lean onto the desk, and study him. There's a lack of concern in his voice that bothers me. "Why do you think that is?"

"I suppose memorizing endless dates, times, and events isn't my strong suit."

"Neither is swordplay. And yet you bothered to go to the library to look up techniques to strengthen your performance in that area."

His eyes widen. "You saw that?"

"I did." It had been a week or two ago, before one of Jeritza's notoriously difficult combat examinations. Students from all three houses had been sweating over it, and the Training Arena had been up to its neck in panicked kids hitting dummies and skirmishing from dawn until dusk for days. But Claude was the only student I'd seen actually go to the library to prep for the exam, books on swordplay stacked around him. Whatever he'd done, it had worked, because he'd passed, and his skills with a blade had noticeably improved over the course of this moon.

He rubs at his neck. "Teach, you can't go around watching people without them knowing like that. Call out next time, sheesh. Sometimes, it feels like you're a ghost or something."

I ignore the jab — if it was one. I honestly can't tell if it was an insult or a compliment. "Did you study like that for the recent exam?" I ask.

"Not so much."

"Why not?"

He meets my hard gaze, and despite his words, there's no shame in his eyes. It's bizarre. "Maybe I thought I didn't need to."

There's something here, something I'm missing, and I'm not sure whether or not I want to pursue it — Claude is suddenly tense, and for it to make him so, it must bad. But you're his professor. I summoned a memory of Manuela comforting a student grieving over their grade on a recent test and take a breath. Push.

"What in particular do you think gave you trouble in this unit?" I ask. "Was it remembering the goddess's commandments?"

"No."

"The History of Seiros and the Saints?"

"No."

"The birth and growth of the Church?"

"No."

I feel frustrated — that was the meat of the test. So why had he failed? "You tell me, then," I say.

He sits forward suddenly, copying my posture: steepled fingers, elbows on the desk. There's an uncharacteristic hardness to his face that takes me aback. "Do you really want to know, Professor?" he says gravely.

I wonder. His abrupt intensity makes me uneasy, and I suddenly feel that probing deeper into this was a mistake. But I think of Manuela again, think of what she might've done, might've said, and I say, "I want you to succeed, Claude. So if that means I must know, then yes, tell me."

He nods, approving of my tact. "Well, here it is, Teach: I didn't do well because I don't care for the subject matter."

My brows furrow. "You don't care for the history of the church, of Fódlan's spiritual foundation?"

"That's right."

The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and I know why: the Archbishop. I couldn't identify my own response to this sudden declaration, but I could scarcely imagine how Lady Rhea would feel if she was here, hearing one of the House Leaders speak about the church's history like this. She would be furious. I clear my throat.

"That's a little unbecoming of the Alliance's future sovereign duke, isn't it?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Perhaps." He pauses for a moment, as though debating whether to continue, and then says, with as much abruptness and punch as his last statement, "I know my own mind, Teach, and it doesn't appreciate being dictated to about how I should feel about the Church, about the goddess. That's called indoctrination."

And that's called blasphemy. I swallow the response; I feel like I'm channeling Lady Rhea again. "Do you disagree with the Church's views?"

"Do you think I should answer that?"

I allow him not to, as he's given me the answer anyway. Why? I wonder. I'm conflicted about whether or not to ask, and decide that I should not. That's his business. His grades are my purview.

"How is it indoctrination to learn about our goddess, and how the Church came to be?" I ask. An easier question for him to answer.

He shakes his head. "Have your read our textbook, Teach?"

"Yes."

"Then you must've noticed how the account of the Church and its influence is rife with bootlicking. The gospel of Seiros and her saints even more so. How can you abide reading such nauseating sycophancy?"

I want to disagree...but I can't. Not entirely. He's right, to an extent: the textbook does frame Saint Seiros, the goddess, and the Church in a certain...white light. But I argue that it is appropriate: the goddess is great, after all, and her deeds greater. How is it indoctrination to record such amazing events with the reverence they deserve?

"Whether or not you agree with what's been written," I say, "the point was to remember it. And if you can stomach having to learn how to swing a sword, then you can swallow your derision for the style of the text and answer questions that I ask about it."

"And there lays the trap," he says. "For if I remember it, I start to believe it. And don't you think it's wrong of the Academy to impose that on us?"

I begin to grow impatient. Just a little. I understand his point — in fact, he and I are more or less on the same footing on this matter. I don't know much, if anything, about the Church, Seiros, or the goddess before Jeralt and I came here, and I wasn't sure of how much I believed in all of it — sometimes, it all felt like information. This is Seiros. This is the goddess. This is the Church, and their history.

But other times, when I look at Lady Rhea, her beautiful smile, her ancient eyes, I feel...inspired by the things she believes in, as though her passion is contagious. Or maybe she simply brings forth passion that is already there, buried somewhere deep inside like a long-lost memory...

But wherever I stand, from one extreme to the other, one thing is for certain, and I say as much to Claude.

"If you and your personal beliefs can't persist through something as harmless as a history unit, then perhaps you need to withdraw from the Academy."

He is in disbelief. "Withdraw?"

"I daresay the future sovereign duke of the Leicester Alliance should be made of sterner stuff. If his beliefs are so fragile as to crumble to the 'indoctrination' of the Church, then perhaps you should abdicate your position as house leader to someone with more willpower. Like Lorenz."

A surprise smile makes his lips quirk. "Ouch. That hurts, Teach."

I lean forward. "You're not listening. I don't care what you believe, Claude. I just want you to know the history, because that is what I do care about: you, excelling in this Academy." I tap a finger against the desk. "And if you actually found the fortitude to push through, you may be surprised by what you learn. History itself is a great instructor, with dire lessons, and there are many to be found during the centuries of the Church's rise and peak. If you must ignore everything else, at last make it a point to indoctrinate yourself with those truths. As for your beliefs in regards to the goddess and the Saints..." I shake my head. "You're right, that is your decision, and no one else's. But it's no excuse for these pitiful scores of yours."

He leans back. The smile is still there, but there's finally shame too. I see my words have hit him hard, as have they me — the conviction with which I have said them leaves me feeling...old, for some reason. I am not an expert on Fódlan's spiritual history, but I know that what I've said is true, true in a way I don't fully understand.

I resist the urge to rub at my temples — they have begun to pound again at a sudden stark sensation of duality. Not like the time I saw the future, but as though I am a stranger inhabiting someone else's flesh... Again, I feel a certainty that something is there, besides Sothis's voice, something that I don't know or don't remember. It's puzzling...and chilling...

With effort, I refocus on Claude. "Do you understand?" I ask quietly.

"Yeah." Pause. "Sorry."

I accept his apology. I think about assigning him to one of the study groups, but decide against it. For now, I think, I'll watch. I'll see if he's truly taken my words to heart. "I expect you to ace the next test," I tell him.

Now he grins. "I guess I will." I dismiss him and he stands, gathering his things under one arm. "Good talk, Teach."

"I should hope that it's one to remember."

He doesn't say anything to that, but as he reaches the door, he turns and gives me a smile, one of a different kind. There's something in his eyes at that moment that I can't place... And then he's gone, and I wonder what it is.

--

Confronting someone about their screw-ups is REALLY hard, especially when you're in a position of responsibility. I've had to do it once or twice in my own job, and it's difficult to find that fine line between being harsh and being reasonable.

Also, if you don't know already, I LOVE CLAUDE. <3