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Three days in, and the Officers’ Academy had already lost most of its lustre. 

The way people talked about the fabled Officers’ Academy of Garreg Mach, Lienna thought they’d spend their days learning to fight and command armies, with some convenient noble elbow-rubbing on the side. But if that really was the case, then it must have been a slow start: Half their days were spent in lecture halls learning Fódlan’s history, either with their respective Houses or the oh-so-special Rose Unit, struggling to stay awake as professors rattled off dates and names through the dust of old tomes. Those books also lost their enchantment pretty quick; at first, Lienna was wowed by their age and value, but now she was just choked by the smell of ancient parchment, eyes glazing over long words in loopy script she could scarcely make out. Though, if she was being honest, it wasn’t that the classes were boring. On the contrary; it was Lienna’s first time hearing most of what they taught, not having had the luxury of a proper education back home. But they were [i]frustrating.[/i] Be it the indecipherable passages they were expected to read, or getting called upon for simple questions she couldn’t answer, history classes were one big reminder of just how far Lienna was behind the rest of her peers. 

There was strategy, too, but somehow the school managed to take the chaos of battle and turn it, too, into words and figures on a page—dead, silent, and utterly non-threatening. Even as he carried on like a teenager at the front of the class, Professor Michail still made strategy straight and narrow: start with surroundings, add in the enemy, factor in resources, and out pop formations and plans. As if it were just that simple: a game of logic. But Lienna struggled to see it. Where was the logic when the roof above your head caught fire in the middle of the night? How was a step-by-step process supposed to help you find safety when the bestial shouts of barbarians echoed through the smoke from every direction? Battle wasn’t logical; battle was running for your life, choking on smoke with your body wedged under a fallen tree, your heart slamming in your ears as you prayed for faster reflexes than whichever attacker tracked you down. It wasn’t an art form, it was a nightmare. 

Maybe it was different for soldiers, but something about them teaching battle like a game of wits rubbed Lienna the wrong way. 

But while history and strategy classes left her fuming in her seat, the other side of their military education—the real, hands-on combat training—at last managed to prove worthwhile. It had been some time since she last practiced magic, but to her considerable delight, it came back to her like an old friend, and she was thrilled to find herself already starting to grow with guidance from Professor Tomai. He even told her he was impressed with her ability, which flattered her more than she’d like to admit. She'd yet to get a proper read on the man, but he still intrigued her; he taught black magic with the same wisdom-born authority that he carried when he talked about crests, and even when magic lessons turned to ever more complicated figures and equations, he managed to draw her interest unlike any other professor here. Maybe she’d ask him more about his research, if she ever thought she could stomach the answers. 

Then again, a seat atop the weapons cart listening to the disturbing realities of Crest research sounded a hell of a lot more palatable than where Lienna found herself now, squished between Auberon and the wall of the carriage, craning her neck to get as much fresh air from the window as possible. It was the trip from Gautier all over again, with the added discomfort of significantly less comfortable accommodations. The hard seat made her painfully aware of how bony she was, and Auberon’s hulking form pinning her uncomfortably against the carriage wall was the only thing keeping her from pitching out of her seat at every sudden halt. Additionally, she was just as laid up as she’d been on her trip down from Gautier, once more having to cinch her scarf tightly around her midriff as every bump and sway threatened to bring up her breakfast. She was green the whole way there, eyes squeezed shut and deathly silent as she focused wholeheartedly on keeping her food down. 

When at last the carriage came to a halt, Lienna was one of the first out, stumbling on shaky knees to the nearest bush to promptly purge herself of the stones in her stomach. When her nausea finally subsided, she hauled herself to her feet, making a beeline for the riverbank. If anyone had reservations about the river water, Lienna didn’t share them; she wouldn’t drink and agitate her stomach further, but she definitely made a point to rinse the foul taste from her mouth before finally making her way back to the group. 

[color=baa7c7]“Saints as my witness, the very [i]second[/i] I am Countess I am smashing the wheels off every one of these things,”[/color] she spat to no one in particular, raising the back of her hand to wipe the last few drops of water from her chin. She glanced around at the others for a moment before she realized they all had their eyes trained on the horizon; following their gaze, she caught sight of a few dots in the distance, gradually growing into figures on horseback. Murmurs bounced around the unit, a few students inching toward the weapons cart, but Lienna, for once, wasn’t quite so antsy. This was no nighttime raid on unprepared villagers; this was two people on a road riding toward a caravan flying the Knights of Seiros’ banner. They’d have to be colossal idiots to try and mount some kind of ambush on [i]that[/i], and pitting idiots against a bunch of armed students spearheaded by combat professors was a pretty easy outcome to foresee. 

Besides, Michail seemed to think they were seeking help. [color=baa7c7]“Is the village on fire?”[/color] Lienna absently asked, fiddling with the buttons on her sleeves. She drew a deep breath through her nose, closing her eyes. The faint, acrid smell of smoke was usually the first warning of an oncoming raid back home, spewed forth from whatever vile substance those Srengese savages used to fuel their torches. But there was no such scent on the air here, so she shook her head. 

[color=baa7c7]“Doesn’t seem like it,”[/color] she answered her own question, crossing her arms. [color=baa7c7]“Maybe they’re delivering a message.”[/color] 

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