Success.

They had crushed the bandits utterly. Slain the wicked man who called himself their King. The people of Aimlenn, the people of Thaln, were thankful.

Their duty to the weak, the defenseless, had been fulfilled.

A captain should be proud of their success. Introspection wasn't uncalled for, but surely a battle ending with only a single casualty and the enemy utterly destroyed should be treated as a rousing victory.

And yet...

The golden-headed knight-captain departed from the others without much aside from a confirmation of their good performance. It was not their fault.

Surely, surely, the blame lay on her shoulders.

Sir Rickert should not have perished. The battle should not have ended with even a single death among the knights. She could have done something differently. She should have done something differently. Saint Elionne had crushed the Vos Korvungand, destroyed the great heathen army without a single death among her forces.

This shouldn't have happened.

The image of Sir Rickert hewn apart in a single stroke remained in her mind.

Candaeln's courtyard was a popular place, both for simple reading and relaxation and for training. But it was also the home of the pointed, curved structure that was the fortress's shrine. An integrated structure designed for the worship of both Goddesses, it sported stained glass windows of intertwined lillies and roses, a tiered garden of both plants, and a sacred pool and eternal flame for prayer.

It was here that Fanilly made her way to, still clad in her armor.

The young girl's voice came out in a heavy sigh, her eyes travelling up the garden and towards its peak. There stood a pair of statues. The slender frame of Reon, her blade held crossed over her chest and her spear projecting downwards, and beside her Mayon, taller, her hands at her sides and holding a mirror and a bow.

With the clanking of her gleaming armor, Fanilly plucked a lily and cast it into the flames. Then, she took a rose and crumpled its petals into the water.

Then she knelt before the shrine, hands clutched together in prayer.

"[i]E vanna ney sienne.[/i] Oh, goddesses. Please, let the lamps light his way safely. May he find peace and bliss within your domain, so that his death may be eased. May he find the happiness he so earned."

First and foremost of all was the prayer for Sir Rickert. It was all she could do, even as she cursed herself for that fact, now that he was no longer with the living.

"... May those who fought with honor be blessed. May we find further success in protecting the weak and defeating the wicked. May your blessing shine upon all who seek to do good."

To request the goddess's continued support in their endeavors, too, was natural.

She had to do everything she could.