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“Ugh!” Cyril yelled in frustration as he sent yet another arrow into the woods as opposed to the target.
He didn’t like that Claude saw him like this, and he especially didn’t like Claude watching him with concerned eyes. “What?”
“You alright there, Cyril?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I just—” Cyril sent another arrow through the air and heard a shocked gasp from someone who sounded an awful lot like Hilda and a shout from a very disgruntled Caspar, “Hey! Watch It!”
Hilda and Caspar came out from their hiding spot, completely disheveled. Cyril felt his cheeks burn and mumbled an apology to Hilda.
“You two should get a room, or at least go off to a part of the woods that isn’t used to for target practice.” Claude laughed as Caspar rubbed the back of his neck and Hilda smirked, shrugging the comment off.
“Dually noted, your Grace, and Cyril, good luck tonight! Don’t be nervous. It’s going to be great!” Hilda winked and blew him a kiss as she promptly dragged Caspar in the direction of what was once their old dorms.
“Oh? What’s happening tonight, you know, other than the Unity Ball?”
“Nothing! C-Can we just get back to practicing? I-I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Right. Well, whatever it is that’s on your mind, it’s more than a distraction. It’s a hazard. You’re not in a right frame of mind to be sending arrows through the air.”
Cyril glanced at the field littered with his arrows. Claude was right. Cyril couldn’t concentrate no matter how hard he tried. He could only think about her.
Claude helped Cyril collect his arrows, and before Cyril could go back to practicing Claude—or well, King Khalid, as he was known in their native kingdom, Almyra—gently placed his hand on Cyril’s shoulder.
“Cyril, I think we should take a break for the rest of the day, and… it’s a long walk back to the monastery… I don’t spill other peoples’ secrets. Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
Cyril looked away, sighing, “What’s the point in talking about it since you already know why I’m off today.”
“But I don’t know.”
Cyril rolled his eyes. “Yes, you do.”
“I have a good idea of the situation, but I don’t know the real truth behind it. What I infer may be far off than the real reason you’re upset. But if you would rather not talk about it… I’m not going to force you.”
“Good.”
Claude winced at Cyril’s biting tone, and even though he was curious, he made good on his word and didn’t ask Cyril about his apprehension for the ball. They had walked in silence three-quarters of the way there before Cyril stopped walking altogether.
“It’s—It’s Lysithea… I’m, I mean, I don’t know what I’m going to say to her.”
The air felt heavy between them, creating an uneasy silence that neither Cyril or Claude were fond of. Claude decided that this was his moment. He had wanted to ask for some time now since Lysithea was healed, but there wasn’t ever a good time, and he had spent years wanting to be some kind of family for Cyril, so he didn’t press the issue, but in that moment he could finally ask.
“Can I ask you something about that, Cyril?”
Claude noticed Cyril flinching, but he agreed anyway.
“Why did you leave before Lysithea was strong enough to see you?”
Silence.
“I—please don’t take this the wrong way, but you, you stayed with her around the clock, you barely got any sleep at all. You were there for the worst of it, and you obviously care, so… I guess I’m just curious as to why?”
More Silence.
The problem was Cyril both did know why, and worst of all, he had covered up the actual cause of the problem with issues other people may have guessed. But this was Claude, and he knew Claude wouldn’t buy Cyril’s half-assed excuse that 'he neglected his duties as ambassador to Almyra.'
It was only then, really, that Cyril thought about all of the reasons he had left and then stayed away. For a while, he had been trying to convince himself that he simply was not needed anymore. That she wouldn’t need him anymore. He convinced himself that the reason he left was practical, logical, and realistic. That she was safe now, she would be able to have a full long life. A beautiful life with someone else, someone that couldn’t be him. He made himself believe that because it was better than the real reason. The reason which he buried down deep because it was wrapped up in a primal fear—besides, he dropped that superstitious nonsense a long time ago… hadn’t he?
So no, he would tell Claude the more acceptable answer. That even with his elevated status, even with his excellent work ethic, and even with his good reputation… it would never be him. It couldn’t be. She was of Fodlan, he was of Almyra, she was a noble, he was an orphan, and the world hadn’t changed enough, it didn’t matter how much he loved her and so on and so forth. He would tell him this even though they both wouldn’t believe it.
Or well, at least he tried before Claude stopped him, “Cyril, you don’t have to tell me. I’m not the one you need to answer, but you know, you should think about it. She’s going to ask you why and I do think you owe it to her to tell the truth.”
Cyril froze.
Immediately he was transported back to his land of scorching sands by day and bitter cold by night. He saw her, ghostly pale, boiling, freezing, screaming and—crying…
“I know…”
Claude slung an arm around Cyril as he walked up to Gareg Mach. Claude didn’t ask him again but talked to him throughout the trip back. It made Cyril focus on Claude and not his own thoughts. He loved him for that.
~~~
Cyril must have changed his clothes ten times over. He looked at the mirror in his room, debating if he should go to this ball in Fodlan or Almyran garb. Why in the hells had Claude made him an ambassador anyway? He felt like he was drenched in panic sweat. He wasn’t sure which filled him more with dread, Lysithea screaming at him or worse, not speaking to him at all. So instead, he focused on his clothes. Finally, he settled on his Fodlan teal green uniform, with a high neckline—not unlike his tunic from the war—but adorned it with an Almyran sash that glittered with silver thread woven through the deep violet cloth that always reminded him of Lysithea.
He sighed. “It’s now or never.”
And with that, he left his room. He was halfway up the stairs before he heard the cheerful spirited music and hearty laughter coming from the dance hall. When he reached the Hall, he gasped at the decadent display. Hoooo, Byleth and Claude sure went all out.
Cyril looked for her on the dance floor and at first, and was relieved when he didn’t see her there dancing with someone else; but then he looked to the dessert table because, even all these years later, she still had a sweet tooth, but she wasn’t there either…
There was only one other place he could think of where she might be, and once again, he wasn’t sure what would happen if he found her there with someone else, or worse, alone. Still, he summoned all of his courage and made his way to the Goddess Tower.
~~~
Cyril found Lysithea sharply inhaling. It hadn’t really hit him before, how long it had been since he’d seen her last, how long he’d been away, and how much he missed her. She was beautiful, but then again, she always was. But in the moonlight where her hair shone silver, and her eyes sparkled like rubies, she might as well be a goddess herself. He lingered for a moment, uncertainty weighing on his mind and in his heart… should he say anything to her? Really, did he even have the right anymore? He could leave. She hasn’t seen him yet. He could talk to her later and explain—
“Cyril?”
Shit.
“Hello, Ly…”
“Been a long time,” Lysithea said in a softer tone than he would have expected. She had never been one to pull punches, so her being soft on him somehow made this worse.
“Yes… yes, it has. I didn’t mean for—I never meant to go away for as long as I did… sometimes I wish I hadn’t left at all.”
“So then, why did you? You could have left before it got hard, but you stayed with me for the worst of it. You were there through my fever when it was the most grim—when it looked like it was the end, but you left when I got better. I just want to know why.”
“What if I told you I don’t know why? What if I told you that I know it is messed up and stupid, and I hate myself for leaving?”
“I would say that it sounds like you know exactly why you left but that you don’t know how to say it out loud, which… if that’s the case, I wish you would just tell me that.”
“Because—that’s not it either…”
“Then what is it?! I’m—I’m so angry at you! And worst of all, I feel like I don’t have the right to be because you were there! Every bad dream, every agonizing night, you stayed with me! You would stay up with me until I fell asleep, and from what I heard, you stayed up watching over me night after night for weeks! Anytime it looked like I was turning for the worst, you got Linhardt and all of Claude’s doctors—I just don’t get it! Why, when I was finally better, did you leave? Why then?!”
“Because!”
Lysithea winced, causing Cyril to rake his hand through his hair in both a frustrated and anguished manner. This wasn’t right. He was supposed to try and explain himself, but he just found himself aching trying to think of the right words. Seconds slipped by, and with every silent breath, he could feel the tension climbing higher. If he didn’t say something soon, it would be too late. He looked into her eyes for the first time, and even though they were only a few feet apart, the distance between them felt like it could fill an entire ocean. He broke eye contact and kept his eyes firmly fixed onto the horizon.
“Because I thought it was me, alright? I thought it was my fault. Every single person—I… My father got wounded in the war with Fodlan, and I treated his wounds. I made sure to cauterize the wound and to change the bandages with clean ones regularly. A-and he looked like he didn’t get an infection. He really didn’t! But he died from his injury anyway. And then my mother—my mother got sick shortly after. We barely had enough money for food, let alone medicine, but I did it. I got it for her. But as soon as she looked like she was getting better… she died. And then the same thing happened with Lady Rhea. She was in bad shape, and she was weak. I knew it was bad. We all knew it was bad. But I’m the one who looked after her. I’m the one who tried to—and anyway, you know what happened. A-and then y-you—”
Cyril’s throat tightened, and he felt pressure building in his eyes. He dared not to look at Lysithea. He couldn’t. If he did, he knew he wouldn’t be able to finish. Cyril never thought he’d find so much comfort from the border where Fodlan eventually met Almyra, but for now, it’s what he needed to keep himself grounded.
“You are stronger than all of them combined, and you were dying, Ly. You were dying, and I had stood by everyone I loved and watched them die. So I didn’t leave you because, of course, I couldn’t leave you. I wouldn’t. It was selfish—I was selfish. But even still, I wanted every single second with you I could have. And then same thing happened. As you said, you would get worse. You got better, and then you got worse, and you got better, and then you got worse again. And that last night? That night before you were cured, t-the night I left…”
Cyril flashback to the night he left—Linhardt and the team of doctors Claude hired—they were exhausted, stressed, one could say defeated. “If this doesn’t work... we’ll lose her.”
Those were the words that shook him to his very core. It had been so clear back then. He had to leave. It was the only way to save her. Looking back now... it had been so stupid. He had been so foolish and afraid. There had been things he knew that needed to be done up and down the Almyran-Fodlan border. It was such an easy excuse. He packed quickly and lightly, but before he left, he visited her. Just one last time, because maybe, well, maybe it hadn’t been as dire as Linhardt thought. But then he entered her room, and she looked so pale, and it looked like she could barely breathe.
He remembered his feet found their way to Linhardt immediately. He remembered the team of doctors rushing to her room, no doubt trying their last-ditch effort in removing Lysithea’s Crests. He remembered the pain and the sickening guilt claw its way through him when he stepped out of Claude's palace and walked away from her, as the sun slowly peaked its way on the horizon.
“It looked like that last treatment was it. If that hadn’t worked, nothing would. And I thought about all the people I lost. All the people who died around me. They would get better, and then they died. So I left. I know, I know, rationally that it’s stupid. I do know that… But you have to know, I-I was desperate. I didn’t know how to help you or what—if anything—to do. I just couldn’t do it again, Lysithea. I have lost enough people I’ve loved for a lifetime. I couldn’t be the reason that you died too. So I left. I left, and I regretted it every single day afterward. I meant to come back sooner. I really did. I was just so scared that you would relapse, and then days became weeks and weeks became months, and then I couldn’t face you because I was ashamed... I am sorry, more than you could ever know, but you’re alive. I don’t care how much you might hate me because I love you, and you’re alive. ”
A small hiccuping noise came from Lysithea’s direction. It was the first time he looked at her since he started, and his heart broke all over again when he saw her in tears.
“Lysithea—”
“You idiot. You—How—ugh!!! You’re just so infuriating sometimes! You don’t think I’ve lost my fair share of people? You don’t think I know how scary everything must have been? Just—You—Never do that again, okay?!”
“I don’t understand, don’t you hate me?”
“Well, right now I do! Damn it, Cyril, I thought I lost you forever. I thought I was too much hard work. I thought you were just giving a dying girl one last comfort before she passed. Ugh! Don't you ever do that to me again, you hear me?! And—Damn it! I can’t stop crying!”
Cyril closed the distance between them in seconds and held her close.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
“You should be! Are you bappy now?!”
Cyril didn’t mean to, but he laughed at that, and Lysithea begrudgingly started laughing too. She put her arms around him and nestled against his chest.
“Don’t be mad, but I am.”
“I am mad… but not as mad… but you owe me: baklava, spun halva, kataifi, galaktoboureko, tulumba, and—”
“You know you can only get those things in Almyra, right?”
“Yes. I know. Claude and Byleth made me an ambassador of sorts from Fodlan. So I’m coming back with you guys. So you better get used to having me around! … a-and Cyril? I love you too.”
Cyril squeezed her tightly and promised both himself and her silently to never leave again, and he never would.