#[ HELLO people who have not unfollowed serra... you get a sneak peek... of the interview... HE HE

[serraic]

The Interview (2)

Today’s entrance to Garreg Mach is a stark contrast to Serra’s first time at the monastery. She could laugh, really, if she thought about herself a few years ago, all huddled up in fear and staring at her reflection in a little lake on her way in. Today? Today, she struts. Head held high, bag proudly over her shoulder, radiating confidence incarnate with each footfall and sway of her sweet, wavy pigtails. She’s dressed in her usual purple-and-whites, adorned scarcely but proudly with gold here-and-there, clink of decorative coins singing as she moves. She enters the impressive chapel, sun streaming through stained glass, casting rays of painted light on the floor in long lines. She folds her hands immediately, beaming — a prayer is immediately given to Saint Elimine, for allowing her a safe journey.

“Sister Serra? Is it really you?” The thin, reedy voice — that, crucially, waits until she has finished praying to call to her — belongs to one of the kindly old men who serves at the monastery. There’s a younger man with him, early 20s, perhaps, who goes pale and wide-eyed upon seeing Serra. 

“Father Meven!” she cries, dancing to his side. “It really is!” Triumphantly, and with a fair share of self-satisfaction, she declares to him and the room, “I’ve arrived!” 

Though the man with him stares incomprehensibly, Father Meven smiles, entirely genuine, something that reaches his soft blue eyes and makes him look many years younger than the wrinkles around his face declare he is. “Welcome back, Sister. We’ve severely missed your spirit here. Are you feeling better?”  

The memory of the illness that’d kept her bedridden for most of the last year flusters her, invites a tinge of red to her face, and a finger to prod at the edge of her waves. “D— don’t I look better, Father? The very picture of health, I’d say! And so would all my healers… I’ve recovered beautifully, wouldn’t you say? Hm?”

“Hah… it seems so.” His gentle face is relieved. “Does that mean you’re joining us again, Sister?” 

“But of course! Lord Oswin still wants reports on how Ostia’s marquess is doing!” (... Huh. It seems this time, she understands why she’s here, a little better than she had the last time… or maybe is more willing to admit it?) “And now that I’m better, nothing’s stopping me!” 

His polite expression remains. “But you’re so young still, Sister… are you sure you don’t want to join the school? I hear when you joined, you actually spend some time studying alongside your marquess….” 

Embarrassment again — Father Meven is great at prodding into weird subjects, isn’t he? Serra had indeed been a Blue Lion at one point. But so much of the work was relegated to reading, and having grown up in a shanty playing pretend as a chapel… well… the truth is, she barely knows how to read at all. She recognizes her own name, and a few other symbols… but it isn’t as if the shanty had books (they didn’t even have Saint Elimine’s Journeys, after all!) or resources to learn. Even if they did, imagine one of the nuns taking time out of their day to actually teach her! The thought is so funny, she could laugh aloud. 

“... It isn’t right to waste such talent, you know! I’m suuch a proficient Cleric… I’ve been healing for so many years, and I even assisted in many great battles, in the land where I come from! It wouldn’t be right not to share my gifts… It’s important, after all. You know the story of the eagle and the owl?” 

Father Meven’s serene face does not waver, does not flicker. “You’ve told it to me once or twice.”

See, a person’s healing skill directly correlates with their faith. The same is true in Elibe — faith in Saint Elimine and God gives you your abilities. And each belief system clearly works, as far as summoning healing abilities goes. But the existence of a until then unforetold god has long been a topic of discussion among scholars, philosophers, and holy people. There are heated debates on how multiple gods could coexist, and how each of the domains are spliced, and what it means for certain holy texts, and if one god is above another, and what creation stories are true or false, and how the same ability is passed between multiple gods, and— well, you get the picture. Father Meven is one of those that has chosen to believe that the Elibe God and the Fódlan Goddess are one in the same. Saint Elimine and Saint Seiros, then, were two prophets devoted to the same God(dess). He has thus been more than happy to learn pieces of Saint Elimine’s Journeys, in exchange for teaching Serra some of Saint Seiros’.  

“Well— I’m the eagle! Or….” Hm, she hadn’t thought about it. Is it cuter to be an owl? “Or maybe the owl. Either way, I’m one of them! I have to add my strength to the rest!” 

In a way, she’s stating that she’s here to support, which has always been true. In no way, though, does this diminish Serra’s wish to star in her own life. After all, both the eagle and the owl supported each other, and they both ended up in the title, right? It was the same with her and the warriors she helped heal. Maybe she wasn’t swinging a blade or holding a tome, but she was doing her own part, and doing it well enough that they could do theirs. Without either of them, the other couldn’t exist. She’s confident and content in that. 

The man next to Father Meven leans in for a moment, starts whispering animatedly to him. His eyes keep trailing over to Serra — then, glancing away quickly when he notices she’s looking at him. Ooh… does he have a crush? Naturally, of course, he must! (A small twinge of fear, somewhere in her chest, that she does her best to stomp out, remaining embers of a campfire that needs to be choked. Surely he’s not carrying on about— No, no. Her personality is just as much a boon as her excellent healing is! Everyone needs to be bold and confident! Everyone needs to be proud and steady! Yes, there’s no reason… he’s just nervous around her… because of her beauty… absolutely, yes!...) 

Whatever it is he’s said, Father Meven pulls away and answers with a gentle, “Nonsense. The Goddess has blessed us by returning one of our own… this is a cause for celebration.” 

An old, raisined hand falls to her shoulder. “Welcome back, dear Sister. The room you had before you left stands empty… would you like to reclaim it?” 

“The room I had before? Hmm… the view wasn’t too grand, in truth… and it was a little too small, for someone like me. … Hm? Why are you looking at me like that?” 

The second part of her sentence is not to Father Meven — whose smile is unphased — but to the man with him, who is now muttering, “Unbelievable….” 

“What was that? Speak up, if you have something to say! It’s not polite manners to mumble to yourself, you know…” 

“Pay him no mind,” Father Meven interrupts. 

“But, Father—” the man begins. 

“You are more accomplished of a healer now than when you came to us. Your room should match that. Let’s talk to Requisitions and see what’s available.” 

You know, for all the awkward prodding, Father Meven really is such a good soul. He must be right, that his Goddess and her God were the same, because Serra can see plainly that he’s been blessed with a beautiful spirit. Serra shoots him with her most hopeful, excitable smile. “Does that mean I’ve got the job back?” 

A soft chuckle rakes its way from his chest. “It was always yours, Sister.” 

“Oooh! Father Meven!...” The joy that explodes in her chest is uncontainable — and without a second thought, Serra finds herself throwing her arms around him, causing him to stumble back. The gentle laugh that follows, at least, alerts her that she hasn’t thrown him too far off balance. “Thank you! You really are—… you really have been—...” … Ah, drats. She can’t say it. “... Saint Elimine bless you!” 

“Saint Seiros bless you, my child.” His voice is warm, as soft as their embrace. “Come, now. Let’s go find somewhere for you to stay.” 

Whatever he was doing in the cathedral this morning, he abandons. Serra helping steady him on one side, his cane on the other, the two of them depart. Left behind is only the man that had accompanied Father Meven before, who now holds the thrubile in his hands loosely, and openly gapes, wide-eyed, at them as they go.