evocation

Oh, how memories sing of sugar, that the mind was but a bitter tea without!

Oh, how memories ring with sweetness, that the mind ’tis but a sorrowful cry without!

The comparison seemed nonsensical at first, but the more the drunken bard sang about the rundown tavern with fever, the more Miriel began to ponder his song. Though any fool filled with port and spirits could slur their words together and parade about like a wise prophet, there was something about how impassioned the bard was that left Miriel with a burning curiosity as questions began to sprout.

She stared into her drink, the surface shimmering with the tavern’s glow as she thought of Robin.

Robin, who had as many missing memories as stars in the night sky, appeared content without knowing her past. The tactician would make for polite conversation whenever such topics were brought up, a hand raised to her mouth, a simple smile on her lips.

Miriel moved her glass, the contents swirling inside, nearly spilling over as she wondered.

And wondered.

And wondered.

She decided to invite Robin out for tea. 

The sun was high in the sky, the shade offering them respite from the heat.

Robin rested against the tree, fanning herself, tea long forgotten. “Hey, Miriel? Don’t you think it’s a bit hot today?”

Miriel turned to a new page, writing a few lines. “I have noticed a constant film of perspiration throughout the past hour.” Another page turned, another line of observations. “Robin, does the sugar have an effect on your body whatsoever?”

Robin glanced at her tea and shuddered, scooting it further away. “Well, it… It’s certainly something. I think it would probably suit someone like Gaius instead.”

“So it has created an association with Gaius. How fascinating. And the salt—”

A sour look crossed Robin’s face. “Let’s forget that one.” She stared up at the tree canopy, sunlight filtering through leaves, sighing when a breeze brushed over her heated skin. “It’s not so bad when the wind’s here, don’t you think?”

Miriel looked over her notes, “I find that most areas are always pleasant in nature when in your company.” She raised her head when she heard a choked cry, raising a brow at Robin’s red face. “Has the heat become too much?”

Robin patted her face, laughing, “N-No, it’s nothing.” Once the color subsided, she played with the end of her ponytail, staring at Miriel, “So, was there any reason for the, uh, colorful teas today?”

“I was testing a theory.”

“A theory?”

“Correct,” Miriel adjusted her glasses, “I wished to see if certain combinations in tea could invoke associations based on your reactions.”

Robin hummed, “Well, it certainly got me thinking of Gaius’.”

“Nothing else?”

“Not really... Oh! Maybe Lissa’s lemon squares?”

“Interesting. Perhaps next time we should bring the lemon squares and mash them—”

“I-It’s okay, Miriel! That’s fine, really!” Robin said, placing her hand on Miriel’s knee. “Why don’t we just… drink normal tea?”

Miriel paused in her writings, mulling it over. “I suppose I could.” She thanked Robin, cradling the teacup carefully, “You have my sincerest gratitude.”

Robin brought her knees to her chest, staring at Miriel with a small smile. “I should be the one thanking you, honestly.”

“For?”

“You’re doing this to help me remember, right?” 

“...That would be correct, yes.” Miriel wasn’t sure why she felt bashful at that. It wasn’t as if she had been hiding the reasons for her research, but when Robin stated it in that manner and gave her such a cherished look, she couldn’t help but feel her face warm.

“You know,” Robin said, lacing her fingers together, mindful of the teacups at her side, “When I think about what I don’t know,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “I’m almost afraid of what I’ll find.”

Miriel watched her quietly.

“But…” a smile played on the tactician’s lips, a serene expression on her features, “It makes me happy, knowing that you’re there at my side to create new ones,” she peered up at Miriel. “So, thank you. Really and truly.”

“...I do not see it as an occasion suitable for such words… However,” Miriel mirrored Robin’s smile, “I find great pleasure in discovering more about our great tactician.”

Robin almost burst out laughing, cheeks a rosy pink. “Flattery from Miss Miriel? Ah, I must really be dreaming, huh?” she said as she rocked back, the heat no longer bothering her. 

Miriel adjusted her glasses and grabbed her notes. “Perhaps the sugar did affect you, Robin. We should try the salt once more to counter its dastardly effects. It would be ill for our tactician to be incapacitated in such a manner on the battlefield,” her eyes sharpened, “Do you not agree?”

“E-Eh? No, wait, Miriel,” Robin waved her hands frantically, “I-I was just teasing, really!”

The sun had long set; most of the Shepherds long set off for rest. 

Miriel finished writing her observations down. She thought back to Robin’s smile and found her lips turning in a similar fashion.

“It would appear,” she said to no one but herself, voice soft so as not to disturb the slumbering, “The bard may have been a wise man after all.”