The Duke and the duchess were shocked to hear such words from Eris. They sit in their chairs silently thinking what to say to her. They looked at each other with horrors in their eyes.
"D-dear, I, I think we mi-might need to call in a doctor t-to check on her," the Duchess mumbled slowly.
"N-no, I think we should call h-high priest Malery. She might be possessed," the Duke replied a little calmly. He signalled Elsa to check on her body.
Elsa who was standing behind Rommel silently listening to all this unfold, rushed and put her hand on Eris's forehead to check for fever, making Rommel almost jump.
"What do you think you're doing?! An ambush from behind won't work on me." Rommel said, pushing Elsa's hand away from h(er)im.
"Master, I think you should call the priest!" Elsa spoke in a deep voice. "Milady's body seems fine. I am afraid she must be possessed." She almost cried.
"What do you mean by possessed?! Is this some new kind of trick?!" Rommel retorted. But before he could do anything, Elsa held her tightly and took her to her room.
Rommel writhed in Elsa's grip like a greased eel in a bathhouse brawl. "Unhand me, woman! I demand to speak to your commanding officer!"
Elsa, pale but resolute, tightened her hold. "I am the commanding officer of your bedtime," she muttered through gritted teeth. "Forgive me, Milady—this is for your own good!"
Rommel's parents the duke and duchess both followed them to the room. They were worried about Eris and forgot about everything else they had to do as nobles.
Elsa dragged the flailing Rommel back down the hallway with the kind of weary expertise that only came from years of wrestling noble brats into corsets and apology letters—but never one who barked orders like a Prussian general mid-campaign.
Rommel kicked with alarming precision. "You're committing a grave error! The Geneva Conventions expressly forbid this kind of treatment of officers! A Field Marshal must be treated with utmost respect even as POW!"
"You're not an officer or whatever you say, Milady," Elsa gasped as a foot connected with her hip, "you're a child! A sweet, delicate, well-bred—OW—delicate lady who desperately needs to lie down and start behaving like one."
With one final grunt, she plunked Rommel onto the bed. The girl immediately attempted a tactical retreat via blanket tunnel, but Elsa slammed the covers down with military-grade reflexes, pinning her like a butterfly in a very tired museum exhibit.
"Stay put! The priest will know what to do!" she said, panting like she'd just run drills in full armor.
Rommel glared up from beneath a golden tangle of bangs, cheeks flushed, eyes blazing. "You think you can break me with priests and perfume? I've stared down Churchill's tanks and won."
Elsa crossed herself with the reverence of someone very aware she was out of her depth. "Then may the Goddess help us all…" She was not in the position to be surprised by Rommel's words anymore.
The Duke rushed out of the room saying, "I'll call the high priest! You two look after her."
The duchess came and sat beside Rommel or Eris and signalled Elsa to let go. She seemed fairly confident and as she brushed, Rommel/Eris' hairs, he felt a strange sense of calmness he never felt before.
Though Rommel stopped acting rashly, he was still very much wary of the situation, "Don't think you can deceive me like this, frauen. Tell me what you people really want."
"Nothing dear," the duchess says calmly. "We are your real parents and we truly love you. Just tell me what happened? Did you have a bad dream?"
Rommel remained silent. He decided that direct assault was not working so he has to think of other ways. He didn't move much as the brushing and his so called mother's words felt very comforting somehow.
He looked all over the room again, this time thought that the window might be a way to escape but he can't do that with this many people here. Also he didn't know how many troops were stationed in this 'prison'.
Watching her silent for so long, the duchess spoke again, "What's the matter Eris? Why aren't you saying anything?"
"Nothing, but lady, I am sorry." The words left his lips before he could stop them—like a reflex, or worse, a surrender. His jaw clenched. Since when did Erwin Rommel apologize without reason?
"You don't need to apologise my dear, The priestess will help us understand what's troubling you. You've always trusted High Priestess Malery before, remember?" The duchess replied gently.
Rommel wanted to deny but decided against it. He had to play with this charade for now. That's what he had decided.
High Priestess, the title alone sounded like Himmler's SS level mysticism, until a warmth bloomed in his chest, foreign and infuriating. His fingers twitched. Since when did his body rejoice at the mention of an enemy?
"You've always trusted Malery," the duchess murmured, her thumb tracing the back of his hand in a pattern that felt oddly familiar. "She's the one who blessed you at birth, remember?"
However, before he could say anything, the duke returned with two guests. One was a beautiful middle aged woman in a black robe priestess cloth and a little girl probably the same age as Rommel now.
Rommel didn't know any of them, but somehow the older woman felt very familiar.