Chapter Text
Edelgard crushes Thales’s head with Aymr, and Those Who Slither in the Dark are defeated.
Byleth divides the troops against the stragglers retreating out of Shambhala onto the Hrym mountains. Bernadetta and Caspar are paired, like usual. Once, back when Bernadetta was simmering over Caspar hauling her around like a limp kitten, she had used a week’s worth of courage to ask why they were always together in battle. Byleth had responded that Caspar was loud and thus drew enemies away from her. The Professor had offered to alternate formations; Bernadetta had immediately backtracked.
Forests cover the mountains, so she dismounts from her horse and chases after Caspar on foot. He waits for her, an improvement from their Garreg Mach days when he rushed on ahead (and one that took years of training to sink in).
Together, they cut their enemies down without quarter. Caspar rushes in with his silver gauntlets; Bernadetta provides cover with arrows. She slips past enemy formations and takes out the mages, while Caspar holds the infantry from advancing towards her. Petra swoops in on her wyvern to smash fleeing enemy units, and from a distant vantage point, Linhardt soothes their wounds with soft healing magic.
It’s over in a flash.
When the last corpse crashes onto the floor, Petra flies back to Shambhala to report their success. Caspar shows no such singleminded desire to return to their commanders. Instead, he runs in a wide circle and punches the air. “WE DID IT!”
Bernadetta winces. “Shh, we’re on a mountain! What if you cause an avalanche that smushes us all?”
“Oops, sorry.” Caspar’s grin is sheepish. He might actually believe his shouting could doom the Adrestian empire. “I was excited, you know? We thought we were done when we unified Fódlan, and then these Slithering Dark bastards show up.”
“I get it. Just when we thought peace was on the horizon, more fighting comes.” Bernadetta pats the side of her pocket. Her fingers brush a small, curved protrusion. “Umm...what are your plans? Now that the war is over?”
“Edelgard keeps muttering about the Minister of Military Affairs.” Caspar shrugs. “Dunno how she’ll pry the title away from my old man. Thinking about traveling while she figures it out. What about you?”
“I, um...not sure. With my father locked up and my mother refusing to remarry, I guess there’s no hope of another heir to House Varley. Which would make me...“ Bernadetta gulps. In the rankings for The Worst Things That Can Happen to Bernie, becoming Countess Varley is on par with Those Who Slither in the Dark taking over the world
“The House leader! You’ll be a great one.”
“I know, it’s awful! I’ll doom House Varley into extinction — uh, what?”
Caspar gives her a thumbs up and nods. “You take the time to listen to people, and you work really hard! And you know lots about sewing, and painting, and all those noble hobbies.”
“Oh, um...thanks. F-for real. It means a lot.” It does, for other people to have faith in her when she has little in herself. Especially when it’s Caspar...
Bernadetta shoves her hand in her pocket and fumbles with the ring inside. A present from the current Countess Varley, her mother - should those labels be switched? Should she think of that woman as her mother first and the Countess second? Her mother rescued her from her father and supported Edelgard after his arrest.
But the same woman stood aside as Count Varley chained Bernadetta to the chair for hours. Said nothing when the Count beat her daughter for choosing the wrong utensil to start a meal.
Bernadetta’s feelings toward her mother are jumbled, but her admiration for the ring is not. It is a beautiful piece, with a brilliant amethyst inlaid into the golden band. Purple and gold, the colors of the House Varley heirs...and those who would join their family.
“Before we get off this mountain, I got a fantastic view for you.” Caspar holds out his hand. “Even better than the one you like so much at Garreg Mach.”
Bernadetta swallows.
Petra declared her a huntress. It felt good at the time, and when she’s with Petra she can believe it, but deep down Bernadetta knows she isn’t. She’s a coward.
Bernadetta leaves the ring in her pocket and grasps Caspar’s hand.
Caspar is gentle with her, as he always is now. It took five years to wring that promise out of him, but he’s stood by his word since. They return to Shambhala, passing other members of the Black Eagle Strike Force. One of them is a smirking Dorothea, who wiggles her eyebrows and mouths ‘good luck’ to her.
Bernadetta turns red, the deep crimson of the Adrestian empire, but she doesn’t let go of Caspar’s hand. So what if they’re holding hands? Lots of people do. Anyways, Caspar has a reputation famous for romantic obtuseness, so nobody watching will misconstrue anything. She hopes.
They climb. Bernadetta’s weary from the battle, but Caspar helps her up, lifting her and making sure she doesn’t fall. For her part, she can’t tell if she’s hyperventilating because of the thinning air or the feel of his hands on her.
“Here we are!”
Bernadetta, preoccupied with bemoaning that Caspar hadn’t shed any of his armor before this excursion, looks up. She gasps.
They stand on a ledge overlooking the entirety of Fódlan. Mountains, forests, deserts, tundras, grasslands - they all lay before her in sweeping, majestic arcs. Golden sunlight bathes the continent, shining through the wispy clouds. Garreg Mach is higher, but bar that one spot that was hers and Caspar’s secret, the mountains block the surrounding areas. This, here, is an unobstructed view of the unified continent they fought for.
“Garreg Mach’s over there.” Caspar points to the largest mountain range in the distance. “And Enbarr is that way, beyond those smaller peaks. Those green fields right there are Bergliez territory. And just beyond that, the brown patches - that’s your land!”
She takes a step forward. Caspar grabs her waist with both hands, perhaps to steady her but more likely to yank her back at any sign of her tumbling downward. It’s a testament to the beauty of the view that her reaction is limited to a slight shiver and a thunderous arrhythmia in her heart.
“Amazing view, right?” grins Caspar. His right cheek is bruised, the consequence of a bar fight he broke up the other day. Blood soaks his armor and mattes his hair. Some of it is scraping off on her own clothes. But the smile on his face...
“Y-yes.” Her head is hazy - is this what being drunk is like? “The best in Fódlan.”
Hubert is terrifying, the scariest person in Adrestia.
...well, it’s a tie between him and Edelgard, but the tiebreaker is whoever Bernadetta is facing. Which is currently Hubert.
He isn’t wearing the flower he does when talking to her alone (“It’s a matter of net gains. I will wear it for our private conversations, but maximizing my...intimidating presence is typically to my advantage”). Bernadetta plants her feet on the ground. They’re allies. She is over fleeing at the crackle of his evil sorcery in the air.
Hubert glances at her, and she clenches her teeth. Don’t run, don’t run...
...though would it be that bad if she did? It’s not like he’s even talking to her.
“Do you not want to be the Minister of Military Affairs?” asks Hubert. He hates his father, and Bernadetta hates him too, for ensuring Hubert’s adequate milk consumption as a child that made him the towering figure he is today. He’d be at least 1.7% less scary without all that looming.
“It’s not that I don’t,” says Caspar. “But since I’m not the heir, I’ve always assumed I wasn’t gonna have any important position. I haven’t done any training to be Minister.”
“Lifelong training has hardly improved your brother’s candidacy for the position.”
“That’s another thing...we sure he isn’t going to stab me in the back once he finds out? I mean, I can take him no problem. But if my father joins the fight...” Caspar shudders.
“He is still set to be heir to House Bergliez. With General Randolph dead and no risk of his title being taken, his paranoia should abate enough for him to be an adequate leader of your house. If not...” Hubert laughs, the horrific sound reverberating around the room. “His coveted position is no longer ironclad in the Emperor’s United Fodlan.”
“And you’re sure my father is retiring? What if this is an elaborate trap to catch me hungering after his position? And he’ll use it to as an excuse to challenge me to a duel to the death!”
“I implore you not to absorb Bernadetta’s persecution complex.”
Caspar, who’d been halfway through a yawn, snaps his head up. “Hey, Bernadetta doesn’t have a persecution complex!”
“Um, it’s okay. I kinda do.” She grabs the fabric of his jacket, ready to pull him back if he attempts to lunge at Hubert.
“Well...only a little! And if anything, it makes you better at keeping yourself and your soldiers safe!” Caspar glares at Hubert, who doesn’t bother looking up from his giant notebook.
“Onto other matters,” he says, turning a page. “We have defeated the main forces of Those Who Slither in the Dark, but remnants outside the stronghold may exist. As such, my agents will provide protection for you while we confirm their complete annihilation. Will you two be staying together in Varley territory or Bergliez?”
Bernadetta gapes.
As is typical, Caspar is unfazed. “Bernadetta will stay in Varley and I’ll be in Bergliez. Duh. Did you hit your head?”
Hubert tilts his head the slightest fraction. “You two are not living together?”
“N-nope!” squeaks Bernadetta. “Definitely not! B-Bernie needs her own room, with her needles and her flytraps and her locks!”
“I mean, I guess we could,” says Caspar. Bernadetta jabs him with her elbow. It hits his armor and bounces off, and he doesn’t seem to notice. “Our territories are next to each other, so if we had a house in the middle it would make sense. Kinda a long walk back to our main houses for the day to day stuff though.”
Hubert purses his lips and stares hard at Bernadetta. She holds out as long as she can, which turns out to be eleven seconds, before she rushes behind Caspar and huddles in his shadow. He’s only two inches taller than her, but he’s broad enough to hide her from Hubert.
Unfortunately, Caspar isn’t big enough to block out sound waves.
“Did we miscalculate?” Hubert almost sounds confused, if the Left Hand of the Emperor was ever capable of such. “The Emperor is under the impression that you two would be cohabiting after the war.”
That’s it. She’s reached it, the final boss of Utter Embarrassment. Loosening arrows at former comrades, fighting against Those Who Slither in the Dark, Sylvain reading her stories — she’d rather relive them all than be here.
“Dunno where she got that idea,” says Caspar, puzzled.
Bernadetta shrinks down further.
“Why is Edelgard even thinking about stuff like this?”
“I had calculated the disposition of my troops based on the assumption you would be living together. Guarding against two locations stretches my forces out farther than guarding against one.”
“Oh. Well if it’s that big a deal, me and Bernadetta can work it out.”
The fire from the torches crackles, and Bernadetta sweats as the silence stretches. She risks peering over Caspar’s shoulder to catch Hubert’s expression. He’s looking straight at her as her head rises, and Bernadetta immediately ducks back down.
After a long pause in which Bernadetta attempts to choke on the hot and heavy air, Hubert says, “Never mind. I will rearrange my agents.”