Chapter Text
Benadetta von Varley was rather nervous, walking out of Ms. Casagranda’s office, with a pouch of herbs, some pills, and an appointment for the next month. If she was being honest with herself, she was rather nervous all the time. Coming to Garreg Mach under the orders of her… her father, she was terrified. About what failure might mean for her when she went home. About being herself, really being Bernadetta, with no shadow of her father lingering over her. Freedom was terrifying. The future was terrifying. The past was...
It was hard not to dwell on thoughts of her father. What he put Bernadetta through. The reasons he did it. A perfect wife, he had said. He would make Bernadetta into a perfect wife. If his son, his heir, wanted to be his daughter, he would have to make some changes. Or she would, at least. Her father was not that caring before that day he called the court healers to Bernadetta’s room, with a sturdy metal chair, rope, and a bag with cruel-looking metal tools.
“Hey. You’re uh… Bernadetta, right? Black Eagles?” a chipper voice asked from behind her.
Bernadetta froze. Her shoulders crept upward and a quick, cold sweat broke out on her neck. She knew she was not the only student at Garreg Mach to be seeing Ms. Casagranda for specialized appointments, but she had hoped, desperately hoped that she could have snuck all the way back to her room without being seen.
“Y-yeah. I’m, umm. I’m Bernadetta Bluh-black Eagles—Bernade-de-detta. Von Vuh-varley. From the, umm… Black...” she stammered. Bernadetta shut her eyes tight enough to see stars. Stupid Bernie. You’re stupid. This person is trying to be friendly and—
A hand on her shoulder sent her flying to the side of the corridor in shock, the pouch containing her first month of medicine dropped, completely forgotten. She scrambled to her feet, and ran as best she could, all the way to her dorm, the one space she knew that she could be alone. Be away from people, from hands, from anything at all. Panting, running down the stairs, out of the staff wing, running with her eyes barely open.
As she rounded the final turn of the staircase, Bernadetta plowed into someone with long white hair, much smaller than her, nearly knocking them over.
“Watch where you’re going, jerk!” they shouted.
A great sob escaped Bernadetta’s clenched jaw as she knew, knew to the core of her bones that she hurt someone and that she was stupid. Always stupid Bernie, can’t do anything right. Her throat burned, it screamed at her to slow down, but she couldn’t. She ran all the way to her room, her breath ragged and sharp and short.
Slamming the door behind her, she tried her best to work the lock but Bernadetta couldn’t see through the tears. Couldn’t make her fucking fingers work, they were shaking so badly. It was too much for her. She felt pathetic. Her knees collapsed under the strain, and it was all she could do to not scream in frustration.
Bernadetta woke up with a great ache in her legs and lower back. The sun coming through her window was hot through her black trousers, and her hair was soaked with sweat. It felt like slime had covered every inch of exposed skin. She had fallen asleep right there, piled up against her door.
She looked around in a daze. It didn’t take her long to remember the events of the day. Her sinuses tightened with the threat of tears. Ms. Casagranda’s office. The way Ms. Casagranda said please, call me Manuela out of class, even if I’m holding office hours, which made her cheeks hot with desire, the shame of it. The high, cheery voice that called out to her. The hand. Dropping her sack of…
Her sack of medicine! Stupid Bernie. You’ve really fucking done it now huh? Go all the way to Garreg Mach and begged your stupid celebrity crush on your stupid hands and knees, begged for those stupid little pills and herbs that give you tits. Now the tears fell freely.
“Okay Bernie. You might be a fuck up, but you got this. All you have to do is walk back to Ms. Casagranda’s office!” she said with all the enthusiasm she could muster, which was absolutely none. It came out thin and whiny, which is how she felt right now. Besides, most of the students would probably be in the mess hall right now. There was only a very small chance she’d be seen. And no one knew her. And classes started tomorrow. And she was a nobody.
Just a ghost.
Having given herself as much as a pep talk she was capable of, Bernadetta gently slapped her cheeks and opened her door. She could only see a few others out there, up on the terrace, and none on the strip of lawn in front of the dorms. Clear.
Bernadetta almost tripped immediately coming out of her room. Heat crept up her face and she growled in frustration. At her feet was a wooden tray and lid, on top of which were several papers being held down by a pouch. Probably the medicine.
The pile of things secured, she closed her door and finally locked it. The snap of the metal was like taking pouring a pitcher of hot water on her head after a long day. Immediately her shoulders eased. Bernadetta hadn’t realized how tense her muscles had been. Had they been tight the whole time she was asleep? Felt like it.
The contents of the pouch was, in fact, the herbs and pills Ms. Casagranda had given her. Inside the tray was a sandwich, a muffin with berries, and yet another piece of folded parchment. Sitting down, she started on the sandwich—some kind of fish—and started with the one from the tray.
Miss Varley,
A student came by with your medicine. Please do not lose it again. Remember to take the pills with your evening meal, and one cup of tea every other day. Do not hesitate to reach out to me. The staff at Garreg Mach are here to guide you, especially myself.
I hope you find your evening pleasant. See you in class tomorrow.
— Manuela Casagranda
Bernadetta sighed. She was all ready to gear up Stupid Bernieing herself when she checked the set of scraps that came on top of the tray.
HI IM WHO SCARED YOU IN THE STAFF HALLWAY
IM SORRY FOR SCARING YOU!! MY NAME IS ANNETTE AND IM IN BLUE LIONS
I GAVE YOUR MEDS TO MANUELA BUT SHE TOLD ME TO GET YOU SOME FOOD
IF YOU SEE ME AT MEAL TIMES PLEASE COME SAY HELLO
IM ABOUT AS TALL AS YOU AND I HAVE RED HAIR
HI THIS IS ANNETTE
I HOPE WE CAN BE FRIENDS
I FEEL REALLY BAD IM SO SORRY!!
HI THIS IS ANNETTE
WE DONT HAVE TO BE FRIENDS
I PROMISE IM NOT MAD
HI THIS IS ANNETTE
BERNADETTA IS A CUTE NAME
IM A GIRL TOO
Bernadetta tried to make herself as small as possible in mind, body, and soul. She sat in the back corner, where one of the candles that illuminated the Black Eagles class had been blown out by the breeze. She looked at the rest of the people coming in. She recognized a few of them from the dorm. The severe looking woman with white hair done up sat at the front, talking calmly with the gaunt man standing stiff as a board that was never far from her side. She vaguely remember their names (Edelgard and Hubert, she believed) from when her father had enrolled her here, specifically to be in this class with them. He wanted Bernadetta to learn class and etiquette from them. She thought Edelgard was the Adrestian princess, but wasn’t so sure any more. She might have been some high ranking official’s protege or other.
There was another girl that caught her eye. She had her hair a light, fierce purple in a high ponytail and braids. Bernadetta took a strand of her own messy hair and looked at it. The dye had faded from its once loud purple, the first thing she had done when she came to Garreg Mach. This had to be the princess from Brigid. She looked kind of cute, with a serious look on her face, talking to herself. Bernadetta couldn’t hear it over the chatter of the other students. She couldn’t remember her name.
The chair next to her scuffed back, and Bernadetta snapped her head forward on reflex. She shut her eyes tight, willing with all her might that whoever sat next to her had just bumped the chair and did not intend to stay. Stupid Bernie. Who would want to sit next to you anyway.
A few more scrapes on the floor, and whuff of air (very nice smelling, floral air) passed her by and and Bernadetta knew she was doomed.
“Hi there. Name’s Dorothea.”
Bernadetta opened her eyes and looked out of the corner of her eyes first. The very nice smelling, floral woman next to her had her hand offered for a handshake.
“Bernade-de-de-” she started, voice hitching. Stupid Bernie. “Bernadetta.” She offered her hand to Dorothea.
Dorothea took her hand by the fingers, crossing them over her own, and brought them very gently to her lips. “Charmed.” Bernadetta’s eyes went so wide she felt they might fall out of her head and roll off the table.
“Sorry. Was that too much? Sorry. You just looked so nervous,” nice smelling, floral Dorothea said with a small grimace.
“No. It was quite nuh-nuh-nice,” she said in a breathy voice.
“I only do that for the cute girls, you know.”
Bernadetta’s brain was so shocked she forgot to feel scared, but the shock was wearing off. Stupid Bernie. I’m not cute.
“Hey, don’t say that about yourself. If Dorothea Arnault says you’re cute, you’re cute. Okay Bern?”
“Suh-sorry.” Bernadetta had not realized she had said it out loud. Stupid Bernie. Can’t even keep your stupid words to yourself. No one wants to hear you. There wasn’t much venom behind the thoughts, though, just reflex.
Dorothea gave her a small smile, put her things on her desk, and got up, leaving another whuff of nice smelling, floral air. She walked over to the pretty girl with the purple braided hair, the princess from Brigid whose name she couldn’t remember, and thought that Dorothea’s name sounded familiar, but she couldn't place it. Her father’s dossier on the nobles she would be attending Garreg Mach and the skills she had to learn from them had not mentioned anyone else, so she assumed Dorothea wasn’t a noble.
A commoner. Bernadetta’s stomach tightened so intensely she though she might have been stabbed. Her father wouldn’t like it if she associated with a commoner. She couldn’t learn anything to be a better wife from them. He thought they were uncouth at best. She would probably be a worse wife. Stupid Bernie. Stupid, stupid Bernie can’t even see men like a wife should. You can’t even think about the idea of a stupid husband. But her father wanted a perfect wife, and he had spent a lot of effort on proving that desire on her body. Bernadetta’s wrists ached.
Dorothea was learning on the table with the pretty girl from Brigid, and just like she had with Bernadetta, brought her hand to her mouth. The pretty girl from Brigid paused for a moment and then pulled Dorothea’s hand back to her own mouth. Oh.
Dorothea let out a bright laugh that cut through the chatter of the students, nodding her head enthusiastically. Bernadetta entertained the though of being bold enough to do that. She wondered if Dorothea’s hand was nice smelling and floral like the rest of whuffs of air that accompanied her when she sat down.
It was meal time. Mid-day. The line was long, but she braved it since she hadn’t come for breakfast and knew the Black Eagles had training in the evening. There wasn’t enough time to go hole up in her room, so she picked a bench about as far from anyone as she could think of.
Bernadetta had actually had a very pleasant time once Ms. Casagranda started classes. She was just as charming as she remembered her visit to Varley when she was a child. Bernadetta would never tell a soul that seeing Ms. Casagranda perform was when she was certain she was a girl. Little Bernadetta wanted to be just like her, one day. Of course, over time, she realized she had no talent for singing, and would never be quite the beauty that Ms. Casagranda was then, or was even now.
Her brain was so tired from studying that she only gave herself a half-hearted stupid Bernie out of habit, and picked at her food. It was some thick soup with meat in it that made her mouth itch. The taste wasn’t bad but it felt like swallowing hot mud and she couldn’t bring herself to go get a different dish. She just ate the roll and garden salad it came with.
Coming across the hall, she spotted a short red-haired girl with a gorgeous blond woman carrying trays. The short red haired girl waved at her. HI THIS IS ANNETTE. Bernadetta’s vision blurred, limbs tightened. Quick pulse, small breaths. Her feet wouldn’t remove themselves from the ground.
Annette stopped a few tables away and said something to her friend. She looked at Bernadetta curiously, then at Annette, nodding, and sat down nearby with a few other students.
“Hi Bernadetta. Would it be okay if I sit here?” said Annette putting her tray down.
“Yuh-yeah.”
“Did you get your meds? I was really worried but when I went to bed last night, the stuff I brought you wasn’t there.”
Bernadetta nodded, focusing on Annette’s food because looking at her was too much. There was a plate of fish and chunks of potatoes covered in a white sauce. It smelled really nice, and didn’t look like hot mud. She also had a muffin like one on her tray yesterday, but Bernadetta was positive she didn’t see any on offer.
“Where dih-did you get the muh-muh-muffin?” Bernadetta mumbled around the last piece of her roll.
“Oh, I made them with Mercie yesterday. Mercie’s that girl I was with earlier. She’s my best friend. I love baking with her,” said Annette enthusiastically. “That muffin on your tray yesterday was form the same batch as this one. Did you like it?”
“Umm…” Bernadetta was not ready for the vigor or speed that Annette was talking
“Oh, where’s my head. I’m doing this whole introduction thing in the wrong order. I’m Annette. My friends call me Annie.”
“Um. Bernade-de-detta. You can call me Bernie if that’s too much. I don’t really know anyone here yet.”
“Bernie’s a nice name. You know me, now. That is, if you want to. And I can introduce you to Mercie. She’s really nice. You’ll like her.”
“I don’t really feel like meeting more people today. My head kuh-kind of hurts and this food is gruh-gruh-gro—” Stupid Bernie. A perfect wife doesn’t complain about her husband’s stupid food. “I’m not really that huh-hungry.”
A look of concern passes over Annette’s—no, Annie’s face, but it’s short lived. “Is that the stew? They were out of it when Mercie and I got food.” Bernadetta nodded. “If you want, we could trade. I want to keep my muffin though.”
The thought of the fish and potatoes sounded really good. “Only if you want to.”
Annie swapped the trays, but kept her muffin like she said.
A few minutes passed of eating in silence. Bernadetta felt uncomfortable. She didn’t know what to say to Annie, but Annie didn’t seem too bothered. She had red hair pulled into pigtails that came up in loops, and fiery blue eyes that were very expressive. Annie moved a lot, but not in the fidgety way that Bernadetta could get when she was nervous.
“Bernie, can I ask you a question? Well, kind of an implied question statement thing,” Annie said with a kind of gravity looked very foreign on her. She stopped moving so much, put her elbows on the table, and crossed her arms slowly.
“I guh-guess.”
“We take the same kinds of meds. Sorry for peeking. The bags Manuela gives out are all the same, and I wanted to be sure you got the one for you. I was kind of hoping we could be friends. I don’t… know anyone else like me. Like us, now.
“I started off on a really bad foot with you and totally understand if you just want me to let you be yourself in peace. Or we can just try to be normal friends and I’ll forget I ever saw your bag of meds, if you want. I don’t know.”
Bernadetta has a hard time breathing for a moment. She was aware of people like her, the court physicians didn’t seem surprised, and she had always had care. Stupid Bernie. You’re just a burden on your father. A perfect wife doesn’t need to be cared for, she needs to care for her husband. But even as Bernadetta ran through the list of things that weren’t perfect about her, she realized how lonely she had been.
Of course she was alone. No one knew her here, except for Annie and, she supposed, Dorothea as well. But she was also lonely. Her whole life had been training—stupid Bernie—for being a perfect wife. Marrying a noble man for her father. It hurt. The training hurt. The isolation hurt. Bernadetta hadn’t really ever been allowed to exist until now, she had only ever lived for her father, being her father’s perfect wife. That wasn’t Bernadetta. There was no Bernadetta.
Spurred on by indignation and anger at her fucking father, always about him, his perfect fucking wife she would never be, could never be, Bernie took a big step. Maybe her very first step.
“Yuh-yeah. I’d like to be fuh-fuh-friends, Annie.”