Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The wooden door towers before me, oblivious of the crown that rests upon my head. A simple sign hangs on that door, scribbled in Fodlanese: "Eisner, B.". It is a dated name. The first action I took after the siege of Garegg Mach was to order a writ of nobility for that surname. I know he would have protested, but he cannot protest if he is not here. Come back to me and complain, My Teacher.

Through the power of my supposedly sacred station - Emperor of the Adrestian Empire - his surname is now written "von Eisner". It's meant to be a shot across the bow, "von" Aegir "von" Hevring, and the rest of the nobility be damned. In those halcyon nights leading up to the siege of the Monastery, I dreamt that he would be the integral component of my first strike against those scions of privilege. What better way than to force his name on their lips, and the battle-born nobillary documents signed in quill pens held by their grubby, grumpy, grasping little fingers? And then to take that man, who I invested all my hopes and dreams and fears and… love into, and wield him against the church and those demons who slither in the dark? I could not wait.

Now I fear I may have to wait for the rest of my shortened life unless I actually find him myself.

At the foot of the door I see the remains of a broken clay watering pail. It must be his, as I knew he grew flowers to adorn his parents' grave. He told me that on a rainy day, just one month before we set the world on fire.

I had explicitly ordered that anyone looting the dormitories would be hung over the gates.

That includes breaking his watering pail.

And I'll see it done, too.

Because without him, it's just more blood to add to my feet now…

...

...But I cannot let myself be consumed by such thoughts, can I? Is that what he would have wanted? Of course not. I chastised him that day after Jeralt's death, saying that I never asked nonsensical questions. So what am I doing now, asking myself such things? See? I'm losing it without you, my teacher. The heart you promised to protect is fading, My Byleth...

My own fingers, scarred and numb and unfeeling as I thought they had become long ago, tremble like a fearful child's as they clutch the brass doorknob of his dorm. I turn it, take a deep breath and push-

But the door does not move. That door, blissfully ignorant like my Byleth, does not take into account station or birth, after all. I sigh. That night must have been the one time he bothered to lock the door to his room. I know he usually didn't bother to lock his own door because of creepy - totally unwarranted and unasked for - reports on his activities from you know whobert.

My chest heaves and my body instantly feels so heavy under this armored greatcoat that my aforementioned retainer insists I wear. I miss the academy uniform already. But it would be sinful to wear it. A sin against my humanity, most of all. But most of all, I miss…

I push those thoughts away. I cannot just travel away into the darkness of my mind just yet. I turn around.

"Linhardt, warp me inside." I command.

"Ugh."

Leaning on the railing next to me, the olive-haired heir to House Hevring returns my gaze blankly with sleepless, cerulean eyes. He hasn't shed the academy uniform yet, much to my chagrin. I may miss it, but we cannot hold onto that time or that uniform forever, can we? Or is that just what I'm trying to do now...

I think about how to proceed. As much as I want to ream him out at this present moment for his inaction - for disobeying his monarch, even - I know this has been eating at him too. We've had a... difference of opinion on this for most of the morning. And I know he feels that way on behalf of that person who is so precious to us both. So that is why I am not yelling or grabbing my axe or anything like that. If it were any other rationale I could not accept it - but this...

"Lindhardt, now is not the time to be wavering." I try with tact.

"Nothing's going to be in there, Edelgard. When I visited him last, his room was basically empty."

This always happens - whenever I learn about someone else sharing a moment with my teacher that I was unaware of, that fact strikes like a dagger into my heart. This can't be healthy. Why did he waste those precious moments on someone else? We had so few of them...

"You've been inside?!"

Obviously it was selfish, maybe even deluded, but I feel like I should've been the only other person he felt like he could let in his room. I didn't even allow Hubert in mine - it was my space - and the only other man that I had shared it with was Byleth. How could he just let Lindhardt waltz in to his?

Although after a moment's consideration, I suppose that is a foolish, possessive thought. What right did I have to make such a demand? That demon Kronya had made herself welcome in my room dozens of times. But she was the same gender. At least, I think so. You can't really tell with the Slitherers - they've thrown away too much of their humanity to saddle themselves with something so human as an identity. It occurs to me now - perhaps for the first time in an overtly conscious way, that Lindhardt is in fact a man. Was his presence so unassuming that I never once thought of it, or did his feminine features do that? Am I just losing my grip?

Better yet - am I just being a child about this? I can't stand it. My mind's a mess. My heart's a mess.

Only just managing to detach myself from my own little emotional tantrum, I belatedly notice Lindhardt recoiling at my snap question. He has the reflexes of a Duscur Sloth, so he does move in slow-motion, at least compared to someone like Caspar.

That said, it was clearly becoming visible that I was starting to lose myself - particularly if Lindhardt was acting in such a way. I couldn't allow that, much less to a vassal and… most importantly as Byleth reminded me, a trusted ally. I needed to protect them in the way that he protected us, at least for now. Until he came back to them. Until he came back to me. I reeled myself in and took a step back from the white mage of my Strike Force.

"If he's coming back, isn't it rude to go through his things? It's only been a month."

I see what Lin's doing there. He's trying to change the subject.

"You didn't answer my question, Lindhardt."

He rubs his eyelids in exhaustion.

"I… yes, I visited him on what is it now, the Seventh of Pegasus Moon? Before you left for the capital. He asked me to drop by."

He invited Lindhardt to his room the day before we left for my Coronation?

"For what reason?"

"The Professor… asked me to keep it confidence, Edelgard."

Is the big betrayal, finally, that I knew in my heart Byleth would inflict upon me? And he wrapped Lindhardt into it all, too?

"I-I'm your Emperor! There's no confidence in this matter!"

"Edelgard, you may be the Emperor, but he's our Professor, is he not?"

Now he's just gaslighting me.

"Lindhardt, I'm one second away from marching back to the throne room and fetching Hubert!"

"Please don't."

"I will!" I turned and made a step towards the small staircase that led down to the promenade, but I realized that my newly-minted Minister of the Imperial Household was already standing behind myself and Lindhart at the base of the steps.

"Your travel is not necessary, your Majesty, as I've been here the whole time."

I sometimes wonder how many moments of… myself and… no, it's best not to think of it.

"Hm… well, Hubert, I must insist that you insist that Lindhardt warp me into Byle- I mean the Professor's room!"

"I see no harm in calling him by his name in present company, Your Majesty. In fact, he insisted you call him that, after all. This of course neglects to mention that the dead have no need for titles."

Hubert has been trying to cut me to pieces this month with these little digs. I'm getting increasingly fed up with him too.

"He's not dead, Hubert! Enough of that!"

"Of course, your Majesty. Now, shall we return to your quest to rifle through a living man's personal belongings?"

"I… Hubert, Lindhardt... I wish to find him! My hope is that he left a note regarding his.. condition… in the dormitory… and that may be why our teams have not located his body."

"Lady Edelgard, even the mages of the slithering ones failed to find any trace of him..."

"Correct! So I will remind you that he cannot be dead, then."

"That is not the conclusion that I was trying to lead you to, Your Majesty. Eventually, we will need to wrap up this sordid affair and return to Enbarr. The Empire will not wait for one man. Especially not after our campaigns in recent months. There is a country to rebuild before we can take the offensive once again."

"Hubert, I would remind you that I am the Empire! He is essential to me.So, please instruct Lindhart to warp all of us into my teacher's room!"

"Now I have to use warp thrice? I can scarcely do that in a battle." Lindhardt sighed out.

"Lady Edelgard was not asking." Hubert replied with his small, deep irises boring into Lindhart.

"Fine."

Within a few moments, I was in my teacher's room along with Hubert and Linhardt thanks to the latter's warp magic. The former took the opportunity to light a candle with a fire spell to illuminate the room. Snapping his fingers on the candle wick, the room flickered in a warm glow.

That movement to light the candle reminded me of someone. As much as Hubert didn't like to admit it, he learned a great deal from Byleth, too. I had never seen him using elemental magic before we enrolled in the academy.

My teacher's room… The entire space was covered in a thick blanket of dust, but I suppose that's to be expected. No one has inhabited the space for nearly six months now. The archbishop rather surprisingly held up her end of the bargain, as we were able to nab Professor Manuela as a hostage on our initial retreat from the Holy Tomb. The so-called "immaculate one" was sentimental enough to trade preserving the dormitories of the Black Eagles for the safety of an aide who had served her loyally. We've currently got her under house arrest in Enbarr.

Getting into Byleth's room wasn't the key motivation in that hostage taking, I should say! In reality, I wished to rescue the Stuffed Bear that he gave me from my own quarters, which was sent over shortly after we made our hasty retreat from the so-called Holy Mausoleum that cold day half-a-year ago. Hubert thought it was a silly demand for such a high-value personage, but I do not regret it for a moment. I cuddle with it every night now and could not imagine these past weeks without it by my side. Even after all this time, it still smells like him - undoubtedly from that night he held me in his arms to ward off the nightmares.

...No, I haven't washed it yet.

As I gravitated towards his bed, I noticed Hubert wearing a frustrated look, and at last leaning up against the wooden door. Kicking up a great deal of dust, his movements prompted a sneeze from Lindhardt. After clearing his own throat, Hubert began:

"Prior to a thorough search, I would suggest we review why Count Hevring was so reluctant to describe why the Professor invited him here six moons ago."

"Well, I suppose it's pointless to hide now that we're already here." Lindhardt conceded through a cough.

"Oh, there'll be a point if I don't like the response. A point stuck directly into your throat." Hubert threatened.

"Hubert! Allow Lindhardt to speak."

"Of course, my Lady."

Linhardt took a moment to gather his thoughts.

"I… no, rather the professor… Was concerned about his personal effects. He specifically asked me to hold onto them in case anything happened to him on his trip with you during the Pegasus Moon."

"...In case anything happened?"

"Well, he made it sound like it was a dangerous mission or something. Had I known you were just going to crown yourself, I would've told him there was hardly anything to worry about."

Hubert exhaled an exasperated chuckle. Knowing all the plotting that precipitated such an event, I found Lindhardt's hand-waving of the affair equal parts amusing and disturbing myself. It's as if the past several months of the war mostly washed over Lindhardt. The only time I recall him taking the slightest interest in the conflict over the past half-year was when we encountered the library of my "uncle" in Arundel Castle.

"Hardly anything indeed!" the Count of Vestra exclaimed sarcastically.

"I see… he was worried?" I prodded further.

"I guess so. But the Professor was always worried about you."

"...Always…?" Keep it together, El.

"As I recall… he made it seem all serious and solemn. I believe he even tried to flatter me before doing his serious speech."

My sorrow and curiosity piqued with equal intensity.

"...What did he say to you, Linhardt?"

"Oh, well, to say it his cadence I suppose it was like: Linhardt, you are the most insightful and honest mind I know. I seek your counsel because you're my most trusted student."

Is everyone just trying to toy with my heart as of late?

"Lindhardt, really!"

"Ah… well, yes, I suppose that is too verbose for him. In reality, he simply said that there would be a fight he could not run from soon. And that he needed to protect you. And that if he died while protecting you, he wanted me to give you his diary."

Lin's words hit me like a ton of bricks. Because they weren't really Lin's words, were they? They were Byleth's. Feeling a wellspring of emotion rise up, I fell like a brick onto my teacher's bed, kicking up dust everywhere in the process, which in turn prompted a coughing and sneezing fit from Lindhardt. This cacophony of noise was scarcely enough to dislodge me from staring down the creeping spectre of my own internal torment.

"I-I'm allergic to dust, you know!" Lin shouted.

"A curious circumstance for someone who prefers to spend his few waking hours in libraries." Hubert quipped.

I raise a heavy hand towards Hubert. I needed silence. I then use that hand to wipe out any potential tears forming in my eyes, muddying my face from all the dust. It is better that way. They cannot see me cry, because the Edelgard who shed tears died a long time ago, didn't she? That would also be admitting that I really did lose Byleth, too. That I lost him to Rhea, the Knights, and Those Who Slither - all of my most hated enemies. That the year and a half of bliss in which he graced my life would be the last opportunity for me to find happiness again.

"Lin… do you have it?" I asked.

"Have what?"

"My Lady is asking for the diary of our Professor, Lindhardt."

"The diary? Of course not." Lin said, shaking his head vigorously.

This provoked a crunch of Hubert's hairless brow.

"You don't...?" Hubert asked, stealing the words from my mouth.

"I told the professor that he shouldn't trust me with something so personal. I'm quite unreliable, after all. Even though he never thought so, I know myself better!"

I could see that Hubert, whose expression seemed to be draining of all suspicion, was beginning to find the whole affair very amusing. Speaking for myself, I was finding the whole process extremely heart-wrenching, worsened by the fact that I had to experience such emotions with these two... Where is my teacher at a time like this? I want him to hold me again and be all sensitive and vulnerable with me. That way, I can be sensitive and vulnerable with him, too.

That's why I will never give up on finding him. We had only such a short time we could be like that together. I cannot accept losing it now. Not after learning that I didn't have to thrust off the last of humanity in order to see this crown securely affixed to my head. Not after the campaign we fought to get me here.

"Lindhardt… what did he say after that?!" I snap, sounding like an emotional wreck. At the sound of my cracking voice, Hubert seems to snap out of his bemusement.

"Now… there's no need to yell, Edelgard."

"You'll answer me, won't you?" I reply, softly.

Sometimes, I wonder what you saw in him, My Teacher...

"He said he'd keep it locked in his desk, and in the event of anything happening, that I should retrieve it and give it to you."

"This is a case of anything, isn't it?" Hubert quipped.

I swear to the nonexistent Goddess, Hubert.

My eyes glance over to his workspace by the door.

His desk?

The three of us make our way over to his work desk. It's bare, just like everything else in this room. But I notice a modification made on the desk that catches my eye. Generally, there are never any locks on the students' academy furniture - only the doors are allowed to have locks. It's been a policy of Rhea's for ages, I was told. I notice that the drawer on the right hand side does in fact have one.

"Well... could it possibly be in there?" I asked, pointing to the lock-drawer.

"I suppose so, I never asked where he'd leave it." Lindhardt noted.

"Why not?!" I snap, losing it again.

"Because I didn't think he'd die…?"

"Enough of that, he isn't dead!" I correct with a yelp.

"He most certainly is, Lady Edelgard." Hubert cuts in, of course.

"Hubert, silence! Now - how can we access this drawer?"

"I cannot warp you inside." Linhardt replies, as if I had somehow asked for such a ridiculous thing.

"I would prefer to just open it, Lin."

"It appears to be a pendant lock, Your Majesty." Hubert states after a moment of close analysis.

"A what?"

"A Morfian pendant lock, to be more specific. The people of Morfis tend to prefer using pendants as keys, inserting it inside to release the mechanism, and using magic to turn the lock. Considering that most of that country is fluent in magistry in one manner or another, it makes sense. Perhaps our Professor has some familiarity with the country from his mercenary days."

I'm really not that fluent in magic. I have crests and can make use of that accursed power, and do some basic heal spells that My Teacher taught me - but I can't just drop Hades at a whim like Hubert or Lysithea. How much finesse does it take to force open such a thing, anyway?

"So.. we can open it with magic?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at each of the mages.

"And the appropriate pendant." Hubert added.

"And that is…?"

My majordomo seemed to ponder the matter for a moment. I am always impressed by that expression of his, as I've seen it so rarely before arriving at the academy. But My Teacher always seemed to leave Hubert stumped - a rare state of mind for a master web-weaver like him. What did it feel like? A pointless question, as he'd never tell me.

"I haven't the slightest idea, Lady Edelgard. Perhaps a family heirloom?"

A pregnant pause follows. As Hubert and I stared past each other in deep consideration, Lindhardt reached for his neck.

"Maybe it's…"

My eyes widen. How could I have forgotten?

Had my heart grown cold so soon...?

"Ah, just as I thought - it's open."

Lindhardt pulls the desk drawer open, and shows off the pendant hanging around his neck.

The same Black Eagle pendant I had made for everyone to celebrate our victory in the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. That pendant left affixed to my old academy uniform and long forgotten in the chaos of the past few months.

My Teacher…

"Our Professor truly was full of surprises." Hubert notes with a hint of whimsy.

"Is, Hubert. I refuse to..."

"Edelgard, it's here."

I lunge toward the desk in a sudden explosion of energy. Lindhardt had already grabbed the book, but I snatched it out of his hand in a covetous fury.

"My teacher's diary... Lindhardt… thank you."

The three of us held a moment's pause, trading glances at each other.

"Well, should we take a look, your Majesty?" Hubert inquired. I could detect him attempting to hide his own curiosity.

I place the book on top of a nearby bureau near Hubert's lit candle. It occurs to me that Byleth probably kept his clothes in this dusty, very spartan piece of furniture. Under most circumstances, I would be extremely curious to see if he had left behind a wardrobe other than the black ensemble he usually wore… or at least possibly maybe steal a memento for myself... but I cannot be bothered with such thoughts at the moment. Not when the key to his salvation might be a page or two away.

I am possessed by my aching soul to take off my gloves before opening the book. I sense Lindhardt flinching at the glimpse of my scarred hands. I do not care. If Byleth touched this book with his bare hands, then I must as well. This is the final barrier between me and the last trace of a man who held my heart so gently. He did not handle my trauma with a glove when I bore it to him. As my bare fingers caress the leatherbound cover, I realize that I can now, at long last, finally inhabit the mind of that man who means everything to me.

I open the book. My eyes fall to the first entry.

Chapter Text

First Entry:

Hesitant.

Chapter Text

Yesterday, my father issued this journal to me. His orders:

"Write what you feel in it, kid."

I did so, presenting him the entry earlier this morning. He frowned.

"I should've figured."

My father stated this matter-of-factly. He scratched his blonde hair vigorously, as is his habit when frustrated. He has been doing so more frequently as of late, perhaps because we have moved the free company to the vicinity of Remire Village. At the current moment, it is difficult to keep the current group of non-commissioned officers from leading raiding parties. Three days ago, we experienced eight desertions, presumably to a nearby bandit group engaged in a Chevauchee of the countryside.

Many are politically agitated because we have crossed into a territory they consider foreign. Several approached me recently as the chief adjutant with their concerns. I simply told them that I am apolitical and referred them to Jeralt, my father. I do not know if he has made a statement yet. My suggestion is that as the captain-major of the company, he certainly should. If I was captain, I would consult each of the sergeants in confidence and attempt to minimize their concerns.

Chapter Text

According to my father, I have again failed his initial directive. Yesterday after stating "I should've figured", he suggested increasing the word count of future entries to two-hundred, a method he usually uses. I dutifully complied, making an entry of exactly two-hundred words later that evening. These two hundred words did not detail my feelings sufficiently, in his estimation.

"Those were my feelings." I replied.

"Write about yourself, not me. It's a diary, not a damn advice column." Was his rebuttal.

"What is an advice column?" I asked.

"It's… never mind. Ask me again when we're in Enbarr and I'll show you the newspapers."

"Is that the company's next destination after Remire?"

"We're keeping the company here, actually. One of our old Lieutenants, the girl you replaced, is going to train with the troops for a while. She's on winter holiday and visiting her relatives here."

"Understood."

"You're not curious about her at all, are you?"

"I trust your judgement."

"Of course you do. We're drilling as soon as she arrives. Maybe another week given the roads."

"Where is she coming from?" I asked.

My father observed a pregnant pause.

"... Don't worry about that. Anyway..."

I am not worried about it.

Chapter Text

"That's… well, it's better, at least."

The above statement was my father's reply regarding the third entry. He stated that as he vigorously scratched his hair. Further assessments were as follows:

"I think you've more or less got the hang of it. Just forget about the word limit for now and try your best to write whatever happened during the day. You've got a keen eye for detail so it's not really my place to stop you from that. I'll stop reading it if you promise to keep at it."

"I wouldn't care if you read it."

"Right… just do what I asked, then." He sighed deeply as he brought his hand from his hair down to the paperwork on his office desk.

"Understood."

My father rents a room in Remire's village hall during winter if we are not on retainer with a Lord. Remire, while a small hamlet of little military or economic significance, is centrally located on the continent. We can respond to contracts quickly here and be ready for campaigning after the spring thaw.

"What do you think of these bandit reports?"

It occurs to me that my father must have noticed my eyes wandering to the map on his desk. It is tacked with notes from the field that he received from merchants and reconnaissance units. They are detailing the troop movement of about a hundred bandits along a nearby road that begins at the Red Canyon of Zanado and diffuses out into the Imperial heartland.

"I think the scouts we have are reliable."

"That's… not what I'm asking. If they're going to use the Imperial highway just North of here, they could be raiding Gronder in a week's time. If we play our cards right, we might be getting some action instead of just drilling."

"Maybe so."

"Do you think we should warn Count Bergliez ahead of time?"

"That's a political question." I replied.

"That's why I'm asking."

"I really don't care for politics."

"Listen kid, neither do I. Doesn't matter, this is what being a sellsword is. What would you do?"

The line of questioning gave me a moment's pause, and I answered:

"If I considered Count Bergliez an honest man and was seeking him as a benefactor, I would warn him of the movements in advance. If he was known to be profligate, I would wait for the bandits to raid his territory and then offer my services in the midst of the chaos."

"Huh." my father replied.

I did not prompt him further.

"Quite the unexpected lecture there. You gave that some thought, huh?"

"I did."

"That answer sounded like me before I met your mother."

"It did?"

"Yeah. It hurts me to say it. I… hope you'll find someone worthy of protecting some day, Kid. And I hope I'll live to see them."

I had nothing to say in response to those words.

"Are we warning Count Bergliez?" I ask in an attempt to return to the subject at hand.

"Count Bergliez is… well, he's kind of a snake in the grass. I know his stepbrother Randolph, though, and that fellow is battle-born. He fights for something real. We're warning them."

"Understood."

I did not understand.

Chapter Text

Today, I met Edelgard.

Now, I think I understand.

A battle followed that dream again.

Those three circumstances are related, in fact.

First, the dream. As I have not yet explained it, and because it would be troublesome to continue this diary without first detailing the subject, I will take the time and space to do so now:

A green haired woman clad in white robes leads an army against a bearded warrior. The warrior wields a glowing sword that can extend itself at will, destroying hundreds of enemies at once. Perceptively, the woman avoids an arc of the sword before making her charge across muddy ground in high heeled sandals most unfit for running. Retreating from its expanded state, the sword retracts in an attempt to coil round the woman, but it is too little, too late. She leaps and then plunges a stiletto into the man's neck. As she pulls the knife out, her face bathes in the blood ejaculating from his jugular. Smiling wickedly, she drives the dagger back into the warrior, and repeats. And repeats again. And again. And again…

I do not hear very many sounds in that dream apart from the din of war and the gurgling of blood from the dead. This more or less reflects my own battlefield experience.

One word however is clearly audible as that woman drives her blade into the man's neck.

"Nemesis."

It is a dream I often have before combat starts. On the evening before my first battle under my father's command, one where I ran a sword through the latch of a pegasus and disemboweled its rider in a single thrust, I experienced this dream. That night, as I returned to my tent after being christened the "Ashen Demon" by a thankful Lord, I dreamt that dream again. I knew another bloodbath was approaching, instinctually.

Our troop was attacked on the road home in an ambush the very next day.

The surprise attack nearly destroyed our entire company.

I was not surprised.

The blood of ten battalion officers and countless subordinates flowed from my sword that day. If the Ashen Demon moniker was a temporary appellation before that afternoon, it became permanent that day. It has followed me since.

Before every action of arms, that dream has preceded. It is comforting in a way, because I know I shall never be taken unawares by combat. The details are etched into my memory now.

But today is not like other days, as another dream follows.

Or, at least I think it is a dream.

A petite, pre-adolescent, elfen-eared girl who bears some infantile similarities to the woman in that dream appears before me, seated slackly on a stone throne.

"Hm… I have not seen the likes of you before." she says coyly.

I realize I am standing below her, and that she gazes down upon me like a monarch assessing her subject. It is an uncomfortable feeling. I may be a commoner, the son of a mercenary - but I am used to living my life among equals. The way she gazes upon me fills me with feelings of nausea.

"Who are you, anyway?"

For a moment, I consider answering her reply with my nickname, the Ashen Demon. But that strikes me as a bit silly given the circumstances.

"A mortal", I reply honestly.

"I see. Then you must have a name of sorts. Go on." She commands.

"Byleth."

"Huh. I shall not grow accustomed to the sound of human names. You must possess a birthday as well?"

"The twentieth day of the Horsebow Moon."

"Well! Wonders never cease, it would seem that we share the same day of birth. How strange!"

I have nothing to say in response to such a statement.

"Hmm.. it all feels so familiar… I think it may be time for another nap…"

As she falls asleep, I wake.

"That dream again?" My father asks, shaking me from my cot.

"Yes, the battle." I dare not mention the encounter with the girl.

"Massive armies clashing on a vast field, right? There hasn't been a battle like that in over three centuries… but you always have that dream before we get into a scrap, don't you?"

My father picked up on this entirely on his own. I suspect because we often tent together and he ends up having to stir me from my slumber.

"Jeralt! Sir! Sorry to barge in, but your presence is needed."

"What's happened?"

"Sir, they're outside, follow me."

We step onto the village hall's patio. Lit by candlelight are the visages of three people. After adjusting my eyes, I notice that they are roughly my age, give or take a few years. Two boys and one girl. Younger, but not by much. They are all wearing similar black-and-gold military tunics, the only differences present in their mantles.

The sole girl wears a red cape affixed by a golden, eagle shaped brooch. I notice how short she is, scarcely over five Imperial units in height. Her hair is as white as her skin, and her eyes glow in a lavender hue. Those irises bore into mine, totally ignoring my father. I get the impression she is sizing me up, even though I shouldn't be the one attracting much attention. But I suppose there must be a reason why I'm sizing her up first as well. A strange thing - for us to gravitate to each other like this. I look away after realizing that much.

The first boy, standing tall in the trio's center, cuts a much more impressive figure. He's doubtless from the Kingdom, as most Northerners I've met seem to have a height advantage. His cape is blue, emblazoned with a fabric lion. He possesses messy blonde hair and blue eyes that match his ensemble smartly. His bangs seem like they'd be a hindrance in a proper fight.

The third, in the yellow cape, is a shade darker in skin color than the other two. His hair is smartly gelled and spiked at the top, with a braid falling down on one side. Another foolish thing in combat - don't give your enemy a way to scalp you in close quarters. I've seen an Almyran get the top of his head ripped off from a mercenary clutching his braid. I wonder if he's also from that country. A gold earring is affixed to his right ear. He seems the most suave of the three.

The blonde is the first to speak.

"Please forgive our intrusion. We wouldn't bother you were the situation not dire."

My father looks at him in a way that seems - for lack of a better word - paternal.

"What do a bunch of kids like you want at this hour?" he asks with an eyebrow raised.

The blonde speaks again after trading glances at his companions.

"We're being pursued by a group of bandits. I can only hope that you will be so kind as to lend your support."

My father frowns.

"Bandits? Already? Our last report from our scouts said they were still a day's march away."

The woman drags her eyes off me and speaks.

"It's true. They attacked us while we were resting in our camp."

Next to chime in is the suave one.

"We've been separated from our companions and we're definitely outnumbered. Those bandits are after our lives... not to mention our gold."

My father ponders the facts for a moment and nods.

"I'm impressed you're staying so calm considering the situation." He grants "but… that uniform…"

Another mercenary sergeant appears behind them.

"Bandits are surrounding the village! There's got to be an entire company spreading out along the hayfields. First Archery Platoon's retreated from the watchtower."

"I guess they followed you all the way here. We can't abandon this village now."

My father now turns to me.

"Kid… I'm putting you in temporary command of the vanguard. Or what's left of it. Feel out the main concentration of the enemy force, but don't engage unless you're spotted. Keep an eye on the kids, have them show you the last known position of the bandits... but don't get too close. I get the impression that they're high value targets."

"And you?" I ask.

"I need to get the cavalry platoon mounted up and the town watch armed. I already sent out the main body for foraging, so we're in no position to call on anyone else."

"Understood."

He turns back to the three kids.

"Don't do anything stupid, your highnesses. My boy will take care of you."

They seem a bit surprised at his bluntness, but perhaps more so the sudden appellation. My father can sniff out privilege a mile away. I'm glad he can, because I can't.

All four of us watch him depart towards the Southern end of the town where the stables are located and our cavalry contingent slumbers.

"Stay close to me." I issue this command without looking at any of the three in particular and begin to walk towards the northern gate of the village.

"Hey, mercenary, do you even know where you're going?" Yellow-Cape asks.

I stop and turn to him. All three freeze in place, eyeing me. I hold my index finger to the air. Faintly, you could hear the clanging of metal and the hooves of horses from some distance behind.

"Towards that."

Yellow-Cape crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow with interest. Blue-Cape nodded. The slight contour of a smirk revealed itself on Red-Cape's lips.

We advanced towards the hayfields.

There was no vanguard left. Our archers, who we typically used as a screen while we were encamped, were long gone. Green and untested, they had been routed from the bivouac by the watchtower and fled into the night. Their more competent comrades were hunting game further afield and probably knew nothing of the attack.

Upon reaching the hayfields, the four of us crouched in a hedgerow to observe one of the plots whose winter-wheat crop was just recently baled and lying out in the cool spring night. The bandits, having seized the bivouac, were helping themselves to a campfire-cooked dinner that was left behind. In the far distance was the watchtower which kept a vantage over the surrounding countryside.

"My objective is to reach the watchtower and observe what type of force we're facing." I tell the three.

Red-Cape and Blue-Cape seemed to process the information with blank faces that affected a sort of ambivalent approval. My proposal did not sit well with Yellow-Cape.

"That'd be a nice plan if there weren't eight bandits between us and the watchtower."

"Three or four are likely to be guarding the tower itself, as well." I add.

"Yeah Merc, and the order from your cap wasn't to get us killed, remember?"

"Claude!" Blue-Cape admonishes.

"Our cowardly companion is right... if only in that sense." Red-Cape notes. "We could be outnumbered at least four-to-one."

"Twelve-to-one." I correct.

Red-Cape is the first to pick up on the implication there.

"You... intend to fight them alone?"

Blue-Cape is the next to realize.

"Good sir, you cannot be serious."

I ignore the protests and turn back to the one admonished as Claude. Claude is in possession of an iron bow and twenty arrows.

"Yellow-Cape, can you shoot?"

Yellow-Cape takes a few moments to realize that he's Yellow-Cape.

"Well, I'm not one to brag but-"

I grab an arrow from the sling over his shoulder while he attempts not to brag.

"Hey!"

Ignoring his protest, I reach for a flask on my waist and begin to shake out its contents over the tip.

"Are you trying to get them drunk or some-" yellow-cape doesn't finish his thought when he notices the pitch oozing out of the flask, covering the arrowhead in black goop. I light the arrow with a snap of my fingers and the invocation of the most rudimentary of fire spells. I hand the flaming arrow back to him.

"Nock it and hit the bale." I order. Yellow-Cape, finally getting it, nods and does as instructed. The bale is struck, center mass, and begins to combust. The bandits, although a bit slow on the uptake, are now distracted. That delayed reaction is a good thing. I suspect that they are inebriated.

"Wait here. Do not move." I say without making eye contact. I walk forward into the clearing with a long gait in each step. I am halfway across the open field before any of the bandits notice my presence. One, who is facing me on the opposite end of the hay-bale bonfire, finally notices my approach.

"Hey, Sarge, lookie there!" he yells, pointing directly at me.

They have ranks. Must be ex-military.

One of the bandits turns to face me. Sarge, I presume.

"Who the fuck are-"

Sarge does not finish elucidating this query, as I toss my belted dagger into the air, grab it as it ascends, twirl it, and pitch it in one fluid motion directly into his throat. He flails and gurgles a bit before falling onto his knees, clutching his carotid. As the drunken bandits watch in terror at their superior's death throes, I charge them with my iron sword. The closest to me, only just recovering from the shock of his dead comrade, has his intestines parted by my blade before he can properly bring his axe to bear. This decisiveness splits the group's cohesion - as I suspected. Three begin a retreat towards the watchtower. Three charge me, one with a lance and two with swords.

Retrieving the dagger from the Sergeant's throat, I parry a blow from the lancer with the blade and step diagonally forward, just in range of the first swordsman. I separate his left arm from the rest of his body with a fluid motion. He does not notice this until he attempts to swing at me with his severed stump. He falls shortly thereafter, moaning pathetically as he bleeds out on the dirt. The spearman, recovering from his first stab with a drunkard's grace, is unable to properly riposte my strike from the flank, and my dagger dives in between his ribs, nestling right in his heart. I look him square in the eyes as the shock settles and life fades from them. The second swordsman, seeing enough, attempts to flee to his other three comrades to the watchtower, stopping only when they shut the palisade gate behind them some thirty yards ahead. He turns to me with the terror of a man marked for the gallows.

"The… Ashen Demon…!"

I only now notice that he's a deserter from our troop. Yanking the dagger out from the lancer, I sheath it, and beckon him over.

"Did they capture you, comrade?" I ask.

Thinking he has lucked out, he approaches me with a skip in his step.

"Ah… yes sir, while I was foragin'."

"Come here, friend." I say reassuringly.

He approaches.

"Drop the sword. It's broken."

He drops the sword.

Once he does that, I lunge at him, sending him to the ground in a tackle. My hands lock around his throat. He stares up at me with an expression of hurt and abject horror as he tries in vain to hold onto the life that is being squeezed out from him. His eyes meet mine for several minutes until they at long last go glassy, held still in the final embrace of death. The three bandits holed up in the watchtower make no move to rescue him as he goes limp in the fallow field.

After the deed is done, I stand up and wipe my brow.

"Ashen Demon, huh?" Yellow Cape yells from a short distance behind me. He's smirking. Following behind him are Red-Cape and Blue-Cape, looking in shock at the five corpses surrounding me. "Sounds about right to me!"

"Three... still in... the watchtower." I manage while catching my breath.

"Maybe... we can convince them to surrender." Blue-Cape noted.

Red-Cape takes offense at this idea and steeles herself.

"They don't deserve any mercy, Dimitri. They attacked us and killed that teacher."

Blue-Cape grimaces, but the rest of his body language seems to concede the point.

"You may be right. That was done in cold-blood."

I wasn't really interested in debating the morality of the subject. One could easily argue I killed these brigands in just the same manner.

"Blue-Cape, help me over the palisade." I order.

Blue-Cape is much quicker on the uptake than Yellow-Cape.

"Let's cut through." he says with a firm and righteous nod.

Blue-Cape and I close the thirty yard distance to the palisade unnoticed. The wall is made with simple birch timber about seven imperial units in height. There was little knowledge of military engineering in its design as it possesses no viewports or firing slits. My guess is that it is simply there to seem menacing. Even the gate offers no view towards the outside either, because it was constructed by what was probably a grumbling peasantry on the orders of the remote and inaccessible Lord of the territory. The only way to notice our approach would be to ascend the tower, and none of the remaining bandits have decided to do so as of yet.

This struck me as curious until we got close enough to hear the bandits arguing about who would actually ascend the tower to assess the damage to their little unit. As it happened, none were too keen on becoming the target of my next dagger toss. In fact, they were actually attempting to guilt one another into being the first man up.

I looked at Blue-Cape, who could barely suppress a smirk at the boisterous blame-shifting happening on the other side. I lift my leg up as I reach the palisade. Instantly getting my intent, Blue-Cape gets on one knee and cups his hands under my boot to give me a boost. He manages this quite well, putting some wind in my sails as I clear the wall with ease.

Luckily, as I go over the top, I notice that I'm in close enough range to tickle the back of the neck of one of the bandits with my dagger during my descent. He does not notice before his brain stem is severed from his spine. That leaves two. The remaining duo notice my presence immediately, and charge me quite foolishly, creating a Byleth-sized niche in the middle for me to weave through. Both are forcibly separated from their legs in our last dance with the use of my favorite combat art.

After a quick scan of my surroundings, I open the gate from the inside, and beckon the three in. Blue-Cape and Yellow-Cape seem a bit taken aback at torch-lit innards oozing out of the bandits near the gate. Red-Cape, to her credit, does not flinch this time.

"Red-Cape, we're checking the tower. Blue-Cape, Yellow-Cape, post at the gate. Leave it closed."

All three nod with intent. Red-Cape follows me up the ladder while the other two take up their posts.

We reach the top in a few moments. This watchtower on the hayfield, itself at the top of a rolling hill, offers a commanding view of the area for several miles. To the North and West, mountains dominate the landscape. To the South and East lay the flat plains of Gronder The aesthetically inclined might even call it breath-taking.

"Quite the view..." Red-Cape offers.

At first, I assume that she's assessing the countryside. Turning to her, I notice then that her eyes are fixed on the bivouac and gaggle of dead bodies surrounding it. Before I can consider a reply, I hear the sound of hooves galloping across dry ground.

"Get down." I command. She complies.

It appears the bandit leader has arrived, flanked by two bodyguards.

"I can hear you down there! Who the everloving fuck are you?" He yells at the palisade.

"...The Ashen Demon!" Yellow-Cape bellows from below. What a clever fool he is.

"The Blade Breaker's assassin is here?!" A mounted guard yelps.

"What kind of assassin announces himself like that, you idiot? It's the punk kid from earlier. Listen to his voice!" The leader yells.

"Your logic is illogical, my good fellow. I announce myself as a matter of honor!" Yellow-Cape shouts from behind the palisade.

As the idiots banter, I turn to Red-Cape.

"That hand-axe at your belt… have you ever unhorsed someone with that before?"

Her eyes widen. They tell me she hasn't.

"I'm going to teach you, then."

She nods. I feel some kind of fire burning within her.

Yellow-Cape's incoherent baiting of the bandit leader proved rather useful. As they threatened each other from opposite ends of the palisade, Red-Cape and I descended the tower and snuck out the back into a nearby hedgerow.

I explained the process to her in brief. The principle was simple: throw the axe, severing the front legs of his mount. That will throw the bandit leader from his horse. I would take care of the rest - before his grunts even have the opportunity to react.

"It's a sweeping motion, with your elbow as the pivot. Lean into it with your whole body and release. Aim high, for the bandit himself - gravity will do most of the work and drop it to about knee-level at this distance. Once he's off the horse, I'll kill him."

Red-Cape seemed to absorb every word, her vision never diverting from my demonstration.

"Are you ready?"

She nods.

"I'm going to start running. Count to ten and let it loose."

She nods again.

"I'll know if you throw it at my back." I say.

Her lavender irises focus on mine after expanding to the size of pearls.

"I-I would never do such a thing!"

I shrug.

"You had a very solemn expression. I thought that I'd try to make a joke."

"S-Some joke!"

It went over poorly, then. It's a joke I stole from my father, who had a very high opinion of his own humor. Perhaps he wasn't funny after all. I certainly never laughed, at least.

"It's the first one I've ever told in my life."

Red-Cape seemed to lose her bad temper after the admission. Were her cheeks turning red, though?

"How foolish...what kind of excuse is that...? Your first joke...?"

"I'm sorry. Try to focus." I offer. That was also the first apology I can ever recall making to anyone in my entire life.

"Hm. Well, I will try." She quips after regaining her composure.

"I'm going now."

"Take care of yourself, mercenary."

I don't offer a reply to that last statement, as I'm already running at full gait towards the bandit leader. Five seconds in, and I see that the leader has already noticed me in his periphery. He's not drunk like his subordinates, then.

"What in the Goddess-"

In a flash, the hand axe cuts through the air beside me, and lops off his horse's front legs. The leader takes a spill forward off his horse. His grunts, now noticing my presence, immediately wheel their mounts. An arrow and javelin each arc over the palisade and strike their targets. Yellow-Cape and Blue-Cape managed quite well, I must admit. I had instructed Blue-Cape on the matter before leaving, but expected the worst. Perhaps that was pretentious of me.

I now bring my sword up to finish the job. As I prepare to behead the bandit king, he suddenly grabs Red-cape's handaxe from the severed leg of his late horse. In spite of deftly deflecting my blow at the last moment, he is still tossed backwards from the sheer force of the attack.

Before I can step forward and finish the job, I catch a glimpse of Red-Cape advancing towards me from outside the hedgerow. My body pivots away from the action.

I did not instruct her to do that.

"Is it over?" She asked.

"Get back, there may be more enemies!" I command harshly. She does not respond. Instead, she stares at a figure in the distance.

Before I can turn my back to face the cause of her shock, I notice that the bandit leader has already run past me, on a direct collision course with Red-Cape.

"You're gonna regret capping my horse, Missy!" He yells.

The girl unsheathes what appears to be a ceremonial dagger. Against a man holding a full foot in height advantage and wielding an axe, it is hopeless to expect her to win.

I must protect her.

It's my fault she's in this compromised state without a proper weapon, after all.

But more than that…

I want to protect her.

Something lurches within my chest involuntarily.

And so I lunge gracelessly in front of her to intercept the bandit's blow, feeling steel sink into my back. The world begins to fade to black...

… And I find myself standing before the stone throne again.

"Hmm… Sothis... Yes, that is it. My name is Sothis." The same green-haired girl with the elfen ears casts her eyes upon me.

I do not reply to her statement.

"And I am also called...The Beginning. But who once called me that?"

"Sothis?" I repeat in the form of a question.

"I was not able to recall my name... until just now. And just like that, it came to me. How odd."

I reply with a look that borders on concern. The type of concern you'd have for a lost kid in the woods, basically.

"That look upon your face... Did you consider me to be a child? A mere child who forgot her own name?!"

"If the shoe fits." I offer. She's barefoot, so I wonder if that made sense.

"Phooey! That "child" just saved your life! And what does that make you?"

"...Less than a child?"

"Joking! I see what you're doing! Since when do you joke?! I can not remember such a thing even though I feel as if I've watched you for a long time. Is it because of that girl? The one who bears the crest of flames as well?"

"Girl?"

"The one you so stupidly threw Us in front of an axe to save! That Girl!"

"Us?"

"Yes. Us. You. Me. Phooey!"

I stare at her blankly. She appears to settle down after that.

"...In spite of your foolishness, at the present moment all is well, as I have stalled the flow of time. You would have died had I not intervened."

It was quite the statement for her to make, given the circumstances. Still, I clearly wasn't dead yet, even though I should be. Her elfen ears seemed to bounce ever so slightly as she nodded self-righteously. I wondered what the circumstances were behind those.

"You stopped time?"

"Hm. I do not hear your gratitude. Perhaps I should force you to leave?"

"Thanks."

"There now. Is gratitude so much to ask? I did deem you worth saving, after all. Though it is only momentary, time has stopped. However did I manage that…?"

She's beginning to bore me. For a kid, she's really chatty and full of herself. That's not really my speed.

"What now?"

"When time begins again, the axe will tear into your flesh, and you will surely meet your end. How rude of you to drag me into this! Now what to do…"

Instinctively, I blurt out:

"Turn back the hands of time, then."

Sothis beams.

"Of course! I must turn back the hands of time! Yes... I do believe it can be done. You really are quite troublesome, you know? I cannot wind back time too far, but all is well. You are aware of what's to come, which means you can protect yourself this time."

She begins to fiddle with some sort of magical clock-face that materializes out of the ether.

"Yes... Now, go... Yes, you who bears the flames within. Drift through the flow of time to find the answers that you seek…"

With the benefit of Sothis literally wrenching back the clock, I was able to catch myself a few steps ahead of the charging bandit leader. Shadowing his initial movements, I detected no change in his approach vector, so I was able to dive in front of Red-Cape in short enough order to parry the bandit's blow with my sword. Sent backwards again through his own disorganized kinetic energy, he simply fled the field into the nearby woods with a disgusted expression.

Under most circumstances, I would've simply chased him down and ended him.

This time, however, I had a more immediate concern.

I turned to Red-Cape who simply stared at me with her mouth agape.

"You're… safe?" I ask.

"Y-you… Yes, I'm safe… thanks to you." She managed in fits and starts.

Yellow-Cape and Blue-Cape rush to our side shortly after.

"Edelgard, are you unharmed?" Blue-Cape asked Red-Cape

Meanwhile, Yellow-Cape made directly for me. He clicked his tongue as he approached.

"Nice."

My father arrived on the scene shortly after with a Knight by the name of Alois.

"That bloodbath back there… please don't tell me the kids got involved." my father said with his hand seemingly glued to his hair in frustration.

Yellow-Cape, again, piped in.

"Apart from my own little attempt at mood lighting, that wasn't us, old man. That was all The Ashen Demon." Yellow-Cape added a flourish of his hands in my direction to conclude his retelling.

Alois then began chattering.

That Knight struck me as a deeply forgettable fellow. I only paid sufficient attention to know that he had somehow convinced my father to return with him to a monastery by the name of "Greg Mock"(?)

"What about the mercenary company?" I asked.

"I'd leave it in your hands, but it seems they want you, too." My father added.

"I have no desire to accompany them."

"Unfortunately kid, they are demanding you to accompany them. Apparently they want to reward you for protecting the kids. Turns out they were in the officers' academy."

"No reward is necessary.."

"Yeah, that's not gonna cut it. This isn't the type of request you deny anway, kid."

"What right do they have to make such a request?"

"Well, it also turns out we're in their stomping grounds. Remire was pawned to the Church last year. It's no longer in the Empire's portfolio, so the bribe I usually send wasn't any good this time. We've got no choice - we were squatting, it seems."

At last I nod.

"I get your scepticism, really I do." Jeralt said after a moment's pause. "I'm not eager to go back there."

"Back there?"

"Long story, kid. But yeah, my gig before you entered the picture was as a Knight of Seiros."

I don't have a reply. As his son, shouldn't I have been entitled to that information a little bit earlier than now? It's hard to say. We've never had a relationship that you could call warm or close. He gives orders, I follow them. Today with the kids was one of the first times I've done anything so freely.

"I'll try and get us out in a pinch. Just hang tight for now and enjoy the hospitality. Those noble brats are actually pretty important. Good friends to have, in fact." he noted.

"I couldn't care less."

"Yup, which is why I'm telling you."

My father then gave me a shove backwards.

"Seems like they wanna chat, kid."

I turn back to the students.

Red-Cape looks at me like she's been practicing a monologue in her head. She takes a deep breath and says.

"I appreciate your help back there. Your skill is beyond question-"

I shrug. I lose all interest when people pump out rehearsed statements like that. Yellow-Cape chortles. Red-Cape's undaunted though, to her credit. Or maybe she's just too dense to notice.

"-And you're clearly an experienced mercenary. And your father...that would be Jeralt, the Blade Breaker?"

"So I'm told."

"Former captain of the Knights of Seiros. Oft praised as the strongest knight to ever live. Have I missed anything?"

My interest is admittedly piqued by the new information.

"Captain, huh? He never mentioned that." I reply matter-of-factly.

Some fire buried deep inside Red-Cape's irises began to flicker. As if she's made a discovery of some sort.

"How... curious. I'd wager the explanation for that is fascinating indeed."

Red-Cape and I lose ourselves in a locked gaze for a few moments. There's some sort of magnetism between us, I think. I've often experienced that on the battlefield. Some opponents you just feel like you want to get near enough to observe before killing them. I don't want to kill her, though. I want to protect her, as crazy as that sounds. Even when she says really inane word-salads like she just did.

Yellow-Cape kills my moment of contemplation and cuts in.

"Hey! Ashen Demon! You're coming with us to the monastery, right? Of course you are. I'd love to bend your ear as we travel."

"I guess so, yeah." I reply noncommittally. Yellow-Cape, much to my chagrin, sees this as an opportunity to keep going.

"Oh, I should mention that the three of us are students of the Officers Academy at Garage Mack(?) Monastery. We were doing some training exercises when those bandits attacked. I definitely got the worst of it."

"That would be because you ran off." Red-Cape jumps back in with a dig.

"Too true! I was the first to make a strategic retreat." he replies to her with a false-looking grin.

He turns back to me.

"Everything would have worked out if these two hadn't followed me and ruined everything. Because of them, every single one of those bandits chased after us. Utterly ridiculous... "

This prompts a great sigh from Blue-Cape, who's been mercifully quiet throughout the exchange. I like the cut of his jib, I think.

"Ah, so that's what you were thinking, Claude. And here I thought you were acting as a decoy for the sake of us all."

I like him less now. Let the conversation die, already.

"His intentions were as clear as day. You will prove a lacking ruler if you cannot see the truth behind a person's words." Red-Cape's back at it again, and now she's decided to start lecturing.

"Hm. You will prove a lacking ruler yourself if you look for deceit behind every word and fail to trust those whom you rely on." Blue-Cape again blows whatever accumulated goodwill I had invested in him by egging this conversation on.

Yellow-Cape seems to take note of what must be my visible dissatisfaction and directs the question to me.

"Oh, joy. A royal debate between Their Highnesses. I wonder how being completely predictable affects one's ability to wield power? Don't you think so, Demon?"

"I haven't the slightest idea." I rebuff.

"Ah, naturally. You're just living the life of a merc. I respect that! Personally, as the avatar of distrust, I'd say their little exchange smacks of naiveté. As a cynical, hardened sellsword wouldn't you agree?"

I'm not going to continue fueling this, so I just shrug. Red-Cape hasn't had her fill yet, though.

"Me? Naive? Tell me, are you actually incapable of keeping quiet, or is your lack of self-awareness a condition of some sort?" she shouts at Yellow-Cape.

At this point, I give up and start to walk away. An outstretched hand catches me on the shoulder before I can take a step forward, though.

I turn back with squinted eyes to meet it.

It's Blue-Cape.

"Ah… Mercenary, I'm sorry that we've gotten so caught up in this argument with you present. It occurs to me that we've never endeavored to introduce ourselves, which is impossibly rude given that all three of us owe you our lives."

I stare at him blankly.

"Right… my name is Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Faerghus."

Yellow-Cape glides over, positioning himself to Dimitri's right.

"Ah damn, we never got properly introduced huh? You can keep calling me Yellow-Cape if you want, but my real name is Claude von Riegan. I guess you're not a guy for titles, though - are you? I'm technically next in line to be the Grand Duke of Riegan, but I'm not gonna ask you to call me anything fancy like Dimitri over here."

I nod.

Suddenly, I noticed that Red-Cape had appeared at my side, much closer in proximity to me than either Dimitri or Claude.

"Byleth, is it?" She asks.

I'm a bit stunned.

"You know that?" I ask, surprised.

"Woah, he actually emotes!" Claude yipped.

Red-Cape hummed.

"I… may have seen your dog tag when you were showing me how to unhorse that bandit…"

"Right."

With some effort, I'm able to return my expression to its usual blankness. I can navigate conversations better that way. In my limited experience, people tend to invest whatever emotions are at the forefront of their mind into a blank stare.

"Anyway… my name is Edelgard. You can always call me that, because I owe you my life. There's no need for formality between us."

Claude now closes the distance.

"...What Edel forgot to say - Byleth - is that she's about to inherit the whole damn Adrestian Empire. By the by, If her retainer catches you calling her anything but Princess, he'll put poison in your teapot."

"C-Claude!" Edelgard turns first to Claude, and then back to me flushing a hue of red only a shade lighter than her cape. "Hubert would certainly respect any method you choose to address me with."

"...Hubert?" I ask. Is someone with a name like that supposed to be intimidating?

Before Claude can add more fuel to the fire burning in Edelgard's cheeks, Dimitri steps forward and completes the too-close-for-comfort circle.

"With our introductions complete, Sir Byleth, allow me to make a formal request. The way you held your ground against the bandits' leader was captivating! You never lost control of the situation. It showed me I still have much to learn…"

"-Which is precisely why I must ask you to lend your strength to the Empire." Edelgard cut in.

"H-Halt Edelgard, I wasn't finished with my own proposition. The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus is in dire need of exceptional individuals like yourself. Please consider returning to the Kingdom with me."

Claude now decides to make his play for my services. He starts off by chastising his peers.

"Whoa, there! You two sure are hasty. Trying to recruit someone you just met... Tactless, really. I was personally planning to develop a deep and lasting friendship on our journey back to the monastery before begging for favors."

He turns back to me.

"But it seems there's no time for niceties in this world. So, capable stranger, let's get right to it. Where does your allegiance lie?"

I consider their propositions.

"With all due respect, your highnesses?" I ask all three of them.

They hang on my word, all staring intently.

"...Fuck off."

End of entry.

Chapter Text

"No way… Professor actually told you guys to fuck off?" Lindhardt exclaimed, perhaps with the most energy I've heard behind a sentence of his in my entire history of knowing him.

He looked at me with expectant eyes - I could see them from my periphery. But my view was elsewhere. My heart was elsewhere. And it was starting to get really, really worked up.

But not in sadness. What was filling it was fury.

"...Edelgard… did it work, by chance? It's a question for my own research purposes, of course."

Hilda Goneril….

"Lady Edelgard… you seem a bit flustered." Hubert noted, "Does this have to do with that revelation about Sothis?"

At that moment I realized that they both stopped short of where my eyes were - the next page. It's good that they did, honestly. I shut the book suddenly with a quick snap, nearly catching Lindhardt's finger idling at the top of the page, which was in the midst of flattening a crease.

"Edelgard, what was that for? I wanted to continue reading the Professor's account. Maybe that Sothis dream of his is related to his Crest of Flames?" Lindhardt asked pleadingly.

"H-hmmmm… N-no, I don't think I will allow such a thing. I-I've forgotten that My Teacher only wanted me to read this, s-so… I must observe his condition… alone, yes!"

I must look and sound as deranged as Catherine von Nuvelle at the moment. As if to confirm my suspicion, Hubert and Lindhart both give me the same look they give that woman when she starts raving about her experiments.

"Lady Edelgard, if the Professor indeed claims to be communicating with Sothis, the Goddess herself, I must insist that I take the text for my own self-study after you've finished a perusal. It's simply too important for our broader project to gloss over."

"A-absolutely not!"

"Aw, come on, Edelgard. I really want to read more before... I get sleepy" Lindhardt moans through a yawn.

I gradually try to bring myself to grips with what I just read while clutching Byleth's diary. Who cares about Sothis? I don't. So what if he told us to fuck off? We were annoying him. What I care about is Hilda Goneril. This diary- In reality I should be burning it. The things he wrote in that next entry… I wanted to vomit. Was he really that observant about my mental state that early? Does he really think that bitch Hilda is prettier than I am? Hilda?

"L-Lindhardt, warp us out of here immediately."

"...What?"

"I-Immediately!"

"Lady Edelgard, we can just exit through the door. It is unlocked on this side." Hubert notes. He cracks it open.

"Well, t-then I need to leave! Right this second, as it happens!"

I storm out the door. Directly into a torrential rainstorm. When did it start raining?

I couldn't bear it anymore.

I needed some girl talk.

I needed Dorothea.

"Edie, did you really...?"

I know how stupid this all is. I know that Dorothea's been taking this just as hard as I have for the past month. I know she actually likes Byleth… that way… as well, and kept her mouth shut for my sake. They're the same age. And both non-royals. They could've hit it off without me ever knowing. But Dorothea picked up on my feelings and was such a good friend about everything. And now I'm rubbing her face in it.

...But because I've spent my entire adolescent life locked away in a dungeon, or shoving people away who get close to me until literally last year, she's the only female peer I have with sufficient experience in…matters of the heart… who I feel comfortable presenting my current torrent of emotions to. Who else can I show this to? Ladislava doesn't participate in romantic affairs with men. Bernadetta would probably have a meltdown. Petra… no. I'd give myself an ulcer trying to explain the finer points of all this stuff to her.

It has to be Dorothea.

Is that healthy?

Probably not.

Is this even remotely considerate to her own emotional state?

Definitely not.

Would I prefer to be just reaming out Byleth right now for having the absolute GALL to compare me, the person he… you know… with... to Hilda Fucking Goneril? Who's currently expecting a child with that bastard Claude... the same Claude who basically occupied half of Hrym last month on the absolute flimsiest of pretenses?

Yes.

But I can't!

"I did, Dorothea…"

Both of us are sitting in Manuela's old infirmary. We're staring at Byleth's diary which I placed - swaddled in my own cape to protect from the rain - like a baby on her desk. Technically, this room is now Dorothea's office. As she calls it, her "salon" - or at least, that's what she plans on the office eventually becoming. At some point. Against her own desires, I was told.

I… really committed a grave error.

In the aftermath of the siege, the Imperial Page noted that I was currently short a culture minister - it turns out that Hubert had the previous one purged for circulating a caricature of me sitting on a throne of crowned skulls in a private newsletter of the Enbarr Opera House.

It was honestly unclear to me whether or not those skulls were representing the lower nobility - who also wore ceremonial crowns, or my own ancestors.

Hubert didn't see a meaningful difference in either message.

I did, but no one ever consulted me before that guy ended up flayed alive in Enbarr's execution square. He was torn to shreds with hooked whips shortly after Hubert's own father, the late Marquis Vestra.

I think it bears repeating that I have… issues with Hubert's management style.

Which is why I need to find Byleth and get back to being a proper ruler again.

Anyway.. that day, I was preoccupied with a rumor about my teacher's whereabouts. One of the Abyss residents said she may have spotted a body on her last foraging trip into the ravine. Needless to say, I was pacing around the drawing room of Garegg Mach's audience hall, shouting incoherent orders at poor Ladislava about mounting a rescue operation. That page didn't catch me in the right frame of mind, you see. In my torment, I may have appointed Dorothea the Empire's new cultural minister, and by extension, Director of the Enbarr Opera House. By "may" I also mean "definitely did".

And, well… I didn't really ask her before doing so. In fact, I had never once mentioned the idea to her, even.

While that's not to say it's a genuine feeling of mine - I think Dorothea's wonderful and brilliant and beautiful and oh-so-cool and competent and a natural leader and she even got a noble particle for the whole thing - it was probably me making the most inconsiderate decision that I've made in a long while. And I did that to my friend, on top of it. What was becoming of me?

...And I haven't really had the opportunity to apologize for doing that, yet. Or even explain my rationale for doing so.

Yet here I am, about to have a meltdown over something really trivial in the grand scheme of things. Would I have done this a year ago? Would I have done this had I not opened my heart to Byleth? Now I'm leaning on Dorothea in his absence. In spite of everything.

"Dorothea… I'm truly sorry about the whole affair earlier with the ministry." Is that truly the best I can manage? I guess so.

"You know Edie, if you had said that to me like maybe a couple of days ago, I'd still be quite mad about it."

"O-of course you would…"

"But I guess I'm not really all that mad about it anymore. I'm actually kind of excited, you know..."

"I-Is that so?"

Dorothea sips some tea cooling off in a mug on her desk. I can smell it, faintly. It's Sweet Apple Blend. It's so fitting for her, really.

"There's something I've been thinking about recently…" she says wistfully.

Dread fills every crevice of my chest cavity.

"What's that, Dorothea?"

"I kind of want to write an opera. A new one. Totally original. Not about you, I mean. I know you'd hate for me to do that now. This one would be about something special, I promise."

I take a deep breath and relax a bit. I can't say I was expecting that answer. I'm kind of relieved, honestly.

"About what, then?" I ask.

"Maybe.. It's best I tell you later. Let's talk about this." Her hand, bare, caressed the leather cover of his diary. I recoiled a bit when I noticed how tenderly she held that book in her perfect, dainty, unblemished hands. Would she have held my Byleth like that? Would he have liked it?

"Of course..."

"Where did you find this, Edie?"

"In his room. I... had Lindhardt warp me inside."

As I reported this, I suddenly felt like Dorothea held all the leverage over me in this conversation.. When did I become such a child again? Why was I like this whenever I thought about my teacher? Why was I showing her his diary, even?

"Really, Edie?"

"I'm afraid so."

Dorothea heaved her chest a bit.

"Does that mean…"

"N-no! I am truly hoping there's a clue inside. That maybe his condition… is related to why we cannot seem to find him."

Dorothea seemed to accept my rationale, but the melancholy that had seeped into her expression in the interim made no effort to subside.

"I see… things like his hair and eye color changing, you mean..."

"Sort of."

"Right…"

This is clearly hurting her. I'm clearly hurting her. But I can't stop doing it. I'm like a Faerghan bull in a Albinean Ceramic shop... Or an Almyran Scorpion riding on a Gloucester Tortoise.

"Anyway… My intent is to read the whole thing soon and try to see if there might be anything that can help us find him… but..." I began.

"But..?" She asked.

"But… I would be most appreciative for your input on something…"

"Oh?"

"It is just kind of personal and maybe a little annoying, but I just want a second opinion. That is really all, truly..."

"Just tell me, Edie."

"When Byleth compares me to another woman and thinks…"

Dorothea bursts out laughing before I can even finish the thought.

I'm literally dying. I just want to crawl under my bed and hide. I understand Bernadetta now. I really get it. I will never endeavor to criticize her again - I swear on this crown I won't.

"Oh Goddess... I'm sorry… Sorry…. But really-?" Her eyes then cast down on the book. I know she's doing everything she can not to open it.

After a few moments, she looks back up at me, a devilish smirk creeping on her lips.

"This girl he's comparing you to… now, it couldn't be me, could it?" Dorothea seems to savor that question.

I hate to burst her bubble. Actually, I really don't.

"No."

A deep frown casts over her face. She leans in.

"Who…?"

Before I can answer, my page appears at the door.

"-Your Majesty?"

"What?!" Dorothea snaps. The poor boy recoils like he usually does, unaware that Dorothea should not be responding to a Your-Majesty, but rather a Your Highness. For now anyway. I'm going to destroy this whole system before I die. With Byleth, of course.

"C-count Varley is here to petition about the restoration of his privileges… he wishes to meet with Emperor Edelgard."

"Bernie's dad? Isn't he supposed to be under house arrest?" Dorothea asks.

The page is unsure how to respond. I take the mantle.

"Yes. He is. Page, Fetch Ladislava, tell her in no uncertain terms that he's to rot in the dungeon until I'm ready to see him. Understand?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Do I seem like an unapproachable tyrant?

"Edie. Edie. Edie!"

Maybe not, at least to Dorthea. She's right up against my face now.

"Who...?"

I close my eyes and utter the name.

"...Goneril."

"...Hilda Goneril?"

I nod vigorously.

"What?!"

"...You need to read it, Dorothea! Let me show you!"

I show her the entry. She begins to read it.

What am I doing with my life? Is there truly enough of it left to waste with this?

Chapter Text

They do not fuck off.

In fact, all three become immeasurably more chatty with me throughout the trip, much to my displeasure. It is only as we catch sight of the monastery on the third and last day of our journey that Edelgard alone begins to grow quiet and sullen.

At that moment I find myself appreciating her charms.

As Claude and Dimitri continue to yap my right ear off, I take stock of the girl walking beside me, staring intently at the mountaintop fortress that apparently doubles as the holiest site in the continent's religious landscape. I just learned that news today. Far from offering her any spiritual comfort, it seems to me as if she dreads the place.

I find myself sharing the same look of indecision that creeps on her face, just beyond her ability to notice. I suspect if she knew I was staring at her just now, she'd maybe crack a smile or do something defensive. I'm starting to appreciate how lost in her own mind she gets. It's… the most honest part about her. As if she's lost control of a mask that is otherwise tightly bound to her face whenever she talks to someone else. It makes me want to learn more about what lies behind.

My attention returns briefly to the monastery after Claude points out the narrow viaduct that connects the citadel to the rest of the highlands. The place quickly registers in my mind as impregnable. A part of me, hidden deep inside the recesses of my mind, considers the idea of being able to conquer it someday. But that feeling quickly dissipates with a tacit acknowledgement that such a thing must be impossible under normal circumstances.

Our group splits as a contingent of riders arrive with horses for the nobles. My father and I get no such consideration.

I notice all three of the Lords have retainers, and take a mental note of each. A behemoth, clearly a brave from Duscur helps Dimitri into the saddle. Some great calamity happened in that place not long ago. The few remaining mercenaries from there fight with an unquenchable fire about them - especially on the Throat. I suspect that man is no different.

A pink-haired adolescent who possesses the busty bosom of a midwife chastises Claude from her steed as he mounts his on his own. She appears to be much the same age as Edelgard, but certainly outcompetes her as a woman.

Finally, a wiry young man, almost certainly my age, with a jet of black hair covering his left eye stares a dagger into me, a menacing half-glare which I return with a blank stare. He holds this as he absentmindedly listens to Edelgard, who rather suddenly takes to her mount before the fellow can even assist her. Perhaps realizing that he lost himself, his eyes never leave her after. I suspect this is the fellow referred to as Hubert.

After another two hours on foot, we finally arrived at the Monastery. It's already midday by the time we cross the bridge. Catching a view of a green-haired woman staring at us from a balcony across the pavilion, I'm finally spurred to ask my father how the place's name is spelled, as it occurs to me that I'll be referring to it in my diary more frequently.

"You're actually keeping up with that?" He asked, a look of surprise washing over his face.

"The last entry was about six thousand words." I reply.

"Well, I'll be damned." My father looked well and truly surprised. I don't recall him wearing a face like that ever in my life, at least when talking to me.

"You asked me to keep up with it." I replied.

"Guess I did, didn't I?" He asked, scratching his hair. I think it was a rhetorical question.

I didn't bother replying.

"G-a-r-e-g-g M-a-c-h" He offers.

"Thanks."

"Alois says they're going to have us meet with Lady Rhea soon."

"Lady Rhea?"

"The Archbishop."

"The green haired woman who was staring at us from the tower?"

"Yup. That one."

"Why?"

My father took the opportunity to rub his chin.

"Well… I've got a bit of history with her."

I stare at him.

"Don't look at me like that. Honestly, it's probably a story best saved for another time. I'll just say this: don't trust her."

"I don't."

"Yeah, but that's not really a unique circumstance for you, is it? You don't trust anyone."

I don't hazard a reply there.

"Ouch. Thanks for the vote of confidence, kid."

"I figured the implication was 'except dad'."

"Implication isn't your strong suit. I'd stick with swordplay, if I were you."

I shrug.

"Anyway, Alois said that she wants to hire you as a temp instructor for the semester. You'll probably play escort or bodyguard for those noble brats. Just nod and keep your mouth shut until I find a legitimate way for us to get back to Remire, alright? If we just cut and run, we're liable to get blacklisted by the church."

That whole situation didn't sit well with me, but I've done worse.

"What about you?" I ask at last. "They have you doing mercenary work?"

"Not quite. They want me to run with their Knights for awhile."

"Training?"

"Yeah, mostly. They've been flooding the ranks over the past two decades. It's not the same as it used to be. Alois doesn't really have standards, so someone has to."

"What about the company?" I ask a question that's been burning at me for awhile.

"We're bringing them up here and folding them with the Knights for the time being." He said, after raising his hand to his hair. "Not the best situation, but they'll get paid."

"You're worried about them jumping ship?"

"Yeah, that and-"

Alois suddenly appears and cuts into our discussion with a joke about melons. Segueing rather tactlessly, he then informs us that it's time for our audience with Lady Rhea.

When we enter the audience chamber, however, there is no Lady Rhea. Just another forgettable-looking guy with green hair. He doesn't even bother to look at me, which is fine. For the best, really.

"Thank you for your patience, Jeralt. My name is Seteth. I am an advisor to the archbishop."

"I think we've met before, you know. A long time ago." my father said with a hand digging through his matted hair.

If that was designed to get Seteth riled up, it didn't work.

"Indeed."

As if responding to the call of my father's voice, the one who's called Lady Rhea appeared from a drawing room to the side.

"Ah Lady Rhea, I wasn't done questioning our guests yet." Seteth says, a bit surprised.

"That isn't necessary, Seteth. We have known these two for so, so long. Don't treat this like an audience. We are having a reunion."

The woman cuts a rather impressive figure. She is crowned with a tiara of precious metals, robed in the finest Almyran silks. If the archbishop introduced herself as a Queen, Empress, or Grand Duchess instead of an austere-sounding title like "archbishop", I'd take her at her word. She certainly looks the part.

My father bows graciously. I do not.

"Forgive my silence all these years. Much has happened since we last spoke." my father says.

"So I see. The miracle of fatherhood has blessed you. That is your child, is it not?"

"Yes... Born many years after I left this place. I wish I could introduce you to the mother of my child...but I'm afraid we lost her to illness."

My father's right hand reflexively shoots up to his hair, and he tussles it.

"I see. My condolences."

She then turns to me.

"As for you... I heard of your valiant efforts from Alois. What is your name?"

"..."

My silence sets her advisor alight with rage. I've always had a way to provoke reactions like that. Something I can claim better mastery at than my father, at least.

"You must at least show the basic courtesy of telling us your name! Do you not think you are being a bit rude to the archbishop?"

I turn to the one called Seteth.

"The hospitality I was given, I returned."

The fellow was really starting to boil under the collar now.

"Well, aren't you an insolent little-"

My father, giving me a sharp glare, cuts in.

"Hey, Seteth. Calm down. I told the kid to clam up. He's got the tact of an ass, as you can see."

"Well. It seems that his father has even confirmed what we already know. And yet you wish to make this boy a professor, Lady Rhea?"

Rhea then pipes in with a smirk.

"Yes, I do. The children should know what it means to be taught by a professional warrior. And there is truth in his words. Customarily, the rituals of Fodlan's great houses dictate that there would be a day's respite of good food and wine before such an audience that we are having right now. Byleth certainly must know that from his travels. In fact, it seems we have lost a bit of our etiquette due to the start of this hectic school year."

I get the impression that she's trying to butter me up. It's not working. Regardless, Seteth seems willing to grant my point - but I suspect he's only doing so because the directive to do so comes from his boss.

The archbishop turns back to me.

"My dear, I am called Rhea. I am the archbishop of the Church of Seiros. In truth, I was only being polite. As you can see, I already know your name. And a fine name it is. "

I nod. She continues.

"From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for saving those students of the Officers Academy. I know that you made every endeavor to shield them from the worst of the fighting, and took responsibility for their safety from start to finish. Princess Edelgard was most complimentary of your efforts in her audience with me. An entire nation is in your debt, as am I. With that in mind, I feel that now I must lean on that kindness as well, and ask of you a great favor."

"Hmph." my father grunts and shakes his head.

"Jeralt. You already know what it is I wish to say, do you not?"

"Alois couldn't keep his mouth shut. You want me back with the Knights, and the kid keeping an eye on the brats, is that the gist of it?"

"You're correct, Jeralt. If only for a time. We are currently short a professor."

"It's certainly the least the both of you could do after squatting in our village." Seteth reminded us.

"Your village which we saved from bandits, you mean?" My father asked with a raised eyebrow.

Rhea jumped back in.

"Yes. And we are most thankful for that as well. Our aim in purchasing Remire from Count Bergliez was to improve the lives of the citizenry there. As you discovered, they have been under threat from roving bandits for some time now. That was not the first raid they've suffered."

"Right." My father confirmed.

Lady Rhea then gathered her robe and bowed to us.

"Now. I must ask that you allow me to take my leave. The village elder from Remire is in the next room. We were discussing how best to insulate his village from attack in the future, and I consider that a matter of the utmost urgency."

"Of course, my lady. I can conclude with these two and join you shortly." Seteth offered.

Neither my father nor I protest her departure. I suspect he's as relieved, in fact.

"Thank you, Seteth. Thank you Jeralt. Thank you, Byleth."

With that, Rhea withdraws to the drawing room.

"I will be keeping a close on eye on both of you." Seteth warned. "But for now, I must return to Lady Rhea's side."

Seteth beckoned two figures standing in an alcove of the hall. I had noticed them upon entry, but they seemed rather engrossed in their own conversation at the time.

"Manuela, Hanneman, please welcome our newest additions to Garegg Mach." Seteth said before leaving with a bow.

The woman looked to be around the age of my father. Like the court ladies of the great cities, she clearly took great pains to hide her aging figure. I gather from her poise and gait that she must have been quite beautiful when she was my age. Beautiful people just seem to carry themselves differently.

"Well, if it isn't the strapping young knight and the grizzled professor!"

Jeralt chuckled.

"You've got it backwards, lady." He waves his hand and turns around, trading a glance with me as he does.

"I don't know what she's thinking, making you a professor like this. She may be up to something. Stay on your guard, OK?"

"No need to tell me."

"Right. I guess I've never had to accuse you of getting comfortable."

He waved as he took his leave.

I turned back to the woman, presumably Manuela.

"Oh. It's you, then? So young…"

The elder professor then chimes in.

"Competence and age are not necessarily correlated, as you well know."

The older gentleman cuts an impressive figure. Tall, gray, monocled. The eye behind that monocle seems to be busy assessing every inch of me. The other drifts a bit lazily. I wonder if that's how monocles are supposed to work? I was under the impression that they were supposed to correct the lazy eye.

Or perhaps that's simply his nature.

"I am Hanneman, a Crest scholar and professor at the Officers Academy." he extends his hand.

I shake it, which he accepts as license to continue.

"I wonder if you bear a Crest of your own. When next you have a moment to spare, I insist that you pay me a visit so we can delve into the subject further."

I nod slightly. I hope it comes off as noncommittally as I want it to.

"I'm Manuela Casagrande. I'm a professor, a physician, a songstress, and available! It's nice to meet you."

"A songstress, huh?" I reply.

"Of course! Before I came here, I belonged to a renowned opera company. Perhaps you've heard of me? The Mittelfrank Opera Company's beautiful, peerless—"

At this point I kind of tune her out.

Manuela makes me recall an Alymrian Lady Myrmidon I once killed when my father and I took the company on rotation on Fodlan's Throat. She was clearly one of those women who knew how to hold power over men. Her battalion fought with her to the last, at least.

I recall that the Myrmidon and I had been trading blows for hours, whittling away our support troops in the process as we dodged blows from one another. Finally, her silver sword broke. She charged me with it anyway, to her credit. But I lost a fair bit of respect for her when she tried to bat her eyes at me after I had finally disarmed her, just after sending her busted blade flying into a canyon. Sort of like what Manuela was doing as she listed off her long and diverse life experiences.

I just don't get why they do it.

Anyway, while Lady Myrmidon was doing that eye batting thing, she was also reaching for a dagger clasped to the back of her belt. I gouged out her eyes with my thumbs before gutting her with her own blade, the one currently sitting sheathed on my belt.

I don't usually keep trophies, but it's a suitable reminder to keep on your person. The Almyrans temper a fine blade, too.

I'd say the dying Myrmidon seemed surprised when I did all that, but it's hard to tell when people are really and truly surprised when there are just two holes oozing blood and brain matter where their eyes once were. I end up reading people through their eyes, at least. It's hard to do it any other way, because people lie all the time, and I struggle to share emotions with them.

Tangentially, I get the impression that Lady Rhea is lying to me in regard to just about everything. Her eyes don't look at me as much as they look past me. As if someone was over my shoulder.

"-Your Curriculum Vitae has gone on for long enough. Spare our colleague the needless chatter, Manuela." Hanneman interjects.

I guess Manuela was still talking? Hanneman clears his throat, perhaps realizing I wasn't paying her any attention in the slightest.

"Now then, it seems you'll be taking charge of one of the academy's three houses. I suspect you haven't yet been briefed on the nature of each, have you?"

Manuela is chomping at the bit, ready to jump in again. She seems genuinely oblivious to the fact that the last monologue she gave completely flew past me.

"Do you really not know? I'll do you a favor and explain. The Officers Academy comprises three houses of students, each of which is closely affiliated with its region of origin. The Black Eagle House is for students from the Adrestian Empire."

More political gibberish. I just shrug.

"Their house leader this year is Edelgard, the Imperial princess, who is in line to be the next emperor. Coincidentally, I've heard through the grapevine that the two of you are already rather close. That's quite a friend to have, you know."

"I just happened to save her from the bandit party."

"Ah, how lucky she must be. To be saved by a young man as dashing and handsome as yourself. I'm envious!"

"If you say so."

Hanneman clears his throat a bit more loudly this time.

"Well, be that as it may, there are two other houses for you to consider."

"There is also the Blue Lion House, which is for students hailing from the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. Their house leader this year is Crown Prince Dimitri. He is also next in line for the Kingdom's throne. As I understand, he seems quite intent on recruiting you to be his next professor. Because he's unaware of our selection process, he's going to be presenting a manifesto to Lady Rhea lobbying for your leadership. I wouldn't decline such an invitation lightly, if I were you."

"Isn't this supposed to be my decision?" I ask.

"That's correct, it is. But the students are not necessarily aware of that. I'm just getting the impression that you don't want to stay here for very long. It may be worth considering which associations would best impact your future beyond Garegg Mach."

"What gave you that impression?"

"Most people destined for long careers at the monastery tend not to actively attempt to alienate the archbishop and her closest advisor on their first meeting."

"True enough."

"With that said, your cavalier spirit would probably fit in nicely with the Golden Deer, which houses students affiliated with the Leicester Alliance. You also seemed quite chummy with their leader, Claude. He's heir to the Grand Duchy of Riegan. He is a source of constant consternation for the two of us. Perhaps you might want to take him under your wing. If you wish to maintain an easy rapport with the students, Claude will go to great lengths to help you."

Hanneman is long-winded, but he seems to speak with a bit more purpose than Manuela. Or anyone I've met here, in fact.

"Understood."

"We're having a little faculty get-together tomorrow morning where we'll choose the classes and settle on matters relating to the mock battle. Because you're new, we'll give you the first pick of the classes. In return, we'll get preferential terrain on the mock battle"

"Thanks, I guess."

It seems like they care more about the mock battle than the class assignments. Perhaps that's for a reason. Manuela seems to ponder my lack of enthusiasm for a moment before adding:

"I suggest you try spending time with the students. Some odd ducks in that bunch, but they're good kids. Maybe meet up with the House Leaders first, and they can give you a grand tour."

"Right."

Hanneman then bows.

"Well, Manuela and I have some curriculum-related topics to discuss. Some last minute changes as the library's been restocked. I'd offer you to join us, but you're probably starving. Maybe hit the dining hall first and look for the house leaders there."

With that, they took their leave.

I stand in the empty audience hall for a few minutes. The only reason I can really give for not immediately following my new colleague's advice is that it allows me some modicum of control over my own body. Since my father and I stepped foot in this monastery, I have had a sinking feeling that I'm no longer in control of my own destiny.

It's a strange impression to have, considering that I mostly just killed on my father's orders for the past five years. It's not like I was really in charge of it before.

But still, this feeling is washing over me all the same.

My stomach, however, at long last chastises me with a growl. After a deep breath to settle my conflicted feelings, I exit the audience hall, make my way down the staircase, and cut through reams of intrigued looking students towards the dining hall.

After getting momentarily lost, I eventually found the dining hall thanks to an accidental encounter with Dimitri. He seemed extremely eager to help reorient me, but retreated almost immediately after - showering me in apologies, saying that he needed to finish writing a letter of the utmost importance. Perhaps that was the manifesto that Hanneman mentioned.

He did ask me to meet him outside the Blue Lions class at sundown, however. I agreed.

Eventually, I settled into a seat on one of the long tables facing the lake with a baguette and a kettle of tea. Sothis chimed in and told me that the meal was very boring. I told Sothis to fuck off. She seemed a bit miffed, but complied. I wanted to eat in solitude, just like I had before her forcible entry into my mind.

On the large buffet spread at the front of the hall, I noticed that they had kettles of hot water whistling on hot coals, so I grabbed one. It seems that may have been a faux pas and my doing so ended up eliciting whispers from the students. Maybe I was just supposed to grab a mug and pour it in that way.

But honestly, I don't really care.

I also grabbed a handful of bergamot flavored tea-bags from a container labeled "for Black Eagle Students Only" . Without much thought, I sliced the bags open with my dagger and dumped their contents in the pot. For the past twenty minutes or so, I've just been letting it steep, occasionally returning it to the coals in order to bring it back to a low boil. It makes for a strong Morfis-style camp tea.

After pouring it into a mug, I took a long sip. It tasted great.

My next move was to grab a book out of my pouch. Hanneman had caught me in transit to the dining hall and handed it to me. Noticing that I was already hanging out with Dimitri, he seemed rather relieved. The book he handed me was the Tacticon by Emperor Mauricius II of Adrestia. He was one of the Empire's "camp" emperors - I knew that much. Apparently it was assigned reading next month.

The preface to the work tells me that Brigid, Albinea, and the Kingdom all ganged up on the Adrestian Empire in a single war about two hundred years ago. The war went on for thirty years, and left the Imperials in dire straits. Mauricius was born in a camp, crowned in a camp later that afternoon after his father - Mauricius I - fell in battle, and died in a camp at age twenty-seven from a fever. He started campaigning at the tender age of thirteen, and in those fourteen years on campaign, held together a fracturing Empire.

Coincidentally, it's the first time I've ever heard of a noble really working hard at anything, so I do have a bit of interest in actually assailing the work. Perhaps I can glean something from it that would be useful in future campaigns with my father. It also intrigues me greatly to think that this fellow is Edelgard's distant ancestor. I wonder how he'd feel about me teaching his great-great-whatever granddaughter how to kill bandits with a handaxe?

Especially when this fellow is clearly pondering the highfalutin ramifications of grand strategy, provisioning and logistics on what's presumably her behalf? His dedication is clear enough: "to all of my descendants". From what I can gather, his writing style is about as terse as my own attempts at conversation - so maybe we'd get along.

His approach does make me think about adjusting my own style in this diary, but I think I'll just stick to my dad's advice and just write what I feel - even if it's really long. Maybe Mauricius would have similar advice for Edelgard, too.

Thinking about the devil tends to summon them, and I notice that Edelgard has walked into the dining hall, looking around for something.

Noticing me, she begins to walk over. I hoped against hope that I wasn't the one she was looking for, because I really just wanted to enjoy my meal while encamped in my thoughts. That said, my eyes are still drawn to her.

I quickly take note of her confident gait, one that attracts the attention of most of the students as well. When she finally arrives across from my place at the table, I notice that all eyes are now on me as well.

"Hmmmm. So that's where all the bergamot tea went."

I raise an eyebrow.

"How do you know there's tea in there?" I ask.

"Hmph. I can smell it halfway across the dining hall."

I shrug. She takes a seat, uninvited. On her tray is a bowl of Saghert and Cream. It's a dessert Imperial nobles like. Brigid Peaches and Albinean currants baked into a crumbly pie crust and topped with whipping cream. It's a bittersweet dessert. Albinean berries tend to be pretty bitter. When you infuse them with tea, it's sometimes called the "peasant's bergamot". My father quite likes it. I never asked him why.

"That's your dinner?" I ask.

Edelgard's lavender orbs bore into mine.

"Am I about to be judged by someone who's entire dinner is a baguette and... whatever's in that kettle?"

I turn my head slightly.

"How was that judgmental?"

"Well...you looked like you were judging me."

"I asked a question."

"Hm… well, your eyes looked like they were judging me."

"I'll close them the next time we share a meal, then."

Unlike my actual attempt three days ago, Edelgard found this quip funny.

People are strange. I wasn't trying to joke this time.

And so for the first time, I heard Edelgard laugh, if only for a moment. I felt something really tug at my chest when she did so. I must have grimaced or something, because when she realized that I was watching her laugh as intently as I was, she immediately clammed up.

I guess it surprised me - her laugh. Maybe because it was an almost painfully delicate laugh. It didn't suit her. I've heard a lot of warriors burst out laughing before. They do it in an ignorant way, as if their merriment was in spite of all the blood that had pooled at their feet. I've heard nobles laugh too. Oftentimes, you can hear the malice in their laugh - as if they're waiting to stab you in the chest a moment after doing so.

Edelgard's was so different to any I had heard before. She laughed in a very self-conscious way, as if she was committing a very mortal and grave sin by letting herself find genuine amusement in something.

She avoided my gaze for a while. Her cheeks reddened a bit as well. I tried not to make things any more awkward for her and turned my attention back to my meal, taking a bite of the roll and a sip of the tea.

After a while, she brought her eyes back to meet mine. Her expression seemed desperate to change the subject.

"...Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Is it just you who drinks tea like that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Dumping a week's supply of bergamot tea bags in a kettle and letting it sit, that's what I mean."

I thought about the most effective way to approach her statement for a few moments, but to answer it, I needed additional information.

"Do you know how many people live in Morfis?"

"I would ask you to refrain from changing the subject." She snapped. She has quite the temper, I'm gathering.

"I'm not."

She accepted my reply at face value this time.

"...Six million, give or take?"

"That many?"

"I-I read that in a demography textbook before coming here. I don't know if that's current."

I shrug. She seems to have calmed down a bit. I gather she's not a fan of not knowing things. What a difficult life that must be.

"I believe you. I was just surprised."

Edelgard nodded.

"What does Morfis have to do with your tea habit?" she asked.

"That's how those six million drink it, too. Give or take."

It took Edelgard a moment to process the information I had just given her. But as she did, I could see that she was committing each and every bit of it to memory. A strange thing to notice, really. I've never taken to watching a person think and absorb my words before. Probably because I've spoken so few of them with the rest of the world up until this very moment.

"...I didn't know that."

She said those words like she was admitting defeat.

"Neither did I, until a couple of Morfians invited me for tea."

"While you were doing mercenary work, I suppose?"

"Yeah, I guess the Alliance was having some kind of internal fight. They weren't interested in taking orders from Holst that season."

I noticed she had an empty mug on her tray, and so I poured the tea from the kettle into it. Thankfully, it was still quite hot, as it really doesn't hold its flavor when lukewarm. She watched the dark, leafy liquid pour into the cup with an intense look.

"Do you not think that such a thing is intolerable?"

"Don't knock it until you try it."

She suddenly looked up at me.

"Oh… you meant the tea... I was talking about the behavior of the Alliance Lords."

"That's a political statement." I noted.

"I had a feeling you might say that. You're a mercenary, after all… you would be without a job had they not been in a civil war."

"You think so? My father never got us involved in those. We mostly fought Almyrans. Defended villages from bandits, that sort of thing."

She made an interesting point, though. Would those jobs even exist without the Lords fighting each other? That said, it's none of my concern.

Edelgard's interest seemed quite active now. Sadly, I couldn't be less intrigued by whatever supradynastic or metapolitical gibberish she was looking to go off about. I distinctly recall her rant from a few days ago and began thinking about exit strategies.

Before she can open her mouth to start her stump speech, I rap my knuckle against her mug.

"The tea's going to get cold."

Edelgard nodded and brought the mug to her lips.

"It smells so strong. Like oil - and it's still quite hot!"

"That's how they drink it." I noted with a shrug.

"Of course." She said, and took a dainty sip.

And then hacked out a not-so-dainty cough.

"I-It is actually supposed to taste like that?!" she exclaims.

Heads began to turn.

"More or less."

She sniffled her nose. My chest ached again, but more softly. It spurred me to continue.

"Can I make a suggestion?" I inquire.

"...Please do. I will never understand how they tolerate this otherwise."

"Take a bigger drink and don't be afraid to let it sit in your mouth for awhile. Savor it."

"I see…"

She did precisely as instructed - well, perhaps a bit more vigorously than I was thinking. I watched her try and savor it like that for a time. Much to my surprise, she lost herself in the process, totally unaware. If anyone was watching us, they'd think us to be criminally insane for just losing ourselves in a little world of our own like this.

And there is someone watching us quite intently.

After Edelgard finished her last, most audible gulp, she began to nod.

"...The way they drink it strikes me to be absolutely unrefined, but it tastes delicious that way! I'm truly impressed."

"Unrefined...?" I teased those words out of my lips. I've been called that by nobles before.

"I-I didn't mean to be insensitive of their culture… it just seemed, foreign! That's all!"

I guess she must have caught herself there.

"Don't worry about it." I say.

"Even so… Thank you for showing that to me. You're clearly very cultured."

My eyebrow shot up.

"Is that a polite way in the Empire to say that I've killed a bunch of people?"

Edelgard's eyes fell away from mine.

"No… really... I mean it. I'm quite glad you'll be teaching here, Professor Byleth. I think I'll have so much to learn from you."

"Ah, so you heard the news already?"

She gave me an almost wounded look - like she had said too much.

"It's just a rumor, obviously, but we heard it from Professor Manuela… so…"

"I guess it's not a secret, right?"

"Right…"

"They're assigning classes tomorrow. Maybe I'll be able to pick you guys." I offer, curious to gauge her reaction.

This new piece of information set her purplish orbs alight. They bored into mine.

"Is that so? They're hiring you to teach the actual classes?"

"What else do professors do?"

She seemed genuinely stumped on how best to answer what I figured was a simple question. Her eyes darted around the room, particularly to the figure watching us two seats behind. I wonder how often she's monitored like this?

Finally, she speaks.

"Oh I see now… the rumor circulating around was that Professor Jeritza would be... promoted from managing the training grounds to a teaching role."

"Jeritza? I've only met Hanneman and Manuela."

"Perhaps because Professor Jeritza is out on an… assignment at the moment. He's not due back until next week."

I shrug.

"They seemed pretty intent on me teaching a class. I've been told that Dimitri's preparing a manifesto on why I should teach the Blue Lions and submitting it to Lady Rhea."

Edelgard's back shot up at attention.

"He is?"

"That's what I've been told."

"By who?!"

"Hanneman."

"If that is the case, Professor, I must ask you to consider teaching us, the-"

I suddenly feel a gentle tap on my shoulder. I look up rather nonchalantly to greet it, guessing correctly that the interruption was initiated by the older student I had seen on the viaduct, Hubert. He's also been watching us intently for most of the conversation. Shortly after Edelgard approached me, I noticed him occupy a seat two tables behind me.

He betrays a slightly nonplussed expression, as if he had intended to sneak up on me and failed to elicit the appropriate reaction. Unfortunately for him, I have excellent peripheral vision.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but might you be the academy's new celebrity Professor?"

He lays it on awfully thick.

"That depends. Might you be Hubert?"

"I am indeed, Professor. How perceptive."

"I've only heard good things from Edelgard. We can go by first names, if you'd prefer."

"I couldn't be so familiar, Professor. Consider it a habit born of station."

I shrug.

"If that's how you'd prefer it."

"I would, Professor." He confirms coolly.

"Oh come on now, Hubert!" Edelgard cut in. "Don't be like that!"

"Is that a request or a command, Lady Edelgard…?"

"You're welcome to sit with us." I say.

"Ah but I'm not, Professor. I can assure you that I'm not. Regardless, I must pry Lady Edelgard away now, as she has to make a report to the Archbishop about the recent bandit attack."

My eyebrow raised. Hadn't Rhea already said Edelgard had done precisely that before the audience with my father?

I chose not to push the matter at that moment. I traded a glance with Edelgard, though. She seemed to realize that I smelled Hubert's lie a mile away.

"Don't let me keep you."

"Y-you're not, really. Hubert is just being a boor."

"Even so Lady Edelgard, I must be the boor that prods you to your duty."

He then turns to me.

"Professor, I do not believe that I have availed myself the opportunity to thank you for saving Lady Edelgard's life, so please allow me to do so now. You were most chivalrous. I hope you continue to be."

He takes a deep bow.

"She fought really well. I didn't do all that much." I reply.

He seems to take those words at face value. I'd even go so far as to say they disarm him a bit.

Edelgard has flushed red again. I don't think she was ever armed in the first place, though.

As Hubert turns back to her, she's gotten up from her seat and is standing as straight as a color guard. A thought suddenly occurs to me.

"Ah, just a moment before you two leave."

As Hubert says "Professor, we must really be going-", I slip an envelope out of a slit in my breastplate and hand it to Edelgard.

She looks at me as if I have grown multiple heads.

"-Whatever might you be handing Princess Edelgard of Adrestia, Professor?"

I trade looks with Hubert, who seems to be back to staring daggers at me, and then at Edelgard, who still seems rather stunned. She appears to be staring at the seal affixed on the envelope, which is emblazoned with the Archbishop's golden keys.

"Well, you accused me of drinking your week's supply of Begamot in one go, so I figured I might as well compensate you guys for it."

Both of them were now looking at me in total disbelief.

"You guys are the Black Eagles, right?" I ask.

"Professor, how much money is in the envelope?" Hubert asked bluntly.

"25,000Gs, I think? That's my signing bonus plus whatever the church's bounty was on killing the bandits."

Hubert seemed stumped for a moment, and I could sense him running through various implications that he must think I'm trying to hint at. It's quite amusing. I'd laugh, if I could laugh.

"You are full of surprises, Professor. I honestly didn't expect that much - they must value your services quite well here. That said, you realize that gifting such a sum could be perceived as a bribe even in the gilded halls of Enbarr, let alone here in humble and austere Garegg Mach?"

"I drank your tea."

"And you're going to pay the Princess an amount similar to what a baron would consider a proper dowry for a daughter? For tea?"

"I've been told Bergamot is expensive."

"Not… that expensive, Professor. You could buy a feast's worth at that price." Hubert said with some authority.

"I wouldn't know."

"You wouldn't?" Edelgard asked. She seemed most curious.

I shrug.

"This is the first day in my life that I've really handled money."

Edelgard's jaw went slack, but it wasn't really in terror or well… like a negative form of shock. I got the impression she was actually kind of perversely happy about what I just said. Strange.

"You are a mercenary, right?" Hubert asked, as if trying to solve a math equation.

"Up until today, yeah."

Hubert brought his fingers to his chin.

"And you're going to be an instructor at the academy?"

I shrug.

Hubert nodded sagely. The contours of a smirk even began to form upon his lips.

"Professor, we really must be going. But please believe me when I say that it was a most unique experience to meet you. I am sure you will continue to impress both me and Lady Edelgard, come what may."

"I wish we could talk more, Professor Byleth-"

"-Lady Edelgard."

"Sure. It's not like I'm leaving this cage anytime soon. Good luck meeting Rhea again."

Those two rather sparse sentences seemed to hit Edelgard like a ton of bricks, although I get the impression that I already did the equivalent of that to her a few times already in the past five minutes. Hubert, also looking a bit flabbergasted, took that opportunity to guide her out. They strike me as quite a pair, although I suspect Hubert thinks I'm some sort of mortal threat to her.

After a few more minutes, I notice the sun starting to descend. It occurs to me that I had been talking to those two - particularly Edelgard - for a long time. I turn to the large, mechanical clock at the main entrance. It informs me that I'm correct in my assessment. We had been chatting for well over an hour.

That was probably the longest sustained conversation I've ever had in my life.

Is it strange to have such a discussion with someone that I've only known for three days? I considered asking my father about it, but decide against it.

This is something I should discover on my own.

I get lost again on my way back to the faculty dormitory. I was hoping to drop off my pouch before meeting Dimitri outside the classroom.

The layout of the place is rather frustrating, as I'm not sure what constitutes the "top" or "bottom" of a wing on level ground, and that's the parlance all the staff seem to use here. Instead of finding myself on the "promenade" where the dormitories are, I end up in an empty "quadrangle" where the classrooms are. Most of the students have long since left, either to the town or the dining hall to get a meal in before closing time.

Sundown isn't for another thirty minutes yet, but I eventually resign myself to just waiting outside the Blue Lions' classroom. After the meeting with Dimitri, I can lean on him to guide me back to my dorm.

I still don't have a clear idea of why particularly Dimitri wants to "meet", although I'm gathering it's because he wants me as his teacher. I'm kind of flattered by that, but I'm not sure how I feel about it after my chat with Edelgard. I'd probably get on better with her, considering how easily we conversed.

There's also Claude.

But no.

I think I'd rather die than teach Claude, in spite of Hanneman's assessment of our similarities. And since I've already died once already in the past week, I can say that I speak from experience.

At this, Sothis chimes in.

"You're welcome."

"Okay, Okay. Thanks."

I take a moment to soak in the view before me. The Golden Deer classroom is closest to the dining hall, which I just left - and most immediate in my view. The second classroom belongs to the Blue Lions. I can ascertain this by the Blue Lion emblazoned on the banners flanking the door. Both classrooms have their doors wide open, with no students inside either one.

The furthest right belongs to the Black Eagles, Edelgard's class. The doors to that classroom are shut tight.

This piqued my curiosity, so I stroll towards it. I place my hand on the door, and am about to push it when I notice voices emanating from inside the room. I hesitate, and tune my ears. It can't hurt to eavesdrop a bit, and then gauge whether or not I should be wandering in. It occurs to me that I might otherwise be walking in on two random students in a tryst or some sort of springtime love confession. I overheard gossip about such things in the lunchroom. I'm not sure I want to cut in on one, given the lurid descriptions.

Much to my surprise, though - I immediately recognized the voices.

They belong to Edelgard and Hubert.

They are also neither confessing nor trysting - in fact, they are debating.

"-It seems that I needed to do just that, Lady Edelgard, before you said something you would grow to regret in time."

"I doubt I would regret it at all, Hubert. And there was no need to lie to him. He saw right through it. How foolish..."

"A credit to him, then. That said, there is no need to deviate from the plan at this stage. In case Jeritza failed the promotion, the failsafe was always to leverage Hanneman. His niece is back in Enbarr to attend to her duties at court. Reminding him of this will grant us the time needed for the… extracurricular activities required by Lord Arundel."

"I… just think that Professor Byleth is reasonable. He was quite gracious to you in spite of your rude interruption, as well"

"While I cannot disagree with that assessment - am I seriously supposed to accept that you think a stranger that you've known for three whole days is going to be a more reliable asset than a man whose family is under duress?"

"He threw himself in front of me! To save someone he never met..."

"Yes, yes, that's all I've heard from you today. But do you think he would throw himself in front of his father when he eventually comes charging at you? Captain Jeralt - Rhea's steadfast champion of old?"

"Hubert… that is an unreasonable expectation to place on him."

"I did that, Lady Edelgard. I do not consider that an unreasonable expectation at all."

The room grew silent for a time.

"It just seems like you want me to walk this path without allies, Hubert. I wish to believe that I could reach out my hand to the Professor. I want to trust him the way he trusts me."

"Do you realize how foolish that sounds? Trust him?"

"No, but you obviously have an opinion."

"You want to trust a sellsword. Who's father is in the Church."

"...Professor Byleth had no idea that his father was a Knight of Seiros. He was not even aware that Garegg Mach existed… I think they both could be allies, Hubert. Their presence here seems very forced. Like his father ran away with him and was caught in the act of rescuing us."

I heard a great thud. I envision that it was Hubert falling into a chair or something.

"I must admit that the professor is impossible to read... so while I want to say I cannot believe your argument for a moment, he does look rather like a lost puppy. His father… I have not yet observed, but I did shadow the Professor. He ended up circling the perimeter of the monastery three times before locating the dining hall. Eventually he called upon Prince Blayddid's assistance."

Ouch. Thanks for the help, Hubert.

Edelgard laughed again. Even when distorted, it felt equal parts gentle and tortured.

"A puppy… I suppose that's true, to an extent. But in Remire he was more like a rabid redwolf, Hubert. He killed in ways that would make my uncle vomit. He taught me more about the axe in five minutes than Jeritza has in a month at the training grounds. I wouldn't underestimate him, if I were you."

"The bloodtrail of the Ashen Demon is a rumor I've heard before, I must admit. But that is all the more cause for caution."

"Why not instead of caution, trust?" She asked.

"Because I don't want you getting hurt when he inevitably betrays you, Lady Edelgard. That is why I am suggesting caution."

The room grew quiet again, for a time. Edelgard chimed in again.

"If it ever occurred to him once that I was the heir to the Empire, do you think he would have handed me that envelope with his salary in it?"

"And you seriously think that's an asset, do you…? That blithering idiot just handed you - the richest woman on the continent - a burgher's ransom for a teabag."

"The gesture meant a great deal to me, Hubert... it was from his heart."

"Do not drown me in saccharine, Lady Edelgard. Not now."

"He was totally ignorant of my birth and station when he threw his life away for me. And he still is, even now."

"At both of your perils."

"Hubert, that is exactly why I want Professor Byleth as my teacher. It is very clear to me now."

A sigh erupted and reverberated on the walls.

"Clear?"

"Clear to me, Hubert. It seems as if you have no desire to understand my feelings about this."

"Your eyes are clouded by adolescent infatuation, Lady Edelgard. You are mistaking that for clarity."

"I-I am certainly not-"

Before I could catch the rest of her stammered reply, I felt a familiar hand on my shoulder.

"Professor!"

I turn to meet the familiar voice.

"Hello, Dimitri."

Dimitri isn't alone this time, either. His entire house - or at least what looks like his entire house- has joined him.

"I think you've got the wrong room, Professor, that's the Black Eagle classroom, we're next door to your left."

The voices on the other side have gone quiet, so I realize that they must be aware of it as well. I scratch my hair, a move I stole from my father - and feigned a look of confusion.

"I keep getting lost here. Sorry."

Dimitri seems to pick up on my moment of contemplation.

"I never realized how difficult it must be for someone to just adapt into Garegg Mach like you have, Professor. All of us were properly oriented. You have my apologies for not being more attentive to your circumstances."

A woman with light brown hair then chimes in from Dimitri's left. She's quite pretty, I think. If I knew what a mother's love was, perhaps I'd think she was motherly as well. It's just an impression that I get. She just kind of exudes warmth. I can feel sadness in her expression as well, sort of like Edelgard's - but warmth certainly predominates. My shoulders relax as we meet eyes.

"Professor, you can tell which classroom is which by the banners. But please feel free to ask us for directions! We're always happy to help."

"An excellent observation, Mercedes!" Dimitri confirmed.

I could almost appreciate how insufferably earnest they were. Perhaps a different, more naive version of myself would have gravitated towards these guys from the start. Maybe I would have found the two Black Eagles cold and insufferably distant instead of intriguing. But even now, I find myself drifting towards a different path.

The least I can do, however, is show this group kindness. They're good kids, I can tell as much. They deserve that much. So I steal a page from Hubert and offer one of those deep noble bows to the woman Dimitri calls Mercedes.

"I am in your debt, my lady."

When I return to my normal standing gait, I see she's blushed red.

"Oh my, the new professor is such a gentleman! And so young!"

A male student to Dimitri's right with a hair color matching Mercedes's cheeks laughs heartily.

"Ah, so the rumors are true. The new professor appreciates the ladies, too!"

From my extreme periphery, I notice a pair of purple orbs leering at me from a crack in the door. And a single yellow one, as well - perhaps with less interest than the purple pair. Still, I figure that I probably shouldn't make an effort to meet those glances just yet.

Dimitri suddenly looks like he's committed some mortal faux pas again, a face much the same to his expression after our skirmish in Remire.

"Professor, let's hurry inside our room. That will give me the chance to introduce you to the Blue Lions while Ingrid and Annette dress the tables. Otherwise, the sweet buns that Mercedes and Ashe baked will grow cold."

"Sweet buns?" I asked, stunned. Did they actually bake for me?

"Of course! This is our way to thank you! You saved Prince Dimitri, after all!" A grey-haired kid with freckles yipped. That must be Ashe...?

These guys were too much. Maybe I was reconsidering my decision a bit.

I followed them inside.

The sweet buns were as warm as Mercedes' smile. But warmer still was the blanket of sincerity and kindness I felt from the Blue Lions. Even the two who were most clammed up, a Duscur native by the name of Duedue and a boy named Felix, the heir of house Fraldarius ended up having their moments.

"We're eating today, but starting tomorrow, I'm going to challenge you." the latter told me.

"To what?" I ask.

"A duel. I heard you got your nickname from your swordplay." Felix reflexively reaches for a sheathed rapier at his belt.

"What's your nickname, Professor?" The freckled baker Ashe asks.

"-The Ashen Demon, was it?" Dimitri asked. "However did you earn that ominous moniker?"

"It's a long story." I shrugged.

"A cousin of mine served with you in the Locket." Duedue noted. "He said an Ash Demon could leap on top of wyverns and kill their riders. Most impressive."

"You'll never catch me like that, professor." Ingrid Galatea chimed in with a wink. She was on her third sweet bun. I'm impressed she can keep a figure like hers doing that - but I suppose that's a benefit of being a kid, isn't it?

"I doubt we'll be crossing swords like that anytime soon." I offer.

"Well you said that the way the professors choose the class is random, isn't it, Prof?" Sylvain, ladykiller extraordinaire asked.

"Sort of. We choose, but I don't know if I'll get first pick. That's the random bit." A white lie. The last thing I'd want to do is hurt them if I chose anyone else. And of course - that anyone else is Edelgard.

It still feels terrible though. As if the sweet bun in my hand is a great betrayal of some sort. In any other universe, I should be choosing these guys, right? So then why do my thoughts fall back to that dishonest Adrestian and her acidic little butler?

And so I resolve to myself: from here on, no more secrets. They deserve better. These kids… because that's what they are... deserve my honesty. The Byleth who lies to escape difficult conversations dies now. He has to, for their sake.

"If that's the case, we can have our chance to fight at the mock battle." Felix added. "I'd prefer to face you as an enemy on the field, anyway."

"-Even so, we're not fighting tonight! Right, Professor?" Annette, a little mage with strawberry blonde hair adds. She strikes me as altogether too conflict-averse to be attending a war college.

"Of course not, Anette. Tomorrow's still a while away." I confirm.

Felix, content with my response, returns to picking at the pastry. I gather he's not a sweets guy, but he's clearly trying his level best to be a team player at the moment. If only so he can duel me, but that's something commendable, isn't it?

Generally speaking, it's hard to be an asshole when you're eating sweets. Even the hardest warriors in my father's company let loose on their frowns when a village lady offers them a pastry. I give my best try at a smile, but I know I can't really make my face work like that.. But do they deserve a teacher who can't even smile? Do Edelgard or Claude deserve that, either?

"Professor, you look tired. Was the journey from Remire difficult?" Mercedes, who was sitting next to me, asked. I find myself getting lost in her blue eyes a bit. They're different from the way I get lost in Edelgard's. Mercedes's gaze seems to overflow in empathy. As if every moment our gazes meet, she is trying to shoulder some sort of burden from my heart onto hers.

It occurred to me that I started this day waking up in a tent on a mountainside. Maybe I was ready to nod off. Or maybe that I was fine physically, but my soul was tired.

"Just a bit. It's been a long day."

"Professor, it's been an honor to share this treat with you." Dimitri placed his hand on my shoulder again. "But we don't wish to keep you if you're tired."

"It's alright, Dimitri - I can wait for everyone to finish, at least." My eyes drift to Ingrid who's about to grab another sweet bun. She notices.

"Ah-Professor, I was going to take this one back to my d-dorm - that's right!"

"Even so, my audience with Rhea must begin soon anyway. I have prepared a manifesto in which I assert my rationale as to why you must be the professor for the Blue Lions." Dimitri stated with determination.

"Oh man, you're actually serious about that?!" Sylvain exclaimed.

"Yes, Sylvain, I am. I firmly believe that Professor Byleth's ability far outpaces either Manuela or Hanneman. Plus, the Blue Lion House has a clear advantage in melee fighters, which Professor Byleth is most competent at teaching. Professor Maneula and Hanneman are both mages. Would you not agree with this assessment, Professor? I firmly believe you and I would make an excellent team."

"We would." I grant. If I could smile, I suspect I'd be cracking a bitter one.

"Then it's settled then." Prince Blayddid confirmed.

That said, I don't want him making a fool of himself.

"Dimitri. While I appreciate the thought, it's best that you don't."

The idle chatter among the students died immediately.

"Professor, please explain…"

I bring a hand to my hair.

"The random selection is taken quite seriously here. I… don't think it would be acceptable for me to disrupt a tradition that the officers academy has. Especially not after my irregular… appointment here. It just seems too soon. Let's just see how it plays out."

The room looks like I sucked all the life out of it, so I add in a feckless attempt at recovery:

"Fate has to decide."

It's the best I can manage.

Much to my surprise, Dimitri's expression seemed to turn quite suddenly.

"A tradition… I see, Professor, I was completely unaware of that! Then we must accept the hand that fate has dealt us. I will pray to the Goddess that we have the luxury of your lessons, Professor. Perhaps she will listen and intervene!"

He looks to his friends.

"Who will join me tonight in the cathedral?"

Did I just whip a bunch of teenagers into a religious fervor?

Mercedes, Ashe, and Anette all leap at the opportunity. Duedue presumably will be accompanying Dimitri as well, given that I learned earlier that he's formally his bodyguard. As Annette clears the table, our party begins to dissolve.

This ersatz class begins to part ways by the entryway.

As Ingrid, Sylvain, and Felix take their leave back to the dorms, Dimitri's prayer circle approaches me.

"Please make sure to get some rest, Professor. Leave the work to us!" Mercedes says with a giggle.

"Yes, Professor. Please keep us abreast of the situation, for better or for worse." Dimitri says with a hint of fatalism that seems to betray his usual resolve. It's as if he's already accepted what's to come, but will challenge the goddess regardless. I can appreciate that about him.

"I will. Dimitri, thank you for everything." I return his shoulder-grab. I turn to the remaining Blue Lions.

"And thank you all for wonderful sweet buns and good company. It's a memory I will cherish for the rest of my life."

"Wow! I didn't realize you were so sensitive, Professor!" Annette yipped.

Against my better judgement, I decide to give her a head-pat. She seems thrilled when I do so. Maybe my judgement is actually quite poor at this sort of thing.

At long last, we step out into the evening at part ways. Dimitri leads his entourage directly to the church, a look of firm resolve etched into his narrowed eyes. As they disappear into the night, It occurs to me that I never asked them where the dormitories were. I suppose that was rather foolish of me, but I care a lot less now. I'm more enraptured by the evening itself.

The sun fell behind the mountains a long time ago, it seems. My eyes drift to the moon. The view fills me with renewed energy.

That, or the sugar rush has given me a second wind.

I hear a door creak shut, but it takes me a long time to bring my eyes down to meet the person who closed it. The moonlight is just intoxicating at this elevation. I do my best to soak it in. But what greets me as my eyes fall back to Earth is just as tantalizing.

Under that moonlight is Edelgard, staring at me with flames blazing inside her lavender irises. I close the distance slowly.

"Professor."

I nod.

"Am I… interrupting your privacy?" She asks.

I find myself feeling a bit more open with her right now than I was with the Blue Lions. It's obscene, given the Lions' overwhelming acceptiveness and honesty - and the fact that I know Edelgard is actively hiding something from me. That conversation I overheard with Hubert proved as much.

"I lost myself for a moment. It's… kind of peaceful here, don't you think?" I asked.

Edelgard stares at me in wide-eyed silence.

I don't mind it, happy to bring my eyes back up to the sky. At last, she speaks.

"Peaceful… is exactly the word that I would use too... But I think it maybe feels fleeting as well, perhaps?"

I chew on her word choice.

"...Fleeting...?"

"Oh… maybe my thoughts are not making any sense, Professor." Edelgard said, in full emotional retreat.

"No, I think I get you."

"...You do?" She seems more surprised than ever. Do people normally have reactions like that when you agree with them - or am I just sheltered?

I nudge around a rock on the ground with my foot. Upon closer inspection, it seems to be masoned stone - chipped from the building beside us. Edelgard takes note of it as well. Our heads both fall downcast.

"This place… it was made with human hands, right? In the end, we're fleeting things, too. The guy who carved this thing has probably been dead for a long time now. It's just the stone that remains. And maybe this place… will disappear too, in time."

I think that's the longest sequence of thoughts I've ever strung together in my life.

Edelgard considers my words - much more than I did before even uttering them - but I wonder if she's really listening to them as much as fixating on them. She strikes me as that type of person.

"I see… but that's an awfully blasphemous thing to say, considering who just hired you. Some say that the Goddess herself built this place, you know… by virtue of that, Garegg Mach will last forever."

I gently kick the chipped stone over to see its obverse. As it flips, I can see - clearly engraved, the handle of a key cut roughly into the stone. It's almost certainly a chunk from a statue above us that adorns the windows high above the classrooms. I suspect it's probably from one of the various saints that the followers of Seiros worship.

"The Goddess, huh?"

"Yes… according to many, she will return to live here someday as well. It's her home, after all."

I pick up the chip, and hold it for us both to examine in the moonlight.

"Do you think the Goddess passed her masonry exams?" I ask.

A goofy smile found itself forming on Edelgard's lips.

"You make such terrible jokes… First in the hedgerow, then in the cafeteria..."

"They're not so terrible if they make you smile, right?"

The fire in her eyes departed and took up residence in her cheeks. She was without words for a time. Deathly Silent Edelgard is my favorite mask of hers, I think. It's a shame she's only like that when embarrassed.

"W-well… even so… I must ask a question of you, Professor-"

A familiar voice cuts off her flustered query before she can even make it.

"Woah, Teach! Is Edel bullying you?"

Claude. He's also brought his pink-haired, well-endowed retainer with him.

"I-I am c-certainly not bullying anyone, von Riegan! Particularly not Professor Byleth!"

I look at Edelgard with a raised eyebrow. She's not actually this easily flustered, is she?

"Then why are you yelling while frowning… and have cheeks reddened with anger?" Claude asked, bringing his index fingers under his eyes.

"B-Because- ugh…" She realizes she's getting hooked again, this time.

Claude takes a performative stance while stroking the mostly imaginary peach fuzz on his chin. He seems to be telegraphing that he's deep in thought.

"Oh… are you two doing something else?"

"Ooooh, Claude - maybe we should just leave them be, then…" his retainer interjected with a devilish smirk.

"Claude…!" Edelgard took the bait again.

The House Leader of the Deer grows tired with his mark and turns back to me.

"I heard from Dimitri that you were still up, so I figured I'd invite you for a drink."

"A-a drink, as in alcohol?!" Edelgard interjects again. Riegan trades glances with her, but doesn't reply.

"There's a real cool place in the monastery town. Run by a chick from Dagda. They've got all the best booze, Teach - I swear. Hilda and I have been scoping it for weeks now."

Hilda, his retainer, nods and hums. She turns to Edelgard. "They've even got fruity stuff for us girls! Have you ever had a cocktail, Princess Edelgard?"

I turn back to Edelgard.

"Are you seriously considering such a proposition, Professor?!" She asks, still shocked.

"Shouldn't I be?" I ask her.

"Drinking alcohol is expressly prohibited on the monastery grounds, I think…"

She sounded as wound-up as Dimitri just did.

"We won't be drinking on the monastery grounds, Princess. We'll be in town." Claude notes.

"Such an establishment would serve youths like us?"

"Hah! Obviously not, Princess. You know we can't buy it. We can only drink it if offered."

"Oh, it's one of those loopholes." I add.

"Professor, you know about this?!" The Black Eagle's voice takes flight.

"My father used to get me to drink when we took contracts on Fodlan's Throat." I turn back to Claude, "I really don't know anything political, but that's Church territory too, I think?"

"More or less, Teach. Eastern Church, but they play by the same rules."

I turn back to the Adrestian.

"Right. I can offer you guys drinks, you just can't buy them."

"Even so…" she managed.

"Yup yup. See, he's a natural fit for the Golden Deer- right Hilda?" Claude interjected, elbowing his retainer.

"Wow… so you've been to the Locket! The Professor probably fought with my brother, then!"

She approached me and got extremely close. I don't think I've ever had anyone this far in my personal space who wasn't actively trying to kill me, in fact. Her bouncy chest brushes against mine. I can clearly smell her perfume - it's an overpowering amber-like scent. In my periphery, I'm quite sure I noticed a trail of blood falling from Edelgard's nostril.

"Did you ever meet my older brother Holst, Professor?" she asks.

Her breath smells like mint.

Holst… a name I'm almost too familiar with. My father spent a great deal of time in his employ. There's no more prolific user of mercenaries in all of Fodlan, in fact. Additionally, he pays well. Or at least my father tells me that he pays well.

"...He has pink hair too, right?"

"Yeah! Yeah! Everyone with a Crest of Goneril has pink hair, y'know!"

"We... pretty much know each other. I think he only knows me by my nickname, though."

Claude chuckles.

"The Ashen Demon… known only by reputation… you really are the second most interesting guy here, Professor."

I turned to Claude.

"Oh?"

"Second to me, of course. But... we'd make a good team, I think. I'm currently in the market for a partner-in-crime who can properly approach my genius."

Hilda turned back to Claude.

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?!"

The Adrestian's had enough, too.

"Oh, shut up, Claude."

"You know Princess, you're welcome to join us too-" he managed, before Hilda got right into his face next. She began to chew him out for being a bad friend. If I had the same unrestrained tap into my emotional wellspring as her, I'd probably do the same. But I scarcely have emotions at all, let alone access to them.

"Ha... never."

Letting the two Deer have it out, I turn back to Edelgard.

"Never?"

Her eyes widened.

"Well… not never... but I must be conscious of my station before doing something of questionable legality and morality such as…"

I guess this is another version of Edelgard with a mask on. She must have put this one on when Claude arrived.

I raise an eyebrow.

"You have an opinion on that, Professor…?" she asks.

"Not really. I was just thinking about what you said earlier."

"...You were…?"

"Our time's fleeting, right? I guess I'm surprised you don't want to go."

"Is that so...?"

"If we're short on time, why not make the most of it?"

First, Edelgard reacts sullenly. But suddenly, perhaps in spite of itself, a smirk crawls across Edelgard's lip.

"Now it sounds as if you are encouraging me to do something illicit."

She doesn't seem particularly angry at me doing so, in spite of that monologue from a moment ago.

"Laws just sound like more political stuff to me."

Edelgard rolls her eyes, but the smirk remains.

"...I refuse to laugh at every deadpan observation of yours."

I tilt my head a bit, questioning what gave her the impression that I was joking. Her eyes fall from mine.

"I guess you were being serious, then… you are... difficult to read sometimes..."

Claude finally pries Hilda away from his face.

"Yo- Teach, is the Princess comin' or not?"

I thrust up my index finger to Claude, and then turn back to Edelgard.

"Can you save me from becoming the third wheel?"

She mouths the words third wheel before catching my meaning. Her eyebrows raise when she does. Looking back at Claude and Hilda, and then back at me, she loses herself in the slightest of smirks. Maybe they've got a fancier term for it in the Imperial court.

The Heir to the Adrestian Empire then looks to her left rear and her right rear. I presume she's checking for her own retainer, that Hubert fellow. Her smirk then takes on a bit more life, and grows into a genuine smile. And it's such a nice one.

"Well... I think it is impossible for me to save anyone… but perhaps we can enjoy our fleeting time, Professor."

Chapter Text

A lot of things happened last night. Several of which exist somewhat hazily in my current sequencing of events. In short, I can't remember if they happened before midnight, or after. For clarity, I think - and as a general rule in the future, I'll treat events happening after 9pm in the following day's entry. It seems rather judicious as that is the time in which I generally compose entries for the preceding day - unless otherwise occupied like I was last night.

The Monastery's "town" was located on the opposite side of the great viaduct. Calling the establishment a town is probably quite generous, as it's more like a shopping street with some residences behind them. It's quite a walk to get to these places, so I imagine that anyone going must do so with intent. When I walked it silently with my father this morning, the bridge spanning the seemingly endless chasm took about fifteen minutes to clear. In the rain, snow, or winds - this would probably take much longer.

I should add that being lazy also makes the journey much longer. Claude and Hilda go about life like true nobles - they walk at a stroll, immersed in idle gossip. I wouldn't be surprised if this excursion took us thirty. But - it's not so bad. I find myself absorbing the impressive nighttime views, and attempting to push idle thoughts away. Edelgard seemed to be doing the same up until quite recently, causing me to wonder if she regretted her decision to accompany me. She seems to preempt this by asking me a question.

"You look... conflicted, Professor…"

My head turns to her and I raise an eyebrow. Claude, perhaps noticing that Hilda has been occupying all of his mental real estate at the peril of his guests, opts to cut in next.

"G for your thoughts, Teach?" Much to my surprise, he actually flips a farthing coin in my direction, which I catch in a rather belated, animated fashion. This prompts a laugh from Hilda.

"It was a very strange thought. Perhaps I shouldn't share it."

"Awww…. Professor, you can be honest with us. I already know I'm very cute, if that's what you were thinking."

Hilda is starting to grow on me. She's got all the confidence of the mercenaries I used to serve with, wrapped up in the package of a dainty lady. Apart from the pink hair, though, she doesn't remind me of her brother in the slightest. Holst struck me as a man worn down by the expectations of his country. Hilda exists without a care in the world.

"You captivated me." I manage with an expression of total apathy.

Thinking I'd get a rise out of Hilda, it was actually Edelgard who flashed red. Curious, that one. Hilda just seemed elated.

Claude laughed.

"Ah, come on Teach - no one believes that - you can tell us, really."

I think your rival house leader actually believed it, but regardless.

"You guys would find it boring."

"You're a fellow who's just a few years older than us and lived a hell of a lot more adventurously than any of us could have. Your boredom is our excitement. Tell us!"

"Speak for yourself, Claude." Edelgard piped in.

Claude raised an eyebrow at her backhand criticism of my accomplishments.

"Aw come on Edel, it's not like you have a nickname like Ashen Demon, do ya?"

"Well, be that as it may…"

"I always thought it was weird." I say after a few beats.

"What do you mean, Professor?" Hilda asked.

"The nickname, I mean. I don't really get it. No offense to your brother, of course."

Hilda took a few moments to process my meaning.

"Woah… Holst gave you that nickname? My big brother thought you were cool enough for a nickname?"

"He nicknamed everyone, but yeah… it's a long story, though."

"Aw come on Teach - you can't just say you're tight with the biggest living hero on the continent and just brush it off like that. That's Hildie's big-bro too. She's got quite a complex about him."

"Yuck! I do not have a complex, Claude."

"We got on well enough." I offered with a shrug.

"Of course you did, my big brother is the best! I'm just surprised you know him so well..."

"Holst always preferred using mercenaries."

"Oh yeah, and why's that? No one ever talks to me about any of that stuff!"

Something tells me that Hilda's not particularly interested in matters of warfare outside of her brother's wellbeing, so I guess it makes sense why she never examined it.

I turn to Claude next.

"Does the Avatar of Deceit have an opinion?"

"Hmm… Is it because the various Lords of the Alliance are fighting one another all the time?"

"Pathetic." Edelgard said, reminding me she was indeed listening.

"I'm not sure that's right..." I reply.

"Oh yeah… I remember Gramps telling me that every Alliance Lord has to keep troops on the Locket come hell or high water. True enough! Well, you've got me stumped, I guess."

I turn to Edelgard.

"Any thoughts?"

Compared to Hilda and Claude who were clearly just interested in conversation, Edelgard looked like she was preparing to answer a test question. Finally, she answered.

"Could it be related to Elan?"

Impressed, I nodded.

"What's that word mean, Princess?" Hilda asked.

" It's like… fighting spirit, right Teach?" Claude offered.

"Basically that, yeah."

"What are you saying, Professor? That Alliance troops don't want to fight with Big Bro? I'll tell my dad that they're being lazy!"

I turn back to Hilda.

"Holst... thinks the best defense is a good offense. Mercenaries are the only ones who agree."

"Because he pays well, right?" Claude asked with a wink. "I've heard Hildie's family are real moneybags."

"So what if we're rich, Claude? Your grandpa is, too."

I shrug.

"That's… not why I joined his raids. I wouldn't know if he pays any better or worse than anyone else."

Claude eyebrows shot up when he heard me say that.

"Whoa whoa whoa… Slow down a minute - are you saying you would join Holst on his raids? The ones where it's like a hundred guys taking on entire Almyran citadels?"

I bring my finger to my chin.

"Yes. He had some kind of name for it…

"The Forlorn Hopes." Edelgard stated intensely, rejoining the conversation with renewed interest. "Many great warriors in the Empire have joined that band so they can escape court intrigues in Enbarr."

I shrug. Edelgard is doing her political bit again. Claude however, seems perturbed.

"No way, Teach. I gotta call it wyvern-shit here. The casualty rates on those raids were like ninety percent. Even Holst came back as good as dead in two of them."

"Big bro lost his little finger in the last one… his right hand is so ugly now." Hilda said with a tinge of sadness. The solemnity of her words was ruined by her holding up her hand and hiding her pinky finger. Her body language seemed to just exude levity.

"I wasn't in every single one. Just the ones when my father and I were contracted."

"...Okay, and how many of those did you participate in?" Claude asked with a raised eyebrow. I wonder what gave him the impression I was lying?

I pull out a medal that I keep under my breastplate. It's a simple thing. It's basically a miniature golden keyring with little ornamental keys stuck to it. Each of the keys signals a castle that I took with Holst's band of picked troops. He gave them to everyone who went over the top with him - even contracted mercenaries. I never actually kept count, so I make a quick tally now.

"Nine.."

Claude, Hilda and Edelgard all looked surprised, now. I clearly missed something.

"Oh… Professor, my brother has that medallion, too."

"How many keys does he have on it?" Claude asked.

"Eleven! " Hilda yipped, but then a realization began to wash over her "And Holst has been hurt twice…"

"I never saw him wounded." I reply matter-of-factly.

Claude's lower lip dropped.

"Holy shit, Teach. You really are for real. Are you his guardian angel, too?"

"Oh Goddess… could you really be one, you think?!" Hilda asked me with widened eyes. "If so, I'll definitely bring you back with me! We can make you a Knight of Goneril!"

Edelgard was sullen-looking.

"Guardian Angel, huh?" I asked.

"Who would've figured - the Ashen Demon is actually the Ashen Angel!" Claude quipped.

I shrug.

"I'm not sure if I believe in any of that stuff."

My blunt and public admission of faithlessness shocked everyone present. Claude, who seemingly never misses a beat, slid in right next to me with his eyebrow raised.

"You know Teach, that's a pretty dangerous thing to say… especially when you work for Lady Rhea. You're also standing right next to a direct descendant of Wilhelm, champion of the Goddess."

Claude cocks his neck in the direction of our Adrestrian companion. Realizing she was put on the spot, she frowned.

"The Professor is entitled to his beliefs. I'm sure they were forged by his experiences on the battlefield." Edelgard replied coolly.

"She must really like you to say that, Teach."

"C-Claude!"

The heir to House Riegan began to smirk devilishly at me.

"Anyway, did you know that they burn people alive in the Empire for saying what you just said? They've got this big square in Enbarr called Heathen's Square and they torture them in the stocks for days if they take the Goddess's name in vain. Their citizens treat it like a spectator sport. Just something to consider if you ever think about taking up Edel's offer from Remire..."

Edelgard stops. Claude and I notice and stop shortly ahead of her, but it seems that Hilda has pretty much tuned us out and trots on ahead, humming a tune to herself in contentment.

"Professor… despite what Claude assumes about my lineage, I will never allow such a thing to continue when I become Empress. I swear it to you now. No person should be tortured or killed for their beliefs... especially someone as honest and forthright as you."

Perhaps realizing that he's gone too far, Claude cracks his neck and tries to stammer out an apology.

"Listen, Princess, I-"

I hold up a palm to Claude. He's done enough. I then turn to the young woman who I now find myself suddenly concerned for.

"I believe you, Edelgard."

She locks eyes with mine. There's a great deal of passion in them. I wonder what she sees in mine? Does she see the depth of feelings that even I cannot, or does she see something else?

"Strange… I feel as if I know you did already… but thank you, Professor."

As she says that, she appears to calm down considerably. The delay was interesting. It was as if she was waiting for my eyes to betray my words. There's no reason for them to, though. I just don't feel like I need to lie with Edelgard. If she asked me if I had overheard Hubert and her a few hours ago, I would simply tell her everything I knew.

I wish I could say the same for Dimtiri and the Blue Lions but… I just don't.

Even though I knew she's hiding something from me - that she wanted me as a teacher but for some reason cannot ask. That there was some mysterious leverage over Hanneman, and all that stuff. So why do I trust her? What a strange feeling to have about someone.

"Hey everyone, the place is right over here!" Hilda yelps.

The inn is the first building on the other side of the viaduct. I suppose that I was expecting a place altogether less conspicuous but given the nature of the monastery - perhaps I was silly for expecting that.

We enter through the main door and are immediately greeted with an overwhelming smell of spice. I suppose that's to be expected, given that Dagda is the home of many of the expensive and exotic seasonings that sometimes grace the tables of Fodlan's nobility. Even the disastrous war with the Empire that killed so many of its citizens did little to disrupt the flow from their plantations. I've smelled these smells before - usually when a Lord would treat my father and other mercenary captains to a victory feast.

The clientele is mostly what I expected - Knights of Seiros. I was told by Alois that they're paid quite well for what they do, far more than any of the other troops on the continent. My father always seemed to have a cash reserve in tight spots, and he always attributed it to his "old gig" paying well. Now that I know who his former employer was after all these years, it only makes sense to realize that these Knights could afford such fine food - and then some.

I recalled the fat envelope sitting behind my breastplate. If they paid academics that well, I'm sure these guys were doing fine.

"Wait here, Princess and Prof. Hilda's gonna get us a table upstairs."

Hilda then trots off to speak to the barkeep.

"Upstairs?"

"Yeah, there's a second-floor porch in the back. Real exclusive. Nobles only." Claude said with a wink.

"Are you sure I'd be allowed up there?"

"Huh. That's a good question, Teach. Do you want a barony or something? My Gramps could oblige, you know! If you accepted, you'd be obligated to teach the Golden Deer."

Edelgard hummed in disapproval.

"The Professor would never accept such a title from the gutter... would you?"

Her eyes seemed almost pleading.

"I'll pass, Claude."

"Ah, so you won't settle for less than a Viscounty! I'll have to check with the old man first."

"Guys, there's a table upstairs! Let's go, go!" Hilda shouted from the bar.

As we make our way towards the stairs, a figure approaches us.

"-Edie, is that you?"

"Oh… Dorothea!"

I turn to meet the voice and see a rather arresting, buxom young woman who's right around my age. I quickly notice that she's not just looking at Edelgard - rather, her eyes keep darting back and forth between myself and her. I wonder how they're acquainted?

"Woah, so this is the illustrious songstress Dorothea, huh? They say that you're the only Black Eagle with a social life." Claude quipped.

Dorothea did a curtsy at the Golden Deer. It was equal parts graceful and venomous.

"Why yes… Dorothea Arnault, in the flesh. And I take it you're the Golden Deer leader who turned tail and ran when the big bad bandits came knocking, is that right?"

"Yeesh… you give all the guys you date that kind of treatment, too?"

Dorothea giggled as if she had him wrapped around her finger.

"You're... not my type, Riegan."

"Ouch."

She then turned to me.

"But... you might be, mysterious stranger."

To drive the point home, she pokes my breastplate with one of her long, delicate-looking fingers.

"Dorothea!"

Edelgard looks like she's starting to melt.

"Oh, Edie - I'm so sorry! I didn't think you two were on a date!"

This prompts Claude to laugh so hard he begins to cough.

"D-Dorothea, this is-"

Hilda, who's already at the top of the stairs, shouts down at us.

"Claude, Professor - you guys coming or not?!"

Dorothea, catching my title, suddenly goes wide-eyed.

"No way… you're the academy's new Professor?"

She brings her hand to cover her lips.

"That's what they keep telling me." I say at last.

"Wow… so you're the one who saved Edie, too then - right? I wish we could talk more but… I have to get back to that brute of a knight who I'm on a terrible first date with…"

She points at a totally unassuming, handsome young man who is watching us from a corner table. I'm starting to get Manuela-esque vibes from this woman. Dorothea then leans in close to Edelgard.

"But Edie… I think we should totally have a cup of tea tomorrow. You know, to discuss academic things, of course…"

Claude calls us from halfway up the stairs "Hurry up you two! Curfew's at midnight, after all!"

Dorothea waves us ahead after whispering something in Edelgard's ear that causes the princess's eyes to go wide.

The inn's porch offered a view fit for a King. Unfortunately, only two heiresses, an heir, and a commoner were there to enjoy it.

When it came time to sit down, Claude grabbed his seat first and I took the one directly across from him. I noticed that Edelgard was keeping rather close to me. When I took my seat, she shuffled in the chair next to mine almost immediately. I get the impression she was eager to not be in direct eyeshot of Claude. Hard to blame her, given that she took every piece of bait he threw at her over the past hour. Hilda was the last to sit, after summoning the waiter - and took her place next to Claude.

The waiter arrived with only two menus. I suppose the thought was that we were couples.

"So… what're you thinking for booze, Teach? We could split a bottle of hard stuff while the ladies get cocktails."

"No preference. It's my treat, so pick whatever you'd like."

"Wow, a Professor's treating us…!" Hilda seemed ecstatic.

"Ah, so you're gonna let me pick? Dangerous move!"

"Are you suuuure you want to trust Claude with that, Professor?" Hilda chuckled.

"I can drink anytime I want." I noted. "I'd prefer you guys try whatever you'd like."

"We have such a great Professor!" Hilda yipped.

I noticed that Edelgard had been pretty quiet throughout the conversation, and so I turned to her.

"Don't feel pressured to get something alcoholic if you'd prefer not to." I say.

That's the teacher-ly thing to say, right? Maybe the teacher-ly thing isn't to take your students out drinking - but it's too late for that now.

She looks up at me with a frustrated expression.

"No… I think I should at least try alcohol at least once, I just don't know what these different drinks are... There are no descriptions of their contents."

I lean in and peruse the cocktail section of the menu. Much to my surprise, Edelgard leans in too. Our faces are quite close now.

"Do you know about any of these, Professor?" she asks, pointing to the cocktails with a white-gloved finger.

Most are pretty much bog-standard Dagdan cocktails. The Dagdans tend to be the most prolific drinkers on our side of the world - naturally some degree of mixology follows from that. Most of Fodlan hadn't really stumbled on the idea of pairing different alcohol with fruit juices before Dagdans took to opening bars in port cities.

I know this because Dagdan mercs are usually the first people to remind you of this when you're out drinking with them.

"My father's made me try most of them, yeah. You like sweet things, right?"

"Well… sweet but not too sweet… but... how did you know that?"

"You had dessert for dinner at the dining hall earlier."

She rolled her eyes.

"Professor… you said you wouldn't judge me for that, you know…"

I stare at her blankly. Is she really giving me a hard time when I'm trying to be considerate?

Perhaps realizing this, her embarrassed eyes fall back to the menu. Mine follow shortly thereafter.

After a moment, I found something right up her alley.

"Ah, maybe you'd like this one." I point to a cocktail named Dos Cravos.

She whispers the words.

"What does it mean, Professor?"

"It's a name for a flower in Dagdan... I think? I know it's red honey liqueur, Enbarr gin, and bergamot-flavored tonic water."

"Is that so…"

"It's quite light, so I think it would be good for someone who doesn't drink much. Plus, you like Bergamot."

Her cheeks redden slightly.

"Not as much as you, clearly… but yes, I quite like it. And the honey sounds delightful, too."

Our conversation is interrupted by clapping across the table.

"Real nice work there, Teach. Gotta admit, you're a worldly guy. Not as worldly as me, but close!"

"Choose for me next, Professor!" Hilda demanded.

"Claude knows you pretty well, right? Maybe he can."

"Ugh, he just picks things to try and get me drunk. So he can - you know!"

The Avatar of Distrust seems to have been put off by that accusation.

"Hey, Hilda, don't give them a bad impression of me, now!"

"Too late for that…" Edelgard interjected.

"...Besides, you liked the Wu-Wu, didn't you?" Claude asked his retainer earnestly.

Edelgard looks at me with a quizzical expression. I bring a hand to my hair.

"No idea what that translates to."

"You've had it before, though, right Teach?"

I ponder the question for a moment.

"It's Albinean berry juice and that Fearghus potato liquor, right?"

"Yeah, that's it!" Claude confirmed.

"It was too bitter!" Hilda complained.

"Maybe try…Sex on the Beach?" I ask innocently.

The three students stared at me silently with widened eyes. It occurred to me that they've probably never really examined the menu before, and just knew various drinks off hearsay and rumors. That's essentially what my father did.

Although, in fairness, I guess it does just sound like I've propositioned a seventeen year old. Probably not the best move.

I place my cocktail menu on the center of the table and point to the item that says "Wu-Wu". Their eyes fall to it in unison.

Just under the title is a subtitle that reads, in sloppy handwriting:

Sex on the Beach: +100G (Peach Juice)

"Whoa.." Was all avatar of distrust could manage.

"Who in their right mind would give the beverage a name like that?!" Edelgard asks in disbelief.

I shrug. Someone in Fodlan, probably. Given how it is one of the few drinks on the menu that's not transliterated from the Dagdan language.

"That sounds really good, Professor! Peach is much sweeter than Albinean Berry!"

At least Hilda's thankful. Maybe… too thankful.

"Well, I guess that settles it. I'll put our orders in the bar so we can get them sooner." Claude says, and gets up from his chair.

I look at him with an eyebrow raised.

"Don't worry, Teach, you and I are getting something good. It's just gonna be a surprise. A good one."

A little while later, a waitress arrives with the bottle of alcohol from the bar downstairs. Claude tips her handsomely, and she bats him an eye. He seems to appreciate the gesture, which again causes me to question if there's not a discrepancy between his claimed and actual ability to deceive people. She informs him that the cocktails will be out soon.

In front of me and Claude are two shot glasses, and a large bottle of liquor. The label on the bottle is covered in squiggly lines and raised dots. I know it's Almyran, but in spite of all that time on the Throat with my Father, I never quite learned how to make out the language.

Few in Fodlan do, however - so that's not a case of particularly unique negligence on my part.

"You know what this is?" Claude asks.

I shrug.

"Ah, Teach is stumped! So I've reclaimed my title as the worldliest man in Garegg Mach!"

Edelgard leaped to my defense.

"Can you just tell us what it actually is, then?"

Claude smirked.

"The strongest drink in all the land. Those fruity cocktails by the Dagdans can't compare!"

I stare blankly at Claude. I wonder if this is another bait-and-switch. Edelgard and Hilda both eye the bottle suspiciously.

Suddenly, a realization dawned on me.

"Is that… Arz Lubaniyya?"

Claude chuckled.

"Not bad, not bad!"

Edelgard and Hilda now looked at me as if I had cast some kind of silence incantation. Claude took their shock as an opportunity to continue.

"Teach, did you ever get a chance to try this stuff? Maybe you sampled some after you took one of those castles with Holst?"

I shake my head and take a second to collect my thoughts.

"I think… I've seen that bottle before - but it was always empty. When we would take a camp or something, they'd be everywhere."

"Yeah, that makes sense! The tradition the Almyrans have is to drink it before battle."

Claude takes the opportunity to pop the cap and fill the shot glasses to the brim. Edelgard stares at the clear liquid, clearly taken by surprise.

"It's.. clear?"

"The bottle's tinted, Princess. It's to keep it from getting sun-kissed in the desert."

"Why yes… of course… that is the predominant terrain in Almyra, after all."

I appreciated how Edelgard always needed to try and claw back the upper hand in her conversations with the Deer's Leader. As if they were battles themselves - and battles just as mortal and final as the physical ones I fought on the Throat - or that most recent scrap in Remire, I suppose. I did die there, after all. On her behalf, no less.

"And do not forget who saved the two of you!"

Right. Right. Thanks again, Sothis.

Something tells me, however, that Claude is already quite familiar with the nature of that country. Perhaps more familiar than even I am.

"Is that like the Faerghus potato stuff, Claude? That was clear, too… right?" Hilda asks.

Claude strokes his chin.

"In a way, yeah - but it's not from potatoes. It's from pine tree dew."

I raise an eyebrow.

"Arz Lubaniyya means 'dew of the tree', Teach. Surprised you didn't know!"

"This stuff.. It's quite strong, isn't it?" I ask after a few moments.

"You better believe it! It's-"

"Dos Cravos and a Sex on the Beach?"

Hearing the cocktail's name for the second time is no less surprising for the three, but Hilda and Edelgard eventually both eagerly grab their cocktails. Hilda's look is of genuine excitement.

"It's orange this time!" She notes excitedly.

Edelgard wears a look of surprise. She then gently places the red drink on the table, looking quite contemplative as she does so.

"This flower...?"

The drink is traditionally decorated with a blossom from the carnation.

"Dos Cravos is its name in Dagdan, my dear." The waitress says simply before bowing and taking her leave.

"I see…"

Noticing that the waitress had departed, Edelgard then turns back to me, her face with an expression that seems to plead with me silently over some unknown wound.

"Professor… must I eat it? The carnation is… well… I quite like this flower."

Ah, she's partial to that crimson flower. It suits her, I think.

"It's just a garnish, Edelgard."

"A… garnish?"

Garnishing dishes or drinks is not really a Fodlan thing. I knew that much from being shocked about it myself once. I grabbed the flower from her drink, and after noticing an open loop on her cape, weaved its stem through it in one fluid motion. After doing so, I made a quick and dirty knot.

I remember a Dagdan Lady Savant doing this to me once after treating me to a victory drink. I always thought it was a nice gesture to give to one of your comrades.

Edelgard froze and went completely flush as I did so.

"Professor… this…"

I gave her a blank look. What's she getting so embarrassed about?

"Teach… you've gotta show that move to Lorenz. You'd blow his mind!"

"Move…?"

"Awww Professor… I don't have a flower for you to do that with…." Hilda said glumly.

The waitress circled back to our table and noticed that I had affixed the flower to Edelgard. She laughed heartily.

"I did not know a man of Fodlan to be so familiar with our customs!"

"He's only the second most worldly guy here, y'know."

The waitress, ignoring Claude's boast, gave a slight bow toward Edelgard.

"Congratulations on your victory, Madame."

"V-victory?" Edelgard asked, stunned.

"Huh?" Hilda asked as well.

"In our country, if one has won a great victory or success, we celebrate with Dos Cravos. That flower is proof of yours."

She bows again and takes her leave.

"Is that so…"

"We did beat the bandits." I offer.

"I suppose we did…" she confirms.

Claude seems crushed he's no longer the center of attention.

"Where's mine, Teach? I fought in that battle too!" He quipped.

I didn't even bother looking. I found myself captivated with Edelgard, who can't seem to take her own eyes off the flower.

"Professor… thank you for showing me this lovely tradition. I feel ashamed I cannot offer the same to you, however."

"We can always do this again."

"Perhaps… but only if you become my tea-"

Claude interrupts the tail end of Edelgard's sentence by clanging on his shot glass with a spoon, sending some of its contents out in a spill.

"Ladies and gentlemen, now that we've all got our drinks, I'd like to propose a toast."

I turn back to Claude, who's standing up.

"I'd like to dedicate this drink to our Teach over here, Professor Byleth, as he did save our skins from a marauding bandit party. What do you say, everyone?"

"To the Professor!" Hilda said, raising her glass toward Claude's.

Edelgard, whose look of frustration at being interrupted has since melted away into one of contentment, raised her glass as well.

"Might I add something else, Claude?"

"Go for it, Edel." Claude said with a nod.

"We only have one life to live, so let us toast to making the most of these peaceful days."

"That's so deep, Princess!" Hilda confirmed.

"Anything you want to drop in, Guest of Honor?" Claude asked.

I joined them in standing up.

"To new paths. Let's walk on them together, as long as fate allows."

I noticed Edelgard's eyes widen a bit at these words, but she didn't look unhappy at all. Claude and Hilda both nodded.

We all clang our glasses together.

"Well said, Teach! I hope your lectures are that short!"

"We'll see about that."

"What I want to see now is you going bottoms-up on that Lubaniyya." Claude fired back.

I look to Edelgard, Hilda, and Claude in turn. They all look at me expectantly.

I can't let these kids down, I guess.

"Fine."

I take the glass to my lips and immediately knock it back. It's relatively tasteless with a mild sweetness to it, but it definitely burns on the way down. All the strong stuff does. When you've spent as much time as I have choking on the embers of burning fortresses, however - such a sensation wasn't even worth a grimace.

I clear my throat after downing it.

"Woah, Teach."

I tip my empty glass towards him as proof.

"Ah, I guess I have to try after that…"

Claude does his level best to down it, but his gag reflex activates about halfway through the shot.

Edelgard and Hilda both laugh.

"What a foolish challenge to issue to our Professor…" Edelgard noted.

"Claude, hurry up and finish so we can sit down!" Hilda ordered.

"Yeah, yeah..." He chokes it down.

Much to my relief, both girls visibly enjoy the first sips of their cocktails. Claude, however, still looks like he's smarting from our toast. It makes me feel a bit bad on his behalf, but what adolescent challenges an adult three or four years his senior to a competition like that?

"Teach, do you want to play a drinking game?" He asks.

This is where I start to lose track of time, for what it's worth.

Against all logic, I agree.

"Sure." I say.

Edelgard looks at me with surprise. Hilda looks at me with a smirk.

"No way Professor, that's totally, extremely dangerous!" Hilda shouted. She was quickly working away at her cocktail.

"Do you know how Truth or Drink is played?" von Riegan inquires with a smirk.

I shrug. It's not exactly a complex game, although I've only ever seen female mercenaries want to play it.

"Claude, what is this game?" The Adrestian asks with more than a hint of concern.

"Ah, it's simple enough, Princess. Everyone takes turns asking each other a question. If you don't want to answer said question, you have to drink. If you do answer the question, the person who asks has to drink."

"T-that sounds like a horrifying game to me."

"It's not so bad." I offer.

I admit I'm curious to learn more about the present company.

"Well, since you're so keen on it, how about we start with you, Teach?" Claude asked.

"Yes! Let's." Suddenly, the girl sitting next to me doesn't think the game's so horrifying.

"Oooooohhhhh, yeah, let's start with the Professor!" Hilda confirms. She's already worked through a quarter of her cocktail, so I question how much she'll even have left by her turn.

Their enthusiasm at my relatively short life so far strikes me as strange, but I suppose I could grant that I'm not entirely a normal person. Maybe that's what intrigues them so much?

"Who wants to ask first?" Claude asks.

Edelgard shoots up her hand. Hilda does shortly after

"Alrighty then, Princess over here gets priority, then Hilda. Then it's my turn."

I turn to the Adrestian. She's blushing, but I'm willing to grant that it might just be the alcohol.

"Professor, you seem quite near to us in age… might I inquire about how old you are…?"

"Twenty-one." I answer matter-of-factly. That's the age my father tells me I am, at least. I've no reason to doubt him, although he seems to be rather reluctant to inform me of his own.

"So we are quite close in age, then. I turn eighteen on the twenty-second of Garland Moon."

"Just two more months until she's legal for you to wife up, Teach." Claude says with a wink.

"C-Claude!"

Seeing his mark start to waver, he goes in for the kill.

"By the way, Princess - you're not supposed to reply with facts about you until we ask. Now drink up!"

Edelgard complies without further protest.

"So Professor... I guess we know your age, but not your birthday! What is it?" Hilda asks next.

"The twentieth of Horsebow Moon." I reply.

"Oh wow, Professor - you were born under the star of the Goddess!"

I stare at Hilda blankly. Claude leans in.

"It's all star-sign nonsense. All women love it."

"Is that so, Claude?" Edelgard replied sharply.

He winks at me knowingly.

"Anyway, Teach - before our tomboyish friend interrupted us, I was due to ask you a question."

I nod.

"That's a nice dagger on your belt. Tyrian purple, I think. From Almyra too - right?"

"Correct."

Claude takes a drink.

"Follow-up question: who's the lucky Sultana that you're engaged to?"

Now it's my turn to be surprised. Although, given the look of sheer terror on Edelgard's, and total shock on Hilda's - I suppose I'm not alone in that feeling.

"Woooooowwww… the Professor already has a wife? I guess it's natural. He's quite handsome."

Hilda notes, quick on the uptake as ever. She takes another huge drink from her cocktail.

"This is just a trophy." I say with a shrug.

"What a terrible way to talk about the holiest of sacraments, Teach!"

"No, I mean I killed the woman who owned this in a battle. She tried to stab me with it."

Claude frowned.

"You sure about that? Can I see it?"

I unhook the sheathed knife from my belt and slid it to him across the table. Claude inspects the dagger's sheath, which has a bunch of Almyran characters inscribed on it. Edelgard and Hilda both look intrigued as well, but something tells me that the heir to the Grand Duchy of Riegan has the most particular interest.

"You said you killed her?" He asked after a time.

"She was leading an assault on the Locket, yeah."

"Around two years ago, right?"

Curious that he knows that.

I nod.

"Don't look at me like that, Teach. I'm only asking because the name was familiar. And as it turns out, I knew the Sultana who this used to belong to."

All three of us have our interest piqued. It's rare for anyone in Fodlan to know much about Almyra. Claude seems to know quite a bit - even more than me, and I spent the last half-decade in an on-and-off fight with them.

"Oh... hey Claude, was she related to that Nader guy?" Hilda asked.

"You got me there, Hilda."

He turns back to me and Edelgard.

"We've got an emissary in Derdriu who married one of the princesses of Almyra. They had a daughter that went missing on the Throat a while back. Her name's on this dagger."

"...Missing?"

"You ever notice how the Almyrans always send slaves out on the field to pick up the daggers of the dead?"

I shrug.

"These guys are mostly ceremonial." He says, twirling the sheathed blade around in his hand "The parents get one made on the day their child is born, and it's given to them the day when they come of age. It's like a name-tag so you can identify the body."

He's quite well informed.

"So what was that about the Professor being married, then?" Edelgard asked. She still seemed a bit on edge.

"Well, the only time you really part with these is as an offering to a person you intend to marry. That's why I asked. When Nader didn't get his daughter's dagger back, I guess the assumption was that she eloped with someone from Fodlan. She was that good in a fight. They're real serious about getting these back, y'know. And you can't miss the color anywhere. The only Almyrans allowed to carry purple sheathes are royalty."

"I had no idea." I said truthfully.

The conversation seemed to die with that admission.

"To me, she was just a powerful opponent." I continue.

"You've lived quite a life, haven't you?." Claude asked soberly.

"That's your fifth question, Claude." I note.

Claude's eyes widened before a smirk grew on his lips.

"You got me there, Teach."

He pours another glass. I don't remember what happened after that for a while.

"Professor! Professor! Wake up!"

My memory of the night jolts back as Hilda shook me out of what must have been an alcohol-induced fugue. I stared at the bottle of Lubaniyya. Empty. I stared at Edelgard's glass. Empty. There was also another glass. Empty. Hilda's cocktail was a bunch of faintly orange icewater now. Did she really drink the least out of all of us?

It seemed like Claude and Edelgard got rather involved in the drinking game. So did I, clearly.

Edelgard has since passed out, fast asleep on the table, her inclined head planted firmly on the table and facing me. Thankfully, her breathing is routine and regular. A hint of drool falls from her lower lip.

Claude is in that drunken twilight between sleep and wakefulness.

"Teach… is Hilda….?"

Hilda is shaking Claude now.

"Claude, Curfew!"

I loudly slap myself back into awareness, driving my palms harshly into my cheekbones.

"Hilda, I'll get them back. You go on ahead." I say.

"Nonsense, Professor! We're going back together." she replies.

I'm really impressed she's kept her cool like this. In reality, she's the last person who I expected to be sober right now.

Claude doesn't quite rise with the same vigor that I did at Hilda's jolting. I suspect he's taken the booze a bit harder than I did. I turn back to Edelgard and put a hand on her shoulder. Much to my surprise, it's padded. I give it a gentle shake. Perhaps too gentle.

"Edelgard, it's time to head back."

"Don't even bother Professor, she's out like a light!" Hilda yipped.

I turn back to Hilda.

"Do you know if her friend is still downstairs, Hilda?"

Hilda's still violently shaking an already shaky Claude, who starts to hiccup.

"Ohhh… Dory, you mean? Nah, she left with that Knight a long time ago." Hilda confirmed.

"I see."

Well, there was no avoiding it at that point.

"I'll carry Edelgard on my back. Hilda, can you support Claude with me? It seems like he can walk a bit."

"Sure, Professor. But we need to hurry!"

There's no way to hurry in such a configuration. Our anabasis over the viaduct inches along as Edelgard saws logs, and Claude staggers along at a drunkard's gait. Hilda does her level best to keep him from tripping, and in the cases where Claude's unstable kinetic energy is tossed violently in my direction, I use my left shoulder as a buttress against which the little Goneril can bring him back to something approaching an upright stance.

About halfway across the bridge, this settles into something of a routine. I can more or less guess when Claude's about to lose his footing, and Edelgard for her part is almost frozen in place, as I support her light frame with my forearms under the back of her knees.

There's just one issue, a nagging one in the back of my mind.

I can smell blood.

Initially my fear was that Claude may have stepped on some glass, or something to that effect. The boots he has on are quite light and seem more suited for the catwalk rather than the battlefield.

"Hilda, can you give Claude a quick checkup from your side? Does it look like he's hurt?" I ask.

Claude, hearing his name, babbles something incoherently.

"He looks fine to me, Professor."

Interesting definition of "fine", but I take her word for it.

"And you're alright, too, Hilda?"

"Of course, Professor! Don't worry about me!"

I steal a glance towards Edelgard's face, which is resting on my right shoulder. As far as I can tell, there's neither blemish nor bloody nose, but I am somewhat drawn to her expression. It's changed from one of placidity to one of consternation. It's an expression my father claims I have when I dream about the battle. He's described it to me in detail, and the contours of his own descriptions I can immediately place on the Adrestian's, down to the most minute of details.

Her brow is furrowed. Instead of her eyelids being restfully relaxed, they're scrunched together - as if she's trying in desperation to shield herself from a vision that she can't escape from. The contented-looking expression adorned with drool that she wore on her lips was completely gone now, instead her mouth was turned downcast in a frown. Additionally, her nostrils flared out, and her jaw was also clenched tight. All in all, she wears an expression fit for battle, not rest.

It occurred to me that she may have bitten the inside of her lip, as I've accidentally done before in my sleep. Even if that had happened, though, there's no way I would be smelling it.

I turn my gaze down to inspect my own body. Perhaps in the heat of the moment, I might have neglected my own person. Getting Claude and Edelgard down the narrow staircase of the bar was quite the adventure. It certainly wouldn't be the first time this week that I had ignored my own condition at the sake of someone else's.

Sothis was strangely quiet when I considered this.

Perhaps she's drunk, too?

What is she, anyway?

As these thoughts cross my mind, I notice Edelgard's hand fall towards my side. Previously, her entire arm was dangling over my shoulders, but the constant push rightwards from Claude's erratic strides against my shoulder seems to have shifted her own weight around on my back.

It's at that moment that I notice it - the red blood dripping down the Adrestian's white glove and leaving splotches on the stone below.

She's clenching her fist in her sleep. She's clenching so hard that it's drawing blood, even through her silken gloves.

My chest aches.

Instinctively, I grab her hand, attempting to pry her fist open. Much to my surprise, she has quite the grip, and does not allow me to do so easily. After a prolonged struggle, I can finally release her bleeding palm from the violence inflicted by her own fingernails. Much to my surprise, she's cut through the glove completely with her trim nails.

As I cover her now-extended digits with my own palm, I can hear her mumble:

"Uhh... Agh... Fath... Save…"

Her fingers clench again reflexively, with incredible force. They do not dive into her palm this time, but into my own. As I lack a glove to absorb the blow, the nails poking through her own immediately begin to cut into my flesh like five little daggers. I admit that the suddenness provoked a grimace, although I could easily claim to have suffered more grievous wounds than the one she just inflicted on me. My body bears the scars borne from five years of constant fighting.

Realizing that she could easily be manifesting the behavior in left hand, I quickly consulted my periphery. Thankfully, this tic is only brought to bear on her right.

Our party arrives in the gatekeeper's view in a bloody mess. I suppose I'm using that term both figuratively and literally. For a moment, it occurs to me that chaperoning such a debacle could easily result in my firing, especially if the Gatekeeper was a harsh fellow and filed an unforgiving report to Seteth or the Archbishop. For a moment, I felt a bit of joy as I realized that this could be my ticket back to mercenary life. But as Edelgard's fingers dug ever deeper into my flesh, I realized that I might be losing something as well.

It also strikes me that endangering children might result in a penalty far harsher than my dismissal, as well.

"Oh, hello Professor! Nothing to report."

I stare at him blankly.

Whatever is happening here is something to report, is it not?

"Did you enjoy your night on the town, Professor?"

I nod. Has he noticed that we're dripping blood right in front of him?

"You're a bit late for curfew, but I'll have the door open in a second!"

I nod again. Is he blind?

He pulls a lever next to him that opens the great doorframe of the monastery.

"See you tomorrow, Professor!"

As I leave a trail of blood all the way to the dormitory, I count my blessings.

I finish the field dressing on my hand with some effort. It took me quite some time to sanitize the wound, as I wanted to make sure to clean the areas where my blood met hers quite thoroughly. An exchange under such circumstances could easily result in blood poisoning for either of us. Earlier, I had managed to give Edelgard's a quick dressing with Hilda's assistance.

After reaching the student dormitories, I instructed Hilda to relay to Edelgard that she should check in with Manuela, the songstress-cum-physician as soon as she wakes up. She nodded and said she'd leave a note, after nearly vomiting in her mouth when she realized that Edelgard had clamped onto my hand like a Duscur Bear trap. I warned her that gossiping about what she witnessed would result in her expulsion. She seemed to accept my bluff for what it was.

It took me another twenty minutes of wandering the promenade to find my dormitory. Thankfully, someone had the foresight to affix a sign with my name on it.

It's now two-in-the-morning, according to the clock in my otherwise unfurnished dormitory.

As I complete my entry for the previous day while laying on the freshly dressed bed, Sothis decides to check in. She appears to me in what must be a quasi-physical form, sitting on the bed. Her toes dig into the sheets, which strikes me a bit odd given that she's just a figment of my imagination, isn't she?

"Your handwriting for today is most sloppy."

I showed her my bandaged palm.

"I know! I was there!"

I raise an eyebrow, too tired to reply.

"My vision was just cloudy. Anyway, I don't believe it's wise for you to drink that type of fire-water. Especially with children!"

"Was that your first time, too?" I ask at last.

"So what if it was? Phooey! Don't give me that look. You think you're so tough."

"You're projecting."

"How can I not? We inhabit the same body."

"Is that so?"

"Anyway! That is not what I wish to talk about."

I wait for her to finally arrive at her desired topic.

"I wish to know which class you will claim tomorrow. I believe this will be one of the most singularly important decisions you'll ever make in your life."

I sigh. I was honestly going to save this decision for after I took a nap, but I suppose Sothis wants it now. It's probably for the best, though. The faculty meeting is in less than six hours.

I consider my options.

And then I stare at my bloody, bandaged hand.

"Ugh! So predictable."

I look back at Sothis.

"You will never grow tired of suffering on that girl's behalf, I suppose."

Later that morning, I staggered into the faculty meeting, disheveled, bloodshot and bandaged. Without a moment's hesitation, I chose the Black Eagles.

Chapter Text

"Your heart has made its choice."

That's what the archbishop said after I chose the Black Eagles as my class.

The problem with that statement is that I don't have a heartbeat. So do I actually even have a heart to make such a choice at all?

Could it have been my hand that made that choice instead?

As I sat in the empty classroom waiting for the Black Eagles to attend the morning's meet-and-greet, I stared at my bandaged palm. When I first arrived at the faculty meeting yesterday, Manuela spent a great deal of time fussing over me. With the Archbishop present, I had to prevaricate endlessly on the topic of my comings and goings the night before. True to his words, the Gatekeeper had apparently deemed that there was nothing to report that night.

Thankfully, Edelgard also hadn't checked into the infirmary prior to that meeting, and so there was little suspicion over the course of the meeting that she had been involved. I also declined both of their rather insistent pleas to submit to healing magic.

Both my father and I are under the impression that over-reliance on healing magic tends to weaken the body's natural response to combat fatigue and blood loss. Obviously, neither of us have ever properly studied his hypothesis in any great detail, but I still prefer to resist accepting healing magic whenever possible. Generally speaking, I find that I recover from wounds faster than other men in my company. There are times when I've been grievously wounded and had no other choice, of course - but those events have thankfully been few and far between.

My understanding of those maxims ended up somewhat distrubed by Hanneman's revelation that I possess a crest of unknown origin. Perhaps that has something to do with my uncanny ability to shake off blows that would usually send knights kneeling. Hanneman wants me to visit him frequently for further study.

I suppose it can't hurt to understand my circumstances a bit better.

Examining the wound that Edelgard inflicted on me two nights before by poking around the gauze, I note that it doesn't hurt either, and is mostly patched up. I'd dispense with the bandage now, but there's no trash bin in the room that I can see. Outside of the dining hall, there really aren't that many at all. Doing so would probably be hazardous anyway. I have to remind myself that I'm living in civilization now.

One can't just act the same way they do on campaign.

I took a shower with hot water this morning, for example. What a strange circumstance that was given the past few years of my life. I still bathed, of course - but Fodlan's frigid rivers and lakes tended to be my bathtub of choice. On the Throat, I took air-baths in the sandstorms. Today, I stood in the shower stall for so long that I had inadvertently created a line in the male dorm's communal bathroom.

Sylvain caught me on the way out and gave me a high-five. He was chatting with the Lorenz fellow that Claude had mentioned two nights ago. I have unflinchingly positive impressions of them both. They both return the goodwill to me in spades.

In our brief chat, the two were both eagerly trying to mine me for gossip relating to the professorial assignments, but I was able to pivot over the conversation to their assessment of the Dagdan waitress at the bar. They both explained their difficulties in the art of "mackin'" her. Per Claude's suggestion, I explained the Dos Cravos routine. Both were thankful for the advice.

Speaking of His Deceitfulness, I do recall him mentioning that he had been "scoping" out the bar with Hilda for some time as if it was some sort of hidden gem that only he was able to discover. With the information I've just gathered, it seemed like Sylvain and Lorenz had both been there on a nightcrawl several times already. If anything, I'm impressed at their initiative.

Life is full of surprises, I suppose.

I wonder if Edelgard will be surprised when she sees me in this room?

Naturally, I don't have to mull on this question very long, as she's the very first to arrive. It takes her a moment to notice me sitting at my desk in the corner, just to the side of the rolling blackboard.

She's still wearing the carnation on her cape.

I twist my bandaged wrist in a wave.

She steels herself a bit.

"It seems we need to talk about that, don't we, Professor?"

I bring the hand to my chin and consider the question.

"Did you see Manuela? I don't want you to get blood poisoning."

I can detect Edelgard putting her mask back on.

"...I did. As it stands, I am in good health. What about you, Professor?"

"I'll be fine."

She seems to consider her next words with precision.

"If this is acceptable to you, Professor, could we find a time in the future to discuss what I was doing that night…?"

I shrug.

"We've got a year, right? Talk to me when you're ready."

Edelgard tilts her head down in what must be a kind of melancholy. I then stand up and walk over to her.

"...Are you leaving?" she asks with a clear tinge of sadness in her voice.

I look at her with a raised eyebrow. Am I missing something?

"Where's everyone else?" I ask at last.

The realization seems to dawn on her.

"…Professor… are you saying that you're going to be teaching the Black Eagles?"

I nod.

At last, a smile finds its way onto Edelgard's lips, and illuminates the room in the process. At the same moment, a great weight seems to melt off her shoulders. She leans back on a desk ever so slightly, first looking down at the floor, and then brings her gaze back to me.

"...Truly?"

Maybe my father was right about me not being able to imply things well.

"I can still take Dimitri or Claude's offer, if you'd prefer."

Her lower lip drops in surprise, then turns into a frown, and then beams right back into a smile again.

"I still don't find you all that humorous." She says, turning her chin up. She's not doing a very convincing job of seeming unamused with that grin of hers.

"That may affect your final grade." I replied after a few moments.

Edelgard seems to chew on that sentence for a while. She then shakes her head as if she's trying to rouse herself out of a dream. Her eyes return to me with an almost pleading look. It's as if they want me to confirm the facts as they are, in spite of them being laid out very clearly in front of her.

A single yellow orb is peering at me from the other side of the door.

I point at it.

Edelgard turns suddenly to meet that gaze, and then back to me.

"Wait here, my teacher, I'll fetch everyone!"

The blue-haired brawler-in-training Caspar von Bergliez is the first to approach me after Edelgard's formal introductions.

"So, our professor is...you?! I didn't see that one coming. I figured it'd be Professor Jeritza."

"I'm just as surprised as you are, Caspar." I reply with a shrug.

Dorothea Arnault, the songstress brunette who I met at the bar the other night, is the next to work her way over. She yanks Caspar on the ear.

"Easy, Caspar, aren't you being a bit rude?"

I raise an eyebrow. An interesting critique from her, considering how she propositioned me right in front of her date the other night. I'm about to reply, but just before I do, I feel a cool hand on my shoulder. I turn to meet it, and it's Lindhardt von Hevring, the sleepy sage.

"It's a waste of time to expect politeness from him, Professor."

He seems to be using my shoulder as a support now. A great yawn overtakes him.

"It will be a pleasure learning from you, I'm sure. While you finish chatting everyone up, I'm going to take a nap over there." He points lazily to the nearest desk.

"Did you bring a pillow?" I ask.

"A fine idea, Professor. I think we'll get along quite well." He shuffles over to the nearest desk and collapses, sans pillow.

My eyes move from Lindhardt to the purple-haired archer Bernadetta von Varley, who had been using the desk as a hiding spot from the commotion of the other introductions.

"Ah! Don't look at me like that! Oh, and...please don't talk to me too much either."

I button an imaginary clasp between my lips. She seems to gather my meaning and nods shakily.

Ferdinand, the ginger gentleman, is the next to saunter over. He clears his throat.

"Just to remind you, Professor - I am Ferdinand von Aegir, legitimate son of Duke Aegir, Prime Minister of the Empire. I heard from Edelgard that we are rather close in age. I hope you do not mind if we treat you like one of us, because in our class, we try to treat each other as equals despite any differences in age or status."

After a pregnant pause, he adds, finally:

"Personally, I would love to include you in that inner circle."

I sense that he's not entirely sincere about that rehearsed monologue, but I'm not going to cast aspersions on him just yet.

"I don't mind at all." I replied.

This year will be a lot easier if I'm teaching friends rather than enemies, won't it?

Petra appears in my periphery and punches my breastplate in a sporting way.

"You have a gut, Professor. I will take great joy from your teachings."

It's easy enough for me to appropriately understand Petra's charms. She's got a very Brigidian temperament about her. The mercenaries from there were very easy folk to get along with, at least for me. They were generally reserved folk, but spoke with clarity, precision, and purpose when prompted. Petra seems downright bubbly in comparison to a few I fought with on the Throat.

Perhaps that's because she's royalty from that country. The mercs I spoke with spoke of their King fondly, in spite of his humiliating defeat and subsequent vassalage at the hands of the Empire.

During those years, I was able to pick up a bit of their language as well. I'm not fluent by any stretch, but the type of things you need to say as a warrior... I know those phrases well. And in the end, that's all that is really required at the end of the day, isn't it?

It occurred to me that my familiarity might be worth mentioning to Petra when opportune.

A more pressing query was at the forefront of my mind, however. Did she punch the intended body part, I wonder? As if recognizing my contemplation about the matter, Dorothea slides over and looks at me with an exasperated expression. I bring my bandaged hand to my chin. She turns back to Petra.

"Petra, I believe you mean to say that our professor has guts. That's a bit different from having a gut."

I'm still trying to get over how she punched my chest instead of my actual gut - but I suppose that's worth consideration too.

Dorothea then turns back to me with a wink.

"You can't go around saying someone so slim and attractive has a gut!"

Before I can even thank Dorothea for her compliment, Edelgard arrives, drawn like a moth to a flame by the word attractive coming out of Dorothea's mouth.

She trades glances with her co-ed, and then returns her gaze to me.

"I'm glad you're getting to know everyone, my teacher. We all have high expectations, but I'm sure you'll meet each and every one of them."

The vote of confidence disarms me a bit. I guess I am really carrying people's dreams now. It'd be selfish of me to let them down.

Caspar, who's been shifting his weight from leg to leg, finally pipes in:

"Sure, sure. Now, let's break the ice with a training session! I want to see our new teacher in action."

"Why will the ice be broken? Is this a custom I have missed in my studies?" Petra asks with a look of total confusion.

I feel bad for Petra, so I opt to jump in.

"Tha e a 'cleachdadh gnàthasan-cainnte."

Petra's eyes widen. Well - everyone's eyes do, except for Lindhardt, who is fast asleep. Hubert and Edelgard particularly seem stunned, as if I just snuck an army through the gates of Enbarr.

"...Tha fios agam air cuid den chànan, ma tha feum agad air cuideachadh." I continue.

Petra nods eagerly.

"B 'fheàrr leam gu mòr a bhith a' maighstireachd teanga na dùthcha seo, an t-Ollamh." she replies.

I have to admit I kind of failed to catch the adjective in there, but the rest of the sentence was clear enough.

She'd prefer to speak in Fodlanese.

"If that's what you'd prefer. But please don't hesitate to ask me in Brigidian if you're struggling."

"I will. Consider me feeling most impressive by your knowledge of Brigid, Professor!"

I shake my head as if to ward off her flattery.

"I learned a great deal from your people. Brigid makes excellent mercenaries."

The rest of the class completes the equation after I mention this. Caspar's the first to recover.

"Not to interrupt, but uh, training? Can we head over if you're done speaking in whatever that was?" he asks.

He's clearly itching for a fight. I appreciate that about him. I'm about to reply in the affirmative when Bernadetta, who I've almost forgotten about, chimes in.

"I don't want to train! Let's stay in the classroom and...learn from a book."

She looks at me with the most pained expression that I've ever seen. I've seen a great many people grievously wounded, dying, or mourning the death of lovers on the battlefield. Their expressions could not compare to the fear and dread that seemed to wash over Bernadetta's entire being at present.

"Let's all calm down and have a nice cup of tea, how about? Doesn't that sound lovely, Professor?" Dorothea added.

Ferdinand looks like he's had enough and taps my shoulder.

"Professor, I know we all agreed to treat each other as equals, but there is a limit to what I can tolerate. The esteemed Black Eagle House requires order. If Edelgard refuses to lead the House properly, might I lobby you to have me formally replace her as leader of the Black Eagles?"

I must say that I'm impressed with his attempt at a coup on my very first day. Unfortunately for him, though, I'm not really interested in politics.

Edelgard, to her credit, ignores it and leans in.

"...They're not normally this rowdy, my teacher. Please don't get the wrong idea."

Hubert, who has been lurking behind me for some time, finally speaks.

"Looks like your first job will be to quiet down this racket. I don't envy you."

I crane my neck towards Hubert in order to nod, unsheathing my sword in the process. This movement does not go unnoticed by him, and he seems to slide into a combat stance as I hold the blade lazily in my bandaged hand. The rest of the class, facing me as I do this, grow immediately silent. Their faces in my periphery seem to run the gamut of terror.

Well, Hubert - the first job's done.

I use the tip to gently rap on one of the iron legs on the desk that Lindhardt is sleeping on. The close-proximity-clang and resultant vibrations are sufficient to rouse the sleepy sage.

"Let's work out this energy at the training grounds, then." I say with a blank expression, eyes never leaving the Adrestian retainer.

At last, he relaxes, belatedly realizing that I made him flinch.

I think I'm coming around on Hubert.

If I could find things amusing, I suspect I'd find him amusing.

Getting the Eagles from the classroom to the training field in a cohesive group presents a greater challenge than I expected.

Lindhardt and Bernadetta both protest bitterly along the way. I'm able to bargain with them to play nice by allowing them each to take a book from their dormitories with them to read while I get a feel for the more enthusiastic Eagles' combat preferences.

When we arrive at the training ground, we're told by an attendant that Professor Jeritza is still on leave. After Edelgard informed her that I was in fact a professor, she allowed us in with a stream of apologies. I take it Garegg Mach is a bit more formal in practice than the rather easygoing little band of noble scions I've gathered.

Upon arriving on the training field, I ask the mages to identify themselves first. Lindhardt, Hubert, and Dorothea make their combat preferences known.

"How familiar are you guys with elemental magic?" I ask.

"I must admit to only focusing on dark magic. The Marquisate of Vestra has its engineering society for matters regarding elemental magic." Hubert informed me matter-of-factly.

"I would prefer to only learn healing magic, Professor. Are you familiar with the Convention of Sreng, by chance?" Lindhardt replies through a yawn.

"The treaty protecting healers that no one in Fodlan actually observes?" Edelgard chimed in from over my shoulder.

"If you ask me, Professor - it's because healers are always learning other types of magic." Lindhardt replies.

"You're going to learn other types of magic." I say bluntly.

"Ugh. Fine." He replies at last.

I turn to Dorothea.

"I can bring the thunder, Professor! Wanna see?"

I nod.

To her credit, Dorothea nails the incantation and brings a lighting bolt down on a training dummy. This prompts a yelp from Bernadetta.

"Excellent work." I say.

After a few moments of consideration, I ask.

"Are you guys able to summon fire?"

All three shake their heads. I bring the bandaged hand to my chin and consider my next words for a moment.

"I think we should focus on fire incantations after I conclude my assessment of the melee fighters. During the mock battle, we're prevented from using offensive spells directly on opponents. Doing so results in elimination. So that leaves stasis, silence, shielding magic - and non-direct, environmental uses of elemental magic. Fire is by far the most versatile."

All three seem surprised. I guess because I don't really speak at length like that under normal circumstances.

"Well, I would not protest the opportunity to add a few pages to my spellbook, Professor." Hubert says, seemingly the first to recover.

I turn to Edelgard. She also seems a bit surprised at the lecture.

"Have the rest of the class arm themselves with their preferred training weapon."

She nods and relays the order to the rest of the Black Eagles.

I expected Edelgard to offer a challenge to me first, but much to my surprise, Ferdinand is the first to take arms, and immediately jogs over to me, wooden spear in hand.

"Professor, as the legitimate scion of the Duke of Aegir, foremost House in all the Empire, please allow me to challenge you first."

I nod.

"Excellent!" He replies enthusiastically.

The rest of the black Eagles gather around the sandy pit as Ferdinand and I step in.

I offer Dorothea my cloak, which I usually clasp in a rather lazy way to the back of my breastplate. While useful on the march, I find it to be a hindrance in combat.

"Would you mind holding this?" I ask her.

"Of course Professor! Oh… Professor?" She exclaims, and then asks.

I raise an eyebrow.

"Yes, Dorothea?"

"There's dried blood on this sleeve."

Edelgard, who's been silently working her way over to the two of us, suddenly freezes and goes bright red.

"Now that you mention it…" I notice that the right sleeve is indeed caked in blood.

"I… can hold onto it, my teacher."

I suppose it can't hurt. That's her blood, after all.

After a moment, I hand her the jacket, which she doesn't take as much as she grasps. She holds it quite tightly to her chest, but to her credit, doesn't let it touch the ground. This is worth mentioning of course, because she barely clears five feet in height. It works, though. And I'm really not concerned about wrinkles.

"Are you ready, Professor?" Ferdinand asks. He's about twenty paces away and has already leveled his spear towards me. I grab a training sword that stands upright in the sand.

"Attack when ready, Ferdinand."

"I am Ferdinand von Aegir!" He yells as he begins his charge.

I take note of some minor issues with Ferdinand's form as he does so. The first thing to notice is that he handles a short spear rather like a pike or a cavalry lance. His grip is far too low on the pole for him to have any real driving power in a strike. It's as if there's a great deal of wood behind his grip, even when there isn't. I'm sure I can even detect it wobbling a bit as he advances.

Naturally, with such little force behind a strike, I could probably just absorb the blow in the training sword's fuller and then drive his energy to his left, planting the spear in the ground exposing his entire right side to a blow.

So, I do just that.

Ferdinand looks at me in shock as I tickle his oblique with the training sword.

"Incredible, Professor. You scarcely even moved." He admits.

It's actually quite credible, but I'm not going to argue.

"Woah!" was all a shocked looking Caspar could manage.

The rest of the class seems quite surprised as well, sans Edelgard. She seems to be taking some perverse pleasure in watching Ferdinand eat shit.

"A suggestion, Ferdinand?" I ask.

"Certainly, Professor." He replies.

"It's regarding your grip on the spear. Just a moment."

I look over to Petra, who's standing closest to the weapons rack.

"Petra, could you hand me a cavalry lance?"

"Professor... I cannot notice any longspears made from the wood."

"Any material is fine, Petra."

"I am understanding, Professor!"

Petra then brings over a cavalry lance made from iron. It holds an additional yard in length over the infantry spear.

"Ferdinand, level your spear again."

"Professor…" He's clearly taking note of the very real weapon in my hand versus his.

"Just do what I ask." I reply.

"As you wish." He gets into his uncomfortable looking stance.

"Alright, now loosen your grip on the spear."

Ferdinand does so, and I slide out his weapon.

"Hold your stance." I command.

He nods.

I hand the wooden spear to Petra, and put the iron cavalry lance in Ferdinand's hands, with roughly the same amount of distance between the tip and his hands as the short spear.

"Feel any differences?" I ask.

Ferdinand grips the iron lance and moves it around in his hands.

"It's heavier!" Ferdinand says at last. This prompts a chuckle from Hubert.

"How observant, Ferdinand." He says.

"What about balance?" I ask at last.

"Now that you mention it, Professor, I must admit that such a weapon feels far more proper in my hands than that wooden spear!"

"That's because you're holding it at its appropriate point. You want to make sure that you're not handling a short spear like you would a pike or lance. There's more wood behind you now. Practice with that on a training dummy."

I could try more, but I get the impression that I'll need to proceed slowly with Ferdinand. One step at a time.

"I see… thank you for this demonstration, Professor! To be expected, of course. You are the son of Jeralt, the Blade Breaker, after all."

I nod.

"Who's next?" I ask.

Petra volunteers by leaping into the sandpit with her sword.

"It is seeming that we are both disciples of the swordplay, Professor!" She says with great enthusiasm.

"That we are." I say, after a pause: "Attack when ready."

Petra brings the sword above her head and whispers a prayer to Brigid's flame spirit before charging forward. I immediately note that she is much faster on her feet than Ferdinand. Her stance from a moment ago was also deeply familiar. In a sense, it's the essential Brigidian approach to battle.

Immediately, it's easy to recognize that she's not to be trifled with. I'd go so far as to guess she might even be on par talent-wise with Edelgard. These two are doing a great deal in improving my estimation of nobility as of late.

I bring my sword to bear to parry her first blow, which strikes home with a fair bit of force. I do note that there's a minor discrepancy, however, in how much energy Petra is putting behind the strike vis a vis the energy it actually lands with. My eyes fall to her hips, and I see what the mechanical issue must be almost instantly - but it's something I'd want to confirm one more time.

Summoning the reserve of my real strength, I drive her backwards with my block after pivoting my ankle and pushing forward.

"Good, Petra. Try again."

She nods and repeats the same strike with a shorter lead. I block it with ease, and close the distance, bringing us quite close to one another. My eyes drop even lower, this time, towards her ankles.

There it is. I've got it.

I bring my gaze up again and then stare directly into her deep, auburn eyes. There's a great deal happening behind them, which makes me consider the great mass of emotions that she's probably unable to properly express in Foldanese. We're alike in that sense, perhaps. She clearly struggles to emote through the complexities of our language. I struggle with that myself in spite of my fluency.

"You are seeming distract, Professor…" she grunts through deep breaths. She's struggling to maintain the sword above her head. I can sense her starting to give ground.

Distract, huh? Well, that's an idea. It's probably time to end this before she gets too tired to give proper instruction to. I make an effort to relax my expression. Frankly, I'm not sure it worked. It rarely does.

"Petra…"

Her eyes flutter a bit in surprise.

"Mi air mo tharraing le do shùilean brèagha."

I say those words with my eyes never drifting from hers.

With that said, she seems to lose all the strength in her arms. Whatever blood was circulating there seemed to march at the double-quick directly into her face. Although her already-reddish skin hides her emotions a bit better than Edelgard, I gather that my ploy worked.

The Brigidan mercenaries were quite good at close-quarter feints like this. Only fair I return the lesson, I suppose. I gently tap the pommel of my wooden sword on her nose. She seems to only notice the collapse of her defenses at that very moment.

"P-Professor… w-when a man such as you... are saying such things with such a seriously expression... I find it most disarmor-ing… Did you be meaning…?"

I shrug.

With a look of confusion and conflicted feelings, she retreats back to the weapons rack.

I turn to the rest of the Black Eagles.

Edelgard appears to have rolled my cloak in a ball while watching my fight with Petra. She clutches it tight in her bosom.

"What exactly did you say to Petra, my teacher?" she asks with a stunned expression.

"I just told her something that would distract her." I reply matter-of-factly.

The Adrestian seems extremely dissatisfied with my response, but she doesn't protest further. How can she? Trading glances with the rest of the class, I continue:

"What I just did is called a gambit. In battle, distraction is as useful a tool as any."

I beckon Petra back.

She meekly complies, making Bernadetta - who's still hiding in the corner - look as confident as a lion in comparison.

"Your technique is actually really good, Petra." I offer.

"Professor- might you just be speaking in a manner-"

Realizing that she might have been irony-poisoned by that gambit, I opt to communicate with my body instead, mimicking her sword stance.

"This… is the traditional style of sword attack for Brigid, correct?"

She nods eagerly, her focus returned.

"Yes… you are knowing it quite well, Professor!"

"Who taught you how to fight, Petra?"

"My grandfather, the King of Brigid!"

I nod.

"A man taught you. That makes sense."

Petra turns her head slightly as I approach her.

"Petra, can you please get into your attack stance, please?"

She does so. As she does, I squat down.

"P-professor?" I realize now that Petra's wearing the academy's summer uniform, which below the waist consists of a short skirt and thigh-high riding boots. Betraying this surprise realization would only make things worse, so I cast my eyes down to her feet, steel myself, and continue.

"Petra, when you strike, I notice that your heel is turned out."

I point rather indirectly to her foot.

"Heel?" she asks.

Does she not know what that is? I don't know what the anatomic vocabulary is in Brigidian, either.

"Can I show you?" I ask.

Petra nods.

I turn her right heel from an outward position to a more forward one. Her entire leg right up to her hips follows with the strength of my grip. My less-than-gentle touch doesn't rankle her much, thankfully. Perhaps she's used to being handled roughly. Brigid doesn't have the same restrictive expectations on women that Fodlan has. I'd say there's roughly an equal ratio of female-to-male mercenaries from there on the Throat, in my experience.

My manuever does prompt an "Oh!" from Dorothea in the back, though.

I stand up.

"There. You're a woman, after all. Don't fight against your body while fighting me."

Petra's eyes go wide. It struck me rather belatedly that I needed to explain that comment in more detail, lest it be misconstrued.

"Right, it is a more natural position for your hips, I think. You'll lose less energy that way."

Petra nods. Luckily, she was able to power through my cavalier description.

"My heart is thankful, Professor…"

Bringing a hand to my hair, I consider my next bit of advice.

"Your strikes should be more powerful. Practice on a training dummy for now, OK?"

She nods and immediately starts hacking away at the nearest training dummy, humming enthusiastically with newfound strength. Petra is really refreshingly genuine. All the more strange when she's probably more blue-blooded than anyone short of Edelgard.

Speaking of the devil, the Lady of Hresvelg is the next to make her way into the sand.

"I'd like to challenge you next, my teacher."

She's already armed herself with one of the wooden halberds. The halberd's an intriguing choice. It takes on the best and worst qualities of three weapons: the axe, lance and sword. Most classify in the category of the first of those three weapons, but I feel as if that's putting a square peg in a round hole. It's got the blade of an axe on one side, the edge of a falchion on the other - and at the tip, a spearpoint. To me, it's a hybrid. A blend of purposes and intents.

The weapon she had on her when we met in Remire was a short axe. What prompted her change? I glance at the wooden weapons rack. It's currently short both a halberd and a handaxe, which clues me in. She's clever, that one.

I'd smile if I could.

"Ready, Edelgard?" I ask.

"I'm ready, my teacher."

I nod.

She takes her first step forward with the halberd in her left hand, and from her back the handaxe appears, its head hidden under her cape. This girl… I know I made the right choice, now.

Unsurprisingly, Edelgard does as exactly as I instructed that night in Remire - using her elbow as the pivot - and pitches the handaxe towards me as she picks up speed.

Perhaps on purpose, the axe is aimed just a bit too high, prompting me to duck. Edelgard is now close enough to bring the length of the Halberd to bear, taking a stab at me with the pointed tip. The fuller of my sword just catches the blow, driving it up and presenting a juicy target for me, much the same as Ferdinand's attempt with the short spear. She takes note of this on the fly and attempts to wheel back and to the left in order to increase the distance between her and I in order to recover the fight's tempo. Proximity - rather the lack thereof - is the only advantage I'll have on her in this fight. Naturally, Edelgard knows this and is extremely reluctant to hand it over. She's made good on my comparison to her with Petra, and then some.

Hazarding a guess, she's probably expecting me to stand my ground and attempt to regain my footing. Doing so will give her the opportunity to twist the handle in her grip and bring the axe-blade to bear. I know that's the part of the weapon in which she's most likely the most well-practiced.

Instead, I lunge forward on a mediocre leap to close the distance. There are justifiable reasons not to do this from my position, and perhaps Edelgard took those into mind as she plotted out her strategy in facing me. The first is that I'd be launching into an attack from a point too low to bring down a powerful swinging strike - which is probably the extent of my combat arts that she's witnessed. For good reason, of course - I save fencing for opponents I truly respect.

If she keeps this up, Edelgard might be able to see some fencing.

The essential weakness of any halberdier to a swordsman is clear enough to anyone, I suspect - you simply have to sufficiently close the distance in between you and the array of pointy and/or sharp bits your opponent is wielding. Past that point, the halberd is just an unwieldy, poorly balanced staff. Even lances offer better protection in close quarters, not least because they have something approximating a center of gravity.

Instead of attempting to deflect with the polearm, however, the Adrestian chokes up on the pole and attempts to bring the falchion down on me.

Extremely bold on her part. That's probably the type of decision you make on the battlefield if you've already made peace with death. Doing so means that she has roughly zero chance at blocking any attack of mine now, and has made such a decision in order for one last opportunity to strike at me. Either she brings that falchion blade on me first, or I make contact with her and beat her. The road ends here, in effect. There won't be any fencing today.

That's what I gather she's trying to do anyway. A slight problem presents itself in her margin call, though. Although she's choked up on the length of her polearm, she's failed to close the distance between her hands. That means I can rather neatly move my arm in an upper-cut motion to grasp the drastically shortened handle in between her own and prevent her from being able to bring it down on me at all.

A minor oversight in the grand scheme of things, but in battle - this would be unmistakably fatal.

As my hand nestles in between hers on the pole, she immediately realizes the error.

I also immediately realize her right hand is bleeding again. The pole is now slick with blood in her attempt to choke up on it. Apparently the motion ended up tearing her glove. She must keep quite the supply of those.

"You didn't actually see Manuela, did you?" I ask.

She turns her neck down and away, presenting her jugular to me.

"Please don't ask me that, my teacher…" She replies.

I tip the pommel of my training sword against her chin to bring her gaze back to me.

"Don't lie to me at the expense of your health." I command.

She seems to take offense at the order. I guess that's natural, given her state in life.

"What does it matter to you?" She asked with a snap.

"You matter to me." I say softly, but clearly. My gaze doesn't leave hers for a while. The purple orbs across from me are assaulting my eyes as if they were a fortress.

Taking note in my periphery that the entire class is watching us in stupefied silence, including a very tense looking Hubert, I attempt to cut through the awkward position we're in.

I tap her cheek with the pommel.

"You also lost. Caspar is next."

Edelgard returns to reality at that moment.

"I suppose I did…" She says as she loosens her grip on the halberd and takes a few steps backward.

"If you're against seeing Manuela, there's also Dr. Lindhardt." I say, pointing at the snoring healer.

Edelgard looks back at her classmate.

"I think he's fast asleep, my teacher."

"Give him a kick in the gut. And tell him it's from me." I say.

A smirk takes shape on Edelgard's face. She nods and leaves the field to deliver my message with gusto.

Caspar takes this as his cue to jump theatrically into the pit. He's sporting a pair of training gauntlets.

"Now that you're done being all sappy with Edelgard, you're finally gonna get a challenge, Professor!"

I hold up a finger to Caspar, and turn my neck to face Hubert, who's been glaring at me with his arms crossed for some time now.

"You look as if there's something you'd like to say, Hubert."

Hubert raises his eyebrow at me.

"There is Professor, but now is neither the time, nor the place."

"After the training session?" I ask.

"I would be available to have that conversation in particular, yes." He replies.

I nod and then turn to Caspar.

"Attack when ready."

A couple of hours later, the last student I have yet to dismiss is Bernadetta, who's currently working through a fifty-yard target practice regimen.

Petra, Ferdinand and Caspar were the first to leave following the pit fight. Dorothea, and Lindhardt took their leave after mastering the fire incantation. Hubert and Edelgard remain, although they're not exactly here to support their fellow Black Eagle. Instead, they're deep in conversation. I'm less than interested to glean the topic, as I have parochial obligations to fulfill at the moment.

All that said, I suppose I'll have to address their lack of camaraderie in time. At the very least, they should have been cheering Bernadetta on a bit.

As if on cue:

"I finally did it!" Bernadetta yelps.

I squint my eyes to check the target. She did indeed. I told her that five bullseyes would be sufficient for her to leave.

"You did, Bernadetta. Excellent work."

"Your advice about bending my knees actually helped a lot!"

"I'm glad." I say that, but my face doesn't really match my words.

"So… Can I go now…?" She begs.

"If you'd like."

"Okay, Professor." As she gathers her things, she turns back to me.

"Um… Professor?"

I tilt my head.

"Thank you for not making me fight you." She says with the first genuine smile I've seen of hers.

"You'll have to spar with me eventually. I'd like to train you in lances as well." I reply.

"...Well, I guess I knew you'd say that..."

I shrug. She seemed to be less jumpy with me now. I'll consider that a win for today.

She slips away without offering a goodbye to either Edelgard or Hubert. I'd prefer that not to be the relationship these guys have with one another - but I'm not exactly a master at building bonds. I think I'll probably have to consult my father about how to best bring these guys together.

But that's for another time, I think.

At present, Edelgard approaches me.

"I'd like to have a rematch, my teacher." she says.

"Absolutely not." I say.

After saying that, I noticed Hubert raising an eyebrow in my periphery.

"But… Lindhardt healed my hand quite competently."

"Healing magic closes the wound, it doesn't restore lost blood."

"Even so…"

Reflexively, I bring a hand to my chin. The bandaged one - so maybe that undermines my next point slightly.

"I'd prefer you to recover properly before the mock battle."

She seemed to accept my explanation for what it was worth.

"...Just how long would you estimate that would take?"

"Give it forty-eight hours."

Edelgard nodded, although I suspect it was a rather conflicted nod.

"We can spar all day on the 28th, if you'd like." I offer.

"That sounds perfect, my teacher."

Edelgard cranes her neck over to her retainer. I don't see the expression she makes at him, but Hubert starts to take a long walk around the perimeter of the grounds. Maybe she mouthed something as well.

I raise an eyebrow when her eyes return to me.

"You're going to talk with Hubert after I leave, are you not?" She asks rather accusatively.

"He wanted to talk." I say with a shrug.

"I know he wants to talk." She snaps.

At this point, what else could I do apart from stare at her blankly?

"I… rather hate it when he goes behind my back like this. I suspect he'll do nothing but talk about me."

"Does Hubert have any hobbies?" I ask.

"Nothing… that would make for polite conversation, I suppose."

"What's his favorite food?"

Edelgard looks at me with widened eyes.

"People tend to be less creepy when they're eating their favorite food." I offer.

"That's… actually quite true. But I don't know your favorite food…"

I raise an eyebrow.

"I'm not creepy, so why would that matter?"

She rolls her purple eyes.

"Tell me yours and I'll tell you Hubert's."

"I'm not sure if I'm really fond of that exchange."

"But you already know mine! It's not fair otherwise."

"Oh, Saghert and Cream?"

"Hmph." She grunts.

"Onion Gratin Soup." I reply after a time.

She frowns in reply. I let her stew on it.

"Wait… really?" she asks at last.

I nod.

"I see… I didn't mean to doubt you, it's just that it seemed…"

"Plain?"

"Well…"

"Have you ever tried it?." I ask.

"I… can't say that I have. What is the flavor?"

"The onions are caramelized in the soup, so it's actually rather sweet."

Edelgard's eyes light up at the last word.

"Perhaps I might like it…"

"We can give it a try after we spar. It's restorative."

Now she starts blushing.

"I think a proper dinner with you might be nice, my teacher…"

I shrug.

"You should tell me what Hubert likes now."

The red drains from her face instantly.

"Hmm… well… Hubert likes pickled seafood and vegetables… I think they're quite nasty."

"That's rather apropos."

"Isn't it? I'm glad you think so, too."

The two of us lock eyes in the declining afternoon sun as Hubert continues to pace around the training ground at his Lady's command.

"You should probably get going." I say at last.

Edelgard realizes that my eyes have fallen on Hubert.

"I… may have forgotten he was there. I suppose I should…"

"Get some rest, Edelgard."

Her eyes seem desperate to not pull away from mine, but eventually her willpower overcomes them.

"Yes, my teacher."

With some coaxing, I'm able to get Hubert into the dining hall. After selecting a seat, I try to see if he's in a forthcoming mood.

"Do you like anything on offer here?"

Hubert just glares at me.

"I don't eat for pleasure, Professor - merely for nourishment."

I'm not sure if I was expecting another reply from him at this stage, but I nod and excuse myself to the buffet. Grabbing two plates, I slap a heaping helping of pickled vegetables and seafood on it. It smells truly noxious.

As I plated those, the head chef emerged with Gronder Meat Skewers. Hearing good things about those from Caspar this afternoon, I plate two for myself. Sitting back down, I notice that Hubert's expression had softened ever so slightly after seeing a plate of his favorite food.

"Lady Edelgard told you my favorite dish, did she?" He asked almost wistfully.

I raise an eyebrow.

"Would you believe me if I said I noticed you eyeing it on the twenty-third?"

Hubert seemed to recoil in his seat a bit and began running through the event in his mind.

"No… I don't think I would, Professor."

"True enough. She did mention it."

"And you… just happen to favor a dish from the Empire?"

"The head chef just walked out with it."

Hubert craned his neck towards the buffet and squinted.

"So it seems."

I shrug and take a bite.

Hubert patiently waits for me to finish my meal before jumping into what I suspect was meant to be a dressing down from the start. He's only really picked around the edges of his.

"You don't seem intimidated by me, Professor." He says at last.

"You're my student." I say matter-of-factly.

"That is true, for now. Regardless, I still feel a bit concerned for your safety. You see, Lady Edelgard has taken something of an interest in you."

"It seems so."

"Don't be flippant."

I lean back in my chair to meet his gaze. Hubert narrows his visible eye.

"There is something you need to understand about the role I play here. One of my many duties is to determine potential advantages and potential threats to Her Highness. If you prove yourself useful to Lady Edelgard, then all will be well. If you pose a threat...I shall have to dispose of you."

"Good luck finding a trash bin around here."

Hubert shakes his head. I tell myself it's an attempt of his not to laugh.

"This is no joke, Professor. While I may be a student here, I am her servant first and foremost. Therefore, if an untimely demise is not to your liking, you would do well to demonstrate your utility with all haste. I should warn you that I am far less compromising than Lady Edelgard. Do not be at ease merely because you stand in her good graces for the time being."

"I'm not worried."

This time, I finally broke Hubert. Unintentionally, but I'll take my wins where I can get them.

"Ha! Such confidence. I'm beginning to see why you caught her eye."

"Tea, Hubert?" I ask.

"I suppose, if there's Cinnamon."

I nod and fetch us a couple of mugs.

As we wait for our tea to steep, Hubert returns to what must have been a planned monologue of his.

"My family, House Vestra, has been sworn to House Hresvelg for generations. Since the dawn of the Empire, we have worked to protect the emperor by any means necessary—both in the open and in the shadows. If you incur our wrath, you will see just what I mean."

"What prompted this?" I ask, after waiting for him to take a sip of his tea.

"You have me in an honest mood, Professor, so I will tell you this: I had planned on simply poisoning you after you had compromised Lady Edelgard socially on that excursion with von Riegan. But, my estimation of you recovered ever so slightly on the training grounds today."

"Is that so?" Socially compromised is an... interesting way to describe what happened to her that night.

Hubert takes another sip and considers his words.

"I must admit to a certain… failure in provoking Lady Edelgard's attentiveness to her own physical wellbeing. You've taken great care to look after that in the short time I've had to observe you. If you continue to do so, I will allow you to keep your life."

I suppose that's the best I can expect from this guy.

"Fair deal, Hubert."

"I'm glad we can see eye-to-eye on this matter. With that settled, I must take my leave."

I nod.

"Thank you for your time, Professor."

Chapter Text

Earlier this evening, I met Lysithea.

I hadn't planned on interacting much with anyone today, so that was a surprise, I guess.

This morning, I woke up feeling lethargic. It occurred to me that this might be a delayed hangover, but I've also never really experienced such a thing before. A few hard drinkers from the mercenary company have claimed the condition in years past, but my father always seemed to cast aspersions on the likelihood of such a thing really existing. These delayed hangovers always seemed to appear whenever there was a need to entrench ourselves. That said, I don't need to entrench myself today.

I briefly stepped outside and was surprised at how the sun aggravated my vision. It struck me that it might be worth visiting Manuela.

Roughly halfway between my dorm and the dining hall, I overheard two students gossiping about how Edelgard went to visit Manuela at the infirmary, like I had asked her to. At first, a feeling of relief washed over me. She did listen, after all. Then, the idea of two random students gossiping about one of my Eagles struck me as completely intolerable, and I considered doing something vaguely intimidating in order to shut them up.

Finally, the realization hit that I am in fact a faculty member, and as one, likely don't have the same leeway to be a perpetually belligerent campus cancer like Felix or Hubert. So the two kids were left to continue their gossip unimpeded.

This did end up changing my strategy for the day, however. First, I opted to make a tactical retreat back into the dormitory. There was no real reason to visit Manuela, really. Edelgard's cuts into my palm had long since healed, after all. Additionally, I didn't want to report myself as hungover if she might be doing the same. That would bring upon us the unwarranted attention that Gatekeeper had endeavored to shield everyone from on that strange and fateful evening.

After getting back into my dorm, I made a few edits to the diary. This took about an hour.

Following that, I hurled myself on the bed, settled in on my pillow, and cracked open the Tacticon. I hadn't even begun to read the first line before Sothis began to protest bitterly.

"Phooey! This is boring, you should go and talk to people!" She gripes.

"I'm talking to you." I reply.

From my periphery, I can see her blush a bit and turn up her nose. Maybe Sothis is nobility of some sort. All the women I've seen do that routine were nobles.

I crane my neck over to meet her. She's also laying on the bed, sharing my pillow, and has returned to staring right back at me with those big green eyes of hers. The rest of her face is wrinkled and wrapped in the eternal frown that she always wears.

For a moment it strikes me that if someone were to walk in on this situation, I'd probably be labeled some sort of freak or child molester. Reality returns, however, and I take note that if someone actually walked into this room, they'd just see me staring at a wall.

"I'm much older than you, you know!" She says with an attitude.

I shrug. Something tells me that it wouldn't matter.

Returning to the book, I notice that Mauricius begins the text on a surprisingly personal note. In fact, the first chapter reads more like an apologia rather than a proper military treatise.

As it happens, Mauricius was inspired to write this book following the death of his wife in childbirth. This woman, who he claimed to love deeply - Empress Zoe - was one of the two surviving great-granddaughters of King Loog, that famous first King of Faerghus, and their marriage was a signal to many that the Empire and Kingdom could look towards a future of peace rather than war.

The marriage was an arranged one. He notes that their initial awkwardness, caused by his perpetual distance from her while on campaign, eventually gave way in a year of trucial peacetime. In that fleeting year, their relationship blossomed with love and passion. He notes that their daughter is a living memento of that time that he so dearly cherished.

"I feel as if I understand this fellow's heart…" Sothis said, reminding me of her presence.

She slid closer to me on the pillow, her head brushing up against my shoulder.

"You have a daughter?" I asked.

"I don't know. I do feel quite sure that I understand the depth of this Mauricius's feelings, however, in spite of everything that I cannot recall - so perhaps I do...?"

Her thoughts are overtaken by a yawn, and shortly afterward, she closes her eyes. I wonder if she snores. I've been told that I don't, but perhaps this is because I'm a side sleeper.

Returning to the story, I have to admit that the emperor weaves an impressive tale, and his rather direct and terse prose makes the situation seem all the more present and immediate. These are the words of a man stricken with perpetual grief at the loss of his wife, and he cannot spare very many of them. It's a very strange thing to read as a fellow writer. Could I call myself such a thing now?

This man clearly feels quite a lot but writes so sparsely.

I feel so little but write five-thousand-word diary entries with minimal consideration.

It's rather strange, isn't it?

Retreating again from my thoughts, I consider what Mauricius presents as his casus belli. At the outset, such a union certainly didn't portend such a romantic - or even tragic - outcome for the two nations. Mauricius states repeatedly that he wanted nothing more than peace with Faerghus. His daughter carried Loog's blood in her veins, and he claims to have loved her as deeply as his late wife.

From what I can gather, the marriage itself was only ever understood to be political by everyone save Mauricius and Zoe. The emperor characterizes its initiation as a last-ditch effort by the Empire's Regent, his elderly aunt, to stave off a coalition war. Faerghus, embroiled in a conflict with Sreng, was more than happy to comply with the proposal, and for the first time in history - the two hostile powers became allies.

Shortly after Zoe died, Mauricius received a proposal from the King of Faerghus to marry a distant relative in an effort to continue the alliance. Mauricius refused the offer, stating that a man could only truly love once in his life, and that the daughter he had with Zoe would be proof of goodwill between the two nations as long as he lived. This struck me as bizarre. A popular line of mercenaries was to say that a particularly attractive waitress could "join the Imperial Harem". I can only gather that Mauricius had no taste for such a thing.

The King of Faerghus, who also apparently had a harem, was not convinced. Following the rejection and a peace treaty with Sreng that granted him the county Fraldarius, he opted to join the anti-Imperial coalition alongside Dagda, Brigid, and Albinea. Mauricius, seeing the writing on the wall, gathered his army and marched on Faerghus first.

That war was Mauricius's longest and last. The author of the preface had noted that the emperor completed the Tacticon shortly before his death. The emperor died of a fever inside his tent outside the fortress city of Arianrhod, which his army was investing in a siege. Four days earlier, he had celebrated his twenty-seventh birthday. The only ones in attendance to celebrate that evening were the mercenary captains that he favored for his campaigns. Apparently, he had long since alienated the rest of the Empire's nobility.

Following his death, the only thing that spared Adrestia from complete dissolution was the rebellion of the Leicester Alliance. Faerghus quickly accepted a stalemate to fight an unsuccessful civil war with the band of upstart nobles. A group of competent courtier powerbrokers handled the remainder of the war effort and began what the preface writer claims was a "re-balancing of Imperial power" away from the emperor himself, and towards the privy cabinet. The writer spares few words on the daughter left to inherit his title, which strikes me as strange.

It's quite the story, even if it's rather bleak and overly political. Needless to say, I was sufficiently hooked.

I spent the remainder of the daylight hours devouring the book in the darkness of my dorm.

My stomach finally chastised me for ignoring it, patiently waiting until 8PM. Last call at the dining hall was at 8:30PM, so I rather quickly gathered myself and made for the door.

It was at that moment that I realized, rather belatedly, that Edelgard never returned my cloak after I handed it to her at the training grounds the day before. Not that it mattered - I could easily grab the official professorial wardrobe that had been left in the dresser. It has been sitting in there, untouched, since my arrival at Garegg Mach. The ensemble also included a cloak, along with a rather gauche looking field cap. The material was a bit lighter, but due to the onset of summer next month, I feel as if it might be more appropriate for the weather.

I cut through to the dining hall shortly after hybridizing my outfit. It's one of those quintessential nights of the later weeks of the Great Tree Moon. There's a stiff breeze, but when the air is still, it's downright balmy. Well, balmy for a mountaintop, at least.

The dining hall is almost entirely empty.

There are only two figures that I can make out in the entire cafeteria, and they're a tiny girl with a flash of long white hair, and the Head Chef. Initially, I thought that the girl might be Edelgard with her hair down, but I quickly noticed that she's too short to be her, even from this distance. This is of course quite the statement given how short Edelgard already is.

I'm able to shuffle over to the buffet table without attracting their attention. Most of what's left are desserts and other sorts of carbohydrate-rich foods. I suppose the chef must have already cleared the main courses and was just leaving the desserts out.

Beggars can't be choosers.

My eyes drift over to the little white-haired girl, who is trying to maneuver three-fourths of a complete triple-chocolate layer cake onto a paper plate. She looks to be about fourteen or fifteen. The Head Chef watches her try and finesse the collapsing cake with quiet bemusement.

She manages to pile most of it on, to her credit, and seems to be quite pleased with herself until she notices that I'm watching her, too. Her eyes, a bright pink, narrow in realization.

"Um, do you mind...?"

"Mind what?" I ask with a raised eyebrow.

"Just leave me alone, then." She commanded, turning up her nose.

I returned my gaze to analyzing what was left on the buffet table.

Apparently, this did not satisfy her.

"You think I'm some sort of... child... for wanting to take this cake back with me. Is that it?!"

I turn back to the agitated little adolescent. Is this actually Sothis doing her best impression of Edelgard, I wonder?

"Phooey! How dare you compare me to either of those children!"

I'm mere seconds away from bringing my hand to my hair before I notice the girl's plate dangerously shifting to one side. Leaving her alone now is just going to result in her losing her entire, massive dessert. In a flash, I extend my hand to balance the plate.

"Honestly, what do you take me for- oh!"

I can appreciate the depth of her feelings - how I was a being worthy of only derision even in the midst of me attempting to balance her plate. She must be nobility, too. It only becomes apparent to her shortly afterward that had I not intervened, the dessert she spent so much effort heaping would've ended up all over her clothes.

To her credit, she takes stock of the situation quite quickly for someone who's at such a tender age.

"Oh- I see now that the plate was starting to fold over rather dangerously..."

She takes a moment to take stock of me now.

"Wait, are you the new Professor…?"

I nod.

"...The one who saved Claude?"

"Unfortunately."

This prompts a sudden laugh from the girl, and she nearly loses the cake again. I use my other hand to buttress the flimsy thing as she giggles uncontrollably. It's a childlike laugh, but one that betrays a great deal of pain. I'm beginning to suspect that many people at the academy this year have had difficult upbringings. Such behaviors always manifest when people are vulnerable like this. Perhaps it is for the best that I cannot feel as deeply as these children.

Losing yourself in front of the wrong person is a dangerous thing indeed.

"Professor... you shouldn't make me laugh with cake in my hands!"

"Maybe you should put it on a tray." I offer.

"How I wish I could! But we can't take the trays back with us!"

An idea comes to mind.

"Could I trouble you to place this dessert down for a moment?" I ask.

She nods and complies.

I begin to unclasp my breastplate.

The girl's pink eyes go alight. She looks at me as if I've gone mad, but it's hard not to consider it a kind of childish overreaction on her part. There's a very thick tunic between the breastplate and my chest, so it's not like I'm exposing myself to this minor.

"You can use this as a tray, if you'd like."

The girl looks at me as if I've grown a second head. I suppose this particular reaction is a bit more justified.

"It's clean, I washed it down this afternoon. Smell it if you don't believe me."

Much to my surprise, she leans in.

"Oh! So this is what smells like lavender!"

"I used some dish soap to wash it. That's probably why."

The girl nodded.

"I see what you mean, Professor. That's a clever idea!"

She eagerly grabbed the plate and placed it on our ersatz tray. It nestled quite neatly in the slight depression of the breastplate, although the previously rough treatment was causing the cake to lose a bit of its shape and hold. Fodlan cakes tended to be quite spongy, and the sheer mass of chocolate on the cake was no doubt weighing the pastry down quite considerably.

"Since you have a free hand.."

Hearing the Head Chef say those words, I notice them handing Lysithea two large wicker baskets full of pastries.

The Head Chef then turns to me.

"Lysithea loves her sweets."

I turn to Lysithea.

"Nice to meet you, Lysithea. My name is Byleth."

"Ah, Professor! I didn't introduce myself. That was rude, wasn't it? My name is Lysithea von Ordelia, my parents are the Counts of Ordelia in the Alliance." she says with a bow.

"You're a Golden Deer, I take it?" I ask.

"Unfortunately!" She replies, mimicking my own.

Perhaps Lysithea is quicker on the uptake than I gave her credit for.

The two of us make our way towards the exit. Using my free hand, I open the door and hold it for her. She looks outside and then freezes quite suddenly.

"Um…" she begins.

I tilt my head.

"Professor, could you go outside first… and maybe… lead the way?"

Now I'm extremely confused.

"Sure, but why?" I ask.

"The sun has gone down." she said, her eyes darting away from mine.

"...And?"

"You haven't heard the rumors?"

I shake my head.

"L-Leonie, a girl in my class, she said that there were… g-guh-ghosts…"

At this moment, I to remind myself that the girl standing before me is quite young. I suppose it's natural for girls like her to believe in ghosts until right around this age. When I was fifteen, I still had many misconceptions about battle. Those were corrected shortly after joining my father on campaign.

"Ghosts?" I ask.

"Yes… the monastery has become quite unnerving to me, especially at night... Leonie said that three days ago, there was some sort of demon walking around with four arms, four legs, and two heads. It was also trailing blood, and we even saw the stains the following morning - right near the dorms!"

Four arms.

Four legs.

Two heads.

Trailing blood.

Three Days Ago.

This is sounding awfully familiar.

"I'll protect you." I reply.

She seems to find some resolve in this. Her pink eyes blaze passionately.

"T-Thank you! I know you're very good at protecting people."

I nod and lead the way out into the darkness.

After a short while, we're able make our way down the dining hall steps, past the lake, and clear the Greenhouse. The walk is vaguely familiar to me, as I recall hauling Edelgard's sleeping body in this direction before. This must be where that student named Leonie saw our little caravan of delinquent drunkards. I suppose that in the darkness, we may have looked like ghosts. That said, I question how anyone misses Hilda's hair even in this light.

"Professor…" Lysithea calls out to me in a kind of panting whisper.

I turn to face and realize she's some distance away, dragging the bags of pastries on the ground along with her. Is she tired?

"Are you alright, Lysithea?"

"I-I'll be fine, Professor. I'm… sorry to say, but my constitution is a bit weak…"

I notice that there's a porch swing just by the entrance to the student dormitories.

"Let's take a breather." I reply, and slip the pastry baskets out from her hands. They're not particularly heavy to me - but I also don't possess what I would characterize as a weak constitution.

It occurred to me now that I may be teaching some students with disabilities. I had assumed, perhaps foolishly, that everyone attending a war college would be in relatively robust health. I'm able to guide Lysithea over to the porch swing with minimal difficulty.

"Do you live on the second floor?" I ask.

She looks up at me with a conflicted expression.

"All… nobles do… Professor."

"I see. So let's sit out here awhile so you can regain your strength."

She nods rather meekly at this.

"The weather is… nice tonight, Professor." Lysithea notes as her breathing calms a bit.

As if on cue, one of those bitter winds that the Great Tree Moon sometimes shelters decides to dance around us. Lysithea seems to immediately regret that statement and breaks out into a shiver.

"Don't jinx us, Lysithea." I say, unclasping my cloak. I toss it over her.

She turns to me with a big pout on her face.

"P-professor, you don't need to do this… I'm not a child, you know."

I raise an eyebrow at her.

"Adults get cold, too."

With that, she brings her legs up, and tucks herself into the ersatz blanket. For a time, my vision glides away from the little white-haired head above the blanket and out onto the promenade. It's not exactly late in the evening, but the area seems completely devoid of students. I suppose that's not abnormal, as there's probably less than fifty students total attending the academy this year, but I still find it curious that there aren't more night owls among that group.

Although, I suppose those sorts of kids aren't spending much time around the dorms. They're probably out on the town like Sylvain, Claude, Lorenz and Hilda.

My eyes drift back towards the pale, frail little girl under my cloak. I notice that her big, pink eyes are greedily eyeing the cake that's been sitting on my breastplate-turned-dessertplate.

"I'm not going to stop you if you want a bite." I say to her, sliding the breastplate closer.

"There's no fork." She says with a giant frown forming across her face.

"So?" I ask, quite genuinely. Most meals I ate on campaign were eaten without forks. Generally speaking, I just stabbed things with my dagger and shoved them in my mouth. If my dagger was fresh with blood, then my hands would do.

"Only children eat with their fingers, Professor."

I proceeded to shove my index finger into one of the frosting layers and dragged it across the length of the cake. I held up the massive dollop of chocolate directly at Lysithea, whose eyes went wide as I did so.

I then shoved that finger in my mouth rather unceremoniously.

The frosting was a bit too heavy and sweet for my own personal preference, but my stomach didn't complain, as I had been neglecting it for the entire day. I savor it for a time and swallow it with an audible gulp. It needs a fair bit of saliva to drag down.

"Not bad." I say to her with a nod.

She then proceeds to do the exact same, even going so far as to pick the next layer down. As she does, the spongy parts crumble around my breastplate into bite-sized chunks.

After sticking the finger in her mouth, her eyes go wide.

"Pofessoh- ish so goo!"

I nod. Grabbing a piece of spongy cake next, I pop it into my mouth. I'm not huge on sponge cake either, but it's definitely more my speed than the frosting.

Lysithea looks at me expectantly.

"The sponge cake is pretty good, too."

She immediately grabs two fistfuls of sponge cake and shoves it into her mouth greedily, creating a brown ring around her lips.

"Pofessoh-"

I bring the chocolate-stained index finger to her lips.

"Don't talk with your mouth full." I command.

She nods her head vigorously and chews with equal gusto.

As soon as she finishes that bite, she immediately dives in for two fistfuls more.

I never get her review on the sponge cake.

After gorging ourselves, the two of us take to digesting the cake on the porch swing like a pair of geriatrics, sitting in a pile of our own messy crumbs. I appreciate how Lysithea's big-girl act completely falls apart in the face of sweets. If I could find things endearing, I would probably find her endearing.

There's still roughly a quarter of the cake left in some moderately cohesive form, and Lysithea still occasionally picks at the frosting. Her hands are as brown as a redwolf's summer coat of fur. That said, so are mine.

For a time, it seems that us two slobs are the only beings still awake on the campus. The lights from the greenhouse and dining hall were shut an hour ago, and only a few dorms in the distance glow with only the softest hues of candlelight.

Finally, however - as it would have been bizarre otherwise - another human approaches, walking towards the entrance to the student dormitories.

It's a girl, and one that I haven't seen before. Her hair is blue, with two long bangs falling from either side. The back of her hair, from what I can see, is wrapped around in braid that's reminiscent of a crown.

Lysithea, who was existing in some sort of endorphin-fugue from the cake, finally rouses.

"Oh, hey- Marianne!"

It appears that Lysithea, while alert, hasn't gotten her self-awareness back.

Marianne, on her part, jumps at the sound of her name - and only seems to calm down after Lysithea leans forward and extends her neck from her blanket.

She approaches us with extreme caution.

"H-Hello, Lysithea." she says this while avoiding all eye contact with me.

"Um, we were eating cake!" Lysithea notes. I don't know how anyone could really assume otherwise.

"I-I see…"

"Oh- and this is Professor Byleth. He's teaching the Eagles... unfortunately!"

When she turns to me, I immediately take note of her eyes. Gray predominates - both in her irises, and below, where a ring of darkened skin lies under them. She clearly has been neglecting her sleep. I find her eyes rather difficult to read in comparison to someone like Edelgard or Lysithea. While those two girls hide things, they often are quite poor at concealing their true intentions.

Marianne seems quite practiced in obscuring hers.

"It's nice to meet you Marianne."

"A-and you... Professor…"

"I'd offer you my hand, but it's covered in chocolate."

"I-it's alright, Professor… my hands are dirty, too."

"Did you come from the cathedral, Marianne?" Lysithea asks before shoving another chunk of sponge cake into her mouth. I guess she's not eaten her fill yet.

"Oh… no, I went a bit earlier… Dorte seems sick, so I was attending to him at the stables."

"The horse?" Lysithea asks.

"Y-yes..."

Lysithea then turns to me.

"Marianne is really good with animals, Professor."

I nod.

"You seem like you have a gentle heart, Marianne." I say.

She recoils and blushes ever so slightly.

"Um… Professor, how can you say such things without knowing me…?"

"Hmmm… I think he's right, though...!" Lysithea says as she chews through the cake. I guess the impact of my directive about not talking with her mouth full has run its course.

"...Professor Byleth seems like a very observant man." Lysithea continues after swallowing.

I reflexively bring my hand to my chin, before realizing that it's covered in chocolate.

"Marianne, can I trouble you to help Lysithea with her pastries?" I ask.

Marianne's eyes fall to the two bags full of assorted sweets.

"Wow… so many…" she notes.

Lysithea seems to ignore her friend's assessment and looks right back at me.

"Oh yeah… we've been out here for awhile, haven't we?"

I nod and stand up, offering a chocolate covered hand to the girl swaddled in my cloak. She accepts with another chocolate covered hand, and I yank her up.

"If you're feeling frail again, don't push yourself too hard, alright?"

Lysithea takes offense at this.

"Hmph. If I don't push myself, how can I grow?"

I am beginning to grow tired of all these combative white-haired women.

"You missed an adjective there." I reply brusquely.

"Fine. Fine! Anyway… thank you for protecting me from the ghosts, Professor!"

I nod while brushing myself off.

She hands me my cape back. It's now covered in brown fingerprints.

I suppose I'll need to ask Edelgard for the other one back.

After seeing off Lysithea and Marianne, the rest of my waking hours are consumed with the project of finding a trash bin.

Chapter Text

My father sent me a message by owl asking to meet him for tea this afternoon.

After delivering the message to my dorm, the owl took a shit on the floor.

"-And so, after I decapitated that hedge knight, the village headman walked out, and he asked - and get this - if I was the apprentice of the Blade Breaker!"

The student that Lysithea mentioned last night named Leonie stormed into the office - uninvited - shortly after we poured the stiff Morifs brew. She claims to have smelled the pungency of the infused Albinean berries "a mile away". My father has been guzzling down the tea ever since, perhaps to avoid unnecessary conversation with his "apprentice".

It's hard to really take her in at present. Her eyes are darting back and forth with a great deal of intensity and excitement. Her head, topped by a flash of short, red hair, bobs around with the vim and vigor of a child - even though she's clearly a few years older than me.

I have difficulties reading people who I can't get a good focus on. I don't think I'll ever get a good read on this woman.

As she energetically rambles, I note that my father has a freshly furnished office. It's prime real estate across from Rhea's reception hall, nearby Hanneman and Manuela. A thought has only just occurred to me - namely, that I'm the only faculty member without an office at present. Even Jeritza, who just checked back into the Academy this morning, has a nook of his own in the training grounds. Students gossip that he spends prolonged periods talking to himself in there.

Perhaps this was Seteth's doing. Any time I encounter him on the campus, he spends prolonged periods glaring at me. When I was walking to the training grounds with Edelgard and the rest of the Eagles two days ago, he gave her a rather cutting glare as well.

Perhaps those two have a history. Or he may have finally gotten wind through the grapevine about the "socially compromised" evening we had, to use Hubert's term.

Leonie, after finishing her monologue, turns back to me.

"-Did Captain Jeralt ever tell you any stories about me, Professor?"

I don't realize that she's actually talking to me at first, but recover quickly.

"...Nope." I reply matter-of-factly.

"How about... Lieutenant Pinelli?" she prods.

I glance at my father and raise an eyebrow.

"Listen, Leonie- I've got a mission for you." My father says, catching the pass without missing a beat.

Leonie shoots up at attention in her chair.

"...I didn't get enough Alb berries for three people. Can you run down to the greenhouse and pick a few more? Just bag 'em and bring 'em while I put the pot back on a boil."

"Of course, Captain! You can rely on me!"

She storms out the door with a great deal of purpose. Is this little exchange evidence of my father being an inspiring leader, I wonder?

The two of us sit in silence until we can no longer hear her boots clacking down the stone staircase nearby.

"Sorry about that, kid."

I shrug.

"That summer before you joined I took a job in her neck of the woods. She was a pretty useful guide. Her father was a big-game hunter. Redwolves, Duscur Bears, that sort of thing. I was actually going to introduce you two before that situation in Remire."

What a terrible introduction that would have been.

"If you say so."

"Anyway… how's life? I was worried that the job of babysitting these noble brats might be getting to you." He asks.

"I'm alive." I reply noncommittally.

My father sighs and brings a hand to his head.

"Listen, kid - that girl's probably sprinting to the greenhouse, so let me just get to the point."

Realizing that he's gotten serious, I nod.

"Seteth, that green haired schoolmarm? He knows about that little field-trip you had a few nights back…"

I suppose it's only natural he'd figure out what we were getting up to eventually. Even with Gatekeeper covering our tracks, we weren't exactly inconspicuous.

"I know we used to do that kind of thing on the Throat. And… well, I'm not saying you have to live a cloistered life here. But the lower you lie, the faster I can get us out of here, if that's what you want."

I stare blankly at him.

Is that what I want, now?

Always a bit too perceptive for my own comfort, my father seems to have picked up on my indecision.

"...But now that I mention it, you don't seem as eager to cut bait."

I bring a hand to my chin and consider my next words carefully.

"As it stands… I'm willing to see through the term."

My father seems to receive my words with an equal amount of consideration.

"It looks like you've changed, huh?"

He's left me without a reply. I just shake my head.

"No… I really think you have."

He takes another long sip of tea.

"I'm guessing the Adrestian Princess has something to do with it."

My eyes fell away from him at that point. Does she?

"I remember the night… two years ago, I think - that Dagdan chick. She showed you that trick with the cocktail and the flower? Do you remember her?"

"Vaguely." I reply.

Even though that event wasn't particularly long ago, only the gesture she made really stuck with me. The girl herself seemed to fade blurrily into my memory.

I remember certain physical features. She had deep green eyes, like Ingrid - along with a similarly healthy appetite. She was my age or a touch older, like Dorothea and around her height. Two long, thin bangs down her head like Marianne, but they were braided quite tightly - reminiscent to Petra's in both style and color. The back of her hair reminded me of Lysithea's, falling in one great shock to nearly ankle length. Like Bernadetta, she was an archer.

But I cannot remember anything about her that isn't a composite in some way. There was nothing unique about her in my mind. Every aspect that I can recall is informed in some way by the students that I have met at Garegg Mach.

"She wanted to take you to bed that night. Did you even realize that?"

I shake my head.

"Of course not... And you… kid, it looked like you'd be totally fine with wringing her neck the very next moment. Like the whole damn gesture she was making just washed over you like… I had raised a sociopath or something like that… It hurt me to see it."

He gave me a look that he wasn't done yet. He took another long gulp of tea and cleared his throat.

"...You didn't know that girl died maybe a week after you blew her off, right?"

"I didn't."

"Some wyvern rider clipped her with a lance, right through the lung."

He brought his thumb to his clavicle to drive the point home. From the point that he indicated, the wound would've certainly been mortal - but death wouldn't have come instantly.

"I watched her die… And normally… you know I don't get choked up about death. I've seen too much of it. But I had a thought... as your father… that girl thought my kid was special. And then there she was, choking on her blood. She was looking at you when she died. And there you were, ten yards away maybe. You couldn't give a shit. You were gouging the eyes out of a myrmidon like some fucking animal."

We both sat there in silence for a time.

"...Anyway… I saw Princess trotting down that hallway this morning with the carnation in her cape. I remember her that night in Remire. She was wound up tighter than a loom…Today, Her Highness looked like she had gone back in time and won the battle of the Tailtean Plains. And after… well, Seteth came in here asking if you were some kind of player. I put two and two together."

Lacking any words again, I took a long sip of the tea.

"How do you feel about her, kid?"

It's a strange question. I've only been familiar with Edelgard for a week.

There are certain things that I know.

I know that she's a Princess, for example.

I know that I want to protect her.

I know that I died for her - and that Sothis turned back time so I could save her all over again.

I know that I wanted to become her teacher.

I know she also wanted me to become her teacher.

I also know she's hiding something important from me.

Most of all, I know that I want to know more about her.

And in doing so, perhaps know more about myself.

But I don't have a clear grasp of something like feeling. How can I even properly express that to my father?

I can only answer him as honestly as I can.

"I'm… not entirely sure."

He takes those words in with a deep breath.

"You have definitely changed a lot, kid."

I look back up at him.

"I know that feeling all too well. A word of advice: keep her close until you figure it out."

I nod. He cracks a smirk.

"Although, from the little I've seen, she's following you around like a lost kitten anyway. Shouldn't be too hard."

I wonder. It seems to me like I'm following in her shadow, instead. As if most of the conscious decisions that I've made over the past week have mostly concerned Edelgard.

I'm about to ask him if that's how he felt about my mother, but Leonie appears, red-faced and sweaty at the door.

"I've... got the berries, Cap!"

He gives her a thumbs up and then turns back to me.

"Don't fuck it up." he orders.

I had to leave shortly after Leonie returned. She's a bit too high-energy for me at the moment.

Well, at most moments.

For a while, I content myself with standing on the monastery ramparts. For a couple of hours, I'm able to find some proper solitude, where the only intrusion into my thoughts was from the whipping of the winds. The breeze was quite cutting today, as if the Great Tree Moon was pushing out the last of Fodlan's winter air in an effort to pave the way for the summertime that would follow in the next month.

As I collected myself, a thought forced itself to the forefront of my mind over and over again.

How do I feel about Edelgard?

That's what my father wanted to know. I wanted to know too, but I can't just yet. It just seemed so soon to have a feeling about someone you've only known for a few days. Is that how normal people lived? Forming immediate assessments and attaching emotion so quickly?

Does it seem even more remote because I'm trying to analyze it?

Probably.

Maybe I should just cut through.

"Yo- Teach?"

My thoughts are interrupted by a familiar voice. It belongs to His Deceitfulness.

I turn to him and nod.

"Seems like I'm always catching you in the midst of contemplation." He says.

"Don't worry about it, Claude." I say after a few moments. It may have been hard at that moment to hide my dissatisfaction with his arrival.

"Is it the same thing you were frowning about the other night?" He asks with a smirk.

It takes me a moment to think about what in particular he was referencing - until I realized that I had successfully deflected this same question from him a few days ago on the viaduct.

"In a way, yeah."

He tosses another farthing coin in my direction. I'm able to grab it with one hand, this time. He smirks.

"Happy to offer my two cents, Teach. I'm pretty sure you've already learned the hard way that Edel's not as good a listener as yours truly!"

I guess he's not wrong about that. Edelgard fixates more than she listens. But I can't actually tell him that, can I? If his ego inflates anymore, he'll float away in the next gust of wind.

"I'm a teacher. You should be asking me for advice." I say, tossing him the coin back.

He catches it with the same animated jump that I did on the night of the twenty-third.

"Well, I guess I can oblige." He said after a few moments.

I turn myself fully to face him, admittedly a bit surprised. I wait for him to continue.

"I've got an ambition, Teach..."

With insufficient information to really formulate a reply, I simply choose to nod.

"And here's the issue: because you chose Edel and the Beagles, I may need to march right through her and you to get there. It could get ugly!"

"...Is this about the mock battle?" I ask.

"I mean it is in the smallest possible sense. I'm gonna beat you and Edel in that, of course! But I'm talking about bigger and better things, Teach. Past the academy. Real life. Military things, diplomatic things, and political things too. And I know you hate that last part."

"I do."

"I know you do. So that's why I'm gonna ask you a question."

I brace myself.

"Sad to say, but someday, there's probably a future where we're all gonna be on different paths. I may come to blows with Edel. Maybe even Dimitri, too. The three of us - well, we're all gonna be running countries someday, after all."

"True enough." I reply. I don't see how that's any concern of mine, though.

"I can promise you, Teach - right here, right now, that I'm gonna try and take the high road in any disputes the three of us have. But I may need your help to do that."

"I'm not sure I can do that." I say, quite honestly. Who does he think I am, exactly?

Claude smirks.

"I think you might be underselling yourself there! You seem to get along with just about everyone you meet. I'm jealous, really."

I shrug. He takes that as license to continue.

"Today, I had to endure Lysithea and Marianne talking about you during our class meeting. Those two… well, they're not exactly the complimentary types. Lysithea can be a real pain, and Marianne… well you know she doesn't talk much."

I shrug. It was worth noting that Manuela was giving the Deer far less free time, though.

"They really like you, Teach. I was shocked. You've got a way with people."

He seems like he isn't done yet, so I simply hold my gaze.

"Listening to those two, well it got me thinking. Me, Edel, Dimitri - there's not a lot we see eye to eye on... Actually, there's basically nothing."

"I can't disagree." I say at last.

"See? You're getting it. But there is one thing that we all have agreed on, pretty recently in fact."

"And that is?"

"We all wanted you as our Teach, Teach."

Claude's words hit hard - like I had just taken a charge from a Great Knight.

"So if some day, long after these peaceful academy days…"

Claude trails off and looks rather wistfully across the monastery walls.

"Speak your mind, Claude." I command.

"...You mind if we speak in hypotheticals instead, Teach?"

I shake my head.

"Cool, so let's say - hypothetically... long after you're enjoying your retirement somewhere nice and quiet... Sound okay so far?"

"That doesn't sound so bad." I reply earnestly.

"Let's say Edel and I come to blows, hypothetically. And I beat her. Let's say I beat her real hard, and she's stuck doing something real stupid. Like stupid enough to get herself killed."

"That does sound like her." I say.

"Right? I knew you'd get it. Anyway, can I count on you to leave your cozy retirement for a little while and try to stop her from doing something like that? She really thinks the world of you, Teach. I'm thinking she'd listen."

Maybe I had the wrong read on Claude.

He's presented me a clear fork in the road. In a sense, he's given me a fine choice to make - one all my own, indeterminate of circumstance and fate.

A selfless offering on his part, I think.

Thank you, Claude.

"You can." I say, reflexively clenching a fist. His Deceitfulness seemed surprised.

"I wasn't expecting a reply right now, but I can't say I'm unhappy about that! Is that a promise, Teach?"

You better believe it.

"It is."

A whipping wind strikes us, leaving my reply hanging in the air without further words to accompany it.

"Claude." I say after the bluster begins to fade.

"Yeah, Teach?"

"Mind if we add to that pact a little bit?"

A big grin starts to grow on Claude's face, as if he's finally got some leverage over me. He seems a moment away from salivating.

"That might be dangerous! I don't sign deals without knowing the terms and conditions first."

"If those roles that you described are reversed…"

"Hypothetically?" He asks.

"Hypothetically." I confirm.

"Sure."

"...Wait until I get there to do anything stupid yourself, alright?"

"I can assure you that I've got it all planned out, Teach - don't worry about me."

I shake my head.

"Still… It sounds fair to me. You've got a deal." He says.

Claude extends his hand.

I shake it.

And we make a pact that I swear to see through until the end.

Returning to the dorm room later that evening, I find myself with even more thoughts to collect than when I had made my sojourn to the ramparts.

My father and Claude have left me with too much to think about. Particularly the latter.

Fighting Edelgard? Fighting me?

What's going on in his head?

Did the two other leaders really take my decision to teach the Black Eagles that seriously?

Was choosing Edelgard over Claude or Dimitri such a mortal decision in and of itself?

"I told you that I had a feeling that such a decision would have immense consequence."

Sothis sits across from me on the bed again with a look of self-satisfied arrogance.

"Are you making night-time visits inside Claude's head, too?" I ask her.

"No! But it seems to me that you're trying to joke in order to hide your own narrow view of things."

I nod and grant her that. This was a sort of a given for most of my life. I kept on a narrow path because I wanted to live my life in such a way. My father identified an enemy, I went to kill the enemy. It was an easy reason to wake up the next morning, and a fine way to make a living.

But perhaps I was missing the forest for the trees.

I return to the Tacticon with renewed interest.

Following his introductory chapter where he laid out his casus belli and war aims, Mauricius spends the first half of the book detailing the necessary components of army management with practical examples drawn from the campaign he was currently conducting while writing the text, even adding tables, graphs, and maps that he hand-drew into the original manuscript. For me, this is more of a review than a new vein of knowledge. As my father's adjutant, I handled most of the day-to-day staff work of the company while he focused on leadership and combat training.

I knew tips on how to provision a battalion of troops at any given time. Mauricius knew tips on how to provision entire field armies. I knew how best to direct field entrenchments for a platoon or company. Mauricius understood how to direct these operations at the division-and-corps level.

It occurred to me that many of the concepts that the Emperor is dealing with in this first half would probably go over the heads of an amateur reader, or someone who did not have some experience in this matter on a smaller scale. This is where I questioned the utility of describing such things to his descendants in the particular way he approached the texts. Did every Emperor know battle like he did?

Did his heir ever handle a battalion before leading an army?

Perhaps she attended this very officers academy, but I haven't found much evidence that they're working on that level yet.

I suppose Edelgard is leading her "platoon" of Black Eagles. But can it ever be well and truly the same?

Maybe I'll find out in due time if she grasps the concepts he's trying to introduce. Worst case scenario, I can try to replicate them with the Eagles on a smaller scale by tapping into my own knowledge bank.

That's what teaching is all about, right?

Still, there is little in the text's first half that is remotely useful for the mock battle. I glance over to my wall calendar and notice that we are only three days shy from it. And one of those days - tomorrow, the twenty-eighth, will be consumed in physical training with Edelgard.

These circumstances initially convince me that skimming the book might be a better strategy, but I decide against it.

It's good that I don't.

One topic that I am able to glean from is the use of signal flares and dispatching orders by arrow and runner instead of owl. Mauricius was quick to cast aspersions on the usefulness of the owl as a messenger - as even the best trained owls would sometimes follow their own instincts and take a diversionary hunting trip before delivering an essential order on the field.

Mauricius advocated for the use of a dedicated, human, signaling corps consisting of smoke signalers and runners. In the case that runners could not be spared, such as in the crossing of rivers in inclement weather, archers firing dummy arrows with orders wrapped around were a quick salve. I found that idea rather apropos for someone like Bernadetta, who clearly dreaded combat.

This point in question also lined up rather neatly with the first topic introduced in the second half of the Tacticon. This is where the book got good, I think. He kind of figures out his audience in it.

The preface writer notes that his daughter was born just before he embarked on completing the book. Apparently, the first half - sans the introduction - was written before he had properly fallen for his wife.

The second half is titled "The Indirect Approach".

In lieu of attempting to summarize, I will include the opening lines of the text here:

My child, remember that the shortest route is often the roundabout one.

Throughout my youth, I despised the affairs of court. If the palace of Enbarr still stands, my heir, I should ask you to one day apply this experiment on a weekday:

You will know that there are two traditional ways to access the Throne Room from the Entrance Hall - the first is through the Grand Atrium, where the distance between entrance and throne is two hundred imperial yards. The second, is to take an immediate left turn at the entrance hall and pass through the hall of portraits, around the gardens, and into the kitchen. From the kitchen, simply make your another left and viola - you've arrived at the throne room.

In my youth I ran about the inner palace with a tape measure, much to the chagrin of my Aunt Regent. The distance of this route, when taken, was well over seven hundred imperial yards.

I would submit to you, my child, that this longer route in distance is in fact the shortest route in time.

When you enter the Grand Atrium, the domestics will appear and attempt to wait on you. They have prepared themselves all day for the moment in which you arrive, and will block your path in an effort to serve you.

Once you have conquered them, the noble courtiers will block your path, and petition you with the most minute of grievances. In order not to embarrass them or provoke intrigue, you must accept each one of their petitions and hand them to your attendant who trails behind you, moving at the snail's pace directed by the courtly protocols of my very Aunt.

When the last courtier has been satisfied, it is then incumbent upon you to listen to the wailing of your generals, who will attempt to convince you that disaster waits upon every front of theirs unless given more farmhands to expose to camp fever and scurvy.

After you finally rest your buttocks upon the throne, I suspect you will have wasted at least an hour walking a mere two-hundred yards.

Should you take that left into the portrait hall, none will accost you. The servants will mill about in their place, the nobles in theirs, and the generals in theirs totally unaware of your arrival. They are fixed in their positions.

In the gardens, perhaps a gardener will bow before you. Merely tap him on the shoulder and continue your excursion to the kitchen, in peace and quiet.

When you arrive in the Kitchen, the staff may not even notice you at first. If they do, they will be too shocked to do much else other than bow. Give them a wave, and then emerge into the throne room. Take a seat on that chair, deliver your orders, and retire the same way you came. And then enjoy the remainder of the day.

The last time I did such a thing, I went from entrance to throne in twenty minutes. Present this to your mathematics tutor for a detailed explanation of your relative speed in each approach.

And then, my child, look upon this map of mine detailing the Battle of the Brionac.

It's the first time I detected any bit of amusement from the Emperor in this book. We also seem to share a distaste of politics. In effect, I feel as if there's a great deal to learn from him now.

The Battle of the Brionac was also a rather interesting setpiece fight - one of the few battles that Mauricius fought that was not a drawn-out-siege. In it, he squared off against the combined forces of Faerghus and Brigid and was outnumbered roughly two-to-one.

He positioned himself behind the region's rather famous plateau, and after detaching a diversionary force, marched around the length of the rise in the dead of night, and slammed into the flank of the Brigidians the following morning. Petra's people were routed from the sudden strike, and the people of Faerghus, so disgusted by the retreat, cut down their own allies in fury. This exhausted them, and they were then attacked in their own flank by Mauricius's diversionary force.

It was a total tactical victory.

He had won this fight six weeks before investing the siege of Arianrhod, where he later died.

The plan struck me as genius.

And it was something that I thought could be applied.

I was struck by a sudden desire to visit the outskirts of Garegg Mach where the mock battle would be held to inspect the ground, but was struck by sleep before I could make good on it.

Chapter Text

"-And thus, Your Majesty, with this attack-in-echelon, we should be able to pin Claude's expedition against the Airmid River while cutting it off from its main retreat line to Hyrm City. After that, we can annihilate it at our leisure and secure the remainder of the province from the burgher's revolt…"

What a stupid fucking plan, Randolph.

It's good that I made you present this to me in private before allowing you to take this to the rest of the Black Eagle Strike Force.

"Claude's expedition will have no means of escape unless they're good swimmers!"

He's trying to bring a little levity to the presentation. I can see it in his earnest face. I know who he got that from! Maybe I'd laugh if his appreciation of the strategic situation wasn't just absolutely awful.

An attack-in-echelon against the Alliance's main column - that's the plan to wrest Grand Duke Claude's expeditionary force from Count Jeritza's province of Hrym.

A province in the midst of a bourgeois revolt, with its principal city petitioning to join the Alliance.

This is Randolph von Bergliez's plan.

I'm sitting here, slumped on Rhea's old throne, just about ready to throw this stupid, heavy crown at him for joking as he presents this mess of a battleplan to me. It's got me nauseous.

I've been feeling nauseous for a few days, in fact.

I should probably see Lindhardt at some point about that.

But the idea of this attack-in-echelon foolishness... No one really understands the Indirect Approach, so they default to this. You should have never given those seminars on Mauricius, my teacher. Every halfwit in Enbarr is reading him now. They'll never understand how you would have only suggested this stratagem under very specific circumstances… like the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. Or our sudden strike against my uncle on the Brionac.

That main force of Claude's, which is just bristling with bowmen, can just delete each attacking wing of the army in detail if we follow through with an assault like that. See? I remember. Everything you taught me remains. I'll never forget a single word you've said to me, my teacher.

Of course, this plan wouldn't be complete without Randolph ignoring the fact that this same column is also being escorted by Balthus and his band of Abyssian rogues, that blowhard who calls himself the "King of Grappling" without a trace of irony. He's also got a hero's relic in those hands of his, which Randolph just seems to gloss over.

He was also one of our Black Eagles until...

Oh, I can see his countermeasure. Sure, just send Ladislava to tie him down and then swing around with the Vestra Society Engineers, which will be seconded to the command of Lysithea von Ordelia. She stayed with us, my teacher. I wish you wouldn't have been so comfortable touching other girls, but perhaps I can understand why you became so accustomed to giving her head-pats all the time. That bastard Claude occupied her home province and arrested her parents for treason. I know that she misses you too, so very deeply - but not as much as I do.

Unfortunately, there's not much time left for either of us, so make sure to come back soon, okay?

That said, I suppose this plan of Randolph's must read like a great plan when it's not your own personal bodyguard and household troops that you're feeding into the jaws of certain death. Maybe a more callous me would see that as an acceptable gambit. But this Edelgard knows better. She knows what it means to gamble and lose.

And I'm sick of losing. Every time it happens, it tears more of our dream to shreds. There won't be much left of it at this rate, my teacher.

And this plan… I couldn't even see it work in my wildest dreams. In fact, it's the type of thing nightmares are made of. And those night terror have returned without you to hold me anymore.

Do you want to know the worst part of this, my teacher? The worst part is how Randolph just ignores that little bespectacled wretch Ignatz as well. My Byleth… you protected his parents' ill-begotten, war-profiteering cartel, and look how he has returned that kindness… Your heart should only have been so soft for me. All those who betrayed that heart of yours, and this dream of ours, I'll gladly add their blood to that pool accumulating around my feet. And don't you dare and try and stop me this time.

The rest of the plan…? Hmph. Tightly packed heavy infantry maneuvers on flat, open terrain bounded by the city walls on the left, and rough, forested terrain on the right that puts a hard limit on Ferdinand's ability to bring his Aegir Swift-Strike Riders to bear on either flank. What's the point of arming an entire household battalion with brave lances when you can't actually field them properly?

Ignoring all of the other potential pitfalls, there's also a flying column of Nader's wyverns sitting ten kilometers upriver at the ferry station. By the way, my teacher… I just happened to have introduced the metric system to the Empire today. We're doing away with "Faerghan Feet" and "Imperial Yards" and "Leicestershire Miles". This new system will be for all of Fodlan.

But this plan… It's awful. Truly. It's worse than Hubert's initial plan for the attack on Garegg Mach - and after you pointed out all of the flaws… well, I dispensed with that one rather quickly, remember? That night on the Pegasus Moon...

But Randolph.

Byleth... you warned me about him.

I'm sorry for not listening, my love.

I'm going to try and fix this.

So please come back - right now - and just do the thing where you put your hand to your chin and nod and make cute little angry suggestions to me, like that day in the training grounds.

I won't overreact this time, I promise.

I'm going to read that entry tonight.

Unless you come back to me, that is.

Then I'm never going to read that diary of yours again because I'll never let you go.

You're just going to have to endure me clinging to you forever and ever.

Like I did that night...

"-Your Majesty?"

"No, Randolph."

Caspar's uncle has a look that I would consider "Deer in the Carriage-Lanterns" on his best day, but now that expression overtakes his entire being. His neck shot up to attention so quickly that his slicked-back blonde hair jostled from its hold and fell into messy forehead bangs. They rather remind me of someone's, but I won't dare utter his name now, even in the relative silence of my mind.

"Excuse me, Your Majesty?"

"I've decided to promote you to Castellan of Garegg Mach. You're relieved from field command, effective immediately."

"Your Majesty… that does not sound like a promotion…"

If his sister Fleche wasn't such a wonderful partner for tea, I'd send the two of them packing to Fort Merceus.

"Your rank will be elevated to Lieutenant General. I plan on conducting the war effort from here on a more permanent basis, so I will be transferring a sizable garrison for you to command."

Hubert, who has been silently at my side with a rather consternated expression throughout this audience, finally can resist no longer.

It's fine. I intended this comment to provoke him, after all.

"Lady Edelgard… we should not be conducting any further military or political affairs from Garegg Mach. We discussed the necessity of returning to Enbarr just a few days ago."

"Absolutely not, Hubert. Now summon Caspar."

An eyebrow shoots up.

"I beg your pardon, my Lady?"

"Bring me Caspar. That is an order." I repeat, finally meeting his gaze.

"Of course..."

I regained a more firm hold on myself following the audience with Randolph after gulping down some tea in Rhea's old drawing room. In this room, I've laid out a great map of Fodlan where I can dream about future campaigns. It offers me such comfort to stare at this map and remember the wild sketches I made with Byleth during those halcyon days in Enbarr during the Pegasus Moon. Three weeks where it was just us and our dream.

I wouldn't trade those days for the entire continent, now.

But, there was a legitimate reason why I asked Caspar to finally emerge from his den in the Knights Hall. Lately, he's modified the space down there into a sort of home-gym. I rather like some of the modifications, even if the decor he's added from Gronder strikes me as a bit gauche. Their tastes are still very much in the Rococo period there.

Anyway, I remember something my teacher said just before the mock battle. Even he sometimes committed oversights.

For example, if he had merely told me that he was madly in love with me the night we met, I would've told him everything and shared this dream with him from the very beginning. Imagine what we could have done!

In any event, on the afternoon of that mock battle, he made a slight oversight.

And it was Caspar who corrected him, in a rather blunt and silly way.

Frankly, I cannot remember the exact details of the affair. It was a trifling thing. But I do remember my Byleth saying "you've got a good eye, Caspar" - or something like that. It was the first time I ever heard someone compliment the younger Bergliez. I had certainly never done so before. You should have seen Caspar's face when my teacher uttered those words! It was like the world had stopped turning on its axis.

And ever since, I noticed that my Byleth would sometimes consult Caspar on matters of an obtuse or difficult nature. To speak truthfully, I wish he would have consulted me with everything - but I suppose it's only right for a man to have other man-friends. And I certainly prefer him speaking his mind to Caspar instead of someone like Hubert, who knows altogether too much about me.

"Um, Edelgard?"

Oh, Caspar has arrived. He has a pained expression on his face.

"...I get that Uncle Randy's plan wasn't that great, but… why are you asking me here?"

The two of us make our way back into Rhea's throne room where Randolph's awful, terrible, battle plan is still stuck to the rolling blackboard.

"What would you do if you were in command, Caspar?"

He looks at me as if I've gone completely mad.

"Uhh, do you really want my take, Edelgard?"

"Yes, I do." I say without a moment's hesitation.

Caspar stares at the map for a long while. Ten minutes pass, I think. I'm content to give him ten hours if he needs it. Figure it out, Caspar - I know you can.

At last, he turns to me.

"Hey… Edelgard…?"

"Yes, Caspar?"

"I'm just thinkin' here, and feel free to tell me to shuddup, but do we even have to attack Claude? Can't we just wait for him to attack us?"

This, I have to admit, catches me by complete surprise. Caspar doesn't want to attack?

He then points to the Hrym Highway.

"I mean, if we just block this road that he gets supplies from, we could get Claude to attack us right? There's even a really good position right here, on that ridge."

His finger drags to a point that's nearly off the map due to its extreme northeasterly position.

"I kind of know that place. My dad used to take us hunting there when my brother and I were little. Our family has had a hunting lodge there for like, forever. Uncle Randy probably doesn't know about it because our pop got sick right after he remarried."

I stare at the ridgeline. That ridge actually is the border between the Gronder region and Hrym. From what I can see, it offers a great vantage point over the Hrym Highway, and the hastily built ferry crossing where Nader's force is encamped.

"So.. you're suggesting a sort of indirect siege, is that it?" I ask after assessing the new information offered.

"I mean yeah, I guess if you want to call it that. I'm just thinking we can do what the Professor did with Garegg Mach. Sit and wait, and then defeat each team separately. That Nader guy would have to try and attack to relieve the city like King Dimitri did. They get all their food from Gronder, after all. My brother's been pissed about losing so much money."

That does sound an awful lot like Caspar's pathetic wastrel of an older sibling - the current Count Bergliez.

I'll see to fixing that soon, too.

He then drags his finger back to Claude's encampment outside Hrym.

"Once he's done, we can just swing around and face Claude. He'll have to attack, right? Otherwise his troops can't eat. And uh… that Ignatz guy couldn't touch us because he'd be stuck behind the walls, too."

I find myself staring at Caspar for a long time.

Not in a "my teacher said something cute" way, but in a "wow that's a really good idea" way.

"Caspar, I'm putting you in command of the Black Eagle Strike Force, effective immediately."

He smirks. Why is he smirking?

"Are you suuuuree about that Edelgard?"

I put my hands on my hips. Why does he always insist on teasing me!

"Yes, Caspar, I'm sure."

His smirk then fades into a look of resolve. He points at the little map markers of the various commanders. In what little remains of my spare time, I've taken to drawing little miniature portraits of each of the Black Eagles and sticking them on the tacks. It's a hobby I find quite enjoyable.

"Hey Edelgard, is that one Bernadetta or Yuri?"

Tactful as always, Caspar.

"It's Yuri, Caspar! Bernadetta's hair isn't that long!"

He recoils.

"Well, I mean she's been growing it out!"

I turn my nose up at him.

"Anyway… can I switch out Yuri and Lysithea with Jeritza and Bernadetta? I think I'd want her Varley Archers. Yuri and Lysithea are cool and all, but we have Jeritza if I need to just one-shot an archery battalion. He can probably take a few shots too."

"Fine."

"Hey, Thanks Edelgard!"

I must say, I rather like Caspar's plan. It's perhaps a bit conservative compared to my Byleth's, but it's quite roundabout, like he always advised us to be. It's the type of plan I can send Caspar off with and not lose sleep over.

My teacher always relied on Caspar to be the "big bro" to protect Lindhardt, Bernadetta, and the other mages we've recruited along the way. And he was always so dedicated at doing so. He's come a long way from those early days at the academy.

I trust him, my teacher. Just like you wanted me to.

See, so come back now. I've grown a lot too, right?

My responsibilities are clear to me now. I can't let Randolph march the Black Eagle Strike Force and five thousand members of the support battalions into a massacre. Caspar's plan… I will put my full faith behind it.

He will protect them. I will protect them.

They won't die, my Byleth. I won't let them.

Because I know you won't let me. That when I turn the corner one of these days, your stupid blank face that I love so dearly will just look at me. Maybe you'll smile, like you did during the Pegasus Moon. And then I'll start crying even though I told you that I didn't want to cry anymore.

Come back and see me cry again, My Byleth.

Chapter Text

Both Edelgard and I were dripping sweat shortly after our arrival at the training grounds.

From the very moment we stepped into that sand pit, she charged me relentlessly, as if possessed with a desire to prove something to me anew. A fire burned behind her eyes with each and every assault.

Looking at the gravel below us, I took a quick account of the tools we destroyed in the opening stages of our practice duel:

Six training hafted axes.

Four training hand axes.

Three training swords.

One training halberd.

Between the two of us, we must have traded well over four hundred blows.

But she does not grow tired.

And neither do I.

Over the course of the afternoon, we had been attracting small crowds.

Our first spectator was Professor Jeritza.

Regarding Jeritza, I noticed that he was altogether less interested in watching Edelgard and I spar as much as he was interested in watching me. At first, I found this to be strange, given how his main parochial duty here was to assist students at the training grounds, but then it occured to me that I did in fact leapfrog over this fellow's promotion.

And according to Hubert in that clandestine chat I overheard on the twenty-third, directly interfered with a convoluted-sounding plan to finagle him as the teacher of the Black Eagles.

Tangentially, I'm not sure if there is a pay difference between teaching faculty and training faculty. Even if there isn't, I did take it that he'd naturally want to see if my ability matched the commission I was granted by the Archbishop.

I endeavored to show him that nepotism was not in play.

And he seemed satisfied. Perversely satisfied, even.

One particular moment sticks out in my mind: after a particularly sloppy strike on Edelgard's part with a hafted poleaxe, I shattered the training axe's wooden blade with a single thrust of my sword. This is not exactly a hard thing to do. It takes a fair bit of finesse, and naturally your opponent has to give you the opportunity to do so through error. Axes always possess natural pressure points in their designs. For the Srengian hafted axe, it's usually where the lug meets the shoulder.

Taking note of Edelgard's rather desperate maneuver, I simply drive the training sword directly into the pressure point. The center does not hold, the wood shatters into a hundred pieces, and Edelgard is left with a shocked expression.

I consider saying something profound at this moment, but then I realize that I'm not really a profound person.

I shrug instead.

Upon seeing this, Jeritza began to laugh. Slowly and haltingly, but he laughed nonetheless. It was an approach to laughing that I never really heard before, as if the humor he was finding in something was happening in a sort of fragmented, disjointed manner. When I finally brought my eyes up to him, he simply said:

"You... look capable of giving me a decent challenge... yet I'm unable to fight you for now... How maddening."

The polearm he was clutching in his ever-clenching-and-releasing hands indicated to me that he was certainly able to fight me.

Edelgard's expression when Jeritza said these words was one of frustration. Although, her look throughout the entirety of this practice session was also one of frustration - so it may very well be that Jeritza's comment didn't provoke her much at all. I'm just guessing. Nevertheless, she turned to him and said:

"Correct. You cannot, Professor Jeritza."

Jeritza bowed deeply.

"Of course... student... I cannot..."

That sounded awfully possessive. Of both me and Jeritza. She is a noble, though. There tends to be a fair bit of entitlement baked into that cake.

I brought my hand to my chin. Edelgard took note of this with wild eyes and a stiff stance.

"Do you have something to say too, my teacher?!" She snapped.

This is my just reward for thinking on her behalf, I suppose. It's as Sothis said, I can't find myself tiring of her abuse.

"Have you always trained with a hafted axe?" I ask.

Her eyes widened at this query. It struck me as a really bizarre question to get worked up about.

Jeritza also raised an eyebrow from behind that Enbarr Carnivale-Mask of his. My guess was that he was hiding a pretty nasty scar under there.

"Hmph. I don't see how that's very relevant at all!" As she said this, she used her sleeve to wipe her forehead in a rather unladylike manner.

"It's just an observation. You handle it like a scythe." I reply matter-of-factly.

"Indeed she does… I attempted to instruct her in such..." Jeritza confirmed.

Her eyes then shot to Jeritza.

I look to the other professor and raise an eyebrow. He returns it with a shaking head.

"Do not… interpret my words unduly… she does not learn… her instincts merely seek..."

"Jeritza!" Edelgard shouts.

"She… is rather like a moth to a flame. And… I am not a flame. I am… cold, like death."

I see no reason to protest Jeritza's self-assessment. I find myself agreeing with it. In fact, I get the impression of him as a rather sincere, direct and honest person. Much like Sylvain, he strikes me as an individual who does not wrap himself in the chains of etiquette to get what he wants. But unlike Claude, he doesn't need to veil himself in deceit, either. In effect, he's as naked to the wind as I am. Emotionally speaking, I mean.

Edelgard looks horrified, however.

"Professor Jeritza, I would ask you to leave us!"

He bows.

"I will… return to my office. Goodbye, moth…"

He then turns to me. His blue eyes bore through the mask with pure intensity.

"Goodbye, flame..."

Edelgard's cheeks turn bright red at his appellation of me.

"...Do not listen to him… I for one am glad that you were promoted, instead."

Now that I think of it, that's the first complement of that type I've received. All three of the house leaders were lobbying for me, but Edelgard is the first student who expressed genuine approval in my teaching ability.

"Thanks, Edelgard."

"For what, my teacher?"

"I'm glad that I'm your teacher."

Our eyes meet. It's another one of those situations where Edelgard is assessing me. Assessing my honesty. I wonder how many of these checks I'll have to clear before she finally accepts my words for what they are. Will she ever?

To me, it's just bizarre that she insists on doing this. As far as I'm concerned, it is as if I couldn't hide a thing from her even if I tried.

And she seems to read that in my eyes after a time, and blushes again.

I mean those words, Edelgard. So... let's see if you'll be honest with me in kind.

"You didn't answer my question, Edelgard." I say.

"...About what?"

"When did you start practicing with the axe?"

"...I'm not sure why you're so insistent on pursuing this topic..." She said at last, her eyes falling away from me.

"You grip short-axes like a sword, too."

Those purple orbs returned to me in an instant after saying those words.

"My father was once the finest swordsman in all the Empire, I'll have you know."

Was her father the Emperor or something? That would make logical sense, I suppose. My father had mentioned that roughly a decade ago, the Empire had vassalized Brigid and salted the fields of Dagda. Those two actions certainly seem like they'd be on the agenda of a sword-wielding soldier-king. But that's also just my extrapolation. I don't really "get" politics, and have no desire to. I'll leave that to Edelgard.

I just want to know the background of her training, not her family situation.

And she is being awfully reluctant in providing what should be a simple explanation.

"Your father didn't train you, though." I say as I start walking over to the weapons rack.

"...No, but he did give me a great deal of practical advice."

I turn and nod, then return to my inspection of the rack.

"But my teacher… just... how did you know that?" she asks.

Grabbing a training sword from the weapons rack, I toss it to her.

"You don't have any of Petra's mechanical issues."

She seemed to lose herself for a moment, presumably flashing back to our last excursion here with the rest of the Eagles in tow.

I step back into the pit.

"Humor me, Edelgard. Attack when ready."

Quite suddenly, she charges at me with renewed vigor, and brings the training sword over her head. As I bring my own to bear in order to meet it, my eyes glance down and take note of the deft footwork she flashes, particularly noticing how she shifts herself towards my right, all the while angling her arms in the opposite direction in order to extend a touch of length on her first blow.

I think now that I may have overestimated Petra. When the blow comes down, I need to summon my reserve of strength quite unexpectedly to keep her from simply overpowering my block. Realizing this, she withdraws the blow and then brings her arms downward, withdrawing her elbow in a similar motion to how I instructed her how to unhorse a rider with the throwing axe.

At this moment I realize she's actually synthesized this axe technique into her swordplay. Now I'm beyond impressed. The swing comes, and I am forced to dodge her blow by jumping backwards. Copying my motion from two days ago, Edelgard leaps forward to pursue me in a lunging strike. It's a quite a lunge too, particularly because she had only used her elbow as the locus of movement in that previous sweep, allowing herself to prepare physically for the follow-up strike.

Unfortunately for her, however, I'm able to dig my heels and wheel at the last moment, bringing my crossguard to bear and driving a stab of hers upward. This breaks her blade.

As we both watch the splinters fly, I quickly take notice that my own training sword is also beginning to come apart, only just realizing that the sheer force of Edelgard's strike caused the bolts that hold the guard to the blade to come loose. Shortly after the splinters of her blade strike the sand, I find myself holding only the hilt of my own.

In effect, we've disarmed each other.

We both stare at each other after realizing it. For quite a while, in fact. The grounds are so silent, you could only hear the sounds of our panting.

"I'm impressed." I offer, after a time.

"...Truly?" she asks, excitement creeping onto her face.

"Two years..." I say.

"What was that, my teacher?"

"It's been two years since someone disarmed me like that."

The three other training swords on the ground were ones that I either disposed of myself, or were broken by my own blows.

Strolling back to the weapons rack, my mind races. This girl was born for sword-play. So then… why the axe? I scan over the remaining weapons in the rack. There is a weapon that I want her to try, but I do not see its equivalent in wood. Merely iron.

I withdraw the axe.

"Edelgard."

She approaches.

"Try this." I command.

"A double-bladed axe...?" Edelgard asks in a voice that seems almost too quiet.

"The Labrys." I correct.

This particular axe is one of the most ancient weapons in Fodlan. On the Throat, when our company was retreating from the most brutal sandstorms - we often took refuge in caves. When holding a lantern to those cave walls, one can occasionally find paintings. Ancient paintings, drawn with the finger and not the brush. These paintings are generally quite consistent in style and theme– and almost exclusively depict humanity fighting dragons. Uniformly, the men wield swords and the women wield the labrys. On my first trip to the throat with my father, fourteen sandstorms ravaged us that summer. I spent a great deal of time staring at those cave paintings.

My father did, too.

"Is it acceptable for us to spar with iron?" I asked.

I should probably have reviewed the rules of the grounds before bringing students here. After asking this question, Edelgard wears the expression of a child who is about to get away with stealing a cookie from a jar.

"I believe so... As long as a professor is present." she replied.

Well Jeritza is here, he's just in his office.

And then it occurs to me that I am also a professor.

Content with that, I draw my iron sword.

"Attack me in the manner you did with the hafted axe."

She does so. That giant sweeping undercut of hers carries with it the weight of iron this time, making it just a touch slower. I deftly leap back. Her face betrays a surprised expression at my unwillingness to contest her strike.

"I've dodged. Now what can you do?" I ask.

Edelgard blinks, and her eyes shoot up to axehead.

And then the labrys starts to swing back downward, as if on a pendulum. Much like her attack with the sword just a few moments before.

It's a maneuver she can make fluidly with the weapon due to its double-blade.

And that maneuver… Well, she does it magnificently.

I bring up my blade to block it, and am floored with the force that it takes me to absorb her strike. As I look into Edelgard's eyes – I start to see that she's just as impressed with her newfound feel for the tool as I am.

So we spar like this for a time, clanging iron on iron for at least an hour.

Dimitri, Duedue, and Felix were the next to happen upon us.

From where I'm standing, it's not hard to notice from my periphery a sort of pained expression creeping over the Prince's face as Edelgard and I relentlessly trade blows with each other. It occurred to me that I've never had the chance to speak to him, or any of the Blue Lions since the classes were assigned. I wonder what became of that manifesto of his?

After Edelgard loses her footing in the midst of blocking one of my strikes, Felix takes a step into the pit, roughly equidistant from me and Edelgard, who had to take a breather while regaining her footing.

He stares at her with total disregard and waits impatiently for her eyes to rise from her feet to his face.

"You... I'll duel him next… It's almost pathetic, watching you flail."

Contempt drips from every syllable. Something itches in my chest as he says those words. I wonder why?

"...Excuse me?!"

"I would also appreciate the opportunity to challenge you, Professor." Dimitri says.

Duedue extends his arm in front of him, taking note of the very real and potentially fatal blades Edelgard and I are bringing to bear on one another.

I can appreciate his retainer's caution, although I suspect Dimitri's no slouch, either.

"Prince Dimitri…" the Duscurian says at last.

I nod at Duedue, who I suspect can more or less figure out what I'm about to say next. After clearing my throat, I turn to Felix and say with a raised index finger:

"Water, first."

At first I detect some earnest surprise in his expression, but then he seems to realize that I'm completely soaked with sweat.

"Fine... Wet your throat before I wet my blade."

Following the slightest of nods, I step out of the pit and towards the water fountain, an imposing stone pool that jets out a cool stream from its apex. I dunk my entire head under the running stream, which prompts a laugh from Edelgard.

This wouldn't be cause for a remark if she didn't say the words that follow:

"Dimitri… while my teacher cools off, shall we spar?"

"I cannot deny such a challenge, Edelgard."

Initially, I try to tune out the adolescent drama by pulling my hair up and letting the water flow into my ears. I then realize that the two of them are probably going to be dueling with actual iron weapons because of the rather dangerous precedent I set with Edelgard not long ago.

And Jeritza… well, I can hear him from here in his little nook rambling to himself.

So, I should probably be watching.

After taking a few quick gulps of the rather refreshing mountain spring water, I turn back to the field. Dimitri and Edelgard are standing across from one another at about twenty paces, dead silent. I approach the field, where Duedue stands in an officiating pose.

"I asked the Prince to not engage until you arrived."

I trade glances with Dimitri and Edelgard, and then look back to Duedue.

"I trust you will intervene before the situation grows out of hand, Professor."

"I will." I reply.

"Understand that if you fail to, I will not hesitate to save the Prince's life."

"I understand."

"You have my thanks, Professor."

There is a voice deep within my chest that says I shouldn't be letting them do this.

"Yes! You shouldn't be letting them do this!" Sothis shouts.

"Will you…?" I ask.

"Of course, you stupid child! I'm not going to just sit here and let them kill each other!"

"If they overstep, I'll take care of it."

"You better!"

Felix punches my arm.

"Stop playing for time, already. You're lucky I let the Boar cut the line."

I turn to him. He looks exceptionally annoyed, as if he didn't set the bad example by cutting in on my spar with Edelgard. He's a unique sort of asshole.

He's starting to grow on me, I think.

I turn back to Edelgard and Dimitri. With a lump in my throat, I say:

"Attack when ready."

Both take off towards each other as fast as their legs can carry them. But in those few moments before contact, something immediately doesn't sit right with me. In Edelgard, I can see the narrowed purple orbs of someone ready to kill. In Dimitri… there exists quite a bit of conflict behind those blue eyes of his. He goes into combat with them just a bit too wide.

Dimitri is looking at this fight as if he's been asked to kill a puppy.

Edelgard is looking at this like an opportunity to take a life she truly despises.

They must have a history of sorts.

Dimitri is the first to make contact. The iron lance in his hands moves with absolute precision. He's clearly well-practiced. But I notice that he's not aiming for Edelgard as much as he's aiming for the labrys itself. That is always a fatal mistake to make on the field. With a lance, one must always strike for the wielder, not the weapon.

And I suspect he well and truly knows better.

Edelgard must notice this, too – but she certainly doesn't betray it. She easily powers through Dimitri's strike with that uppercut motion of hers. It's as if all the strength leaves Dimitri at that moment. He hesitates to reposition the lance and drive it into Edelgard, even though her swing has left a clear and present opening. If he struck now, he'd force her – at minimum, to bring down the pole of the axe to block it – or at worst, leap out of the way in a dodge.

Instead, he does nothing.

He merely says a single syllable

"El–"

With that downward swing I taught her, Edelgard brings the back-edge of the labrys falling onto Dimitri's head. The strength of the impact cleaves Dimitri into mush above the neck.

It's not the first time I've seen someone's brains spilling everywhere. Even though they're Dimitri's – who I rather quite like.

Perhaps I'd feel different if it was Edelgard. I promised to protect her, though. So I guess someday I'll have to get brained myself in order to see that promise through.

I can keep rather calm and collected about these sorts of things, although my chest is screaming incoherently at me right now. My eyes turn over to Duedue. The look on his face is one of violent bloodlust with a bit of terror sprinkled in. I suspect in another second, he's going to cleave Edelgard to pieces in reply with the hand axe resting at his belt.

Felix and Edelgard though…

Yeah, this is their first time. The two of them look positively stunned. Particularly Edelgard – but I guess that's natural, right?

"I-I…" she manages as Duedue charges at her with the narrowed eyes of an assassin.

"Are you just going to continue to stand there, you fool?!"

"Whenever you're ready, Sothis."

I've rewound time twice now, and I can't manage to get a good angle on Edelgard without getting my own scalp torn to shreds. It's quite troublesome. And rather painful, as well – although I'm quite used to pain – and to her credit, the drive is powerful enough to send me back to the stone throne of Sothis rather quickly. I take this as a personal credit to my own teaching.

Unfortunately, my green-haired preteen partner in time travel is looking a bit exhausted.

She told me in rather short order that this was going to be my last try at saving Dimitri without killing myself, for better or for worse.

"Just kill the girl already! She's always lying to you, anyway."

That's a bit out-of-character for her, but I guess she's gotten a bit nauseated by watching Edelgard brain Dimitri over and over. It's rather strange. She claims to be a part of me, but I've never been that bothered by death before.

Still, I don't have to really think twice about her suggestion.

"That won't be happening."

I'm not going to kill someone that I want to protect.

And I seriously doubt that would really stop the blow from falling, anyway. Sothis is only able to get me about three seconds removed from the moment in which Edelgard brings the blade down on Dimtiri's head. My dagger wouldn't be sufficient force at range to knock her down, and the blade would already be matting Prince Blayddid's blonde mop before I could even kill her anyway.

All that said, something tells me that I may have found a decent approach vector after all. Maybe I was just a bit afraid to use it.

But... with only one shot left, I should probably take it.

"Turn back the hands of time."

The blade's definitely in my forehead, but not deeply. Blood's flowing, but not too much of it.

Neither I or Dimitri are dead because I did something a bit cheeky.

Right now, I'm holding Edelgard's hand on the labrys. I made a sort of dangerous, mortal bet just a moment ago.

The bet was that if I touched her hand, she'd recoil.

I get the impression that she's quite sensitive about her hands. Given how many gloves she's gone through in the past week, there must be a very specific reason why she guards them so - one even apart from her sleeping tic. In effect, I believe they're her weak spot, of sorts.

So I made a little wager with myself, or Sothis, I guess – that by touching her hand, I would be able to get her to jerk upwards at the last moment with the axe and prevent the completion of a motion that kept separating my and Dimitri's brains from our skull cavities.

Turns out, it worked.

"Just barely!" Sothis yells

So here I am, my left hand gently wrapped around her right hand as she's planted the tip of an axeblade into my forehead, creating a rather messy, rather painful, but ultimately demonstrative flesh wound and nothing else.

Those purple orbs simply stare at me when she realizes what she's done. Her lips quiver. Her eyebrows shift from a frown to a raised look of concern.

"M-my teacher…?!"

With my left hand still wrapped around hers, I gently guide it backwards, withdrawing the axe from my forehead with that indescribable sound that accompanies when withdrawing metal from flesh. This process is rather painful, and perhaps I betray a grimace. This prompts her to yell even louder.

"...No…My teacher…!"

Dimitri's the next to pick up on what just occurred. He has a good had about him. What a shame it would be if he were to lose it, right?

"Professor?!"

Generally speaking, I tend to glance from left to right. But because blood is pouring from my forehead into my left eye, I can't really make that sweep at the moment. My right eye darts in the direction of Duedue and Felix, who are both wearing totally stunned expressions. When my eye meets the Duscurian, the hand that was reaching for the handaxe withdraws.

Felix is just standing there in a stupor.

"Dimitri, Duedue, Felix. You should leave now." I say calmly.

"B-But P-Professor…!" He's as intransigent about directions as Edelgard, I guess.

I crane my neck towards the Prince.

"Dimitri, its just a flesh wound."

This gives him absolutely no solace.

"E-even so…! I will fetch Manuela!"

I shake my head, splattering blood all over the poor kid's face. Better mine than his, I suppose.

"Do not fetch Manuela." I reply.

The Prince seems more contemplative after Duedue places a hand on his shoulder.

"We shall leave. Seek treatment soon, Professor."

Even Felix more or less takes the hint. Spitting into the sand he meets my bloody gaze.

"Mock Battle. Find me. Don't die before that." He mutters before storming off.

My neck turns back to Edelgard, who is shaking. She can't take her eyes off the wound. It's a rather strange thing. She seemed altogether less worked up about killing Dimitri.

"You said you would discipline her, you know! Do something!" Sothis yells.

"Aren't you supposed to be exhausted?"

"I am!"

"My teacher… I didn't…"

No, I'm thinking you did intend to kill Dimitri, Edelgard.

The problem here is that I don't really know any proper ways to discipline someone for a casual attempt at murder. That's what I have to do as a teacher, right? I don't think fifteen percent off her final grade or a delay on her certification exams really makes much sense here.

I don't have much I can draw on from my own life, either. Really and truly, I wasn't a kid that needed much discipline. Looking back, there was scarce reason for me to consider disobeying my father. His expectations for me were quite loose anyway.

In fact, I can only recall one day where he ever chastised me at all, really.

It was the day I killed that myrmidon with my bare hands.

And, as I learned from my father just yesterday, the day I ignored the death of that Dagdan girl.

After the battle, for no apparent reason at the time, he slapped me clear across the face. Vividly, I can remember his look of disgust as I absent-mindedly twirled my newest trophy in silence. Then the approach. And then him wheeling his arm backwards. And finally, the welt that followed.

Was that the right thing to do in this situation?

To Edelgard?

I suppose it's impossible to know if you don't try it.

So, while her widened, terrified eyes pleaded into mine, I brought my left forearm back…

…And drove my palm right into her cheek with what I'd consider moderate force.

Perhaps this was too much force however, as it ended up sending her to the ground on her knees.

And at that moment, our final spectator arrived - Hubert. His expression was firm, but altogether placid for what I just did to the girl he sees himself as so responsible for. That said, I've also been told that I kill with a placid look, but I'm not entirely sure I detect that intent from Hubert at the moment. Perhaps he's just very good at seeming restrained, though.

"Lady Edelgard. Professor."

I nod. He trades glances with what I assume must be Edelgard, and then levels his gaze back to me.

"Perhaps it would be best for me to escort Lady Edelgard back to the dormitory. Wouldn't you agree, Professor?"

He asks this question, but it is clear that he will only accept one answer.

One that I don't feel particularly conflicted about giving him.

Nodding again, I send more blood falling to the sand. I'm feeling a bit light-headed at this point.

From just behind me, I can hear Edelgard start to rise to her feet, shifting the sand from under her. I can also hear the sound of her lifting the labrys from its place in the pit.

At this moment, it would be eminently justifiable for me to turn around and make sure that I wasn't about to receive that blade in my back. But I don't do that.

Because, in spite of all that's happened, I still find myself trusting her.

This prompts a bemused expression from Hubert, who must have been figuring that I'd turn round.

When I hear the labrys return to the weapons rack, I am rewarded for that trust, ever so slightly. The blood is now beginning to seep into my collar.

Edelgard passes by me with her head sunk and her shoulders slumped. I can't see her face because my right eye is currently saturated with blood.

When she reaches Hubert, I feel a sudden urge to speak.

"Edelgard."

Moistened purple orbs turn back to me. Her fight isn't over yet, it seems.

"I'm glad that I'm your teacher."

Chapter Text

To: Professor Eisner

This boxed lunch is compliments of Lady Edelgard. I expect you to eat it, preferably in a scenic and quiet location of your choice - at your leisure - today. A considerable amount of time was spent preparing this yesterday evening - entirely on your behalf. My Lady wished this information and the sender to remain anonymous, but I firmly believe that defeats the point of such a gesture.

The contents of this box are as follows:

-Gronder Skewers (x4 in wrapping) {Hors d'oeuvres}

-Garegg Mach Meat Pie (x2) {Entrée}

-Saghert and Cream (x2 in containers) {Dessert}

-Bergamot-Infused Black Tea (x2 Mugs, Beverage in Tumbler) {Digestif, Non-Alcoholic}

Take particular note regarding the numerical values of each item. Parenthetically, I've included the order in which you should eat these foods if in polite company. Expect polite company. With this in mind, I would strongly suggest against inviting anyone else to this meal.

It is also worth noting that these dishes are all Lady Edelgard's favorites. It would behoove you to mention your enjoyment of each dish upon seeing her next. As I cannot replicate your uniquely terse manner of speaking, I will refrain from making specific suggestions about how to express your thankfulness for her extraordinary endeavors.

Additionally, I would ask you to accept my genuine appreciation for your timely intervention at the training grounds. D ecisive action on your part prevented a diplomatic incident that would have severely impacted Lady Edelgard's ability to assume the Imperial Crown.  Rest assured that she has been reminded of her duty.

That said, do not interpret this gratitude as an endorsement of your barbaric method of reprimanding her - in point of fact, this will be the first and last time that I shall excuse it.

I would submit to you the following fact: that in spite of Lady Edelgard's overly familiar rapport with you, she is still the heir to the largest political and military entity on the continent. Lèse-majesté is a capital offense in Adrestia - and soon, I shall be the man who takes the mantle in enforcing punishments for that crime.

My preferred method will be to flay the guilty alive with hooked whips in the stocks of Enbarr. Consider this the next time before you dare to lay a hand on Lady Edelgard.

Finally, a warning: I am forever vigilant.

Cordially,

Hubert v. Vestra

Waking up to the sound of a door-knock, I dragged myself out of bed with a splitting headache. Awaiting me when I answered the door was not a person, but a picnic basket with the above letter attached.

Since I had already planned on running some errands and checking out the mock battle site before the match tomorrow, I figured that the area was as scenic as any for whatever polite company Hubert was hinting at. I had heard second hand through Sylvain and Lorenz that the mock battlefield on the outskirts also happened to be a spot where they brought townswomen to engage in dangerous liaisons. I supposed if the place offered enough natural beauty to attract the tastes of those two upstanding gentlemen, then it would certainly be suitable for an afternoon meal.

After removing the old stiches from my head wound and adding fresh ones that were stolen from Manuela's infirmary last night (one can access Manuela's infirmary by window-hopping from my father's office) I was able to make a start towards the viaduct at 10am. Thankfully, my sorry state is somewhat hidden by my bangs. It's clear enough that there's a swollen pink welt on my forehead, but the stitches themselves are not so visible to the naked eye.

At least I won't be scaring any children I encounter. Hopefully.

On my way out, I noticed two figures tailing behind me as soon as I nodded goodbye to Gatekeeper. Both were wearing robes and plague masks that hid most of their features. One was quite shorter than the other. Naturally, my immediate suspicion was that Seteth has agents of his tailing me.

My first stop was that infamous Dagdan bar. Now that I could see the establishment in daytime, I noticed that it had a name: "Celica's". I've heard that it was a rather popular girl's name in Dagda. I stepped in and caught a glance at my two stalkers. They would doubtlessly be reporting to the green-haired fellow that I was some sort of alcoholic or day-drinker now, but I suppose that rumors like that couldn't be avoided if I wanted to handle tomorrow properly.

Upon entering, I'm approached by the Dagdan waitress who complimented Edelgard for her flower. She must work exceptionally long shifts. Is that norm for the folk of Fodlan? It feels rather strange that I've never considered that question before. Perhaps I really was quite sheltered.

"Hello Mr. Professor, I am sorry to inform you that we do not open until two in the afternoon!"

I explain that I'm not trying to get my drink on but make reservations on the upstairs patio for a party of nine tomorrow evening instead.

"Oh! My misunderstanding, Mr. Professor. And what is the party's name?" she asks.

"The Black Eagles." I reply.

"Of course, Mr. Professor."

"I'd also like to open a tab."

She looks at me with a mildly impressed expression.

"And how much would you be putting on the tab, Mr. Professor?"

Reflexively, I must have frowned a bit in an attempt to consider the question, because I felt a sharp pain in my forehead after doing so. Without further consideration, I handed the waitress 5000Gs. Due to my inexperience with such matters, I had no idea if that's an appropriate tab to set, but given how wide her eyes go, I take it that it was at least moderately substantial.

That mildly impressed expression then morphed into an extremely impressed expression.

"We will make arrangements right away, Mr. Professor!"

Perhaps the faculty is indeed paid quite well here.

Or I'm just really bad with money.

On my way out, I'm handed another bottle of Arz Lubaniyya by the waitress. I try to decline, but she insists on placing it in the picnic basket. It just manages to fit inside.

The next errand needs to be completed at the monastery town's bookshop. As a general habit, I don't like to bother merchants with specific requests unless I can't find the item I'm looking for on the shelves. It just strikes me as rude to bother the owner of the establishment with a request that can just as easily be answered with one's own eyes.

Unfortunately, it's hard for me to find what I'm looking for in the small store, not least because the shelves are disorganized messes positively overflowing with ratty-covered, yellow-paged devotional texts. A pungent musk of mold hits me as I turn down each aisle. As browse the shelves, I also notice that the two plague doctors have entered the store. No doubt they're trying to see if I'm reading anything heretical.

Although why would a monastery bookshop sell anything heretical?

What precisely is heretical literature in Fodlan, anyway?

Too many questions follow these to recount in this entry.

Realizing that any further searching would be hindered by having to dodge them, I simply take my query to the merchant, who is eyeing me in a curious manner.

"Do you carry stationary?" I ask.

He nods brusquely and begins to pull out various notebooks and folders from under his counter. I suppose it must be rather natural to husband these sorts of things when students could theoretically steal them. But how much student theft goes on when the clientele is mostly the scions of Fodlan's noble houses? I can't imagine anyone in the Blue Lions stealing a notebook. This isn't even meant to be an endorsement of Felix's personality, either.

This question quickly becomes one that I sort away after I lay eyes on a very familiar looking leatherbound notebook. It is in fact the same style of journal given to me by my father just two weeks ago.

"How many of these do you have?" I ask.

"How many do you require?"

I consider his query carefully. I suppose I should've had a more concrete idea about this part of the trip in particular before crossing the viaduct, but perhaps my recently acquired head-wound was clouding my thinking a bit.

"Ten to start, but I'll need more."

"Quite the writer are we, Professor?"

"Most of them will be for my students."

Taking note of the picnic basket in my hands, he asks:

"Shall I arrange for these to be sent directly to the monastery?"

"You can do that?" I ask, surprised.

"Given your status as faculty, it can be arranged. I imagine we'll be doing business frequently."

I nod at his assessment.

"Do you have an office to send these to, Professor?"

I bring a hand to my chin.

How do I not have an office yet when my father does, I wonder? This will bother me incessantly until I get a proper response. At least give me a berth across from Jeritza in the training grounds, no? I suppose there are consequences for gaslighting the headmaster, though. Not having an office must be one of those.

"Can I have these sent to my dormitory instead?"

"A name, Professor?"

"Byleth Eisner."

An eyebrow of his is raised.

"Son of Jeralt, I take it?"

I nod.

"...You do look like that old flame of his."

Was he talking about my mother?

"I'll include a gift in the delivery. Your father was a great friend to me, once."

Offering his hand, we settle on 500Gs for the stationary. Given the amount of money I laid down at the bar, something tells me that either this fellow was giving me a significant discount, or I had vastly overpaid for a bar tab. Regardless, my next task awaits, and it is nearing noon. My pair of tails keep a slightly further distance away as I approach the mock battlefield. Perhaps they've seen enough.

Upon my arrival on the mock battlefield, I attempt to take some notes regarding terrain and potential deployment positions.

I've attached them to the journal below:

North-West: Field Infirmary.

I imagine this is where Professor Manuela will be conducting her defense from. The innermost position including the infirmary itself is already in a state of recent renovation and is surrounded by white flags, so I doubt much physical confrontation will happen within those boundaries, but the ground that surrounds the area strikes me as exceptionally defensible.

Bound by hedgerows to the south, and a sort of no-man's land of open terrain due East, one would have the luxury of conducting themselves at range in most engagements. Given Claude's preference for the bow, and the general abundance of ranged units that the Golden Deer possess (I may have snuck a look at her class files in the infirmary while waiting for the wound to sanitize) – I suspect Manuela will only make feints towards us while making no particular offensive maneuvers towards what I to assume to be Hannmeman's position in the–

North-East: Motte

If my assumption is right, Hanneman has a real winner here. He's got a clean fifty-plus yards of space between the forested ground due south from him and the front steps of his fortification. The same no-man's land that border's Manuela's position to the East occupies his West. It would be beyond foolish for either side to lead an attack across such a position.

In spite of Claude's superiority at range, leaving archers in such an exposed position would be feeding them right into the hungry jaws of the Blue Lions. Manuela included a note in her folder regarding Dimitri's passing of the cavalier early certification exam, allowing him to rent a horse for the engagement. I suspect she made note of that in order not to send her kids across that open field. That Prince on horseback would have a field day with the Deer's bowmen and mages.

Note: my colleagues haven't mentioned anything to me about certification exams yet. Explore further when opportune.

Dead-Center: Hillock

Just south of the no-man's land separating the positions of the Deer and Lions is a small rise in the land covered in underbrush. It's a rather commanding position because it offers clear firing lanes for ranged units on either the forward areas of the Infirmary or Motte. The nature of the terrain on the hill would also make cavalry maneuver difficult. From its crest, I suspect Bernadetta could probably just tag a shot at the first rise in the motte or the closest flag on the infirmary boundary.

It's also the most direct target of attack for anyone deploying in the-

South: Flatland, Flanked by Woods

Nothing much to say here, which is unfortunate given that this is likely the position the Black Eagles will be deploying from. A grassy knoll rests the center of the position, and while a fine setting for a picnic, there's nothing particularly advantageous about it tactically, especially given the fact that it is staring down the hillock, where a lone archer could wreak absolute havoc on us.

On the easterly side is a small patch of old-growth woods offers an approach to the Blue Lions' motte, but not a particularly good one. There's at least fifty, probably seventy-five yards of open ground before we can really get into a position to contest the motte properly. Plus, we'd be exposed by flanking fire if Hanneman sent Ashe up towards that dominating terrain feature. In short, no.

The western patch is no better, although it does offer moderate cover from the hedgerow, a likely firing position for the Deer. Curiously, there's a fair bit of open ground on the extreme western edge of the battlefield. That said, Claude's no fool, and I suspect he wouldn't just leave such an area undefended.

Unfortunately, I'm prevented from doing much more fieldwork by a familiar voice.

"Yo, Teach! How's the noggin'?"

I turn to face His Deceitfulness. Accompanying him is Hilda, naturally - along with two other surprise guests - Dimitri and Duedue.

"Fine, Claude." I reply noncommittally.

"You sure about that? Dimitri over here said that you got into a heavy petting session with the Princess and she may have... taken a bite."

After Claude drops his punch line, I detect bushes rustling in my periphery. Perhaps something to keep an eye on. There may be wildlife on the field come tomorrow.

My reply to Claude is a completely blank stare. Hilda seems to find my total lack of amusement amusing.

"Yeah, I agree, Professor! He's not as funny as he thinks he is."

"Ouch, Teach! You got me right here. Learn how to humor a guy!" he says feigning a head wound quite near the relative location of my stitches.

Dimitri is the next to approach. He places a hand on my shoulder.

"Professor, I can assure you that I said no such thing."

I nod.

"...And I must apologize for the second time in as many weeks. It seems my manners have taken leave of me. I failed to thank you for your intercession on my behalf yesterday."

"Don't worry about it, Dimtiri."

A profoundly pained expression overcomes him. I take note that he's also been without sleep, given the bags under his eyes.

"No, Professor. I hesitated against Edelgard, and that would've proved fatal had you not entered the fray. I cannot expect others to keep sacrificing themselves for..."

His eyes fall from mine.

"No one wants to fight an ally." I offer.

Dimitri shakes his head.

"After yesterday, Professor - I... I am not sure I can think of her in such a way ever again."

"...Probably for the best, friend!" Claude jumps back in to rub salt on what's clearly an open wound for him.

He turns back to me.

"Anyway, what are you doing here, Teach?"

"Surveying the field." I reply matter-of-factly.

"With a picnic basket?" he asks with a raised eyebrow.

I shrug.

"Hubert left it at my doorstep."

Claude and Hilda both looked at each other with quizzical expressions.

Duedue's attention has been on that nearby bush that has been rustling for most of the conversation.

Dimitri is totally lost in a storm cloud of adolescent angst.

Much to my surprise, Claude flipped open the top lid of the basket and peered inside.

"Did he put the Arz Lubaniyya in there too?"

"No, that was the Dagdan waitress."

My reply has appeared to have stumped the avatar of distrust. After a few moments, he leans in close to me.

"...You know what Sylvain and Lorenz try to use this place for, right?"

I nod.

"They've explained it in some detail to me in the showers."

"And... Hubert sent you with that, here?"

"He said I should expect polite company."

Hilda and Claude trade glances.

"Polite company, yah? I wonder who that could be...!" Hilda snickered.

Claude struck an oddly contemplative posture.

"Look - if he's into that, who are we to criticize?"

"Huh...?" Hilda seems surprised by the sudden shift in mood.

Claude turns to me.

"Look Teach, Adrestia has a harem. Leicester doesn't. That's not a judgement, just a fact. Everyone in this world is different. And that's a good thing."

Because I have no idea where he's trying to lead the conversation, I simply stare.

Hilda also stares.

"Just... be careful you don't get stolen off one day, alright? You can't keep that promise we made if they lock you in a stud-stable somewhere." he continues.

Hilda then immediately gets activated at this statement.

"Oooooh, what promise did you make, Claude?"

He messes up her hair with his hand.

"Don't worry about it."

"Claude, what the fuck?! That took me forever this morning!" she yelps.

"Anyway, we just dropped by to check in. Hildie and I here were gonna treat ya to lunch but it looks like Edel booked you first."

"Hubert, you mean?" I ask.

"Goddess Above, Teach, you're as thick as a brick." Claude chuckled.

He then turns to Dimitri and claps loudly beside his ear.

"Yo, Prince Party-Pooper, we should clear out."

This seems to rouse Dimitri from his melancholic delirium.

"Ah. Yes, Professor. Do be careful with Edelgard."

"Woah, Dimitri, you can't bring those type of precautions on the monastery grounds. Rhea's got opinions about that!"

Dimitri stares at Claude as if he's morphed into a wyvern.

"Claude... I dare say that I haven't the slightest idea about what you're implying."

The Deer Leader shrugs and then starts to leave. Dimitri follows at a snail's pace. Turning one last time to me, von Riegan says.

"Good luck, Teach. You'll need it."

Shortly after, I settle in for my lunch at the grassy knoll. Sitting in the cool, trimmed field facing the hillock, infirmary, and motte, I try my best to reason out a strategy.

Mauricius's words rattle in the back of my mind:

The longest route in distance is often the shortest route in time.

What if all the potential routes seem equidistant from the objective?

What is even the objective?

Perhaps I'll have to make a more snap judgement on Mauricius's advice tomorrow.

I peer around my periphery for the polite company that Hubert says that I should be expecting... but see no one. Unperturbed, I take out one of the Gronder skewers from the lunchbox and gently unfurl the paper that protects it. The meat appears to have been cooked well-done, with char-marks singed into the corners of the meat. The vegetables, consisting of baby corn and carrot, however, look as if they were more expertly handled. I peel one of the carrots off and take a bite. It's glazed with cane sugar. If Edelgard made these, I guess that's to be expected.

Nyan

A kitten has emerged from the bush in front of me. Small and black all over, he peers up at me with yellow eyes pained with hunger. That said, I do detect a bit of feral malice in his eyes as well. He must have been attracted by the smell of the food.

He was a creature who rather immediately reminded me of Hubert, if you had left Hubert tied up in a cave for a few days without food.

Was this little guy the polite company?

Sliding off a piece of meat from the skewer, I toss it a short distance towards him.

He pounces and eats it.

It occurs to me to repeat this with the next cut of meat on the stick after sampling the baby corn. The baby corn is also glazed in cane sugar.

With the third chunk, I'm able to get the kitten to eat out of my hand. Seemingly content, he settles into my lap.

Hearing the rustling of bushes from off to my side, I crane my neck.

"O-Oh, what a surprise to see you here, my teacher..."

Edelgard stands before me with cheeks beet red, eyes fallen away, and her academy uniform wet with sweat. She looks about as mangy as the kitten, really. Perhaps comparing it to Hubert was a bit unfair.

I invite her to sit down with me by poking the ground next to the picnic basket.

"D-did you have plans to eat with anyone else?"

I shake my head. Hubert implied there would be consequences if I did, after all.

She seems to regain her confidence after that confirmation.

"Well, I suppose I could join you..."

"I'd enjoy your company." I say at last.

This takes her by surprise.

"...Truly?"

I reach into the lunchbox and reach for the tumbler of tea. Sorry Hubert, but the digestif has been upgraded to an aperitif.

"There's bergamot tea, after all."

Her eyes light up at this statement.

"...I hope you don't mind that it's lukewarm..." She said, before catching herself and bringing a gloved hand to her mouth.

Did she accidentally just admit to making this? Why leave it for me anonymously, then?

Although, it seems like that slip was accidental.

I shrug as I pry off the lid and then open its drinking gate to allow for some airflow. A moment later, I drop into the top lid a handful of dry grass plucked from the ground next to me. Snapping my fingers, I light a fire spell on the kindling with and rest the tumbler on top. It's a little trick I learned on campaign from the Morfians.

"Give it a minute."

"That's quite ingenious, my teacher!"

I tap the ground again.

"Take a seat."

She complies this time, and then takes note of the kitten asleep in my lap.

"Oh, he's rather cute, don't you think?"

"He likes your cooking, too."

This prompts an unrestrained flood of red to her cheeks.

"W-well, it's not entirely my own. I received a fair bit of help from Bernadetta... she's actually quite studious when it comes to the culinary arts."

That tidbit of news was surprising to say the least.

"You got her out of the dorm?"

"Hubert... may have smoked her out."

I raise an eyebrow. She sighs.

"Bernadetta... well, she lives right under his dormitory, so Hubert... but I should say that I did not endorse that! I was working in the kitchen already."

The memory of an isolated event strikes me at this moment. Late last night, while I was en route to Manuela's infirmary last night to steal medical supplies, I noticed the head chef chasing a cloaked figure armed with an axe out of the students' communal kitchen.

"Was that you last night with the handaxe...?" I ask, bringing my hand to my chin.

She straightens up in terror.

"W-wherever did you hear such a rumor?"

At last I shake my head.

"Nevermind. The skewers were still good."

"They were? Do you truly think so?"

I nod.

"The glaze on the vegetables, in particular." I say thoughtfully.

Edelgard squirms in her seiza position on the grass.

"What about the meat...?"

I point to the sleeping cat.

"Ask him."

She's clearly unsatisfied with the response.

"Please try another, my teacher!"

With some hesitation, I reach into the basket and grab another wrapped skewer.

Gently peeling away the paper, I feel in a tinge in my chest as I notice how intently Edelgard is watching me. I can't let her down. I shove the first chunk of meat in the skewer in my mouth.

It tastes horrific. I can taste charring on the deepest part of the meat, giving it the taste and texture of charcoal.

Nevertheless, I swallow it. I'm used to embers. One accidentally eats them quite often when you're racing to the top of smoldering Almyran citadel walls.

Turning back to Edelgard, I try to offer a blank expression. Or at least what could be interpreted as a blank expression.

"Ugh... it was terrible, wasn't it?" she asks.

"It's edible." I offer.

Edelgard shakes her head.

"...I never had the chance to cook in Enbarr, so my skills are a bit... underdeveloped."

"You made the vegetables, right?"

"Yes, but there is no real expertise or skill in that. You simply put them in the pan, put the sugar on and wait until they brown."

"Still, they were good."

"I suppose I will have to accept my limit in such skills."

I shrug.

"Give the vegetable a try."

In a huff, Edelgard lifts the lid of the picnic basket, only to find the bottle of Almyran Liquor right at the top. Her purple orbs go alight.

"Wait, did Hubert put this in...?"

"The Dagdan waitress did."

She turns back to me and seems to realize.

"Oh, from when you entered the bar?"

I nod with a raised eyebrow. Was it actually her and Hubert following me all day?

"How did you know that?"

"I-I may have noticed you in town while I was... shopping! I went shopping today, yes."

"Did you find the book you wanted?" I ask with a raised eyebrow.

She more or less realizes that she's been discovered. Her purple eyes fall away from mine.

"...Well, Hubert did say you might notice. He's very good at hiding... I lack any training in stealth."

"It could've worked in a crowd." I offered.

"You think so as well? That was my opinion when we first started. But Garegg Mach seems very... empty, at times."

I nod and grant her that much. Still, a lingering question remains:

"Why bother?"

Edelgard fidgets in place, her brow furrowing a bit and her eyes falling from mine again.

"I just wanted this to go well, my teacher, because of yesterday. What happened on the training grounds... it was inexcusable of me."

The tea has come to a boil. I grab the two mugs from the basket and pour out the hot drink into the cups.

"That burden isn't yours to bear alone." I say.

She freezes as I say these words. Perhaps there's an expectation for me to explain further. I give it my best try:

"I put that iron labrys in your hands. The fault is mine as well."

The Adrestian is struck silent for a time.

"...Even so, I-"

Uninterested in further extrapolation along this route, I take her by the hand.

"-Edelgard."

Her eyes widen.

I place the mug inside her grasp. She stiffens in surprise.

"I-It's quite hot!"

This prompts me to shake my head.

"You have gloves on."

A smirk creeps across her lips.

"...As you're well aware, they're quite thin."

True enough.

Satisfied at getting the last word, she takes a sip of the tea, and lets out a contented sigh. We both relax for a time, my eyes drifting away from her and onto the battlefield. She must notice my attention shift away, because she prompts me a little while after with:

"Did you come here to strategize?"

I turn my gaze back to her. For the first time today, I notice that she looks quite haggard and tired. There are bags under her eyes, presumably from staying awake all night preparing this meal. I grab one of the meat pies and take it hand. After taking and swallowing a surprisingly tolerable bite, I say.

"I wanted to know what we'd be up against, yeah."

She nods.

"Well...? We deploy from this position, do we not?"

I consider her query for a time.

"The most direct point to contest would be the hillock, given that it's equidistant from all three deployment points and offers command of the terrain."

She looks out in the field and then turns back to me with a look of resolve.

"I agree, my teacher. If we could get Bernadetta and perhaps Hubert to the crest, they could dominate the battlefield."

I bring a hand to my chin after taking another bite of the meat pie.

"But... if we contest it, we get flanked. On either wing by both houses."

This seems to wash over her in stages, perhaps because she's envisioning her two rivals each getting the chance at beating her.

"That is certainly a possibility... but I wonder if that is simply a cost we must pay to win."

Those are awfully heavy words to hear at a picnic.

That said, since we are contemplating such heavy thoughts as strategy and the tolls of victory, I can't think of a much better time to ask the following question:

"Edelgard... are you familiar with Emperor Mauricius II?"

She looks at me as if I've left the land of the living before retaining her composure. I guess I did phrase that in a rather dumb way.

"Of course my teacher... he's an ancestor of mine. But why ask such a question?"

Not wanting to reveal next month's reading assignment so quickly, I opted to answer vaguely.

"Hanneman gave me a book about him."

Her eyes turn away from mine and out onto the field.

"And...?" she asks.

I decide to leave the question open-ended for now.

"What do you think about him?"

Without a moment's hesitation, she says.

"I think he was a fool."

She turns back to me. I must be wearing a blank stare at that moment, because she takes that as license to continue.

"...I'm familiar with the story about his wife, and how such a marriage was like a dream for him, a memory of a time he so deeply cherished. I'm... envious that he could live a life like that, personally. But he failed the Empire. He waited for his enemies to surround him before finally moving against them. By then, it was too late. And when he died, he left his daughter in a terrible position, alone and isolated. If my heart felt such a way, my teacher... I would not have sent such a foolish letter to Faerghus's King, pretending that all would be well. I would not let grief cause me to neglect my duty, and I would see through my resolve until the end..."

After saying those words, she trails off in thought, and I immediately suspect that she has not yet finished. She confirms this suspicion shortly after.

"I suppose what I mean to say is... had I been him... I would've declared war on Faerghus as soon as I lost that person I loved. There was no other option if he resolved to never remarry, and he was a fool for pretending that others could know his heart. I do not fault him for that dream he wished to protect, merely his unwillingness to achieve it by any means necessary."

As she completes that monologue, her eyes meet mine but do not seem to really look at me. They look behind me, towards the past - as if she is speaking not just to me but to someone else.

But the sentiment remains.

And it's clear enough to me.

"I understand."

She's not convinced.

"How could you possibly..."

I shrug.

"It did take an axe to the head to figure it out."

Her eyes widened as I said these words. I make a go at rescuing the moment:

"You're decisive. I get why you think Mauricius was doddering."

"My teacher, I..."

Her eyes take on that pleading expression from when she first realizing she had sunk that iron into my forehead instead of Dimitri's.

"It's only the second axe I've leapt in front of lately, anyway."

Her eyes widen again before realizing my meaning. I can sense her eyes flash back to Remire.

"...You were right to slap me, my teacher. I had meant to tell you that yesterday..."

I raise an eyebrow.

"Hubert disagrees."

Her expression goes blank for a moment, And then, the biggest smile I've ever seen beams across her face.

"Well, fuck Hubert."

Edelgard clears through the container of Saghert and Cream in four heaping spoonfuls. It takes me roughly eight.

"That was so much better than the dining hall version!" she exclaims at last.

The bags under her eyes still convince me she's quite tired, but perhaps she's on a second wind from the sheer amount of sugar and protein that we've consumed over the past hour.

"Bernadetta's recipe?" I asked.

"Yes! Her pastries are the best."

Edelgard laps of the rest of the fruit sauce with her spoon. I shake my head, thinking about the rather pitiful state of my other student. What is that recluse of a girl doing at a war college, I wonder?

After finishing, Edelgard looks up at me while still wearing a few crumbs around her lips. My chest starts aching again. This must provoke some sort of grimace, as Edelgard immediately takes note of it. Her brow shifts upward and those fiery purple eyes immediately bore into my mine with a look of concern.

"My teacher... does it hurt?"

She must be talking about my forehead.

"It's fine."

She's beyond unsatisfied with that reply.

"Let me see."

"No."

She does the pouty-face thing that dissatisfied women do. It doesn't move me because I can tell how practiced it is. She realizes this, and then cranes her neck to my right.

"...Is that Hubert?" she asks.

My eyes shift in an attempt to meet her butler, but I don't see him.

Instead, in my periphery, I see Edelgard's hand meet my forehead and lift up my front bangs. She notices the stiches and grimaces in turn.

"That was sly." I remark, perturbed.

"Why didn't you just have Manuela heal it with magic?" she asks.

"That would require me to see Manuela."

"...So...?"

I let the question sit in the air until I notice Edelgard fidgeting again. She's clearly not going to let this go.

"I don't enjoy her company." I reply at last.

"But you enjoy mine, right?" she asks with a smirk, exceptionally quick on the uptake.

"I did say that." I concede.

"Well, let me heal it!"

Before I can really protest, she's pressing her gloved hand against my head and doing the basic healing incantation. She's also doing this healing incantation in what I recall is some rather clever shorthand Lindhardt developed out of what must the inherent innovation of laziness.

I see the stiches fall before my eyes and feel the wound close with the assistance of channeled magical energy.

Edelgard leans back, and I can see her blush a bit when she meets my eyes.

"How was that, my teacher?"

Nonchalantly, I bring my right hand up to my forehead and feel around the perimeter of what was once the head-wound she inflicted. To her credit, she closed it up quite well.

"That was excellent. Did Lindhart show you that?"

"I just copied him, more or less. He has the Crest of Cethleann, so I can't really save anyone from a fatal wound like he can."

More of that crest mumbo-jumbo.

"Still, that must have taken practice."

Edelgard smirked a bit.

"I may have practiced on my face last night."

My eyebrow shot up.

"Did I leave a mark?" I ask.

"Yes, my teacher! That was a hard slap, and I was not expecting it."

"Sorry."

"Hmph. I wouldn't be opposed to you being gentler with me."

Before I can reply, a yawn overtakes her.

"You look exhausted." I reply.

"I... can't hide that well, I suppose." she concedes.

"Take a nap and then we can walk back." I command.

"...A nap?"

"There's no point walking back when you're that tired."

"I can certainly manage walking, my teacher."

"Did you want me to be gentler or not?"

She rolls her eyes. I unclasp the academy uniform's cape and begin folding it in my lap.

"It seems I did just say that... Will you nap with me, my teacher?" she asks through another yawn, perhaps too tired to realize any alternative implications there.

"I'm not the tired one." I reply.

"It would be strange for me to be the only one to sleep."

I shrug.

"Fine."

She smiles.

I put my cape beside her.

"Your pillow. I need this one back, though." I say with a raised eyebrow.

She blushes beet red again. Lying down on the cool grass, she nestles in on my cape in a side-sleeper's position, facing me.

"Thank you. I... will return your other cape tomorrow..."

I place the kitten still sleeping in my lap a comfortable distance between the two of us, and lay down on my side as well, with my elbow up and resting my head in my palm.

"You're a side sleeper too...?" she asks drowsily.

I nod.

"That's good to know..."

Is it?

A gloved hand of hers extends to pet the slumbering cat.

"He's still sleeping..." She comments matter-of-factly.

"They sleep for most of the day, I think." I reply.

Her face relaxes in a moment of childlike wonder.

"My teacher, wouldn't that be nice... to be..."

She doesn't finish her thought before the curtains in front of those purple orbs of hers fall forward. It's not long after that I fall asleep as well.

Chapter Text

Today is Ferdinand's birthday.

The messenger owl gifted me this information in an envelope this morning. It also gifted me another turd on the floor. After scrubbing it out, I make my way to the Knights Hall' where the students will be assembling before traveling to the mock battlefield.

Thinking that I would be arriving relatively early, I was surprised to see Edelgard already waiting.

As I approached, I noticed the bags under her eyes were gone. She must have retired at a decent hour, which comes as a small relief upon consideration. Occasionally, she will follow my instructions after all. That said, I should mention that I'm only guessing at that. Following our nap, we had left the field together at around six in the evening, but Edelgard insisted on parting ways at the front gate. According to her, she needed to consult the carpenter before he closed up shop.

Given the wooden labrys resting against her shoulder, I can immediately see what her consultation with the carpenter was for.

"It's finally time for the mock battle, my teacher."

I nod.

"It seems that this is my first real chance to measure your worth as an instructor. Are you ready?"

It's not hard to get the impression that she might be trying to psyche me up a bit. I guess that's natural, because it's a way for her to gauge what her own responsibilities will be today.

That said, she does realize that I spent the last five years professionally killing people, doesn't she? A playfight with wooden weapons isn't exactly a challenge.

"Leave it to me." I say at last.

A smirk makes its way around her lips.

"You're so confident even under such adverse circumstances? This will be interesting."

I grab the wooden labrys from her hands, taking her by surprise in doing so.

"Was this a custom order…?" I ask, examining the tool. Given the relatively short amount of time for fabrication, it's quite well-cut. It does seem logical that a place like Garegg Mach would attract expert craftsmen, though.

"Yes. I thought it was only right to make preparations. The rest of the Black Eagles should be ready for anything that comes their way, as well. I met with them last night, individually."

I nod, but catch myself with what a brusque one it is. Of course, as House Leader, she's well within her rights to talk to other students about the mock battle. But I wonder if that responsibility should have been mine? It strikes me that I haven't really considered what specifically I should even delegate to her regarding such matters. I can't be everywhere at once. And as much as I know she wants to pretend that she can… she can't be, either.

Edelgard seems as if she's tossing something around her mind. She finally says it:

"...Our difficult starting position today means there's no need to hold back, my teacher. Show us what you're capable of."

If I didn't hold back, there would be a dozen dead heirs and heiresses of Fodlan's great houses on the mock battlefield along with a dead professor or two. We may need to have a discussion about the utility of appropriate force someday.

It occurs to me that the previous thought of mine is a rather strange thing to think about when I was strangling the life out of a former comrade exactly ten days ago. Is this what being a teacher is really about? That maxim of do what I say, not what I do?

"Did you sleep?" I ask.

"I went to bed right after meeting with the Eagles, yes."

Fair enough.

"Today is Ferdinand's birthday." I say, quoting the owl's message verbatim.

"I… suppose it is, isn't it?" Edelgard seems less than thrilled to receive this information.

As I suspected from our initial class meeting on the twenty-fifth, the bad blood between those two is more or less mutual. I suspect that having them in the same vicinity on the mock battlefield might be an additional headache for me.

But, that's not exactly an issue.

I may have the germ of an idea.

Before it can germinate, however, I hear the clacking of Claude's boot–steps.

"Hey there! Is this the strategy meeting or just a student and her teacher stealing away for a tender moment?"

I trade glances with Edelgard. She can't be foolish enough to take that bait, can she? As she opens her mouth, she seems to recognize the admonishment in my eyes.

"Hmph. It's the strategy meeting, of course. Simply tell me your weaknesses, and you're welcome to stay. But… I wonder if there's enough time to cover them all?"

A bit verbose for my taste, but it's better than just yelling his name in gaslit frustration like she was a week ago. His Deceitfulness seems relatively impressed with her verbal riposte as well.

"That so? So what you're saying is that you can't win unless you know my weakness? Damn, Princess! Low self-esteem's not your speed. You really should believe in yourself more!"

Without missing a beat, Edelgard says:

"I spare no effort when pursuing victory. As a master of schemes, I should think you would understand."

Claude seems genuinely surprised that she's keeping up with the banter now. Frankly, so am I.

"You're one to talk about schemes after stealing Teach over here. I plan on fighting fair and square, same as always!"

Finally, Dimitri pokes his head into the game. Luckily, he still possesses a head to do so. He shakes it vigorously while wearing a bitter smile.

"Hearing the words fair and square from Claude can only be a bad omen."

His reply still strikes me as a touch too phlegmatic for a mock battle. Claude strikes an animated pose after Dimitri sticks that figurative knife in his back.

"Your Highnesses haven't known me for very long, but you already have me figured out, don't you?"

"Enough, Claude. I will fight with honor. And Professor… I will fight to win."

Edelgard straightens up when Dimitri addresses me directly. Taking a few animated, loud steps to remind me that she's present (I did not need this reminder), she attempts to stare down Dimitri with a possessive glare at a significant disadvantage in height (it does not work).

"Yes, and the same is true of us."

She turns to me.

"Right, my teacher?"

As much as I think the "teacher-ly" thing to do is to cool down these hot-heads, I find myself losing a bit of my own inhibition in the warm glow of their intensity.

"I don't intend to lose."

Edelgard's eyes go alight with passion at these words. Dimitri, in turn, seems to steel himself in resolve.

"If that is how you feel, then I will not hold back." he mutters.

Is that what I feel? Or just what I know?

Before I can really consider those words, Manuela and Hanneman arrive.

"Awwww, how precious. Looks like you and the students have become fast friends." the songstress says, particularly looking at myself and Edelgard.

Hanneman addresses the situation a bit more calmly:

"While I am pleased that you are taking the initiative to acquaint yourself with the students, I'm afraid it's about time for the faculty strategy meeting."

Claude throws up his hands.

"Ah, how time flies! In that case, see you on the field, Teach."

"Professor. Be careful out there." Dimitri says, placing a hand on my shoulder and then withdrawing it with haste after catching Edelgard's frown at the brotherly gesture.

"I'll gather the rest of the Black Eagles on the field." Edelgard says with a nod.

I follow my colleagues upstairs. Within an hour of setting the ground rules and demarcating the deployment zones, the Houses depart to the mock battleground.

Upon arriving at the mock battlefield, I realize that sitting dead-center in the Eagles' deployment zone is the picnic basket that Edelgard and I dined with the previous day. We must have forgotten to bring it back with us. Now that I think of it, Edelgard also seems to have forgotten to return my cloak. Again. Perhaps we're forgetful people, her and I.

For her part, the Adrestian has gathered her compatriots in a semi-circle, and appears to be in the midst of delivering some lecture to them. I think of joining them, but I first want to clear that obstruction – especially given how it's our fault for leaving it there. Stepping out into the knoll, I take stock of the other two Houses, which are in the midst of deploying. Because the Eagles are working from the worst ground, we are at least offered the luxury of the final deployment.

Hanneman's disposition of forces are easy enough to take stock of. He's clearly seconded quite a bit of the responsibility to Dimitri, who's currently riding around on his rental horse, dispatching orders to his comrades. But the deployment – well, it's something you just know after being on both sides of it so frequently.

It's Loog's "V" formation, deployed in traditional arrangement around the motte. The same one from that battle on the Talitean Plains that all armchair strategists and tacticians are so eager to offer their thoughts and minor innovations upon. When my father and I were taking citadels with Holst's band along the Throat, I often listened in silence as the nobles waxed philosophical on his "perfect defense". To me, it just sounded like an awful lot of bullshit.

In my experience, no plan really survives first contact with an enemy. You can make a plan, and have that be a guide – but expecting your enemy to fall into every cleverly-laid trap or conceit along the way is foolish. Battle is a dance of variables. A great deal of my own rather modest success in combat can just be attributed to a consciousness of those variables, I suspect.

Regardless, the deployment's easy enough to describe. From left to right, Ashe and Sylvain are deployed at the bottom of the "V" closest to the Eagle's own deployment area. It ends up being about twenty or so yards past the forest that separates the edge of ours and the edge of theirs. Little red and blue flags demarcate those edges, as I was informed by Hanneman.

Going North along the "V" are Duedue and Felix, respectively. Felix appears to be seething at Dimitri, even from this distance, as the fellow he calls the "Boar" hands him a note from Hanneman. The indigo-haired swordsman takes a few steps backward, and then points at his professor who is glowering at him in the fortlet. Words are exchanged, but I can't make them out. Given Felix, they are probably acerbic. Dimitri then rides towards the front steps of the fort, and takes up a rather imposing position, facing towards me. It's impossible to see past his bangs at this distance, but I have no doubt that those blue orbs behind them are analyzing me.

Further up the "V" are Mercedes and Ingrid, the former armed with a bow. Finally, covering the back step of the motte is Anette, who I suppose must be a mage. From what little I can see, she's sitting on those back steps immersed in what looks like a spellbook. She must be quite nervous, as even from this distance, she appears to be shaking. Hanneman, who occupies the central point in the motte, walks over to her and grabs the book from her. The decisive moment is near at hand, I suppose.

Glancing over at the Deer's deployment, there is a suspicious lack of His Deceitfulness and his pink-haired sidekick. A fleet of owls are relaying orders to the various Deer that I can make out. The first person that comes into my vision is Lysithea – far in the back at the edge of the no-man's land in the far North, guarding what appears to be a very lonely flank against the Lions. From the rumors I've heard about her magic skills, she could probably drop Silence on the entire House if they approached at such a range. Their paucity of bows and mages would probably make that situation all the more dire for them.

As my gaze grows closer to the backwards-"L"-shaped hedgerow, I can make out some figures that are probably meant to be hidden. A flash of red hair is poking out of a bush – no doubt Leonie. I think I can make out a lance as well. Just in front of her is a mammoth of a man flexing his gigantic muscles. He makes no attempt to conceal himself in spite of a hand with nails painted black tugging at his shirt.

Just in front of them, seemingly guarding the "point" of the position, is a fellow I deeply respect, Sir Lorenz, and a green-haired archer wearing reading glasses who covers his left. Just to their left is a massive wooden barricade thrown up in front of the part of the hedgerow facing the woods that make up the extreme western edge of the Eagles' deployment zone. At the edge of this hedgerow is that open spit of land occupying the far West of the battlefield.

The only person guarding that rather significant stretch of open land happens to be Marianne.

Marianne looks like she'd rather be anywhere else than the mock battlefield.

That germ of an idea that I mentioned? It's sprouting now.

I look down at the picnic basket, and flip open the lid. Inside is that untouched battle of Arz Lubaniyya gifted by the Dagdan waitress, and the kitten that Edelgard had been fawning over. The kitten is fast asleep. It wakes up and complains bitterly as I eject it from its previous home. Looking up at me with narrowed eyes, I point northwestward. It hisses at me, but compiles, making its way toward its intended target.

Perhaps firing the first shot like this is a bit untoward, but the Eagles don't have a lot of options here. Plus, Claude literally erected a barricade overnight. No one told me that was allowed. So, I suppose it's only fair to be crafty myself. The alternative, after all, is the "Edelgard Approach" of getting clapped on the hillock by the eagerly awaiting palms of the Lion and Deer.

I lift the bottle of Arz Lubaniyya in my hand.

"Attempting to fortify your courage, Professor?" a familiar voice inquires from behind me.

I turn to meet Hubert. He alone has approached me, as Edelgard still seems to be in the midst of her pep talk with the remainder of the Eagles. It's curious that he's not hanging onto his Lady's every word.

I shake my head.

A mildly disturbing smirk creeps across his face.

"I suspect that you have just done something rather intriguing. A pity that you won't inform me."

Out of all of the males in the Black Eagles, Hubert is probably the smartest of the bunch. He also clearly believes that to be the case. So, naturally, I float a question that's been washing around in my mind for a while:

"Hubert, how familiar are you with Emperor Mauricius?"

This question seems to completely disarm him for a moment, but he catches himself quite quickly.

"The first or the second, Professor?"

"The second."

He considers his next words.

"Vaguely. That Emperor's writings have passed on to posterity, which is far more than I can say for any military or political achievements of his."

"You haven't read his Tacticon?"

"I have not. It is usually considered a text of trifling importance in the Imperial canon. From what I do know, the book concerns itself with military logistics, counter-marching and signaling."

"For the most part, yes."

Hubert now seems particularly intrigued.

"So… you've read it yourself, I take it?"

"Recently."

"How surprising. Although I suppose it is the sort of text that one ought to read at a military college."

I tease out my next query carefully.

"...But the text isn't read by most males your age, correct?"

Hubert raises an eyebrow.

"There is only a year's difference between us, Professor."

One learns something new every day. Given our similarity in height, I should've guessed as much. I bring a hand to my hair.

"I'm trying to gauge our opponents' familiarity with the text. Particularly Claude and Dimitri."

Hubert takes extreme offense at this reply.

"Your… comparison of me to those halfwits has been duly noted."

I scratch my hair.

"No offense intended."

He shakes his head with his bitter smirk returning.

"Need I remind you what an imprecise measuring stick you're using?"

This prompts a shrug.

"You fight with the weapons you've got, Hubert." I reply.

His chin rises when I say these words. He exhales a laugh. It's the most measured, controlled laugh I've ever heard. As if its beginning and end was a predetermination of his before even finding the quip humorous.

"...I can't disagree with that. You're likely correct in extrapolating that if I haven't come across the work as the heir of an Imperial House, it'd be unlikely to expect a scion of the Alliance or Faerghus to have encountered the manuscript. Particularly due to that Emperor's popular reputation as a failure."

I nod.

"...Are you familiar with his nickname, Professor?"

I shake my head.

"The Fool of Hope. I wonder what the Ashen Demon would find so interesting about a fellow with that title…?"

My guess is that he meant such a question rhetorically. I choose to respond to it as such – with silence. We both stew in it for a time.

"I suspect you're planning on stealing some gambit of his, aren't you?" Hubert asks at last.

"I've already begun to." I reply matter-of-factly.

This sets Hubert's yellow eye alight.

"Ha…! Well, Professor. If that's the case, I shall not obstruct you further. Lady Edelgard should be wrapping up her pre-battle oration shortly. Shall we join her?"

Hubert's sudden camaraderie is a bit strange, but not entirely unwelcome. Without protest, I walk with him.

I arrive at the semi-circle with a confident gait. I wonder if I'm courting fate with such surety?

"I've just finished with my address, my teacher. Would you care to share the final plan of attack with us?" Edelgard inquires.

Petra, Ferdinand, and Caspar all look at me with fire in their eyes. Bernadetta, Lindhardt, and Dorothea give me the impression that they'd rather be back in bed.

Edelgard and Hubert flank me on each shoulder. They look at me with quiet expectation.

I nod and clear my throat. I bring a finger to the hillock

"The obvious route of attack for us is the hillock."

Everyone's eyes fall on that terrain feature.

"But if we contest that position, we will be flanked by both opposing houses."

"Don't forget about the net traps too, Professor!" Caspar shouted.

"Caspar, don't interrupt!" Edelgard commanded, extremely annoyed.

Both my eyebrows raise. I crane my neck and squint at the underbrush. After a moment of searching, I realize that Caspar is indeed correct. There are several net traps hidden in the rough ground.

"You've got a good eye, Caspar."

Caspar lets out a genuine belly laugh.

"Haha, yeah! Guess I surpassed our Professor already, huh?"

I nod at his jab.

"All the more reason why we won't be contesting it, then." I say.

This shocks Edelgard, who immediately pivots to me with her lavender orbs alight.

"What is the plan, then, my teacher?"

My eyes fall on her directly. I suspect my plan will need to pass muster with her in order to properly convince the rest of the Black Eagles.

"The indirect approach. Convince our enemies that we want the hillock, then strike the weak flank of the Golden Deer with our main force."

A smirk contorted enough to terrify children creeps across Hubert's lip.

"A feint, Professor?" He asks.

"Correct." I reply.

Ferdinand is the next to step forward, and rather surprisingly preempts the argument I was expecting from Edelgard.

"Professor, I must protest against the idea of dividing our forces. The Black Eagle house is stronger together, not apart!"

Edelgard in particular seems extremely surprised at his insubordination. Perhaps moreso than she would be normally, as I expect she actually agrees with his estimate.

Then her eyes narrow, perhaps realizing he's given her zero consideration as house leader.

"Ferdinand… if there are any objections with my teacher's plan, you must–"

"-Today's your birthday, Ferdinand." I say to the ginger gentleman.

Ferdinand seems appreciative of this acknowledgment.

"Ah, quite right you are, Professor! I did not expect you to be so knowledgeable about your students this soon!"

"Happy birthday. If we win today, we will celebrate our victory and your birthday at Celica's. Lend me your strength until then."

Most of the class is taken by surprise, sans Ferdinand. Instead, he begins to get downright emotional. He bows and says:

"Professor… I am… overcome by your thoughtfulness! Please excuse my interruption."

Petra is next to chime in. Her critique, while pre-empting me again, is worthwhile.

"If we are to be indirecting the enemy Professor, where might we be doing the striking…?"

I bring their attention with my thumb to the far Western edge of the battlefield. In the open ground, Marianne, all alone on Claude's left wing, happens to be rocking a kitten to sleep in her arms.

"We'll be meeting Marianne."

"Ooooh she looks so angelic... is that your…friend, Professor?" Dorothea chimes in. "Or your–"

"D-Dorothea…!" Edelgard seems to melt whenever she teases either of us like this. I clear my throat.

"The Deer have offered their entire force to trap us on the hill. We must refuse it, defeat them in detail, and then attack the Lions on even terms."

Sensing competition with the Deer's Leader brewing, and perhaps a way to avoid getting mocked by him later, I suddenly have Edelgard fully behind the plan.

"We'll cut through." she says.

I nod. I bring the Eagles closer and map out our attack plan on a blank page in the back of my diary. Most of the Eagles nod sagely when I've finished laying it out.

That's a good start, I suppose. No one's intentionally disobeying at the moment.

Looking out at the field, I notice that my father has ridden out into the center. Today, he's officiating the match. Looking at me, he waves a green flag.

Time to deploy. Turning back to the Eagles, I say:

"Let the lesson begin."

"Today, I shall claim that hill. Why, you ask? Because my name is Ferdinand von Aegir!"

With Ferdinand's hammed-up statement and charge, the mock battle begins. He is "leader" of the diversionary force – and runs straight for his Deer counterpart Lorenz, who seems to buckle slightly under his resolve.

"...Well then, I suppose the duty of drawing in the enemy shall fall to me!" he shouts as he parries the first thrust from Ferdinand.

"Lorenz, I'll back you up!" The bespectacled archer Ignatz shouts from some distance.

Hubert is the next to start chewing the scenery.

"Hmph. You've made a mess of the Professor's plan already. I suppose I have no choice but to support you!" he yells from some distance behind.

He fires off a silence spell to stop Ignatz in his tracks.

Naturally, my plan is going perfectly.

My other two drama students, Caspar and Dorothea, are making demonstrations towards Ashe, who seems to be ready to piss himself over the prospect of getting double-teamed. This draws in Sylvain. Again, ideal. The longer we can misdirect both houses about our actual attack line, the better.

I've given them all explicit orders to withdraw back into that thicket and then work their way back towards me should either enemy strike in force. Their goal is not to directly contest the hillock – their goal is to merely draw the Deer and Lion's attention squarely to them.

Meanwhile, I've taken the rest of my class on a run through the Western woods. Petra, Bernadetta, Edelgard, and Lindhardt accompany me on our attempt to turn's Claude's flank. Because we have the healer in the current group, along with myself, Petra, and Edelgard – I think it would be safe to refer to this group as my "strike team".

As we emerge towards the end of the woodland, we pause to inspect the situation directly in front of us. Claude and Hilda are quite visible now from this distance. And to their credit, both are incredibly well-entrenched. A barricade separates a trench line that they've settled themselves into. They're also spectating the duel between Lorenz and Ferdinand, unaware of our presence.

Their position is essentially unassailable from the front. Between the wooden barricade and the trench dug into the hedgerow, there's maybe ten or twelve Faerghan feet of no man's land where Hilda can toss an axe towards us, or Claude can nock a shot towards an attacker.

It's a good thing I have no desire to contest that position, either.

Reaching into the pouch at my side, I pull out the bottle of Almyran liquor.

"Might your throat be of thirst, Professor?" No, Petra.

"Now is not the time, my teacher!" Yes it is, Edelgard.

"Professor, I wanna go home!" No, Bernadetta.

"I've heard that alcohol is a sleep aid…" Yes it is, Lindhardt.

I bite the cork off the bottle and spit it towards my side.

"Does anyone have a neckerchief?" I ask without turning. I receive no reply.

Turning around, I look at my students. All of them look confused.

Edelgard is staring at me wide-eyed. She's got the red-cape of the House-Leaders attached to her collar, so no. Bernadetta has a hoodie on under hers. Lindhardt has his collar fully buttoned. Petra very clearly has a neckerchief on, but looks totally stumped. It occurs to me that she may not be familiar with the vocabulary word.

In retrospect, it's good that I brought her along on my side of the attack.

"Petra, ceangal amhach?"

"Ah, yes Professor!" She quickly tears it off and hands it to me.

I stuff it about halfway in the bottle.

I then snap my fingers and cast a fire spell on the neckerchief. Again, stunned faces. It occurs to me that as their teacher, it is incumbent on me to explain what I'm about to do.

Unfortunately, this time-sensitive explosive in my hand is going to have to make it a short explanation.

"First lesson: Improvise."

I then turn and hurl the bottle at the barricade. It catches one of the wooden stakes, shatters and explodes, causing most of the wooden structure to immediately go up in flames. From behind the combusting obstacle, I hear Hilda shout in surprise

"C-Claude, F-fire!"

If Holst ever figured out I hurled that invention of his at his sister, I suspect he'd laugh. And then try to wring my neck.

"On it! Hildie, get Leonie and Raphael over here, now!"

Claude seems rather quick on the rebound, and summons his ambush team to play firehouse with him.

I turn back to my students.

"Second lesson: Distract."

Bernadetta successfully poached Leonie and Raphael as they dumped buckets of water fetched from the fountain in Manuela's infirmary. Shortly after sending Claude's barricade up in flames, I was able to rouse my shocked students back into participation. I opted to post Bernadetta at the forest's edge in order to keep Claude and Hilda engaged while the rest of my band made its way across the open field.

Luckily the smoke emanating from the smoldering barricade helped us move across the open field without getting noticed.

As we crossed, I could see the dud arrows whizzing around. Bernadetta and Claude were having quite the match.

Bernie, dare I say, was even starting to get into it.

"Go away…!" I heard her yell after sniping Leonie in particular.

For Edelgard, Petra, Lindhardt, and I – our next obstacle lay right in front of us.

Marianne, although armed with a wooden sword, had it attached to her belt and sheathed. Her hands were full attempting to calm the cat who was extremely activated over the burning barricade nearby. She was so deeply involved in this endeavor that she apparently didn't even hear our approach.

"Marianne, is he alright?" I ask.

She jumps at her name.

"P-professor…?"

Edelgard and Petra both bear their arms. I beckon them to lower their weapons.

Approaching with my sword sheathed, I point at the kitten. The kitten seems to more or less acknowledge my presence.

"I met him on the field yesterday." I explain.

"O-Oh, I see…" she replies, clearly looking at her opponents behind me.

"He likes skewers. He ate Edelgard's yesterday."

Edelgard blushed a bit at this revelation, perhaps reminiscing about the picnic.

Marianne cracked a smile in kind. Her eyes return to me, a bit more relaxed now. It's as if we were just sharing a conversation at the dorms with Lysithea again.

"H-He's very fidgety, professor. I think he might still be hungry…" she says at last.

"Do you want to go back to the infirmary and feed him?" I inquire.

"Y-yes, Professor. I'd rather not fight…"

"Ah! A woman after my own heart." Lindhardt mused from the background.

I close the distance between us. Much to my surprise, Marianne doesn't step away, and merely looks up at me with her tired eyes.

I pet the kitten, and those eyes relax just a bit.

"It was a bad plan. You shouldn't be out here alone." I say at last.

"I asked to be Professor…" she replies, sadness dripping off each word.

I tap her side with the pommel of my sword. She giggles involuntarily.

"A-ah, I-I'm–"

"-Ticklish?"

"...Yes…"

"I'll tell Manuela you gave us a good fight."

Her eyes light up ever so slightly.

"...Thank you, Professor."

I pivot back to Petra, Edelgard and Lindhardt.

"Third Lesson: Isolate."

Turning Claude's flank was the easy part. Actually fighting Claude, Hilda, Lysithea and Manuela would undoubtedly prove much harder. Standing just behind the edge of the hedgerow with my three remaining members of the strike team, I peered back towards our deployment zone. Bernadetta was taking cover behind a tree now, having exhausted all her ammunition. I wasn't about to try and get her into a melee at this stage.

In the eastern woods, I could definitely make out the figures of Dorothea and Hubert. Their more physical escorts were nowhere to be seen. I had asked Hubert to rein them in if necessary, given his relative parity in age to me and generally malevolent demeanor. Do I also have a generally malevolent demeanor, I wonder? Perhaps such a thing doesn't work with Ferdinand and Caspar though, given their attitudes and station.

Still they held the woods, which was enough. Their elimination would be troublesome at this stage, as they needed to keep the Lions engaged in at least a limited manner.

I extend my head around the hedgerow to check on Claude's position.

I nearly catch a wooden handaxe to the head while doing so. Thankfully, I'm able to focus in on Hilda's freshly serviced black nails and effectively gauge my own dodging distance based on a quick equation of finger scale that my father taught me ages ago.

I'm able to return my head to our side of the hedgerow just as the wooden projectile whizzes by my head.

Edelgard seems flabbergasted at this.

"M-my teacher, how precisely did you dodge that…?"

I suppose it was my responsibility to explain this in more detail.

"Hilda's manicure. It's quite stunning, so I gauged the distance based on the scale of her hands just before she threw it..."

Edelgard frowned incredibly deeply at this reply.

"That description implies that you were gawking..."

I shrug.

"She takes care of herself."

Now the Adrestian starts to boil under the collar. She leans forward, putting her weight on the pole of her wooden labrys.

"Oh, she does and I don't? Is that what you're attempting to say, my teacher…?"

I shake my head. I wasn't aware this was some sort of competition about who looked best on the battlefield. Instead, I turn to Lindhardt, who appears to be nodding off while standing up.

"Lindhardt, prepare to cast a shielding spell."

"It won't block Edelgard's attitude, Professor..."

She turns to him with a look of unrestrained aggression.

"That's not what it's for, Linhardt." I reply.

He seems to take this in slowly.

"Ugh, fine."

Putting a hand to my chin, I say:

"I'm going round the corner. Claude and Hilda know I'm there, but not the rest of you all. I'll attract their attention, Petra and Edelgard, focus on neutralizing Hilda. I believe Lysithea may engage us as well, their mage – so stay alert. Leave Claude to me and Lindhardt."

All three regain their composure and nod. Well, I guess Petra never lost her composure. It looks like most of the discussion went completely past her, in fact.

Before turning, I say:

"Fourth lesson: Reconnoiter."

"Ummm, that was, like, totally unfair, Professor!" Hilda accuses me of this while standing on the tips of her toes and driving her full bosom into my breastplate with appreciable force.

She is currently talking about the improvised explosive device from before, which apparently gave her quite a fright. We've just tagged Hilda and Claude out, as it happens. The plan that I suggested behind the hedgerow happened to go off without a hitch. Such plans would usually devolve into disorganized messes with Holst and my father at the helm on the Throat, so that must mean that Claude and Hilda are so unpredictable that they're predictable.

That said, this plan also worked out particularly well given the fact that Claude had expended his ammunition at roughly the same time Bernadetta did. Unlike Bernadetta, he did bring extra arrows, but those were lost in the great barricade fire of ten minutes ago.

As far as Hilda's query is considered, all I can offer is a shrug.

"...And like, you watched my hands? What's that supposed to mean? Does that mean you like them...?"

The younger Goneril seems to seek confirmation of this by folding her freshly manicured fingers into her palms and shoving them into her face. I try to bring my glance sideways, and it falls upon Edelgard and His Deceitfulness. The latter seems deeply bemused. The former is silently seething, glaring at me with furious purple orbs.

"We were totally outmatched, Teach. Who would've figured that me introducing you to Arz Lubaniyya would come back to bite me like that?" Claude says with a bitter smirk.

Then, he shakes his head.

"...Still, I hate losing. I'm hoping the Prince over there really stomps you guys down hard."

Aren't there still two members of his house that are still technically in combat? Maneuvering around Hilda's animated stance, I'm able to bring a hand to my hair.

"The bottle trick was actually one I learned on the Throat. We called it the Goneril Cocktail." I informed Claude.

At the mention of Holst, Hilda got even more activated.

"...No way Professor, my brother really taught you that?!"

She's totally in my face now.

From my periphery, I can see His Deceitfulness elbow Edelgard on the shoulder.

"Awfully voyeuristic, aren't we Princess?" He asks her.

The Adrestian folds like a wet paper bag.

"W-we must move on quickly, my teacher!" She yells, way too loudly given the relatively short distance between us. While experiencing this sort of reaction has become second-nature to me, it upsets Hilda, who also seems to have similar issues with not being the center of attention at any given moment.

She turns and faces down the heir to an Empire.

"Hey, Princess, there's no need to yell." Hilda reprimands.

Thank you, Hilda.

I've sent Petra to escort Lindhardt over to the burning barricade. Taking a page from Mauricius, I've opted for smoke signals as our primary means of communication with the diversionary team. In our planning session, I noted that we would cast smoke from a fire in the direction of their position once Claude was overcome. I never specifically said that smoke would be emanating from the remains of the Deer's premier defensive emplacement, but what's done is done.

With Lindhardt's ability to cast a wind spell, getting the smoke over should be a breeze.

Meanwhile, Edelgard and I make our way across the open field to the Infirmary. The only Deer that remain as combatants appear to be Manuela and Lysithea, although both myself and Edelgard did just observe Lysithea abandon her post on the Deer's flank with the Lions. She appears to have wandered into the infirmary.

I wonder if she's hurt? She did mention having a delicate constitution that night we shoveled cake into our faces.

We arrive at the border of white flags.

I turn to Edelgard.

"I'll take point. If I'm ambushed, I trust you to lead them to victory."

Her face melts into something bordering on sentimental at this moment. She shakes her head.

"I'll be by your side, my teacher. I will not let that come to pass."

I turn and draw my sword. I'm about to pass the white flag boundary when I suddenly feel myself freeze.

A silence spell. And a powerful one at that.

I've been subjected to a great deal of magecraft attacks on the Throat, given the Almyran's familiarity with dark magic. The men in our company used to particularly fear the mages who rode wyverns, as they invariably tended to herald the arrival of the elite corps of the Royal Army.

In short, I've been struck by silence spells before.

But few have had such complete control over my person as this one.

This must be the final trap that the Deer have laid.

"Huh? Puh-fe-uh?"

Emerging from the large infirmary tent is Lysithea. Her cheeks are completely swollen. It only takes me a moment to guess what they're swollen with, given how she's holding a box of bon-bons in her hands.

She strolls over and takes a long moment to eye down myself and Edelgard, who from my periphery is about ready to charge at her with the labrys.

She finally swallows and says:

"Professor Manuela said that there are to be no weapons allowed in the infirmary, Professor. Everyone inside the white flags has already surrendered or been eliminated. So I had to silence you."

I stare at her. Although my extremities are frozen, I quickly realize that my face is not.

"You've already surrendered, Lysithea?" I ask.

I suppose if she has, Manuela has as well.

"I don't have any time to waste fighting you. Especially if Claude and the other Deer have already been beaten. I asked if I could get some white magic tutoring instead from Professor Manuela. It seemed like a better use of my talents than this pointless mock battle."

I'm actually impressed with that perspective.

"You seem determined." I offer.

Lysithea's pink orbs light up at this comment.

"Do you really think so?"

I can sense my neck muscles start to gain their elasticity again, so I offer an overly firm nod. Most silence spells decline in effectiveness in time until they're rendered useless.

"I do. Even when you were struggling to carry those baskets that night, you wanted to push yourself further." I note

"Ah, yes! And that was such an enjoyable evening, Professor! When I told all of the other Deer, they were quite jealous. You said I was mature, remember?"

From the corner of my eye, I take note of Edelgard leering at me. I really don't know what's so wrong about being cordial to someone like Lysithea. Given what she has told me about her condition, she strikes me as a person who has struggled for everything she has. Those people deserve respect. More generally, I find them much more tolerable than spoiled nobles.

Lysithea is also a noble, though. Maybe my ability to analogize has been impacted by the spell. I push the thought to the back of my mind.

"I did. I could sense your drive." I reply.

Lysithea seems full of resolve now.

"Hmph… Obviously! Even in this field, there's so much I have to achieve, Professor. To me, it's pointless to fight a battle that's already lost. So… I learned how to cast a heal spell just now. To me, that's more important than playing out Claude's defeat. I'd rather prepare for the next battle and try to win that with the new skills that I've learned."

I noticed Edelgard shake her head in my periphery.

"That's an interesting perspective you have there."

Lysithea seems to finally take notice of my student.

"Huh, you're Princess Edelgard, right?"

Edelgard nods.

"Yes, and you must be Lysithea von Ordelia."

I get the feeling the two are assessing each other quite intensely. That's no small relief, given how I'm usually the one being assessed intensely in the presence of either of the two white-haired maidens in question.

"I'm really quite jealous of you." Lysithea says bluntly. "Your Professor is very understanding."

This takes Edelgard aback, but not as much as what the scion of House Ordelia does next. I notice Lysithea approach and pull out a bon-bon.

"Professor, do you want one?"

I raise an eyebrow.

"Oh, are you still silenced? I can feed it to you!"

This prompts me to part my lips a bit in surprise. Lysithea takes this as the go-ahead to stand on her tip-toes and push a bon-bon through with her long, delicate fingers. Since I have nothing else to do until I recover the use of my extremities, I don't really protest.

As I bite down on it, I'm nearly overwhelmed by the sudden flow of caramel from the center of the bon-bon.

"Aren't they good?" She asks with a self-satisfied smile.

Because my mouth is currently full, I simply nod. It's a very stiff nod, still.

This prompts an unrestrained laugh from the girl. She then turns to Edelgard, who has since gone beet red.

"He likes sweets!" It seems as if Lysithea is describing me as some sort of pet.

This information incenses the Adrestian.

"I am well aware! My teacher likes Saghert and Cream, especially. It also happens to be my favorite."

Lysithea then pivots her head to me with widened eyes revealing the entirety of her large pink irises.

"Yuck! Do you really, Professor?! I don't like the fruit in Saghert and Cream. It is far too tart!"

"You simply don't have a mature enough taste to appreciate such complex and refined flavors." Edelgard prodded.

As the two argue about my preferences, I'm able to finally shake myself free of the silence spell.

Finally, I'm able to turn my body fully.

As I do so, I notice Hubert, Dorothea, Caspar, Bernadetta, Lindhardt, and Petra all standing in an irregular semi-circle around the white flags of the infirmary.

Hubert steps forward.

"If you're quite done, Professor – the rest of us would like to finish our match against the Lions."

Realizing a short time later that the rendezvous at the infirmary is short one certain birthday-boy, I inquire about his whereabouts. Caspar leads me to the edge of the Deer's deployment zone in order to get a view of the hillock. After a moment of squinting, I realize that Ferdinand is caught in a net-trap in one of the trees, unconscious.

This must be Claude's last laugh, I suppose.

"How did that happen?" I ask accusatively.

Contesting the hillock was not part of the plan.

"Heya, Professor – it wasn't me! When we saw the signal, Ferd said he was gonna secure the hill for us."

I shake my head. Perhaps I was a bit too hasty in expecting complete compliance from Ferdinand at this stage.

"Is he eliminated?" I ask.

"Effectively, if not technically." Hubert, who also accompanied us, informed me.

"Did the Blue Lions take any losses?" I ask.

Hubert shakes his head.

"I cannot say with surety. My focus at that stage was squarely on the two Deer. Caspar…?"

The two deer must mean Lorenz and the bespectacled archer. I witnessed the two arguing with each other in the infirmary shortly after encountering Lysithea.

"We almost got their sniper, Professor – but then the red-haired lancer showed up. If I threw up these bad boys any slower, I'd be out too!"

He indicates the boxing gloves on his hands that are technically designated "training gauntlets".

The red-haired lancer must be Sylvain. I gave them specific instructions to fall back if reinforcements arrived, so that must mean Dorothea and Caspar followed them. Again, surprising. I had expected Caspar to go running off into the fray, but it was Ferdinand instead.

I beckon the two to return with me to the infirmary. They both follow.

Bernadetta approaches me in a huff, after running around the perimeter of the white flags. She hunches over slightly, as if she failed at something and was asking for preemptive forgiveness. I wonder why?

"Waaahhh…. Professor… Ignatz said he'd only sell the rest of his arrows for 800Gs."

Edelgard, at my side, frowns.

"That is an exorbitant price for ten training arrows." She informs me.

I shrug. Reaching into my breastplate, I pull out the envelope with my salary inside. I hand her a 1000G note. Bernadetta looks at me with a curious expression.

"...Professor, are you sure?"

I nod.

"Financial literacy is not your strong suit, I take it." Hubert notes.

"The tolls of victory." I say with a shrug.

Edelgard blushes realizing that I'm paraphrasing her gloomy proposition from yesterday.

"Professor, remind me to have you treat me to dinner in town sometime!" Dorothea chuckles.

"We're all going tonight, if we win." I reply.

"Professor, would you mind if I just went home early instead?" Lindhardt inquired.

I turn to him.

"I would."

He shakes his head bitterly.

"Well, perhaps I could attend just this once..."

As Bernadetta returns, partially re-armed, I gather the flock. We all look out into the open field. Dimitri and Hanneman appear quite busy redeploying the Loogian "V" in order to face our coming strike across the North-Central No Man's Land.

"What's the strat, Professor?" Caspar asks, chomping at the bit.

I eye each of the Eagles. They're all looking at me with such anticipation. I wonder if they'll like what I have to say next?

"Don't bunch up. Stay focused on the targets I assign you. That's what it will boil down to."

They all look at me in surprise now.

"Dimitri will strike first anyway, I think."

I point out to the reformed "V".

"He's taking point now with Duedue and Felix on his flanks. Mercedes and Ashe are right behind him to provide cover. You don't deploy like that unless you're attacking."

"How do you know that, my teacher?" Edelgard asked inquisitively.

I turn to her.

"Do you recall his initial deployment?" I ask.

"Oh… that girl archer… She was positioned on the left wing, right?" she replies.

I nod. It's not a typically rare use of the Loogian V. I know that Holst would always deploy his ranged units on the flanks, particularly because they increased the relative distance between those forces and wyvern riders. Wyverns tend to be able to go over and above the tip of the "V" quite easily, so positioning archers at the "tip of the spear" as it were ends up being a rather costly gambit with little for the defender to gain.

Any extension in range is quickly neutralized by how quickly the archers tend to be chewed up. Almyran tacticians usually go straight for the archers, for good reason. Since Loog's own strategic thinking assigns lancers to screen them, those troops end up falling quickly as well.

"Correct. Loog prioritizes flanking fire in the defense. In the attack, they support the breakthrough."

"Ah, yes. I believe I've encountered that stratagem myself in my own studies. I believe the intent is to throw the maximum weight behind the first strike, and collapse the enemy's center." Hubert says, nodding.

I bring a hand to my chin.

"Edelgard, Dimitri will probably charge for you first."

She nods.

"Hubert, back up Edelgard. Use a silence spell on his horse."

Hubert raises an eyebrow, and then comes to the realization.

"I see… you wish me to toss him from his mount?"

I nod.

"A fine gambit, Professor. Once he is thrown, Lady Edelgard can move in for the kill."

There won't be any killing today, I hope. I turn to the Brigidian princess.

"Petra, distract the giant from Duscur. Your speed should allow you to keep him at bay."

"I am understanding, Professor!"

"Bernadetta, you're on counter-battery. Fire a few shots at the archers to draw their attention, then take cover–."

I point to a rocky outcropping near the extreme northern edge of the battleground.

"-Over there."

Bernadetta, taking solace in the thickness of the rock, nods.

"As long as we can get this over with..."

Next is Caspar.

"Caspar – Ingrid. Don't lunge until you see the whites of her eyes."

"Aww, hell yeah! I've never grappled a girl before!"

Upon hearing this utterance, Dorothea yanks his ear.

"You sound way too excited about that, Caspar!"

"Dorothea, cover Caspar and keep an eye out for Anette. I think she's their healer."

Dorothea turns back to me and curtseys.

"I'm your gal, Professor."

My final orders go to Lindhart.

"Lin, I need you to get another shield ready. Stay back and support Bernadetta if she takes fire."

"Staying back sounds like a fine plan to me, Professor." Lindhard says contentedly.

I nod. Edelgard then walks up right beside me.

"You're taking on the right alone?" she says with a look of concern.

I nod.

"Leave Felix and Sylvain to me."

Her eyes fall from mine, but do not protest. They return a moment later.

"I'll support you once I've dealt with Prince Dimitri, my teacher."

She seems to have found her resolve again.

Turning my eyes back to No Man's land, I notice that the Crown Prince of Faerghus has already begun his advance. The Lions move in perfect, nearly synchronous order towards my disorganized gaggle. Hanneman stares us down from his motte, cool in command.

An expression of awe washes over me at that moment. Dimitri, to his credit, leads that house like a King, trotting on his mount at the head of his platoon. That King also rides with a great deal of anger in his eyes, squarely directed towards the my House Leader. I can see past those bangs of his now. I now wish I hadn't.

The Deer's defense collapsed as soon as we overcame Claude's schemes with a few gambits of our own. This wasn't meant to knock Claude, either. It was simply a question of initiative. Attackers always held that precious advantage, even in the face of a prepared defense. Now the Eagles are on the back foot, about to attempt to withstand a charge from melee fighters on open ground. There is no doubt in my mind: the Lions will prove a much harder opponent.

People might get hurt.

Edelgard might get hurt.

I turn back to her.

"Be mindful."

Felix, Sylvain and I have our eyes squarely fixed on Dimitri and Edelgard trading blows.

Well, Felix has one eye focused, at least. The other is swelling shut from a shiner.

That shiner was inflicted by his ally Sylvain.

As expected, Dimitri galloped right past me on his way to challenge my House Leader. Also as expected, Felix immediately charged at me, thrusting his rapier in rapid succession at every weak point I feigned at offering. On the attack, the heir to House Fraldarius was relentless. But each blow was delivered with such intensity, I could clearly see that he was exhausting himself in each successive attempt to pierce through my blocks. For myself, the affair was almost relaxing. Felix's wild red eyes telegraphed where each following thrust would land well before he even withdrew his rapier for the next strike.

Felix is a warrior who fights without deception.

I know nothing but kinship with that part of him, but I also did not have the habit of letting enemies read my attack plans from a simple look at my face. We were not the same. Something was fueling that, and I suspected that it was anger.

Anger is not something that I feel. This is perhaps a cocksure statement because I don't know what I feel at all, really, but it has never struck me as anger, at least.

I found myself wanting Felix as a student. But I had made the wrong choice. I had chosen the Eagles, not the Lions.

I wonder what the cost of this choice would mean, in the end?

As I contemplated that question, Sylvain finished his long run around the hillock and attempted to drive his lance directly at the back of my head.

Unfortunately for Sylvain, he was a bit too cocky in doing so.

He prefaced his strike towards the back of my cranium with an apology:

"Sorry Professor, this one might hurt!"

Instead, he should have been apologizing to Felix. Tilting my head to the left, his lance ended up right in Felix's eye. Sidestepping the two, I didn't need to wait for very long before Felix dropped his rapier and tackled Sylvain to the ground, beating him senselessly and cursing him out. I tapped the two with the pommel of my training sword shortly thereafter. Experiencing second-hand frustration at his idiocy, I let Felix get a few more blows into Sylvain's jaw before finally separating the two.

"The Boar has been grunting more lately..." Felix quipped. "At least since you got in his way that day."

My eyes aren't back on Dimitri and Edelgard's duel just yet. I'm noticing that Caspar finally grappled his first girl and knocked Ingrid out. Good for him. Petra and Dorothea seem a bit overwhelmed with Duedue, however. Luckily Caspar seems to get the message and immediately runs to assist them.

Bernadetta's also sniped Ashe, prompting Mercedes and Anette to withdraw to the Motte. That's three "kills" for her today. She might be our most valuable player this afternoon.

In practical effect, Dimitri's attack is beginning to fizzle out. I suspect Hanneman's accepted as such and is preparing for a last stand around the Motte. Him and Duedue have yet to receive the massage, though.

Hubert, for his part, is occupied with holding the Silence spell on Dimtiri's mount. It is struggling at the moment to reunite with its owner.

"Woah." Sylvain uttered.

My eyes fell back to Edelgard and Dimitri. It's a good thing too, because I was able to catch the tail end of Edelgard making a very dumb mistake.

As Dimitri withdrew his lance in preparation for an upward thrust, my student took the opportunity to swing her labrys in a rather wild motion which left her quite exposed to a followup strike. Edelgard rather luckily noticed this in the midst of the swing, I suspect, as she immediately endeavored to bring the labrys's pole to bear in an effort to absorb the next strike from Dimitri.

But Dimitri's not holding back this time.

Instead, he yells:

"El…no… Edelgard… this time, I won't be deterred!"

His lance hits the pressure point on her pole, shattering it. But the reserve of his strength does not stop there. Instead, he lifts off his feet just a touch more, and propels his blow straight towards her throat.

"Sothis."

The elfen-eared girl appears by my side when summoned, yawning tiredly in between me and the Lion's own ginger lancer. I turn back to the field.

The tip of Dimitri's spear hovers, frozen in time, right before Edelgard's windpipe.

"You may not want to stand that close to Sylvain." I offer.

She notices immediately that she's standing next to the academy's premier poon-hound and immediately jogs forward, turning to me.

"Phooey. I was napping. What is it?"

I direct her attention with a crane of my neck.

"Again?!" she exclaims.

I shrug.

"Fine. Although I cannot keep those two from killing each other forever!"

I shake my head. Something deep in the recesses of mind tells me that she's right.

"How far back can we go?"

Sothis gets me far back enough to absorb Dimitri's thrust with the fuller of my training blade. Driving his energy up and to the left, the spear harmlessly strikes at the air instead of Edelgard's neck. Dimitri notices this, and instead of resisting the kinetic energy, slides along with it to get a bead on my side. I wheel towards him with a blank expression.

"Professor… I would ask you politely… to step aside."

Why, so he can kill a disarmed Edelgard? No.

"Get a hold of yourself." I command.

His chest starts heaving in what must be a silent laughter. It's indescribable. If I could be terrified, it might even terrify me.

"…Is that what you think, Professor? Then I'll endeavor to show you that I'm always in control!"

Just before he makes his next charge, I catch Hubert in my periphery. He looks rather exhausted from his endeavor to keep the horse in place. I now see that it's been knocked on its side by a wind spell from Lindhardt.

"...Professor… allow me to assist you in squashing this bug for Lady Edelgard…"

He raises his arm in a silence spell before freezing in place.

"...Ugh… must be… Hanneman…" he mutters.

I glance over to my colleague. In the process, I notice he's silenced everyone in both classes, including the two students that flank him and his House Leader.

He must be quite the studied mage in order to do such a thing.

"My apologies Professor, but it seems like this mock battle is devolving into something dishonorable. Such a place is not a ground to settle grudges, but merely to assess skills."

I nod in affirmation. He then meets eyes with his house leader.

"If you wish to challenge Professor Eisner, I will facilitate that. And only that."

He then turns to me.

"Professor Eisner, if Dimitri loses, I would ask you to accept the capitulation of the Lions. This match has gone on for long enough. And my legs are too old to escape if you try burning down the motte with another one of those bottle-bombs of yours."

If I could smirk, I'd smirk.

"I accept."

Looking back to his student, he says:

"Wait for Professor Eisner's permission, Prince Blayddid."

Dimitri acknowledges with a scowl. What's gotten into him lately? That scowl falls back to me.

"Professor."

I stare at him blankly.

"Attack when ready."

Betrayed by his bangs, Dimitri is slumped in defeat. Although I suppose it wasn't a fair fight to begin with. I detected that he had lost a step from the silence spell his own Professor had inflicted upon him.

A simple dodge and strike at a blind spot obscured by his own hair was enough to resolve the mock battle in favor of the Black Eagles.

My father rode out on his steed with the banner of the Black Eagles in hand to declare what was already known. A short while after, we're able to detach Ferdinand from his nap in the net trap and rouse him awake with a bucket of water from the infirmary fountain.

"Ah, Professor.. It seems that my noble spirit got the better of me…" says the birthday-boy.

I nod.

Edelgard is the next to approach me. Buzzed from the victory, her face is as relaxed as yesterday afternoon, just before she fell asleep.

"We fought well, my teacher... Though our triumph should come as no surprise."

I could help but bring a hand to my chin. I suppose it's not surprising because Edelgard had no idea just how close she came to death today. Again.

"You think so?" I ask.

My question does nothing to dampen her resolve.

"Yes, it was. Further proof that you're well qualified to guide the Black Eagles."

Petra is the next one to step forward. Again, she punches my breastplate.

"That was impressing, Professor! I mean...impressive. We gained a victory because of your great leadership."

Dorothea slides in next to her.

"We certainly did. We all tried our best, of course, but we couldn't have won without you."

Ferdinand sits up in his infirmary cot, seemingly back to normal.

"I was curious what it would look like if you did not hold back. And you did not disappoint!"

Hubert shakes his head.

"Hmph. Regardless of the Professor's ingenuity today, I daresay we owe our victory to Lady Edelgard. Without her, the Lions charge would have broken us."

I don't even bother looking at him. I get why he's trying to do it. She is the House Leader, after all. And their leader in the future. What will become of them when they leave me, I wonder?

It's best not to think of it, I suppose.

Lindhardt cuts in after a yawn.

"How so? For that battle, she was only a soldier following our professor's command. Sure, she was an incredibly powerful soldier…"

Caspar puts a gauntleted hand on Lin's shoulder that nearly sends the sleepy sage to the ground.

"Don't worry about it too much, Linhardt. All that matters is that we won!"

Bernadetta tugs my arm.

"I'm all done with being on the battlefield, OK? I'd rather stay back than pursue victory out there."

"You sniped nearly half of the Golden Deer by yourself." I reply.

This prompted a laugh from the rest of the Eagles. Edelgard then joined me at my side to address her classmates.

"You are all as ridiculous as always. We only managed to win because we worked together."

They all go deathly silent. She trades glances with me.

"...Was it something I said?"

I shrug. A look of consternation grows on her face.

"Is it so odd, me talking about togetherness? If so, that perception must change. In fact, I'm canceling the festivities so we can discuss this topic further."

"That won't be happening." I reply.

She straightens up and turns back to me. Her purple orbs start pleading for approval again.

"I-I'm kidding, my teacher!"

Turning back to her classmates, she says:

"Come on, everyone! We've earned this celebration. On to Celica's!"

Chapter Text

"T-There are way too many people in here, Professor! I'll just head back to my dorm…"

Those were the words that began the night of the thirtieth of Great Tree Moon, one that carried me and my Black Eagles ceaselessly to the dawn of the first of Harpstring Moon.

Those words also prompted a question.

Should I have brought Bernadetta to a bar?

I suppose it's too late to really assess the pros and cons of such a decision now that the two of us – along with the rest of the class – have already taken our first step into Celica's. Bernie did come along voluntarily, though – so I mean, there was at least some degree of curiosity in play, right?

Looking out into the establishment's first floor, I immediately take note that the place actually isn't even as packed as it was on the twenty-third. There's maybe about a dozen Knights and various other Garegg Mach employees spread out along barstools all enjoying light fare and drinking beer from frosted mugs. It's not even all that loud as the ones I visited with my father on the Throat.

The bar serves clientele who work at a monastery, after all.

It is also a weeknight.

I turn back to Bernadetta. Edelgard has already put an encouraging hand on her shoulder. I wonder if this is Edelgard starting to grow into a leader? Or – perhaps she already was, and this was her growing into the leader I wanted her to be. Did I want her to be like this? For the first time in my life, I am overwhelmed with questions like these. But most pressing:

Should I wait for my student to say something?

I look at the Eagles' House Leader – the girl who calls me her teacher- and find myself wondering what my eyes say to her when my mouth doesn't move.

Taking whatever cue I offer seamlessly, she says:

"We're going to the second floor, Bernadetta. It's reserved just for us."

My archer seems to shake herself out of her funk ever so slightly. Looking up at me, she says:

"O-oh, well… I guess that's better…"

Dorothea is the next to approach Bernadetta.

"They have authentic Peach Sorbet here, Bernie! The peaches come straight from Dagda, I think… They keep them on ice downstairs."

That's new information for me. Although my last trip here with Claude, Edelgard and Hilda was strictly for drinks, I suppose.

"R-really? I love Sorbet!" Bernadetta exclaims.

Are the Eaglettes getting supportive with one another now?

They seemed more than argumentative just five days ago. Little islands of their own, bouncing off one another in the sargasso sea of that dark classroom. Bernadetta in particular looked like she was ready to hide under a rock. I still think she'd generally prefer doing so, but maybe less so tonight. Perhaps this is a first step towards progress. Towards camaraderie.

A natural question follows: did I have something to do with that, or is this just the first step of their natural growth? Too many questions follow that one in particular to write down. I simply nod after feeling a warm sensation in my chest. Perhaps this is what it means to be a teacher.

So far, no one's told what it all means, so this is probably my best chance at figuring it out.

It then occurs to me that I'm assisting my wards engage in underage drinking according to the laws of most secular states in Fodlan. I shake my head.

It doesn't matter.

A victory is a victory.

On top of it, it's Ferdinand's birthday.

I look towards my Red Lancer. He's busy scrutinizing the specials on a blackboard menu along with Caspar. I suppose everyone's hungry. Bar food is an excellent salve for any bruises endured in a hard fight. Amusingly, Ferdinand has probably earned the most of those while fighting the least.

Hubert seems to be busy scoping out the bar's various libations. Twenty is the drinking age in Adrestia, so I suspect he's probably already sampled some already. Lindhardt, surprisingly, has joined him in this quest of discovery. He did mention his interest in booze as a sleeping aid. I should probably warn him about getting too ahead of himself there.

Petra taps me on the shoulder.

"Professor, observe over there! This bar is serving the Haggis! It is the most popular dish of Brigid!"

No – there's no time for hesitation.

Damn politics – let's drink.

The Dagdan waitress approaches me.

"Oh, Mr. Professor! Your party of Black Eagles has arrived?"

I nod.

"Follow me upstairs, Mr. Professor!"

I lead the way. My Eagles follow.

A great circular table has been laid out for us on that scenic second-floor veranda overlooking the monastery viaduct. The table itself is already adorned with bowls of various bar snacks. I guess slipping that 5000G note the other day convinced them that we were VIPs of some sort. I'm not complaining.

Edelgard immediately rushes ahead of me and turns around.

"As House Leader, it falls upon me to assign seats in situations like these." she informs me.

Does it? I guess I'm not going to protest her taking the initiative.

"Sure, Edelgard."

A slight smirk takes shape along the contours of the Princess's lips. Her eyes go alight as well. They're a little devilish right now, in fact. She nods and then turns, walking over to the chair that gives the most picturesque view of Garegg Mach in the distance.

"Sit here, my teacher."

Am I receiving the seat of honor? I follow her directions and take my seat, and crane my neck to watch her lead the rest of the arrangements.

Ferdinand swaggers forward as soon as I sit.

"Edelgard! As the heir of the Duchy of Aegir, the Empire's foremost house, it is my duty to sit at our Professor's left."

Edelgard turns back to me and rolls her eyes. Looking back at Ferdinand, she says:

"Well, it is your birthday, I suppose. Fine."

Ferdinand takes his seat next to me and immediately begins to dig into some of the pretzels sitting in a bowl nearby. Is that the noble way, too?

Dorothea is next to chime in.

"And I guess that means Edie is sitting to our Professor's right, right?"

I can sense her blushing at this, even though only the back of her head is visible.

"W-well, naturally – I am the House Leader, after all."

"And I will be sitting at Lady Edelgard's right." Hubert says after clearing his throat.

He takes the corresponding seat, leaving an empty chair in between himself and I. He nods at me. Reaching into a nearby bowl, he says:

"I trust you do not mind if I happen to sample some of these pickled shrimp, Professor. Executing that gambit of yours against the Lions has left me famished."

Edelgard turns back with a frustrated visage.

"Hubert, leave the seating arrangements to me!"

Dorothea clears past Edelgard as her back is turned. Taking the seat across from me at the other end of the table, she says:

"Well, this tends to be the least prestigious seat. But… there are some benefits to being common, I guess. It means we can make eyes at each other like this all night, right Professor?"

"Dorothea, I am not deciding the seats on the basis of status!"

The Eagles' songstress gives the Princess an "OK" sign with her left hand, while never breaking eye contact with me.

"I like the view where I'm seated, Edie, don't worry about me!"

Edelgard appears quite worried about her. Then, Lindhardt appears suddenly in the seat next to Ferdinand. Does he know how to use warp spells? I guess that wouldn't be surprising.

"Professor, I have heard some rumors that you possess a crest of unknown origin. Might I pick your brain from here tonight? I feel as if I've hit a second wind lately."

I'm about to reply in the negative, but a thud on my lap proves most distracting. I turn to its source and find Petra sitting on top of me.

"Professor, when we feast in Brigid I often sit upon my grandfather's lap. I shall sit here tonight as well!"

I glance at Edelgard. She's got bloodlust in her eyes.

"Petra, I must insist that you get off of my teacher! Please sit to the right of Hubert!"

Dorothea chimes in from across the table.

"Hey Caspar, there's a bowl of jerky here!"

Caspar hustles over into the seat next to Dorothea and begins stuffing his face.

"Awww yeah, my favorite!" he shouts before diving headfirst.

"I-I'll just sit next to Lindhardt…" Bernadetta whispers, slinking next to the not-so-sleepy sage.

Edelgard slumps a bit, realizing that her efforts have mostly gone to naught. She walks over to me, glaring at Petra. Realizing that Edelgard can't even sit because of Petra's position, I whisper in the Brigidian's ear:

"Petra, tha do chasan a 'bacadh a' chathair."

Petra giggles. It's very childlike, but much like the rest of her personality, seems to be pining towards something more complex behind an impermeable wall of cultural mores.

"You are sounding as like my grandfather when you say chathair, Professor! I shall sit next to Hubert, then!"

I nod. Turning back to Edelgard, who is still standing, I tap the seat cushion. She falls into the seat with a thud and bores down into my eyes with an intense expression.

"Hmph. What did you whisper to Petra, my teacher…?"

I bring a hand to my hair. What is she on about?

"I said her legs were blocking the chair."

The heir to an Empire fidgets.

"Then why did she laugh…?"

The hand falls down to my chin. I shrug.

"Well, chathair can mean either legs or ass. It's a double entendre, I guess."

Edelgard shakes her head.

"Since Brigid is our vassal, I should ask you to teach me some words of Brigidian, I suppose."

I find it strange that she'd ask me when there's a literal native speaker of the language currently sharing a bowl of pickled shrimp with Hubert less than five feet away from her. Regardless, I guess it's flattering.

"Let the lesson begin."

Edelgard stiffens and nods.

"Tha e gam fhàgail cho toilichte a bhith nad thidsear." I say, slowly.

Petra claps happily in the background.

"That was perfecting, Professor!"

Edelgard shoots a glance over at Petra, and then back to me. I get the impression that she's clearly overcome by the sheer amount of vocabulary. Brigidian, while generally a sparse language, tends to overdo what would be rather simple complimentary speech in Fodlan.

"What does that mean, my teacher?"

If I could smirk, I'd smirk.

"I'm glad that I'm your teacher."

Edelgard spends the next few minutes melting in her chair with purple orbs alight and a smile that beams brighter than the moonlight.

My chest starts aching again. It has hurt more than usual tonight.

The Dagdan waitress appears with the food and drink menus. Everyone receives one of their own, sans myself and Edelgard. It would appear that the woman still thinks that we are a couple. Hubert takes note of this with a raised eyebrow that quickly furrows into a frown as soon as His Lady leans in closer to me to get a look at the available entrees.

Before I can get a proper look myself, Ferdinand taps me on the shoulder.

"Professor, I have heard that you spent a great deal of your youth among international mercenaries. I am wondering if you have sampled international cuisine, as well?"

I gave his question some consideration.

"Just bar food like this. It wasn't fine dining."

Ferdinand nodded.

"Even if that is so, Professor – lobster, which is eaten in the Imperial court as a delicacy, was once a simple fisherman's food in Derdriu. With many things in life, the noble way of preparation is what makes it such an esteemed dish today."

I had no idea.

"Is that so?" I reply.

"It is! So I would ask you to help choose a dish for me among these Dagdan foods. Perhaps someday it could be prepared the noble way as well."

"There is also the Haggis from Brigid! We were introducing sheeps to Dagda!" Petra adds nationalistically from across the table.

Ferdinand nods enthusiastically.

"Incredible, Petra. I was not aware of that!"

"What's your favorite food, Ferdinand?" I ask after a pause.

"Hmm… if I were to choose just one, it would be pheasant's egg benedict. My father, the Prime Minister of the Empire, the current Duke Aegir, also counts that as his favorite as well. He has one delivered to his office in Enbarr each morning. It is a treat that I will look forward to upon assuming that duty someday."

Ferdinand can really yap someone's ear off. Tonight that someone is me, I guess.

In retrospect, it is probably a fine trait to have if you're due to take up the position of a hereditary diplomat. That's what most of these kids, sans Dorothea, will be doing when they leave me.

A part of me doesn't want them to leave.

"Try Ostrich Huevos Rancheros. It's a popular egg dish in Dagda." I offer.

Ferdinand glances down.

"Ah, Professor! It appears to be right at the top of the menu. Most interesting! I think I shall."

Next, I feel a tug at my arm.

Turning to the right, I notice that Edelgard has scooted closer to me in her chair.

She draws my attention to our menu.

"My teacher, look here…"

The menu item her thin, white-gloved finger points to is titled Fodlan Special: Onion Gratin Soup, Country Style.

In this case, Country Style just seems to designate that they're using pheasant meat as the protein. I suppose that's because it's cheaper and more locally available in the mountains than its usual complement of lamb.

"Do you like white meat?" I ask.

"Well, is it not true that white meat just takes on the character of whatever you cook with it?"

I shrug.

"You're the chef."

She blushes.

"If the dish is as sweet as you say, then perhaps the white meat will be as well..."

"Let's get it, then."

She looks up at me with excited eyes.

The dishes are out within the hour – no small task given the amount of food ordered by my Eagles.

The rot-like stench of a plate of pickled vegetables and Nuvelle sausages is the first to arrive – Hubert's meal. Traditionally you just need to get them warmed up in a skillet, so they don't need much skill to prepare. I can also see the Dagdan influence – the reddish liquid that they're drowning in means they were pickled in beet juice, similar to the shrimp he was picking at earlier. The people of Fodlan usually choose less macabre pickling concentrates.

It's quite Hubertian.

Petra's Haggis arrives shortly after. When Petra hacks open the pinkish mountain goat bladder with her fork, a sound reminiscent of a fart erupts from within, causing the whole structure to shudder and the meat inside to slide out on the plate.

I can see Dorothea dry-heaving in the background as she stares at the two culinary monstrosities.

Even more to my surprise, I immediately notice Petra scooping some of the meat onto Hubert's plate. Hubert reciprocates the gesture by parting with one of his sausages. Those aren't exactly two people I expected to be so chummy.

"Huh." I say to no one in particular.

"Ugh… Professor, don't look so curious! That's totally disgusting!" Dorothea says to me, her green eyes swaying nauseously between the food and me.

Caspar's entree, a fatty hunk of meatloaf from Gronder is the next to come out. This type of meal is apparently popular with bar-crawlers because the fattiness is rumored to prevent hangovers. Sylvain is another appreciator of this dish – I learned this from one of our shower chats. Accompanying the steak is a bottle of Leicestershire Sauce. My grappler-of-girls proceeds to dump the entire bottle on top, prompting Dorothea's terrified expression to shift from the deflating haggis to the saturated loaf.

"Does anyone here know how to eat normally?!" She exclaims.

Lindhardt's order arrives next – Pheasant Manchego. It's another one of those types of hybridized dishes that the Dagdan bars sometimes have to make due with given local food conditions. The Manchego cheese of Dadga is subtle in flavor, making it go with everything, so they'll just put it on whatever meats are available and call it "Dagdan". I'm actually quite surprised Lindhardt is so familiar with Manchego. It's something I was only prompted to eat by that mercenary girl a couple years ago.

I bring a hand to my chin.

"Interesting choice, Lindhardt."

"Ah, yes Professor – I'm glad you agree. I read in a book that eating Manchego cheese can help you in the acquisition of lucid dreams. I couldn't help myself when I saw that on the menu. Haven't you always wondered how incredible it could be to be able to participate in your own dreams?"

Given how my dreams are mostly about that battle, I can't say that would be all that bad. I've seen it play out so many times that it'd be hard to find myself dead in it.

"Certainly."

This elicits a comradely nod from Lindhardt.

"Professor, from the very first day we met, I knew we were like minded."

He proceeds to cut his first slice off in a remarkably measured and genteel manner.

Bernadetta and Dorothea's dishes arrive next – heaping bowls of Peach Sorbet, adorned with whipped cream and cherries. I guess they're intent on doing dessert-for-dinner.

Then, Ferdinand's Huevos Rancheros make their appearance.

"All this…from a single egg? I am overcome! Professor, you sure know how to eat heartily!"

I'm wondering if Ferdinand has ever encountered an Ostrich before. They're not native to Fodlan. I would occasionally see the Almyrans bring them along in caravans – generally when Holst had us ambushing supply trains. The Almyrans like their dinner to have legs, so to speak.

Finally, the Onion Gratin soup is brought forward, still piping hot.

Edelgard's purple orbs fall onto the crust, where a spoon sticks out of her bowl.

"It kind of reminds of Saghert and Cream, if it were a soup." she says with wide eyes.

All I can do is really raise an eyebrow.

"Because it's literally cream soup."

Edelgard pokes at the layer of gratin like a child.

"And this crust… does it use Fhirdiad Sweet Bread crumbs?"

"With Winnimere cheese." I add.

She looks back to me, smirking.

"My teacher… I didn't know you liked such a cute dinner! I expected it to be rather plain, in fact."

I stare at her blankly. What is that supposed to mean, I wonder? Dorothea cuts into my contemplation with a laugh from across the table.

"Hubie, check out Edie and the Professor… They look like an old married couple, don't they? Look at them with their cream soup!"

Hubie looks up from his meal without even glancing at us and says to the songstress:

"They assuredly do not."

He then turns back to Edelgard and eyes the soup.

"Be careful you do not curdle your stomach with such a dish, Lady Edelgard."

How does one curdle a stomach? Petra is next to interrupt my consideration.

"Hubert, might I be trying some of your blood vegetables?"

"You may, Petra – although I must admit that I am curious about the flavor of that goat bladder…"

Petra begins to tear off a chunk of the goat bladder with her bare hands, prompting a sort of stretching and squeaking sound that forces Dorothea to excuse herself to the toilet with yet another dry-heave and a hand covering her mouth. Bernadetta accompanies her.

Hubert chews on the bladder, his visible eye squinting in thought.

"It is gamey… but also exceptionally savory. What an intriguing flavor…"

Questioning if that was a genuine sentiment or one designed to gaslight Dorothea, I'm just left shaking my head. I can never be sure with him. I turn back to Edelgard. She's gathered a spoonful consisting of equal parts cream and crust. She blows on it.

"It's hot!" she exclaims.

I shrug.

"I'm not rushing you."

In spite of me not rushing her, she immediately puts the spoonful into her mouth. Much to my surprise, her face immediately relaxes. After swallowing it, she looks up at me with a contented expression.

"Ooooh, I love this dish. It's so sweet…"

Sliding my own bowl towards me, I take a rather undramatic spoonful and put it into my mouth. In my estimate, the only really predominantly sweet taste is from the winnemere and the pie crust. The broth is pretty neutral.

"What are your thoughts?" she asks with anticipation.

"Fine. It's better with heavy cream, though."

Edelgard's eyes widen in excitement.

"Where do they do that?"

"Remire. They call it a wedding soup."

As I say those words, I notice Edelgard look out towards Garegg Mach, losing herself in the view for a moment. It's the same look she had when we first approached this monastery from our night in that village.

I feel my chest tugging at me again, spurring my lips.

"I'll treat you to some the next time we're there." I say.

She looks back at me with an expression of surprise.

"...Is that a promise, my teacher?"

The Dagdan waitress arrives next to take our drink orders.

Edelgard already settled on a Dos Cravos without giving the menu as much as a second look.

Much to my surprise, Hubert has continued his streak of camaraderie with an offer to split a bottle of Arz Lubaniyya. I suppose it's not hard to be interested in such a drink after the pyrotechnics show that it put on during the mock battle.

But I wonder if there isn't some intent behind that selection as well. Hubert strikes me as a bit too calculating, almost as if the drink selection carries with it the deceit of someone like Claude. The difference between Hubert and Claude, of course, is that I can see Claude's intentions without paying much attention. With Hubert, I need to be looking for it.

Rousing me out of my thoughtfulness is a tap on my shoulder from Ferdinand.

"Professor, do you have any experience with beer?"

"Not really. Beer spoils on the Throat."

"Hey Ferdinand, they have Bergliezauer on here!" Caspar shouts from across the table.

I turn to Caspar.

"Your family's beer?" I ask.

"Well, kinda, Professor. Our name's on it, at least! I think they use wheat from our fields, too. I've never tried it, though."

I guess that makes sense. Caspar's sixteen.

"Bergliezauer is the national beer of the Empire, Professor. Past that, it is consumed in bars all across Fodlan!" Ferdinand informs me.

I nod. Dorothea waves me down from across the table and bats her eyes.

"Professor, have you tried the Cosmopolitan? I think it's a very appropriate cocktail for you!"

"Actually my teacher prefers the Dos Cravos.." Edelgard snaps before I could even reply.

"Ohhhh, is that why you're ordering it, Edie?" Dorothea asks through a giggle. I don't even need to turn to know that her riposte has sent Edelgard's cheeks aflame.

Most of the class settles on drinks rapidly from there. By far the most popular choice appears to be Bergliezauer by the mug, chosen by Ferdinand, Lindhardt, and Caspar. Dorothea gets Bernadetta to order a "hard iced tea", misleading her into believing that it's non-alcoholic. I attempt to protest this, but the songstress shushes me as I do. That woman who apparently captivated all of the Empire picks the Cosmo for herself. Petra chooses a "Rusty Niall" which I only know is some sort of Brigidian thistle-spirit mixed with simple syrup and tonic water.

It also occurs to me that Petra is fifteen years old, and probably shouldn't be consuming that. Then Petra informs me:

"I will be loving this drink, Professor! When I was a child, my grandfather, the King of Brigid, would be making it for me every time I passed my Fodlan tutor's exams!"

When teaching a Brigidian, do as the Brigidians. I file that away in case I need it later – although Petra strikes me as quite studious and dedicated by nature.

The drinks have been out for a time. Edelgard immediately snatched the carnation off the Dos Cravos and has been sheltering it in her white-gloved hands, having to lean in to sip her drink by the reed-straw. If I could find things amusing, I imagine that I'd be amused.

She's currently immersed in conversation with Dorothea about the opera.

Ferdinand, Lindhardt, and Caspar are all pounding back beer enthusiastically. Particularly Lindhardt. I'm impressed.

Bernadetta has already powered through her hard iced tea and has gone to the bar to ask for a second. I should probably tell her that the second will also be her last to avoid any "socially compromising" situations, to use Hubertian parlance. I've never seen anyone not regret a bender brought on by spiked tea.

Speaking of, the Vestra appears to be watching the pair of Dorothea and Edelgard quite intently, but then his eye suddenly meets mine. Grabbing the half-drunk bottle of Almyran liquor, he cranes his neck towards the Eastern side of the veranda, which offers a better view on the monastery town.

"Care to join me in some people watching, Professor?"

I suspect I'll be the only person he watches in this excursion, but I don't protest.

I nod.

"Bring your shot glass." He commands.

I do.

Hubert and I stand overlooking the Monastery town. The streets, lit by dying lantern-light are mostly empty now, as the curfew has been in effect for well over an hour. I would've rushed the Eagles along had I not known that I had a more or less willing accomplice in Gatekeeper. Hubert takes a shot of the Arz Lubaniyya with a grimace.

"Disgusting, really... Professor – I appreciate your discretion in not attempting to festoon this upon Lady Edelgard during your excursion yesterday."

He says this after clearing his throat a few times.

"You stuck around?" I ask.

While it'd certainly make sense as a retainer, I wonder just what he happens to make himself hidden for.

"If and when I departed is none of your concern, Professor– unless you intend to make it a concern."

I shrug.

"I'd remind you to consider the consequences of such a shrug."

He receives that consideration in the form of a blank stare.

"In any event… I summoned you here to ask a question. Provided you answer it, we can return to the festivities."

A nod is offered.

"Lady Edelgard was quite intrigued by a statement you made after your intervention in Remire Village. While I can't say I was at the time, your behavior on the mock battlefield has… well, caused me to reconsider."

"Remind me what I said, Hubert."

"For a fellow who says as little as you do, what a pity it is that you cannot remember."

He rues thoughtfully for a few moments.

"...To paraphrase, I believe you stated to Lady Edelgard that you didn't possess any real knowledge regarding the Church that dominates the minds of millions who live on this continent. And that you were caught unawares by the revelation that your father was once a Knight of said Church."

"I did say that."

"Hmph. I've jogged your memory, then."

Bringing a hand to my hair, I nod.

"I should say for myself, upon first hearing that, Professor – I did not believe you at all. I was quite sure that you were lying to Lady Edelgard, in fact."

He then references the bottle.

"But after watching you throw that improvised explosive at von Riegan's barricade, well… perhaps I am willing to suspend my disbelief, for a time."

My brow furrows reflexively.

"Does the church prohibit that?" I ask.

"Not explicitly, Professor. But the words of Saint Cichol state quite unequivocally that it is a sin to use what the Goddess gifted in peace for the purposes of war. Alcohol is one of those gifts, which is why it is so heavily regulated by religious authorities."

I nod.

"Anyone who keeps a running tab of their own salvation in these parts would consider the calculus of doing what you did on the mock battlefield today… rather reckless in the eyes of the Goddess. And yet, you, as an employee of the Archbishop no less… did just that."

"It's just an improvisation I learned while fighting the Almyrans."

"I do not doubt it was popular among Holst's band… But the enemy you were facing today was not carrying the banner of Almyra, spiritual and secular enemies of the Church. That bottle was directed at two co-religionists."

"It was directed at the barricade, Hubert. Claude and Hilda were a safe distance behind."

"Is that so? I suspect Cardinal Seteth will be as unconvinced with that reply as I am, Professor."

I return a raised eyebrow from Hubert in silence.

"In any event, given your parochial responsibilities here, I found it quite interesting that you'd commit a sacrilege on Lady Edelgard's behalf. Her desire is to win, at anything, at any cost. My duty is to clear the road of threats along that path. I'm sure you realize that much."

Did throwing that bottle make me more or less of a threat, I wonder?

"Regardless, I should say that you have more or less answered my question, for now."

He fills my shot glass.

"We can return whenever you're ready, or assess the view. I have nothing else to say."

Suddenly, I can hear the familiar tune of Happy Birthday being sung in the background. Hubert and I both turn to see that Dorothea and the Dagdan waitress have appeared behind Ferdinand holding a birthday cake.

As we walk back to the party, I can see Edelgard staring daggers into Hubert's eye.

My former Black Eagles – currently Buzzed Eagles – are now walking along the promenade en route to the dormitories. We left the bar at last call. Surprisingly, I've still got about 900G left on the bar tab, which goes to show how I've really got no proper understanding of how Fodlan's economy really works.

That's only 100G more than the price of ten wooden arrows purchased from Ignatz.

Because my dormitory is first on the promenade, I wheel right up the steps. I'm about to wish the Eagles goodbye when I feel a tug at my arm.

The hand that grips it is becoming awfully familiar. It's Edelgard.

"Wait, my teacher…"

I turn to her, a bit surprised. Those purple eyes of her look up to me, fall away, and then look up again with a pleading tone about them.

"Can we… walk together for a little while?" she asks in a whisper.

How could I say no?

So, the two of us tail behind the rest of the class until the gathering begins to dissolve. Bernadetta, Lindhardt, Petra, and Dorothea, who all live on the first floor of the Dormitories, exchange their goodnights with us. Finally, the belated birthday boy, Hubert, Edelgard, and I are all that remain.

Cheeks aflame from the four mugs of beer he downed after eating his birthday cake, Ferdinand stops at the stairs leading to the second-floor dormitories. He turns to me.

"Professor… I… am absolutely overjoyed! Thank you for this wonderful celebration!"

He then embraces me in a giant bear hug, nearly clipping Edelgard in the face with an outstretched arm in the process. I return the hug as best as I am able. Edelgard looks extremely agitated at this.

"Happy birthday, Ferdinand." I say.

"I shall count it as one of the warmest I have ever had!" He says, beginning to rock me slightly in the embrace.

Hubert takes this as a cue to start trying to pry him off me.

"Pull yourself together." He says with a spiteful tone after yanking him away by the shoulders. His eye meets mine.

"I would wish you a goodnight, Professor, but it's almost morning anyway."

That's probably the warmest goodbye that I can expect from him at this point.

After Ferdinand is hauled up the steps by Hubert, I turn back to Edelgard who is looking at me with darting purple eyes and cheeks that are paler than the waning moonlight. It seems as if there's something she wanted to talk about.

"My teacher… Later today, I will have to leave for the weekend. I intend to be back for the first day of classes, however." she says at last.

"Sure."

My immediate reply seems to take her by surprise.

"A-are you sure that you're alright with that?"

"I trust you."

I'm saying that, but I'm not sure I do. But it doesn't matter.

"...Even without me even telling you why?"

I shrug. I'm sure she has her reasons.

"I have to meet my uncle in the Lordship of Arundel. He's just completed a major engineering project… a canal to connect the rivers Brionac and Magdred, and wishes me to preside at its opening ceremony."

The way she used that word "uncle" implied that she probably wasn't especially fond of him.

"That's fine. As long as you're back for the first day."

A feeling of relief washes over her, that's plain to see. But there's something else behind that relief that seems to leave a bitter expression on her face. Could it be guilt?

"Could I… impose myself onto you one more time with a favor?" she asks.

"You're not imposing, Edelgard."

"If you're expected to attend a meeting with the House Leader during that time, could you bring Hubert in my stead?"

I had guessed that Hubert would be attending her on the journey.

"He's not going?"

"Hubert and my uncle have a somewhat… strained relationship."

Nodding, it occurs to me that Hubert probably doesn't have many friends in the Empire's nobility, given his attitude to his own peers – their children.

A silence fills the air for a time. Edelgard's eyes fall back on the dormitory's staircase.

"Can… you wait here for just a moment, my teacher? I will return shortly."

I nod.

She then takes off up the steps.

My eyes fall back onto the very empty campus. Most of the lanterns, save the ones by the entranceways to the buildings, have long since burned through their oil. The candles in the dormitory windows have long since devoured their wicks. So much of Garegg Mach is bathed in darkness at the moment. My path through that darkness tonight with the Eagles resembled ones that I've walked through many times before in the remains of fortresses on the throat, or along caves in one of the Throat's ceaseless sandstorms.

The main difference between those walks and tonight is that I was never checking my rear. When I walked along with Edelgard, I experienced – for better or for worse – a voice in the recesses of my mind that told me that I didn't need to watch my back for now. That maybe she'd do it for me. I knew what a foolish impression that was to have.

She was still lying to me about something, of course.

But that was my impression in spite of it all.

As if a part of myself was telling my logical mind that it was worth waiting to see if I could trust her with my life, when push came to shove.

I suppose I'd have to contend with that feeling eventually. But doing so half-cocked on hard liquor at nearly three in the morning was probably quite foolish.

Edelgard comes down the steps shortly a few moments after this crosses my mind, carrying my cloak in her hands. She finally remembered.

"I-I'm sorry for keeping this for so long..."

When she hands it to me, I notice her hand trembling. I take the cloak from her hand, and start to apply it my usual way before she clears her throat. She feigns agitation.

"Hmph… could I ask you to just put it on normally, just this once?"

I stare at her blankly, surprised. After a moment of doing this, I find myself reflexively following her directions. I usually never bother actually putting my arms through the sleeves, preferring to just clip it to my breastplate and wear it as a cape.

When I finish putting it on, she smiles weakly, and reveals the carnation from the Dos Cravos.

"Oh, you saved that." I said, surprised.

"Of course I did..."

Before I can formulate a reply to that, Edelgard closes the distance between us and sticks the pointed stem of that flower into the collar of my jacket. At the same time, I feel like a knife is stabbing itself directly into my chest. A strange feeling, because I know that there's a very thick breastplate in between that stem and my skin.

She finishes tying the knot of the stem with her deft, dainty, gloved fingers that in spite of her station and pride, still shake.

When she's done, she brings both hands across each fold of my collar to flatten it out. She looks up at me with those burning purple orbs of hers and a smile that suddenly illuminates the whole of Garegg Mach.

"Congratulations on your victory, my teacher."

When I return to my dormitory, I hit the bedsheets with my cloak still on, and sleep so soundly that I miss a supposedly urgent meeting with Seteth.

Chapter Text

Seteth is staring me down from an elevated stone lectern in the Archbishop's drawing room. There are some aspects of that lectern that vaguely remind me of Sothis's stone throne – but I should qualify this statement by stating that I have less than zero expertise in architecture or interior design. I just kill people for a living - or did rather recently. Now, I protect noble brats for a living.

That lectern, though...

"My throne is much nicer than that!"

"It is…?"

The other green-haired fellow appears to be talking to himself too, or at least mumbling under his breath. He finally meets my gaze after completing his own internal dialogue:

"Lady Rhea was most saddened that you were unable to make yesterday's audience. She wished to express her congratulations on winning the mock battle."

"..." I reply.

"I see what you are doing. You intend to rile me up again with your nonchalant, cavalier attitude. Rest assured that it will not work this time."

"..."

"If only I could fire you, I suspect that you would be singing a different tune. For now, in spite of your disastrous timekeeping, corruption of children towards the path of alcoholism, and sacrilegious display with that terror weapon, you still have Lady Rhea's faith. Do understand that you will not have such faith for much longer if you continue to tread down this current path."

Hubert clears his throat and says:

"Cardinal Seteth, apart from a dressing down of the Black Eagles' esteemed and respected Professor, is there a reason why you summoned us here?"

Seteth narrows his eyes.

"I don't recall summoning you at all, Sir Vestra. Yesterday, I requested the presence of Princess Edelgard and her Professor alone. There were… additional… matters that needed to be discussed with the two of them regarding certain matters of on-campus etiquette, yet it appears she has mysteriously disappeared."

Hubert shoots a glare at me before continuing.

"You have been informed that I stand in her stead. Lady Edelgard has been summoned by the Imperial Regent to preside over the opening of the Brionac-Magdred Canal."

This information just seemed to incense Seteth further.

"An engineering project, I should remind you, that was not sanctioned by the church before it was begun by Lord Arundel."

"I fail to see how that is any responsibility of Lady Edelgard's, given that it is not her demesne."

Seteth seethes in a stumped silence before continuing:

"I would normally explain, but your esteemed and respected Professor's tardiness has left us no time to waste in such bickering. As I'm sure you're aware, those affiliated with Garreg Mach Monastery have a moral obligation to help those in need, regardless of social standing. It is the custom of the officers' academy to assign missions to their students."

Neither I or Hubert offer anything, so he continues.

"Each month, before the newly birthed moon departs, each house of students must complete their assigned mission. You shall work to complete the task at hand alongside your students and report back to the archbishop before the deadline. Understood, Professor?"

"..."

Seteth appears about ready to pop off in righteous fury before Hubert interjects.

"If I may translate for our laconic Professor: we understand and are awaiting orders."

Seteth grimaces slightly and then leaves the lectern, walking towards a table in the center of the room which showcases a large map of Fodlan. He beckons, so me and my student follow. He directs our attention with his finger to the area marked as "Zanado".

"At present, the Knights are currently besieging a company of bandits that are held out in the Red Canyon, located here. The bandits have had their access to supply and forage cut, and we are starving them out in order to provide an easier enemy for you to contest. Our current estimate is that they have about a week's worth of food remaining. If they are smart, they will try to ration that and thus weaken their own fighting ability when the day of the assault comes."

Hubert and I do not offer anything in response, although I do detect a bit of squinting on Hubert's part. Seteth continues his monologue.

"Over the next four weeks, Lady Rhea and I would ask that you focus your lessons on four areas in particular: survival training, combat arts, siege tactics, and field reconnaissance. I believe Professor Hanneman has already suggested a text that would be suitable for that curriculum. You may pursue those tasks in any order you see fit – but for the latter component of those four, I would also specify that you only bring the house leader along. Our own logistical situation at the forward camp is still delicate at present, so we may not be able to provision your entire class until the day of the attack."

My stand-in House Leader looks to me as if he has something to say, but I stare at him as blankly. Seteth seems to be off in his own little world while he analyzes the map, so he prattles on unabated.

"...The final week of the month will be solely dedicated to execution of the mission, because we mandate that travel to and from said missions must be on foot. It is important for officers to know the rigors of the march. Since you yourself were a mercenary, I would imagine you would be a better teacher of that topic than most."

"..."

"I shall choose to interpret that silence in the most positive light possible. One final topic of note is that you will also be given temporary command over students from the Golden Deer House in addition to your own Black Eagles. Lady Rhea cited their performance in the mock battle as particularly poor, and wishes to allow the students to observe actual combat from a safe distance. Manuela will handle their lessons until you are ready to march. They will be escorted by Knights-Captain Alois and Jeralt, so their safety will be in capable hands. Lastly, you may draw on students from that house for mission support if you wish, although I am not sure any would be particularly useful at this stage."

"..."

The cardinal shakes his head in unrestrained frustration

"...That is all. You are dismissed."

The Heir to the Marquisate of Vestra and I exit the drawing room and audience hall at a brisk pace. Both sets of our legs appeared to carry us in lockstep towards the Black Eagles' classroom for a strategy meeting. I'd say that Hubert also looks perturbed at the chat we just had with Seteth, but Hubert always looks perturbed – so it's hard to say if meeting with the Cardinal really moved him at all.

He begins by clearing his throat.

"Professor… As much as I would like to discuss the particulars of that accused breach of on-campus etiquette with Lady Edelgard, we do have a mission to fulfill. I am willing to table such a discussion at present… at least until her return."

That's probably for the best. Edelgard is much more likely to know about on-campus etiquette than I am. Appreciative, I nod.

"We should reconnoiter the enemy position as soon as possible. Meet me at the stables in an hour. I'll grab a tent and some provisions." I say.

Hubert's expression sits somewhere in a twilight between annoyed and interested.

"Is that so?"

I turn back to him and note:

"It's a day's ride by horse, we'd be able to finish by Sunday evening if we leave immediately."

Hubert still seems unmoved by that logic.

"Intriguing that you would not wait for Lady Edelgard's return, Professor."

A cheeky retort crosses my mind. He does get awfully defensive about her. That said, I also get awfully defensive about Edelgard to the point where I throw my life away for her on a regular basis. So maybe this is just a case of the Byleth calling the Hubert black.

Still, it's worth getting this one-liner in:

"Would you prefer me to share a tent with her instead?" I ask matter-of-factly, asking this with my blankest expression possible.

After processing my inquiry, Hubert looks as if he's just stepped in manure.

"...Don't be flippant. I shall join you by the appointed hour."

Using the time that I granted Hubert to prepare, I head over to the Knights' Hall and acquire a field tent and some basic camping supplies. After gathering the necessary equipment, I arrive at the stables only to find His Deceitfulness and Hilda.

Claude swaggers up to me and gives me a gentle tap on the breastplate with a loosened fist.

"Yo, Teach! You're eager to check out the Canyon too?"

Hilda is next to close the distance, putting her hands behind her back, she leans in and asks:

"Oh hey, Professor… where's Princess Edelgard? Maybe the two of us could tent together on the trip." Hilda asks.

Hubert emerges from the stables with two steeds.

"Lady Edelgard is indisposed. I will be joining the reconnaissance mission in her stead."

Hilda looks deflated once she receives this tidbit of news.

"Aw, yuck. Now I'm stuck with Claude, I guess."

Claude turns to his retainer and points to himself in an animated fashion.

"Don't worry your little head, Hildie. You'll always be safe with me around!"

Somehow I doubt that, but I do understand Hilda taking her chances with Claude in that situation. The Marquis of soggy sausages and beet juice probably doesn't exactly look like enjoyable company on a camping excursion.

That said, do I look like enjoyable company on a camping excursion? Probably not, right?

Then again, I suspect Hubert's so loyal to his Lady that he'd be less likely to try anything funny in a situation like that.

This probably isn't worth dwelling on.

Still… I can't shake the foreboding knowledge that I am sticking my sleeping bag next to Hubert's for the weekend. I can only hope it doesn't reek. All said, however – the mission comes first. I wouldn't be a proper mercenary if I didn't acknowledge appropriate reconnaissance of an enemy position in anticipation of a siege to be of the utmost importance.

I've learned too many times the alternative – for every hero that Holst attracted, he'd also attract a fool. And those fools often failed to take sieges seriously, usually at the cost of their own lives when the Almyrans sallied. The most regular area of slippage was due diligence in reconnaissance of enemy positions.

Shaking my head, I mount up.

Claude, Hilda, and Hubert are all pretty proficient riders, much to my surprise. Although, I wonder if I should actually be surprised, given that all three are nobles. Equestrianism tends to be the "noble standard" after all, to steal Ferdinand's term. We take off towards Garegg Mach at a gallop, and are even able to make use of a pony express station that's situated roughly halfway between the monastery and the siege camp. With fresh mounts under us, we're able to reach the forward camp by sundown – moderately ahead of schedule.

Much to my surprise, Gatekeeper has apparently been seconded to the siege party. He greets us at what appears to be a hastily constructed roadblock along the Arundel highway.

"Hello, Professor! Nothing to report."

I considered inquiring about the company of bandits in the nearby valley, but he was quite unequivocal in his statement. If the situation had changed since the audience I had with Seteth earlier this morning, I feel as if I could trust the Gatekeeper quite implicitly to keep me abreast of any new information.

"I'm taking these students to scout out the valley tomorrow." I reply.

"Of course, Professor. If there's anything to report, I'll let you know!"

With Gatekeeper's reassuring words, I led the trio of students to a nearby clearing to set up camp. Within a few minutes, I begin to go through the usual motions: setting stakes into level ground and clearing the interior of the staked perimeter from debris like fallen branches and rocks.

As I do this, Hubert analyzes my method with a cool eye. Is this another evaluation of his, or do nobles just not want to set up their own tent with a commoner around?

A voice from behind me interrupts my musings.

"Yo, Teach! You've been living the merc life right? …How does one pitch a tent?"

I turn to Claude with a raised eyebrow.

At first I thought that the leader of the Antler'd House was being a bit untoward, but then I noticed the complete disrepair he had left his field supplies in.

"Not like that." I say at last.

"Professor, can you, like – maybe – help us out? Pretty please?" Hilda asks.

Staring at His Deceitfulness and his retainer, I find myself stewing in mild disbelief. Did it ever once cross this pair of adolescent minds that they should learn how to set up camp before riding off on a recon mission into uncivilized territory? Perhaps the Archbishop was right about the Deer – they needed help.

What the fuck was Manuela doing, anyway? She never poked her head out of the infirmary during the mock battle, either.

I turn to my brevet-House-Leader.

"Hubert, can you continue setting up ours while I assist Claude?"

The Vestra's eyes drifted away from mine before stating:

"I… must count myself unfamiliar with the procedure as well, Professor."

Right. What did I expect from the heir to House Vestra?

I suppose this is what Seteth meant by survival training. No doubt their parents had trained them to ride – but when the day in the saddle was over, these kids could look forward to a night spent sleeping in a freshly dressed bed.

As I finish setting up Claude's tent, it occurs to me that it might be worthwhile incorporating a campout for the Black Eagles into the first week of lessons. If Hubert is unfamiliar with the process, then I seriously doubt Ferdinand, Caspar, Lindhardt, Edelgard, or Bernadetta are, either. They're all Imperial blue-bloods, after all. Dorothea, although a commoner, apparently spent her entire life in the city of Enbarr given the discussion she had with Edelgard during the party… so she was probably a lost cause as well.

Petra, however, strikes me as someone who might be roughly familiar with spending some time in the woods, given the natural inclinations of all Brigidans – so I may lean on her as my assistant for the week.

After assembling and buttoning together the two front flaps, I've completed the von Riegan and Goneril Residence for the evening. For all this effort, I've apparently earned a slow clap from Claude, who along with Hubert has been watching the whole process in cool, analytic detachment.

I got the impression that Hilda quickly was growing bored with the whole affair, so I sent her off to gather firewood shortly after starting.

"Lookin' good, Teach. I'll be sawing logs tonight, no doubt."

A pitiful statement given that I doubt he'd ever cut actual logs in his life.

"What would you have done if I hadn't been here, Claude?" I ask with a grimace.

"Improvise, probably. I'm not opposed to sleeping under the stars!"

It's impossible to argue with naivete like that.

Looking over to Hilda, I see that she's struggling with lighting the campfire. Shaking my head vigorously, I point Hubert in her general direction.

"Drop a fire spell, Hubert. I'd like to eat sometime before midnight."

Hubert, who has spent the past hour just generally looking out of sorts, takes a few moments to get the message.

"...Ah, yes... As you wish, Professor."

The meal that follows is nothing special to write about. It's a typical camp-cake recipe that I've had to thin out considerably due to Claude and Hilda's exceptionally poor planning. As it turns out, they just ended up raiding the dining hall for the breakfast special, a BLT sandwich, and made a mad dash for the stables. It's lucky the pony express was there, otherwise we'd be eating half-rations the entire trip. I am able to utilize the bacon, however.

The rest is pretty simple. Cornmeal, sugar, salt, water and butter are all you need to fill your gut on the march. The popular phrase regarding the camp-cake is that it "sticks to your ribs" while generally approaching the bare minimum of palatability. Some of the grease from the bacon will provide a bit of extra savoriness to the affair.

Surprisingly, all three seem to enjoy it.

"Well… it's not exactly on par with the dining hall, but this is better than I had expected." Hubert grants in between bites.

"Incredible, Teach – I thought this was gonna taste like absolute wyvern shit. I was wrong!" Claude's already powered through his share, but he's not getting seconds.

"Wow, Professor… is there like anything you can't actually do?" Hilda asks with a grin that reveals a bunch of leftover cornmeal sitting in her pearly whites.

"...Stay up all night."

"Huh?" Hilda asks.

I get up and brush some of the crumbs off my breastplate.

"You asked if there was something I couldn't do. That's what I can't do." I reply.

Claude and Hilda look rather dejected. Hubert seems to ever-so-slightly appreciate the deadpan there. Undeterred by this statement, however, His Deceitfulness immediately rouses and makes for his horse. Unclasping his satchel on the saddle, he shouts:

"Ah come on – check out what I brought!"

I see what he pulls out. It's another bottle of that dreaded Almyran liquor. I shake my head.

"Not tonight, Claude. I'm beat."

Hilda looks rather dejected at my denial, but Claude doesn't miss a beat.

"Ah well – more for me and Hildie!"

Something tells me that's not actually a good thing, but I really just want to lay down.

I make my way into the tent shared by myself and Hubert and immediately collapse onto my sleeping bag. Hubert excuses himself shortly after as well, joining me inside the tent with a stiff nod and immediately climbing into his sleeping bag.

"You have my thanks regarding the tent, Professor." he tells me before applying a silken sleep mask to his eyes. Rather amusingly, he tucks the mask under his impressively long coiffure.

"Do you find that effective?" I ask genuinely. I suppose that's a rather stupid question, given that he clearly thought it was effective enough to bring with him on this mission.

"Professor… I often go without sleep in my efforts to protect Lady Edelgard's person. When I do get the rare chance at sleep, I make the most of it. Does that answer your question?"

I nod, but then realize he can't see me.

"Sure."

"You should be honored that I consider you enough of a comrade-in-arms to do this. I would encourage you not to do anything to damage that."

What precisely does he think I'll do?

"I'll take your word for it, Hubert."

"Sleep soundly, Professor." he says before sinking further into his sleeping bag. I then notice him making a rather massive rustle under those sheets.

"An additional warning, Professor: I sleep in the buff."

Unsure of how to really reply to that, I simply say:

"Noted."

Shaking my head, I reach under my breastplate and pull out a thin, paperback book that's been sitting under there for most of the trip. It's an annotated, hand-transcribed biography of Emperor Mauricius II compiled by one of the assistant librarians under a monk named Tomas, who runs the monastery's collection of books. After finishing the Tacticon, I was struck by curiosity and wanted to learn a little bit more about the fellow. Since I had made a habit of reading the Tacticon before falling asleep, I figured I could do the same with this little biography.

Thumbing to the first page, I begin.

About an hour into my survey of the biography, which seemed mostly concerned with the reign of his father, Emperor Mauricius I as a way to set the scene for the sudden ascension of the son, I notice the shadow of a two-headed, four legged-monster approach Hubert and I's tent before immediately cutting to the left and making towards the tent next to ours.

"Shhh…." one of the heads whispers.

My initial speculation was Claude has gotten drunk again and is relying on Hilda for support. Returning to the book with minimal concern, I then heard a great thud in the adjacent tent. The four legged monster had apparently collapsed.

"C-Claude… take it slower…!" the two-headed, four-legged monster whispers. This must be the Hilda component of it.

Claude's component doesn't reply.

I then realize that they're probably engaged in the heavy petting that Claude constantly accuses Edelgard and I of. I consider for a time whether or not I should be allowing them to do this. It's a political question, I suppose – and I'm terrible at those. It's also ethical, and I've never understood ethics worth a lick either.

For most of my time with my father on the Throat, we've employed our mercenaries in a gender-blind fashion. The company values merit above all things – and I've seen plenty of evidence that the fairer sex can equal or surpass their male counterparts on the battlefield. Chauvinism often dies with its holder when an Almyran Lady Myrmidon gets in a good strike through the gut.

"O~ohhhhh…"

Naturally, having a company like that means that individuals within that company are going to pursue romantic endeavors. Personally, I've never taken part in such things – I've simply had no interest before, and still don't, I imagine. That said, I've often been in situations where my tent is pitched right next to two people who do – like tonight, clearly. Normally, I don't pay much heed to carnal matters like this.

"C-Claude, wait – you need to make it wet first…!"

But it occurs to me that these two are minors, and that I'm legally responsible for them.

In the same vein, they're both at the age of reason where they can make decisions about this stuff rather logically. They're also nobles, and it's not unheard of for bastards to appear from a servant boy or girl when an heir or heiress reaches puberty. "It's life, it happens" was my father's assessment of that sort of thing. We saw it enough when serving the nobles of Leicester to simply look the other way.

"Yuck, it's supposed to look like that all swelled up…?"

Another thing to consider is that the person who's about to have sexual relations in the tent next to me is the sister of a man who I've been on-and-off comrades with for the past half-decade. Would Holst be OK with this? It's hard to say. He was a fellow who struck me as a ladykiller in the vein of Sylvain or Lorenz – in the bars, Holst always had a woman under each arm. His noble companions even accused him of "slumming" – a term that denigrates nobles who carry on with common folk.

"...That really like fucking hurts, Claude! Slow down!"

But Holst also spoke very protectively and fondly of his little sister. If I had to answer for myself someday, what could I say?

I rue on this until Hilda starts yelling:

"Oh Goddess, right there – right there…!"

"Keep it down…!" His Deceitfulness whispers at a dull roar.

It's too late now, I suppose.

I return to the book, which is giving a general sketch of the court life that dominated the Empire at the time. It would seem that Imperial nobles on the whole were very good at wresting power from their Emperors as a result of failed campaigns, and that the rulers of Adrestia were really only as powerful as their last victory against Fearghus. During this period, much of the fighting was centered around the Great Bridge of Myrddin, as the Empire and Kingdom were in constant contestation for the fertility of the Gronder Fields.

"...You finished already…? Inside?! You finished inside?!"

I must admit some general naivete in sexual matters… but I've heard enough women in the company yell that to inconsiderate partners to know that they're not supposed to do whatever that was. That was usually the point in which they would run outside of the tent to clean themselves up, and then avail themselves of my father with a series of accusations of this or that kind. My father would then spend the next few days attempting to adjudicate matters. Most of the time, it resulted in the expulsion of the man from the company.

"Uhh… yeah, sorry Hildie… today's safe for you, right?" von Riegan asks, in much a similar manner I've heard before.

"How should I know? Ughhhhh….. You're such a tool!" Hilda replies.

Hilda then does exactly what I just described earlier – as I can hear the flap buttons unclasp and see her shadow exit the tent.

I suppose at this point, I'm effectively in the role that my father is usually. It's my responsibility to adjudicate and intervene. I turn to Hubert. He sleeps like a man put to final rest inside a coffin, and is currently snoring.

Taking a step out of the tent, I notice Claude poking his head out of his. His cheeks are rosy, but it's impossible to tell if that's from his sexual impropiety, the alcohol, or both.

"You might want to cool off." I suggest.

"...I kind of fucked up, Teach." he admits. Stepping out, he then paces around the perimeter of the tent looking for additional words to say. He fails to find any.

Reflexively, my right hand meets my chin.

"You probably did." I say, not really knowing how badly one of things really is, but getting the impression that it's a serious enough mistake to make to get people fired for.

"Can you go talk to her? She probably doesn't want to hear from me right now…"

"I think we're supposed to wait a minute." I reply.

His Deceitfulness frowns.

"You don't sound sure about that at all, Teach."

All I can do is shrug.

"Because I'm not."

He looks at me as if I've been the one up to no good in the dead of night.

"Really?"

"Really."

"So you and Edelgard haven't…"

Is that what he thinks? I shake my head – but it's a shake that's less of a reply and more of an expression of disbelief.

"No."

"...And you haven't been with anyone before?"

My head pivots from side to side slowly.

"I see… I really read you all wrong, Teach." Claude says.

Staring at him blankly, I wondered what his exact reading was on me back when we first met at Remire. Did I strike him as the same sort of fellow with a great deal of experience with women? As my father had told me, apparently the only time I came close to attending bed with a woman, I totally shrugged off whatever social cues she threw my way. And then I didn't even bother paying her attention as she died right next to me.

What precisely was Claude reading from me now, in fact – now that his first reading was proven so wrong?

"H-hey… don't look at me like that, now." he stammers out.

I let him stew in that for a few moments.

"I should probably go talk to Hilda now." I say at last.

"Yeah, tell her I'm sorry."

"I'm not going to do that."

"Yeah… I guess that's something I've got to say for myself."

As I turn away, I add:

"You love to talk, it shouldn't be hard."

Claude smiles bitterly.

"...Ouch, Teach."

I escort Hilda in silence to a nearby stream where she can clean herself up. With my back turned, I keep an eye out for a particular sort of fennel plant. It was something my father would have me do in an event like the one that just transpired occurred within the company.

I eventually found one. They tend to grow near riverbeds. After contemplating the best way to introduce it I feel a tap on my shoulder.

"You don't need to wait here, Professor."

I turn to her with a blank expression. Hilda's slipped out of the academy uniform and into a pink silk negligee.

It's a shame I can't really find any wellspring of emotion to empathize with. I suspect she needs it now, and I'm beyond incapable of providing it.

"Are you alright?" I ask.

"I mean… I guess, right? As much as I can be…?"

What a bizarre world this is – one where she's asking me for affirmation on that. I suppose the right-minded thing to do is to offer whatever support I can.

"Did you want me to report any of this?"

Hilda's jaw drops. She stares up at me with tired-pink eyes. A day ago, I probably would have said that those eyes were innocent, but it's hard to say that now, I suppose. She's seen more of that side of life than I have, at least.

"Oh Goddess, like – absolutely not, Professor! Please please please don't tell Cardinal Seteth or Archbishop Rhea about this!"

I shrug.

"If that's what you want."

Frankly, I'm not even sure where I'd start with Seteth – so I'm kind of relieved that she's not asking me to do this. Although I know logically that I shouldn't be.

"I need you to totally promise me not to tell my classmates, either, Professor. Really. Not Lysithea. Not Marianne. Not Leonie. Definitely not Lorenz. And definitely definitely NOT my Big Bro."

I take a deep breath. I had totally forgotten about Holst.

"I promise."

Hilda's pink eyes fall from mine. We both stew in the silence of the moonlight for a time. I am, at this moment, extremely exhausted.

"...It's a real pain, Professor… Claude's an idiot… Like, what was he thinking? What if I get pregnant?"

"He never struck me as much of a thinker." I reply in total honesty.

This prompts a big belly laugh from Hilda.

"You're so deadpan, Professor. That's, like, the best part about you. My big bro must've thought you were a real comedian!"

Taking advantage of the levity, I offer her the plant.

"Oh… Professor, this is…"

I clear my throat and consider my next words carefully.

"It's Silphium. My father used to have me fetch for the girls in our company when… that happened. He said that it didn't matter what you decided, just that you should have the option if you wanted to."

Hilda puts two and two together.

"Oh, to…"

I nod. Hilda and I are silent for a time.

"...You know you, like, work for the Church, right, Professor?" she says with an almost bitter smirk.

A hand makes its way to my hair reflexively.

"There's a rule against that?"

"Professor… Saint Cethleann said that all life is a blessing, and that we shouldn't… use this kind of stuff." she says with her gaze glued to the grass.

At this point, all I can do is shrug. I couldn't have known that.

"I didn't know that."

Hilda looks rather surprised at this admission, but then seems to jog her memory. Her pink irises jump back up to bore into my own.

"Oh… yeah, Claude mentioned that you had like, pretty much no idea how the Church works. I guess that makes sense, Professor."

Feeling a sense of awkwardness seep in, I opt to excuse myself.

"If you want to finish up here, I'll go back to my tent."

"Maybe… I have a couple of things to think about..." Her eyes fell from me to the fennel.

As I turn and walk away, Holst's little sister calls out to me again.

"Professor…?"

I stop.

"Can you switch with Claude tonight? In the tent, I mean…"

How can I say no to something like that? So I nod. It then occurs to me that Hubert is going to be in for a rather strange surprise when he wakes up tomorrow.

Chapter Text

To: Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg of Adrestia

From: International Military Tribunal of Fodlan

Regarding: Verdict & Sentencing of Byleth von Eisner (in Absentia).

This letter is to inform you about the decision reached by the court.

Tribunal Representatives:

1. Annette Fantine Dominic, Royal Justicar of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus

2. Duke Ferdinand von Aegir, Prime Minister of the Adrestian Empire

3. Seteth (pres.), Cardinal-Legate of the State of the Church of Seiros

4. Marquesa Marianne von Edmund, Plenipotentiary of the Leicester Alliance

5. Qin Han, Circuit Attendant of the First Rank, Magisterial Empire of Morfis

6. Tristão al-Granada, Donatory Captain of the Dagdan State

7. Bran Gudrunsson, Syndic of the Tribal Cantons of Sreng

8. Aretas IV Macneary, King of Brigid

9. Delilah bin Nader, Vizier of the Kingdom of the Almyrans

Count 1: Conspiracy to Wage Aggressive War

Specific Charge: Strategic oversight of the "Coup of the Pegasus Moon" in Adrestia, 1181

Verdict: Guilty

Votes for: Church of Seiros, Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, Empire of Morfis, Kingdom of Almyra, Tribal Cantons of Sreng, Dagdan State

Votes against: Empire of Adrestia, Leicester Alliance, Kingdom of Brigid

Abstentions: none

Count 2: Crimes Against Peace

Specific Charge: Declaration of War against the State of the Church of Seiros, 1181

Verdict: Guilty

Votes for: Church of Seiros, Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, Empire of Morfis, Tribal Cantons of Sreng, Dagdan State

Votes against: Empire of Adrestia, Leicester Alliance, Kingdom of Brigid

Abstentions: Kingdom of Almyra

Count 3: War Crimes

Specific Charge: Starvation of civilian personnel during siege of Garegg Mach Monastery, 1181

Votes for: Church of Seiros, Empire of Morfis, Tribal Cantons of Sreng, Dagdan State

Votes against: Empire of Adrestia, Leicester Alliance, Kingdom of Brigid

Abstentions: Kingdom of Almyra, Holy Kingdom of Faerghus

Verdict: Guilty

Summation:

Guilty on all counts.

Dissenting Opinion :

Count One:

To the so-called dignitaries of this tribunal, I would submit to you that the "coup" on your Pegasus Moon was for the Brigidians a night of great celebration. To try such a thing in a court is as sacrilegious to us as trying the Flame Spirit for giving humanity fire to cook our meat, or the Water Spirit for wetting our throats when we thirst.

After this "coup" the occupying armies of the previous Emperor, Ionius, left our archipelago.

After this "coup" my granddaughter, heir to the Kingdom of Brigid became not a hostage, but a free woman.

After this "coup", I was misled and reacted accordingly. This professor of my granddaughter, the accused Byleth, is a man I met in the aftermath of such an error.

To meet a man unarmed who has wronged you is the measure of pacifism in my country.

He did so. And then, this man took my hand in comradeship after such wronging.

He dined in my lap that night as a son.

I simply ask the tribunal this: what man planning a war withdraws an occupying army from his enemy's land? And then extends a hand in friendship? This count is silliness to me, as much of the trial seems to be. The Green-Hair speaks of this man in the words: "Twisted Wings of a Would-be Hegemon". What Hegemon breaks the chains of vassalage and approaches those states in friendship instead of lordship? Methinks that the Emperor's Wings are quite twisted, if her goal was hegemony. In this, Green-Hair is right in his words, if not in his intent.

If Byleth is forever remembered as a criminal in Fodlan, rest assured he will be remembered as a hero in Brigid as long as a Macneary rests on our coral throne. I will see to it, as well as my granddaughter – who holds him in the highest esteem as teacher and family.

Our loyalty remains – to Adrestia, their current Emperor Edelgard, and the late Byleth.

Aretas IV Macneary

King of Brigid

Dissenting Opinion :

Count Two:

As an individual present at the confrontation in the Holy Mausoleum, I would remind the tribunal that the first offensive act of that engagement was – again – not initiated by Marechal of the Empire Eisner, pursuant to witness testimony 3B.

This testimony was delivered by an Alliance noble who specifically declared her house's neutrality in the wake of the conflagration there and was parlayed to safety by the Adrestian Empire in a diplomatic effort led by myself and Marechal of the Empire Eisner during Emperor Edelgard's retaliatory siege.

I would draw the tribunal's attention to the following primary documents submitted by both Cardinal Seteth and myself regarding these negotiations:

-Appendix 114a-d

-Appendix 193j-p

-Appendix 301b & c

Finally, I would state that the prosecution's argument regarding the nature of war declaration is also incorrect in nature. Emperor Edelgard's manifesto did not declare war – it simply identified an already present state of war between Adrestia, Faerghus, and the Church of Seiros. My argument throughout this individual count has been accused of ignoring Emperor Edelgard's supposed intent to prosecute an offensive war against the current states of Fodlan. Does such an argument even matter if she did not declare an offensive war in the first place?

As I have stated, the blame falls squarely on Archbishop Rhea.

I would illustrate these points further, but as I am currently on campaign, I would simply proffer the tribunal record as a defense of that previous statement. The proof lies there.

To reiterate the thoughts of King Aretas, the results of this trial will not impact the forthrightness of the Professor's heart in every effort. I, as Duke Aegir, owe him my life, as does the Emperor, along with all those in the Empire who value basic humanity and decency. The Duchy of Aegir will forever honor the man you deem a war criminal.

Ferdinand von Aegir

Prime Minister of Adrestia,

Duke of Aegir.

Dissenting Opinion :

Count Three:

Had I not been informed by my current liege, Claude von Riegan, Grand Duke of Leicester, that an individual who I cherish so deeply, Professor Byleth, would be accused by representatives of the Goddess for such untrue and evil deeds, I would not have assumed the title that follows my name. Even today, I am not sure that I deserve it.

But in the capacity of this trial, as representative of the Alliance, I am unafraid to wear it on the behalf of a person whose presence was a sunlit clearing to me in a forest of darkness.

I was present in the monastery of Garegg Mach for twenty days as a representative of the Leicester Alliance. Some might call my position inside those walls that of a pampered hostage. At first, I was heartbroken that a person dear to me would raise a sword against the Goddess. In my heart, I knew that such a decision could only lead to torment.

During those days I watched silently as horrifyingly selfish and petulant decisions made by Archbishop Rhea and Cardinal Seteth spiraled out of control into a disaster for so many innocent people and animals.

At one point, I was even declared insufficiently neutral, arrested, and imprisoned.

My last free evening during the siege was spent crying in my old dormitory as Cardinal Seteth ordered Knight Captains Gilbert and Alois to massacre and devour the animals of Garegg Mach in order to fortify the starving garrison for a sally against the Empire. I attempted to shelter as many as I could before the dorm was broken into by the Knights of Seiros.

Just outside the walls was a caravan of dried meat and grain from Gronder, which the Empire had arranged for civilian relief. Cardinal Seteth refused to accept such a gift due to fears that it could either be poisoned, or offer Imperial troops access to the monastery.

I spoke on behalf of the Professor, Emperor Edelgard, and Ferdinand that night in an audience with Cardinal Seteth, stating that I believed they would do no such thing. I was then confined to a oubliette without sustenance until the Professor and Ferdinand negotiated for my release.

During those days left to die, I had made peace with myself and the goddess, believing that such a fate would be acceptable as it would free those of their burdens to look after me.

When I saw the faces of Professor Byleth and Ferdinand after my release was arranged, I knew what a terrible mistake I had made in such an assumption. Even today, I ask the Goddess for forgiveness – my hubris in the darkness of that dungeon was unimaginable.

I speak for myself and my liege, Claude von Riegan, when I say that I protest at the idea of such a trial occurring in the first place, and will do my utmost to ignore the findings of this tribunal should Professor Byleth ever be found. The safety I found in him, and in members of the Black Eagle House, is a happiness that I will carry with me for the rest of my life – even though my responsibilities carry me elsewhere. That safety is one that I will endeavor to return to him whenever I can.

Marianne von Edmund

Marquesa of the Margravate of Edmund

Plenipotentiary of the Leicester Alliance

Sentence:

If in the course of the Coalition's occupation of Adrestia, former Marechal of the Empire Byleth von Eisner is captured, he is to be handed over to the Church of Seiros, currently headquartered in Fhirdiad, for immediate execution. All Imperial nobles are expected to comply with these conditions upon conquest of their seats.

If any other member states locate Byleth von Eisner in any of their territories in the future, the same directive holds true.

If the dead body of Byleth von Eisner is found within the territories herein, his body is expected to be handed over to the Church of Seiros for disposal in accordance with Church custom.

Signed,

Seteth

Consul, Term 1181-82

International Military Tribunal of Fodlan

To: Seteth

From: Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg of Adrestia

Regarding: Verdict & Sentencing of Byleth von Eisner (in Absentia)

If.

Yours Truly,

Edelgard

Chapter Text

I woke up this morning experiencing a variety of sensations, but feeling rather hollow in spite of them all. It's a disjointed condition which I've been under the pall of more frequently lately, especially when I'm not around the Eagles.

As I rouse myself, the most prominent and immediate sensation that I can feel is the pressure of two, firm, bouncy spheres pushing into my back. The second is a regular, warm, cyclical breeze of hot air cascading down the back of my neck. I also feel what must be an arm wrapped around my chest. A delicate hand also appears to be wedged between my neck and my cheek.

I start to piece together the culprit behind these sensations rather quickly once taking them all into stock. It's clearly Hilda. But following this discovery, a number of questions begin to rattle around in my head, all noisily competing for prominence.

How did we get into this position?

Why is she doing this?

And most pressingly:

What am I going to tell Holst?

Quickly opening my eyelids and examining myself, I note that I'm fully clothed. Craning my neck to inspect Hilda, who in spite of just wearing the low-cut, silken, pink negligee – is as close to fully clothed as one can expect under the circumstances. Her ample, pushed up cleavage would protest this, but I was really never much for debate. I do recall that she had slipped into that revealing sleepwear yesterday evening following her miserable experience with Claude.

Did she take the Silphium, I wonder? No– that was not my place to ask or to know.

As follow-up questions of a moral and ethical nature fire through my head, I close my eyes again in an effort to chase them away.

Could I be overreacting? This is rather strange in itself, because I rarely overreact. Or react at all, really.

I shouldn't be surprised, though. I've seen this sort of thing before.

In fact, it seems rather natural to seek out comfort in someone else after emotional trauma of some kind. I've seen it enough. Sometimes, I'd see entire families or clans of mercenaries on the Throat. Husbands, wives, children, relatives, et cetera. When one of those people in those close-knit bands died, they'd seek out the nearest physical succor they could find. Hilda was probably experiencing that trauma on a lesser scale.

It was a natural thing to feel those emotions, I suppose.

And I'm probably quite unnatural for not feeling them, even though I want to, I think.

Naturally, it's not hard to imagine that His Deceitfulness, for example, would be quite envious of this position I find myself in right now, given that he was motivated enough to have sexual relations with her the night before. But here I lay, feeling nothing at all from this encounter. There are broader strokes of knowledge, sure – I'd be sad to know Hilda came to harm, and her safety is something I care about in a parochial sense, not even counting my old comradeship with her brother – but nothing about this embrace right now feels meaningful to me. And I feel like it maybe should, and that there is something deeply wrong with me.

This isn't the first time I've been this physically close to a woman, either. The Dagdan girl, after pinning that carnation on my cloak, brought her face very close to mine – eyes alight in drunken passion. I retreated before our faces came too close. Sensing rejection, she slipped away into the evening as my father stared at me with an expression of regret seeping into every furrow and wrinkle in his face. As I learned recently, she died a week later.

It's a silly thought – but would Hilda die too if I pried myself away like this?

Regardless, I claim back my vision and find myself reflexively attempting to slip free of her hold. Eventually, I'm able to pry myself loose from her iron grip around my chest and slip out of the tent. I walk over to check my own, and after I unbutton the front, I notice that Claude is drooling on pillow. Additionally, Hubert has already roused, leaving an empty sleeping bag behind.

It occurs to me at first to either try and find Hubert, or cook breakfast for the two sleeping Deer in an effort to rouse them. Neither of those choices two end up being as appealing as a third option that creeps to the back of my head, which is to immediately head off and inspect the canyon on my own.

"I agree. I sense a strange energy emanating from that place." Sothis chimes in.

"Is that the first time we've agreed on anything?" I ask.

"It certainly does feel like that, does it not? Whatever will I do with you…"

Reconnaissance is chief among the tasks necessary for making war properly – at least, that's my opinion, anyway. That opinion is why I ceaselessly volunteered for scouting parties when fighting with my father under Holst's command. Today is no different, and in the wake of my general lifestyle change in the past few weeks – proves rather comforting. As I clear past the woods and towards the barren, rocky canyon, I bring myself low to the ground, chin meeting the dirt and crawl along prone to a small rocky outcropping offering an excellent view of the ground below. As the forest recedes, the red sand begins. In that sense, it reminds me of the Throat.

My initial estimate is that Zanado seems better suited for a last stand of brave warriors, rather than as a base of operations for a bandit gang like this. Reaching for my journal, I scribble a few notes down regarding the terrain:

The Canyon appears to resemble an impact crater rather than a natural valley dug by a river. Totally devoid of water or vegetation, I get a sense of deja vu while inspecting it further. I'm reminded in particular of the calderas that dot the entrance to Almyra, which were rumored to be left by Dragons thousands upon thousands of years before.

They're quite different from the canyons further up the locket, which are deep, narrow, and give the impression of being dug in by ancient, long-lost riverways.

The Almyran calderas tend to all have a similar cut to them: one that mirrors that of the Red Canyon – deep fissures cutting into the ground around the perimeter of the feature, eventually softening and rising up steadily towards a flattened "peak" in the center of the terrain. That peak appears to be where the bandits themselves are holed up.

It'd be a fine defensive position if we weren't so eminently asking to be besieged.

In that sense, it reminds me of Garegg Mach – if Garegg Mach were built from leather tents instead of masoned stone.

Reaching for a pair of field spectacles under my breastplate, I decide to take a closer look at the camp itself. Before applying the magnifying glasses to my face, I check my 9-o-clock, 3-o-clock and 6-o-clock positions. Field spectacles are always a risky affair because the optics of the lenses often causes you to lose peripheral vision.

After focusing in on the camp, I can see that it is indeed occupied. About fifty ratty-looking bandits are milling about the site, poking at morning campfires and preparing what looks like typical breakfast of gruel.

What draws my attention next is a sudden flash and appearance of a rather unique individual. Materializing right next to the bandit leader from Remire, this visitor cuts a rather comical figure even when next to the balding bandit king.

Where to begin? The massive red scythe jutting out from the back of the helmet? A Dramatist's mask resting on the face – painted red of course. Quarter-plate shoulder guards with red frills descending from them?

Absolutely cringeworthy.

The campiness of the whole affair is increased when I add another magnifying glass to the lens and realize that there are little white flames embroidered on each of the frills. Topping it all off is a massive black leather cape with – could one have guessed otherwise – a red satin lining and what look like red-painted pheasant feathers sticking out from the top of the cloak.

If you showed this getup to Lysithea in the dead of night, I doubt she'd even find it a convincing demon.

Even more absurd is the bandit leader prostrating in front of this clown.

Reflexively, I slide closer to the canyon walls in an attempt to pick up echoes bouncing off the massive cliff faces. Little trick I picked up on the Throat – while it's hard to catch everything that's said, one will often gather enough. It turns out that I don't even need to, as the two are quite audibly screaming at each other anyway.

"…We're getting starved out here! You and I had a deal, remember?! All I was told was to kill as many noble pipsqueaks as possible! No one said anything about the Knights of damned Seiros being on our trail! " The bandit leader yells.

Fire-Frill Feather Figure shakes its head.

"You have proven yourself truly worthless… Distracted by something so trivial! I had hoped you would achieve your goal despite the setback. But… Now, a child of the knights' former captain is in play. He will doubtlessly overcome the rest of your troop like he did two weeks ago."

I suppose I should've expected to have an undetectable gender. The voice sounds like a toddler's attempt at an adult-sounding-voice coming through a conch shell.

"Hey! This isn't what I agreed to!"

"Hiring a mercenary as a professor… What was that woman thinking…?!"

Fire-Frill Feather Figure seems to know about my existence. Curious.

"Are you listening to me?! How do we finish this?!" The bandit leader gripes.

"I needed you to act decisively in order to finish the task I gave you. You failed, so I am forced to use you as bait, now."

This tidbit of information is certainly more interesting. The bandits as diversionary forces would be an excellent way to trap the besieging force inside the canyon on the day of the attack, and in effect make them the besieged. All they would need to do is…

"...Bait? What in the fuck?"

"-Metodey."

A tall, wiry – almost sickly looking figure warps into view next to Fire-Frill Feather Figure. Hair cut in a parted bowl, I notice that he is wearing a red cloak with the insignia of a white rose embroidered in the front. He strikes me as another noble of some stripe.

"...You've summoned me to rescue this nuisance, Your–?"

Metodey's summoner strikes the fellow across the face with the handle of its silver axe.

"Silence! Before you commit grave dishonor to yourself and your master in front of this Brigand."

"Of course…"

"Introduce yourself, and only yourself."

He nods and turns back to the bandit leader.

"Sir Guillame Metodey, Captain of the Company of the Rose – I look forward to watching you suffer…!"

The bandit leader gulps audibly.

"I-Is this guy gonna help us or not?"

"Captain Metodey will assist you in completing your mission – whether you survive it has become of secondary importance. Perhaps you will be able to redeem yourself." The Feathered one utters.

This brings the bandit leader right back to his previous intensity.

"So what, you're just gonna leave us here to starve until the brats show up again? What kind of plan is that?!"

"I see that there are about fifty of you. I would suggest rationing your supplies wisely. Since you are their leader, I will leave such responsibility to you."

Did it ever occur to anyone here to just send foraging parties out? Two or three hunters could easily slip through a siege line. It happened all the damn time when we were fighting Almyra.

And with that, Fire-Frill Feather Figure disappears in a wall of warp magic.

"Hey– that's not good enough–!"

Desperation creeps into the bandit's voice. In a few weeks' time, this fellow will be an easy mark for my blade if that mental state ends up dominating his psyche.

Metodey, perhaps realizing the same thing that I do, begins to cackle. It's an intriguing sound. This captain seems to enjoy the plight of others, that much is clear... But I suspect that such enjoyment isn't purely sadistic. Somewhere below that, as his laugh reverberates across the canyon walls, I suspect he's already experienced what this bandit leader shortly will. Failure of a fatal variety. A question strikes me at that moment: can a laugh like that come forth from a place of twisted empathy, as well?

"If you live, you'll let me know what flesh tastes like, won't you? I've always been curious!" he asks before disappearing in a warp of his own.

As the bandit leader throws a tantrum, I opt to slip away. I've seen enough.

I return to the campsite and take note that Claude and Hilda are still fast asleep. Hubert is still nowhere to be found. I resolved to set out to find him after breakfast, but he surprises me by appearing out of the woods shortly after I start cooking today's round of camp-cakes.

"Professor." He grunts in acknowledgement as he sits by the fire. I notice that he's only wearing his shirtsleeves tucked into his academy pants.

"Hubert." I reply.

"Would you care to explain how von Riegan ended up in your sleeping bag last night, or should I be left to draw my own conclusions?"

I leave Hubert to stew in his question for a few moments while I try to formulate a response that is neither too generous to Claude nor too revealing – for Hilda's sake. I did promise her to keep the details to a minimum, after all.

"There was a socially compromising situation."

Hubert smirked ever so slightly at me re-use of his term from a week ago.

"...This occurred after I had retired for the evening, I take it?"

I nod.

"And you separated them?" he asked.

I nod again.

"...Then how did you end up having the younger Goneril splayed all over you this morning, precisely?"

He must have opted to check Claude and Hilda's tent when he realized that von Riegan was his new tentmate. That also means that Hilda probably decided she wanted to go spooning shortly after I fell asleep.

"I have no idea." I say with a shrug.

Hubert holds my gaze for a time, judging the evidence and my testimony in magisterial silence.

"...Against my better judgment, I'm willing to accept your side of events – for now… But be warned that gallivanting with other female students like that will not win you any favors with Lady Edelgard."

I stare at him with the blankest expression I've ever been able to muster.

"...What?"

Hubert shakes his head.

"I refuse to recapitulate myself."

Flipping over one of the camp cakes in the skillet with my dagger, I return my attention to the food for a time. Hubert's gaze follows until he pipes up a few minutes later.

"Did you intend to go on reconnaissance this morning?"

I look up after flipping the other camp-cake.

"Done." I reply.

At this, his eyes narrowed.

"...Is that so? Did you see anything that may have caught your eye?"

I plate one of the camp-cakes and offer it to Hubert. He declines. I shrug and take a bite for myself, contemplating the tone in which Edelgard's retainer asked that question. Did he make his own advance into the valley, I wonder? Does he suspect that I'm working with them, perhaps – or…?

"You should check it out yourself." I suggest.

"You should answer my question, Professor."

Interesting that he's pressing on this. I tease out a reply for a time in between bites of the campcake.

"I find bandit defenses more interesting than bandits themselves."

This seems to satiate him.

"...And there are precious few of them at the moment, wouldn't you say?"

I suppose he's trying really signal that he reconnoitered the area as well.

"For now. As their situation becomes more desperate, they may start erecting them."

Hubert grants this.

"That is certainly a possibility... I suppose you've seen as much fighting on Fodlan's Throat?"

I shake my head.

"Not really. The Almyrans will take every opportunity they can to attack. Even if their odds don't favor an assault, they'll attempt to carry one."

"Did the Forlorn Hopes of Holst not take grand, gold-laden citadels of Almyra? That was the story offered to wanderlusting nobles in the halls of Enbarr."

Unaware of Holst's marketing efforts, I pondered his query for a time.

"We took the citadels to rob them of supplies, not to take land. There were never enough troops to hold the places we took."

The Marquis of Pickled Sausage and Beet Juice seems to find this extremely amusing.

"Ha…! The Ashen Demon, reduced to raiding? I suspect that they'll make a fine enemy for me to squash someday, then."

I raise an eyebrow at this statement, given how the Alliance is sitting squarely in between the Adrestia and Almyra?

"You plan on joining up with Holst…?"

Hubert squints at me.

"Don't be a fool. I have a role to play, something that must be quite unfamiliar to common folk like yourself. To fulfill that role means that everyone and everything must be assessed as an enemy. That could be from a remote place like Almyra, or as close as this very campfire. If there are challenges laid before Lady Edelgard's path en route to becoming Emperor, I will be ready to clear them."

As he says those words, I feel a very strange kinship with him. I realize he probably won't ever see my view of it, but I have no interest in denigrating that goal of his.

"She's fortunate to have you, Hubert."

Hubert smirks bitterly and shakes his head.

"I sensed that you were being quite genuine there, Professor. It's a pity that your sentiment is so wrong."

I offer him the second camp-cake in silence. He accepts it, his head falling as he does. It looks as if a deep stormcloud of shame has overtaken him.

"...If you prove your utility to Lady Edelgard, perhaps someday I shall endeavor to explain why the exact opposite is true."

Hilda and Claude eventually wake up and complete their surveys of the Red Canyon in rather short order, probably because they don't have the foggiest idea of what they're actually supposed to be doing. Claude's assessment of the enemy force was "they're there, and they look hungry". The second statement struck as pure projection given the knowledge that the bandits had already taken their breakfast, and that Claude hadn't eaten since sundown yesterday.

Let it be known that Claude ate his fill today. Hilda didn't bother taking one of the camp cakes, citing a sudden stomach ailment.

Although the breaking of camp took longer than expected because of my companions' inexperience, we were still on horseback by noontime. If all held, we'd be back at Garegg Mach by midnight thanks to the pony express station. The Arundel highway was a fine piece of stonework engineering, and it allowed for the mounts to break into a run at full gallop on a perfectly level mason platform.

At one point in the late afternoon, Claude brought his mount along mine.

"Yo, Teach."

I look over at him.

"Hildie's gonna invite you to the bar tonight, but would you mind if I asked a favor?"

Shrugging, I wait for him to continue.

"...I'm gonna try to apologize to her over a drink, I think. Mind if I ask you to politely decline?"

"Are you going to try to fuck her again?" I ask matter-of-factly.

The frankness of my question seems to take His Deceitfulness back a few paces. He digs his spurs into the horse's side to compensate.

"-Woah, Teach! Who do you think I am?"

I think of comparing him to Sylvain, but Sylvain claims to have quite a bit of stamina due to some form of elite, whole-body physical training known as "jelqing". I haven't the slightest idea of what it actually entails, but according to Sir Gautier, it is supposedly quite intensive. I suspect I'll never engage in an activity like that, but it's always interesting to hear about the results of people's workout regimens.

What I mean to conclude here is that Sylvain appears to have discipline. Comparing Claude to him would be extremely unfair to the former's efforts at self-improvement.

"I think you're you, Claude."

His Deceitfulness shakes his head, clearly at a loss for a witty riposte.

"Remind me to swing that back right at you next time you make an honest mistake…! But no, I don't have any plans of a romantic variety this evening."

"If you say so."

"Thanks, Teach. I appreciate it! How about I treat you to lunch tomorrow?"

I shake my head.

"I might have plans."

Claude winks.

"I get it. Edel's due back tomorrow, right?"

Edelgard is indeed due back tomorrow, but I don't have any plans with her, as I don't think she's due back until later in the day. At this point however, I'm starting to realize that the quickest way to shut Claude up is to just confirm what he thinks he knows, even if it's actually totally incorrect.

"Something like that."

"Aha! I knew my performance last night got you thinking!"

I shake my head.

"I'm not looking to get fired just yet."

"You know, Teach, if Seteth bounces you two, she can always just take you back to Adrestia as a consort. I heard that's what her mother was. Not a bad life, I bet."

Claude raises his eyebrows at me, expecting me to know what a consort is. I think whatever innuendo he's making is based on that knowledge that I don't actually have.

But he brings up a point of consideration – I suppose that's something I'd have to just accept someday – the students only attend the officer's academy for a single year. I figure this year is the only year I'm likely to be employed here, anyway – given Hanneman's grim assessment of my career prospects, and my frosty relationship with Seteth, the Academy's director.

It feels strange to know that the time I'm spending with the Eagles has such a firm, fixed date on its conclusion. For most of my life, days blended into weeks into months into years. I never found myself feeling betrayed by the fixed nature of time until very recently.

Even after knowing the kids for such a short time, I feel so incredibly close to them. And I've never really felt anything like that before in my entire life.

Perhaps going to Adrestia with her wouldn't be so bad?

But I'm not sure how I feel about the future. It seems like I've only just figured out that it exists as a concept.

Even so... since the twentieth of the Great Tree Moon, it seems eager to remind me of its presence.

And that's… frustrating? Is that the correct emotion to describe it as?

Really, I'm not sure how I feel about anything lately.

It's probably for the best that I don't.

Chapter Text

"We could get Bernadetta into an overwatch position here…"

A steady hand of mine glides a protractor in a sweeping circle across a topographical map of Zanado pilfered from the library, assigning Bernadetta, who I've penciled in as "Be" to one of the strategic overlooks in front of the bandits' main camp site.

"...And that would give us a hundred yards of crossfire covering that end of the canyon."

My father scrutinizes the plan thoroughly over a frosted, frothy mug of Itha Stout, an IPA he prefers from Faerghus. Recently, I learned that both Sylvain and Felix's families share ownership of that territory, which provides most of the hops for beer consumed across Fodlan.

The two of us are currently sharing a table at Celica's.

I mentioned Caspar's Bergliezauer to him upon arriving, but he quickly dismissed the Imperial wheat beer as "piss". I immediately came to the defense of the drink, in spite of never having tried it. Amused, he suggested that I order a mug.

So I did.

And it was truly awful.

This is clearly a case of one's father knowing best.

I take a sip of my second libation for the afternoon, the Enbarr Gin and bergamot tonic. My father's eyes squint, as if he's found a weak point in the plan of attack.

"Not bad, but how are you gonna handle the Western approach there?"

His large, weathered index finger presses down on a narrow staircase that, if ascended by the enemy, would expose Bernadetta to an attack from the rear. If he had let me finish the actual plan, I would've shown him – but I guess it's worth getting his pre-emptive perspective rather than no perspective at all.

I pencil in a "By" and an "E" right next to each other at the head of the steps, and then drag my pencil down and through, curling off the line in a tipped arrow to indicate forward movement.

"I'll cover that flank with Edelgard." I say as I make the notation. "The object is for Ferdinand to draw the enemy towards the right wing to catch the enemy in a cross-fire with Bernadetta and the Mages. Edelgard and I can then slam into the leader. My guess is that he'll hang back."

My father frowns.

"...You're not taking any ranged units with you?" he asks, tilting his head.

"Edelgard can use a handaxe." I offer with a shrug.

He's clearly unsatisfied with this response.

"...Not even a mage?"

I frown and assess the plan again. On the Eastern approach, I have the letters "H", "D", and "L" penciled in behind "P" and "C". These are Hubert, Dorothea, Lindhardt, Petra and Caspar respectively. Another arrow is moving in a sweeping motion back and forth labeled as "F" – this is a feint by Ferdinand. I had planned for the six of them to function as an overly potent Maurician diversionary force. Does such a large force seem justified, I find myself wondering?

"I want them demonstrating on the right wing so that the enemy commits to that flank." I explain.

"...But the leader's tent is back there. You think they're gonna take that bait?"

His finger swings back to the corner of the crater, where I indicated the leader's camp with an "X". It's a bit secluded from the principal bandit camp in the center.

He's made a fair point. The Bandit King might simply see myself and Edelgard as a more enticing target to defeat in detail, and attempt to strike the numerically inferior group. But the bandit leader has a clear idea of our capabilities. Why would he be so eager to test us again? I selected the two of us to handle that approach for that very reason. It would also take us longer to get around the flank than it would be for the rest of the Eagles to simply push forward in a straight line after clearing any preliminary defense put forward by the bandits. Logically, the Bandit King shouldn't be moving against the two of us first. Especially if Ferdinand is demonstrating.

"Ferdinand is… good at being the center of attention." I note.

My father brings a hand to his hair.

"That's… Redhead who got caught in the net, right? Is he also leading it?"

I shake my head, twirl the pencil, and tap the eraser of my pencil on the "H".

"I was going to delegate command of that wing to Hubert."

"Hubert… that's Pretty Princess's ugly attendant, right?"

A hooded, shortstuff monk sitting not far from us snorts out their drink, a fruity crimson cocktail. That short monk is accompanied by a rather tall monk, and at first, the pair strike me as quite similar in size to Hubert and Edelgard. But I'm already quite familiar with their observation technique with the plague doctor outfits, so I don't think this is them. These two must finally be the expected tails from Seteth. No doubt his agents are on the prowl again, as Edelgard returned earlier this afternoon. I suspect he still wants to meet with us.

When my father rapped on my door to ask me out to lunch, I quickly gathered my map and protractor to complete the battleplan over fried pheasant wings and beer. As I stepped out, I took a sideways glance at a bright red, horse-drawn carriage with a massive golden Eagle emblazoned on it. My father mentioned that it was the Imperial Livery. No doubt it was dropping her off at the dormitories. I noticed a figure step out, and we may have made eye contact from that distance, but it was hard to tell that it was Edelgard specifically, as Hubert immediately blocked my vision before I could focus my eyes on the person. Either way, I doubt she knows that I'm here – or made an effort to follow me to something so basic as a lunch with my father.

"He's competent." I say, assessing my Marquis of Pickled Sausages.

I catch the tall monk shaking his head at the short monk in my periphery. They're quite animated. Seteth must not be sending his best.

My father clears his throat after a long swig of the beer. He's got a frothy mustache from his efforts, which contrasts amusingly with his dour expression.

"Even so, kid…this plan… There are a lot of moving parts. That… isn't a bad thing, but I wouldn't get too attached to all the theorycraft they've got you teaching here."

I stare at him blankly. He seems to have more to say.

"What I mean is… you're fighting with kids. Don't forget that. If some of the professionals in our old company would find this convoluted, you better believe your class is."

Leaning back in my seat, I grant that his reply makes a very fair point. Ferdinand managed to make a mess of the initial diversion by running headfirst into a net-trap that Caspar clearly spotted well before the start of the battle. He did this for "noble" reasons. Knowing that, there's little to no reason why I should be expecting him to follow this diversionary strike to the letter, either. In fact, the likelihood exists that he might end up getting himself killed for the same "noble" reasons that formed the nexus of his insubordination during the mock battle.

My father notes that I'm stewing in my logic and attempts to rescue me.

"But hey, you've got a month to fine-tune it. A few tweaks and I can see it working well, kid."

His mention of our old employees is more at the front of my mind now then his attempt to spare my feelings. If I can get a hold of a few, they'll be eminently useful for the lesson plan I have kicking around for the first week of classes.

"Speaking of the company… could I borrow a few of them?" I ask.

My father raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

"I might be able to pry some loose from the siege detail, but for what?"

"To block off the entrance to the mock battlefield."

"...For what?" he repeats.

"So Lindhardt and Bernadetta don't try to sneak back to their dorms."

My father seems to consider my words for a moment, and then nods with a smirk. It occurs to me that he probably can't actually place my Eagles by name yet, but he clearly saw them fight at the mock battle – so he might be running through their performances on the field quite like his identification of Ferdinand.

"Ah… Seteth wants you to give them survival training too, yeah?"

I nod.

"I may have them camp out for a few days." I reply.

The already present smirk on my father's face widens at the thought.

"That other professor… Hanneman, was it? He's having me give Faerghus's noble brats a crash course of that stuff on the quad in a couple of weeks. Just a single day, though. Looks like your flock isn't getting off as easily."

It occurs to me that Seteth didn't mention being able to draw on the Blue Lions insofar as the mission to Zanado.

"What are they doing for the month?" I ask.

"Building a new palisade for Remire. Blondie seems real excited – he came up to me yesterday with a fancy outline. I think he wanted to run it by you as well, but you were out… Anyway – he shows me the paper and it's got circumvallated fortifications, owl messenger stations, quicksilver wells, the whole nine yards. I don't have the heart to tell him that there are only about a hundred villagers left. There's no way on this side of Fodlan to man all the posts that kid came up with."

That does sound an awful lot like Dimitri. It occurs to me that I haven't had a chance to catch up with him since my intervention at the Mock Battle. I probably should, especially if he's in the same funk he was in after the incident at the training grounds.

"I'm impressed."

My father nods.

"I'm still surprised you didn't pick them. That kid thinks the world of you. They all do strangely enough – but him in particular, I figure."

When I was first appointed a professor, my father really never proffered an opinion on what class I should've chosen. Looking back, that's kind of a strange thing because I wasn't really in the habit of making decisions without consulting him first. Even now, I'm back into my old habit – giving him the opportunity to pore over my early strategy for tackling the bandits in the canyon.

All that being said, it's not like I approached him with that choice, either. From the beginning, I knew what my choice was going to be – even as I ate the sweet buns that Dimitri's gang had baked for me in what was a clear demonstration of their enthusiasm about me as a teacher. I suppose it was also in appreciation for saving their Lord, too. They seemed like a pretty tight clique, all things considered.

No one in the Black Eagles had done any of that. In fact, my first meeting with them was consumed with them all selfishly bickering.

In fact… the only one who even expressed any relief at my rescue of Edelgard in the first place was Hubert, and it's clear he was only doing so as a segue into prying her away from me.

"Me too." I reply at last.

My father shakes his head.

"I didn't even mention the Deer for that matter. You know Holst's sister is– ah, Speak of the Devil."

Something catches my father's peripheral vision, and he turns ever so slightly towards it with a grimace.

I turn and notice what he's grimacing at, and grimace myself. Claude, Hilda, and Lorenz have entered the front door of Celica's. I can't seem to lose the first two in particular, although I always look forward to hearing Lorenz's perspective on things. He's a fine fellow, in my estimation.

Claude leads the way, sauntering past the two monks and towards our corner table in the bar.

"Yo, is that Teach and Cap?" he says upon finally reaching earshot.

"Hiya Professor! Hiya Captain Jeralt!" Hilda yips not a moment after.

My father, ignoring Claude's greeting, points at Hilda.

"That hair… well, I know a Goneril when I see one. Hilda, was it?"

"Wow, Captain – you knew! And yeah, Professor said you used to fight with my big bro, too!"

"I just sat back and watched, girly. My boy and your brother were two peas in a pod, though. They both don't know when they're about to get hurt. He saved Holst's ass twice, though."

Hilda then wrapped her arms around my neck and shoved the side of my head into her bosom.

Just after this, the sound of glass shattering on the floor is heard. My father glances over to the two monks. As I turn my head into Hilda's ample chest, I can just see the shortstuff monk picking up the shards from over the Doe's shoulder.

"Professor's, like, totally the best, don't you think, Captain?" she says, elated at what she must have thought was a nuzzle on my part.

My father raises an eyebrow at me, and I nonchalantly pivot my head back to where it was initially.

"We do wish he could've taken responsibility for us Deer, but alas." Lorenz says with a rueful, if disaffected tone.

My father then gets up. Looking squarely down at me, he says:

"Well, I've got to go bug Alois about your request. Let me see your big plan when you're done tweaking it."

"Leaving so soon, Cap?" Claude says with a hint of displeasure. I don't sense that it's particularly affected, either.

"I ain't your teacher, kid. My salary isn't about to go into your booze bank." He says giving Claude a fake punch in the gut – clearly indicating what he meant by booze bank. Claude being Claude, flinches.

Hilda frees me from her vice-grip and waves my father goodbye. Claude, quick on the rebound, has already slid into my father's seat and is assessing the map.

"...You're already planning for the battle, Teach?"

I don't proffer a reply, and instead turn to see that my father is in conversation with the two monks. The short one has their hands folded together and seems to be pleading with my father for some reason. Perhaps he realized that they were spying on us on Seteth's behalf.

"Oooooh, Professor? Is, like, that "H"... could it stand for Hilda?"

I turn to my left, where I realize Hilda is now sitting. She's pointing at the "H" on that map that stands for "Hubert". From my periphery I can notice that Lorenz has taken the seat next to Claude. He's staring at the map quite intensely as well.

"Professor, I would be honored if you would place me at the head of this engagement with the bandits instead of the rear. I wish to challenge such low-lifes and remind them about the virtue of House Gloucester."

No doubt he's mistaken the "L" for Lorenz instead of Lindhardt.

"I don't see a C at all… what's up with that?" Claude asks, scrutinizing the plan. This is beyond stupid, because there's a "C' for Caspar in the front row.

"Aren't the Deer just observing?" I ask.

Hilda seems relieved at this news.

"That's fine with me, Professor – I hate fighting, actually!"

I question the truthfulness of Hilda's opinion given her proficiency with the handaxe that she showed during the mock battle. His Deceitfulness, in turn, seems a bit frustrated.

"Ah, Teach – you've got to think bigger than that. You can bring any of us along if you really want to… you know you've got a magic arrow, right?"

I raise an eyebrow.

"...You really don't know?" Claude asks.

This earns a shake of my head. Claude pulls out a crumpled sheet of yellow paper from his uniform pocket, and hands it to me. He adds a flourish of his hand before his next words.

"The Mission Support form, of course!"

As I take a look at the form that Claude handed me, the Dagdan waitress appears to take drink orders. Looks like I'll be stuck babysitting the Deer for awhile, yet again. The mission support form is clear enough – I will endeavor to recreate the format below:

Officer's Academy at Garegg Mach

Temporary Transfer (Mission Support)

Student: Raphael Kirsten

Class from: Golden Deer

Class to: Blue Lions

Transfer Date Start: 1st of Harpstring Moon

Transfer Date End: 25th of Harpstring Moon

Mission: Refortification of Remire Village

Description of Duties: Manual Labor

Recipient Professor Signature

Hanneman v. E.

Transferring Professor Signature

Manuela Casagrande

Directions for Form Duplicates

White Copies: Held by Professors

Yellow Copies: Issued to House Leaders

Pink Copies: Forward to Director Seteth

As my eyes go back to Claude, I notice him giving an expectant expression.

"Raphael's the big guy?" I ask

"Yup– The Beast of Leicester himself! Professor Manuela figured he'd be good for the job. But he'll be back by mission day."

I nod and hand the yellow card back to Claude.

"I'll look into it." I reply earnestly.

"That's all I'm asking for, Teach." He adds with a wink.

I'm able to part ways with Claude, Hilda, and Lorenz before the Academy proper closes up for the night. The duo of monks, who I had mostly forgotten about in the course of my conversation with the three Deer, had apparently left long before I did. Their table was already cleaned up by the waitress when my eyes fell upon it on the way out.

When I return to my dormitory, a message and a fresh splattering of owl feces are awaiting me.

Kid,

Lt. Fallstaff's platoon is a-go for your camping trip. You've got eight brats in the class, right? They'll have the tent kits with them so you can head right over. Told them to post at the entry gate & keep their eyes on the bookish ones.

The Bookish Ones.

That's a good description for Lindhardt, I think. But is it so for Bernadetta?

I have to wonder, if only because I've seen so little of her. Lindhardt, although perpetually groggy, has a similar presence to a cat – when he's present mentally as well as physically, he makes himself known. At times, he's downright chatty – and he's rather sly and dry to boot. I think back to the comment he made about Edelgard's attitude at the mock battle, or his commentary about crests and lucid dreaming from the celebration that evening.

But Bernadetta… well, I just know she doesn't like to be outside. And enjoys peach sorbet.

And that's about it, really.

Since I'm more or less going to be forcing her to camp with the rest of the Eagles against her will, next week is probably as good a time as ever to set about the project of seeing what makes her tick. Considering I'm giving her a very essential role that requires independent operation in the battle to come later this month, it would be foolish to do that in total ignorance of her personality and preferences.

I guess the question that naturally follows that is: will she let me?

Chapter Text

Awaiting me just outside my classroom is Professor Manuela. Although it might be moderately interesting to see what she's been up to for the past couple of weeks, I attempt to walk right past her without so much as acknowledging her presence. I've got more important things to deal with today. My Eagles have to learn how to leave their silken nests, and I probably need to come up with some last-minute bargaining strategies in order to get them to do so.

Manuela, however, does not allow me this courtesy.

Instead, she blocks my forward path with her riding crop. For a time, I simply stare at the tool, until she gracefully glides the flap onto my cheek and yanks my face towards hers.

"Professor…"

This only earns a raised eyebrow from me.

"Oh, don't give me that look, now, Professor… I know how thrilled you are to see my beautiful... face!"

She glides the crop's flap under my chin and pulls my face upwards before withdrawing her implement. When my chin returns to rest, I realize that she's made me nod.

"See, was that so hard?"

I shrug.

"Anyway, I heard from your oppressively handsome father this morning that you'd be taking your little gaggle of geese on a camping trip."

My father is chatting up Manuela? I guess I shouldn't jump to conclusions – their offices are right next to one another.

When do I get my own office?

"That's true." I grant.

"If that's the case, Professor, I must ask you ever so humbly to sign this mission support request."

She hands me a familiar set of papers, bound by tight strings in triplicate.

Officer's Academy at Garegg Mach

Temporary Transfer (Mission Support)

Student: Dorothea Arnault

Class from: Black Eagles

Class to: Golden Deer

Transfer Date Start: 5th of Harpstring Moon

Transfer Date End: 12th of Harpstring Moon

Mission: That Time of the Month

Description of Duties: Womanly Duties

Recipient Professor Signature

Manuela Casagranda

Transferring Professor Signature

x

That Time of the Month?

"I thought the Deer would be collaborating with us on the mission this moon?" I ask.

Manuela frowns as if I'm missing something that's apparently clear to everyone but me.

"Of course they are, Professor! Could I trouble you to read the mission description again?"

My eyes fall back to the sheet as if there's some sort of secret codeword hidden in Manuela's flowery calligraphy. There isn't, from what I can see. After additional scrutiny, the document simply reads That Time of the Month for the mission description. I look back up at Manuela, whose expression has changed from one affected ambivalence to genuine confusion.

"I still have no idea what this means, but I won't refuse." I say at last.

"Oh, you're just wonderful, Professor! And so helpless! I'll tell your father that he might want to have the talk with you someday… it's long overdue, I think!"

"The Talk?"

Manuela shakes her head with a smirk as wide as the canyon separating Garegg Mach from the monastery town.

"Professor, if your father is still hesitant, just drop by the infirmary sometime. I have an anatomy textbook which you can borrow. "

If this is something that impacts all women, I suppose I should probably try to wrap my head around it. Getting inside a topic like this could certainly help me become a better professor. Perhaps this is a circumstance that Edelgard may experience someday, and it would be incumbent on me to save her from such a fate. I did promise to protect her from such things, after all.

That said, if I lose Dorothea, it makes my even eight an odd seven. That could have consequences for my plan regarding their tent assignments…

Manuela interprets me stewing in my logic as license to continue.

"Now, now… don't look so grim! It's my responsibility as a doctor to inform dashing young academics like yourself about the divinity of women."

That sounds sacrilegious.

"It's not!" Sothis chimes in.

"How do you know?" I ask.

"What do you think I am?"

"Annoying."

"Phooey! I'm a woman! And The Beginning!"

"Inside a man…?"

"You're inside me!"

"Is that so…?"

Sothis does not reply, but I detect a small green-haired girl throwing a tantrum in the inner recesses of my mind. Pinching my forehead and bringing myself back to reality, I finally say:

"I was just thinking it would be troublesome to only have seven students this week."

Manuela waves her horse whip side-to-side in place of her head.

"Not to worry, Professor! I had an ace up my sleeve if you refused anyway. Since you've been such a good pet, I suppose I can throw you this bone anyway…"

Manuela pulls out another triplicate form from her mink coat and hands it to me. It reads:

Officer's Academy at Garegg Mach

Temporary Transfer (Mission Support)

Student: Lysithea von Ordelia

Class from: Golden Deer

Class to: Black Eagles

Transfer Date Start : 5th of Harpstring Moon

Transfer Date End :  12th of Harpstring Moon

Mission: Survival Training

Description of Duties: Survival

Recipient Professor Signature

x

Transferring Professor Signature

Manuela Casagranda

Trading Lysithea for Dorothea would work, I suppose. I still don't understand why Dorothea can't actually attend, but I suppose it's going to be my responsibility to read up more on this supposed condition that all women have.

But if Dorothea has That Time of the Month, doesn't that also mean that Lysithea might have it as well? How does one know when such a thing is occurring?

It's probably best not to get wrapped up in these questions until I get a chance to analyze that anatomical tome.

"This is fine, Manuela." I reply at last.

"If only all men were as pliable– I mean as reasonable– as you, Professor!"

I shrug.

"In any event, I recommended Lysithea because she's very eager to learn elemental magic. I saw that you're quite the practitioner with fire spells! Just… try not to kill my students next time you use it, okay?"

"I–" my attempt at an explanation is powered right through.

"–Anyway, I'd just love it if you could take her off my hands for a week until I can brush up on a few more offense-oriented spells. I'm just a humble healer, after all!"

Something about Manuela and humility doesn't quite check out, but… did she think I destroyed the barricade with a fire spell? I mean I suppose I did, in part – but that was just to light the "fuse" on the Goneril Cocktail. Most of the incendiary power came from the alcohol.

Still, it's not worth arguing.

I sign the paperwork and begin to head inside. As I do, Manuela taps me on the shoulder. She hands me a petite box of eight Enbarr Royale Delight Bon-Bons.

"In case she bothers you, Professor. I know how troublesome she can be."

…Do I find Lysithea troublesome?

As I enter the mostly empty classroom, it becomes readily obvious that the room's only other occupant – Edelgard, is glaring at me. She gets here awfully early – class isn't due to begin for another twenty minutes.

I extend a hand in a wave.

She continues to frown at me.

Is something wrong, I wonder?

I close my eyes and shrug. Walking over to my desk, it offers little solace as it directly faces her. I opt to bring my own attention to the biography of Mauricius and hold the book up at eye level. That said, I can't help but steal a glance at her every now and again. She continues to hurl daggers at me through those purple irises of hers. I'm not one to try and start a conversation, usually – but a slight ache in my chest prods me to do something rather out of character.

"...How was your trip?"

"...Not as enjoyable as yours, it would seem."

Reflexively, I place the book down on the desk and raise an eyebrow at her. What kind of statement is that, precisely?

"I didn't enjoy it."

"Oh, no doubt you would've had an enjoyable time if it was only you and Ms. Goneril. How unfortunate that you had to bring a Black Eagle along to babysit."

Either Hubert opened his big mouth, or Hilda opened her even bigger mouth. I'm leaning towards the former, but wouldn't be surprised about the latter. I probably should've been strategizing how I'd explain this to her last night instead of doodling with my father.

Will she accept I don't desire my comrade Holst's sister as an answer? Probably not.

"You're mistaking me with Claude." -that's the best I've got.

Edelgard shakes her head and smirks bitterly.

"...Predictable. Hubert told me the same in an attempt to spare my feelings. I see you two are collaborating now. If you feel that way, perhaps you should ask to switch classes with Manuela."

Was that an unexpected assist from Hubert or a clever gaslight? I'll never know.

"Is that what you call it?"

She turns her nose up.

"... Hmph…I have nothing more to say to you, Professor."

It appears that I've earned a demerit and been downgraded from my teacher.

All I can really do is shrug. In about fifteen minutes, I've got the unfortunate responsibility to drag eight students of varying motivation levels to the mock battlefield for a camping trip. I don't exactly have the time to assuage her feelings over me not having any desire for Hilda. She was like this with Petra and calmed down relatively quickly, at least. Maybe she'd cool down now, too.

All that said, why would she care if I even did want to pursue a relationship with Hilda?

"You're really quite dense, you know that?" Sothis spits.

"Go back to bed." I reply.

"Phooey! I was going to help you win her heart, but clearly you don't want it."

Proffering a reply to that seems beyond stupid. The day I seek my own schizophrenic hallucination out for advice is the day I should also probably just hand in my resignation. As I shake my head out of contemplation – I notice that Edelgard's expression has changed in light of my grimace. Concern seeps into her face.

"...Are you feeling unwell, my–"

Before she can finish her query, the door creaks open. Both of our eyes shoot towards the person who forced it ajar. For me, it's an increasingly familiar visage.

A flash of white hair. Pink eyes. A figure clearing barely five Faerghan feet.

"Professor!"

It's Lysithea. She trots forward excitedly, her riding boots clacking on the hardwood floor. Clearing past Edelgard without so much as an acknowledgement, she shows off a wicker basket, clearly acquired from the Head Chef. Revealing its contents to me by flipping over one of the cloth napkins covering it, she says:

"Professor, Ms. Manuela said I was transferring to your class this week to learn fire spells and important field survival studies, so I got you sweet buns to fortify yourself!"

"Thanks, Lysithea. That was thoughtful."

Lysithea beams at the compliment, no doubt taking it as a confirmation of her adult-ness. She turns to Edelgard, who looks like she just witnessed the two of us being run over by her carriage.

"Why do you look so surprised, Princess Edelgard? I told you already that he likes sweets. Were you not paying attention on the mock battlefield? I rather dislike repeating myself."

The scion of House Ordelia can be quite blunt.

I hand the yellow triplicate slip to Lysithea.

"Can you give this to Edelgard?"

If I tried, she's probably bite my hand.

"Oh, is this the transfer form? I've never seen one…!"

Lysithea's pink irises dance as they gloss over the document. I fail to see why she'd find it particularly interesting, but I also fail to see why all of these students find me particularly interesting as well. Edelgard, looking totally peeved at Lysithea's total lack of consideration, clears her throat.

"Lysithea, as House Leader of the Black Eagles, it is absolutely imperative you hand me that document."

Lysithea nods and offers her the paper.

"Wow, there's no need to be so aggressive, Princess Edelgard."

Edelgard's brow furrows as she snatches the sheet from Lysithea. She assesses the rapidly crumpling document quite thoroughly with a dejected sigh.

While she rues, I take a small bite of the sweet bun. I note that it's seasoned with cinnamon, a spice that I'm somewhat partial to. I'm rather surprised Garegg Mach has access to it, as the Empire's war with Dagda restricted the supply quiet significantly. For the past several years, my father noted that the prices were quite outrageous. Nothing about Fodlan's financial system makes any sense to me, so I just took his word for it.

At times, we would take jobs escorting cinnamon caravans across the Hrym Highway and over the bridge of Myrddin. In Imperial territory, these areas were often crawling with bandits looking for the biggest payday of their lives. Few realized that they'd be taking leave of their own when crossing blades with me.

Lysithea frowns at the small bite I took.

"Make sure to eat up, Professor – we need to start training right away!"

"I'm savoring it." I reply matter-of-factly.

"Oh! My parents told me about that once, Professor! Apparently, it's a very mature and refined thing to do. Can you teach me?"

I wonder what her parents are like? They certainly raised her without a filter. While musing on this, I take a look into the basket and notice that there is another sweet bun present. I pull it out and think of the other girl in here with a sweet tooth.

"Did you want this one, Edelgard?"

The Adrestian's silent reply is easy to read but difficult to make sense of. At first, I take it she's rather surprised at the consideration and gesture. Her face relaxes, and a white-gloved hand begins to extend, as if by reflex. But then some sort of prevailing wind strikes her square in the face – her brow furrowing again and those purple orbs of hers having the flames behind them snuffed out.

"...Well, I wouldn't want to impose on breakfast between you and your favorite student."

Is that what she thinks?

Before I can reply, Ferdinand von Aegir enters.

"Ah, Professor! You have returned safe and sound – I am overjoyed!"

I have to admit Ferdinand is really growing on me. It's nice to be greeted by someone who genuinely appreciates your presence. I hold up the sweet bun that Edelgard rejected.

"Sweet bun?"

You-know-who starts to seethe. Being nice to people must be a crime in the palace of Enbarr.

"Professor – you somehow know my favorite dessert! Your efforts to understand your students will never cease to amaze me!"

Ferdinand strolls over like he's walking on clouds, and graciously accepts the sweet bun, totally ignoring his House Leader in much the same way Lysithea did.

That said, I can't really take credit for the sweet bun.

"Lysithea brought them, she'll be joining us for the next week in place of Dorothea."

My Red Lancer, acknowledging the new addition, bows deeply.

"Lysithea von Ordelia from Leicester, correct? I am Ferdinand von Aegir, legitimate heir to the Duchy of Aegir and the son of the current Duke Aegir. It is a pleasure to meet you!"

Lysithea is not impressed.

"Oh… are you the one who got caught in Claude's net-trap? That was quite foolish of you."

This may have been what Manuela and Claude meant when assessing her as difficult. As Ferdinand slinks back to his seat behind Edelgard in shame, the rest of the Eagles begin to file in. After the last student to arrive, Lindhardt, takes his seat – the great bells from the monastery's cathedrals begin to chime as if they're on a cue.

I suppose they are, of course, on a cue – that being the start of classes – but the illustrative language here was to link them to Lindhardt.

It took me roughly three hours of exhaustive explanation, backhand bargaining, and constant coercion to coax my Eagles back to the mock battlefield. As expected, Lindhart and Bernadetta were the biggest complainers. Not getting much from Edelgard in terms of support was also rather frustrating. When we finally arrive, I can see Fallstaff's platoon guarding the entrance. And by "Fallstaff's Platoon" – I really just mean Lieutenant Fallstaff. The rest of the platoon are all rather plain-looking folks.

He's a giant of a man – in both height and girth. The combed Morion that adorns his head seems too small, the massive half-plate armor he wears just a bit too-tight. I had always pegged him to be roughly in his sixties, but he seems like a fellow who's aged himself a bit in the process of gluttony anyway. A big tuft of white hair adorns his head – far whiter than Lysithea or Edelgard's, and his patchy beard still holds flashes of what was once his youthful blonde hue.

He was, as fate would have it – once an attendee of the officer's academy as well, according to my father. I knew very little about him apart from that and the salient fact that he was the longest serving officer in the mercenary company, with my father claiming that he had joined shortly before my birth, but my father is prone to changing such stories at whim. In his advanced age, Fallstaff has taken over the role of company medic – but was posted at the entranceway with a lance – the preferred weapon of his youthful prime.

"Byleth my boy, it's nearly been a whole damn moon and we haven't shared a drink yet! Where've the fuck you been?"

He wheels back and hurls a punch with some force at my shoulder. I've more or less learned to expect this greeting from him, so I don't flinch.

Most of the Eagles do on my behalf, though. Even Hubert and Edelgard, amusingly.

"Sir Fallstaff." Although he was just a lieutenant, my father insisted I always call him "Sir", for some reason. I've maintained the appellation into my adulthood, just by the fact that I've always known him.

He turns to my students.

"You catch that, kiddos? Boy doesn't even flinch at death itself! I'm gonna tell you a story about your Professor…"

Suddenly, the class stares at him with great interest. I have no idea why they're suddenly so curious about me.

"Known him since he was just a babe – and I never seen three things outta him. The first was that I never saw the boy cry. The second was that I never saw the boy laugh. And the third? I never saw the boy care about a damn thing in the world! It happens when you grow up without a mother's love…"

I shrug. Nothing he's said is really off the mark. Edelgard glances at me, fishing for a reaction. I don't offer one. How can I? Plus, I've just kind of grown weary – he tells this story to everyone. Any offense I've taken from it has long since passed. I even know what's coming next:

"...And you best believe I was the one who told that bastard Holst that this kid was a Demon. He just added the Ashen bit to it!"

"D-Demon?" Lysithea asked, staring at me.

"It's just an expression, Lysithea. Don't be so naive" Edelgard said, shaking her head at her fellow white-haired companion.

Fallstaff then took a long look at Edelgard.

"By Goddess, that attitude of yours means that you must be Princess Edelgard. Like father, like daughter. My own girl has been looking after your old man for a while now, so I've heard. Haven't seen her since she was eight."

Edelgard's eyes widened.

"...You mean Ladislava?"

"Indeed – out of wedlock, but mine all the same! I had the pleasure of knowing most of the rest of your family, but I was long gone by the time you came along. Your father n' I, we were the class of '45 here at Garegg Mach! How's that for being old!"

He leans down from his gigantic standing height and squints at Edelgard.

"Poor girl, it seems like the burden of royalty has robbed you of your mother's hair as well. You're as white up here as I am!" He said, tapping his thinning hair.

Edelgard's eyes squint in turn, clearly insulted. I catch a glance at Hubert – also squinting – who seems to be desperately trying to place this man's identity in his own memory bank. Fallstaff then turns back to me.

"What a woman, that one. Tried to get her in the Goddess Tower one night, but ol' Ionius beat me to it. Wasn't nursing this gut back then, mind you."

Hubert finally steps forward, tactically in between Fallstaff, me, and Edelgard.

"I'd caution you to hold your tongue while you still have possession of it, Baron Morgaine. You speak as if you're still the favorite of the court in spite of your long exile. I need not remind you that you do not have the same liberty to speak to Lady Edelgard as you did to the Emperor once."

"You.. you're Marquis Vestra's boy?!"

Marquis Vestra's boy does not reply. It doesn't matter.

"I could barely recognize you past that fruity coiffure of yours. If your father saw you growing that out, you know what he'd call you? A Faerghan. You look as foolish as their Prince does."

Hubert attempts to play this off as best he can, but he's clearly rankled by the insolence of this old Imperial. He turns his side to Fallstaff, who notices Bernadetta standing diagonally behind.

"Well, I'll be… I know a Varley when I see one, too. Bernadetta, right?"

"H-how did you know that?!" my purple-haired archer yelps in terror, avoiding his gaze.

Ignoring the question, he reaches for his satchel and pulls out an embroidery kit.

"Is this yours girly?"

Bernadetta accepts the lost item, but still won't meet his eyes.

"-Y-yes! But h-how did you know this… and all that? And aaaahhh! Are you a stalker?!"

"Nah, these legs ain't stalking much of anything anymore. Still, it ain't every day you see someone embroidering with Varley silken thread. Quite the expensive hobby, so I put two and two together. You left it on the training grounds a while back. Been looking around for someone with that spiky head of hair. Can't mistake it!"

Falstaff's timeline does ring familiar, at least. I suppose Bernadetta has embroidery as a hobby. That's good to know.

The Lieutenant continues to ramble on:

"...Your old man used to brag about naming his first kid after his mother. Another forty-fiver, that one. You look like him in every way except the eyes, girly."

At this statement, Bernadetta yelps and immediately seeks cover behind me. I crane my neck towards her.

"P-Professor – this old man is gawking at me!"

Fallstaff shakes his head.

"Now now, girly. I'm too old for that. I'm just impressed. You've got the glare of a killer on that head of yours. All your old man had to his name was a look of pusillanimity and cowardice!"

I think it's time for me to step in.

"Enough, Sir Fallstaff."

At last, he pipes down and shakes his head.

"Aye, aye – I won't be crossing you, kiddo. I know what happens to the fools who do, after all! By the way, I've got the barrel of cornmeal and haybale you wanted out on the knoll with the rest of the tent supplies. You should be good to go for mission campout."

I nod.

Fallstaff has his men remove the barricade from the battlefield entrance. I enter with the Eagles close behind. After a few moments, we're standing together on the grassy knoll where less than a week ago we had claimed a stunning victory. Surrounding us were field kits, a haybale and that barrel of cornmeal.

Perhaps the knowledge of the ground on which they stood gave them a little courage, because when I began my lesson, they were all ears.

After demonstrating how to pitch my own tent, I take the opportunity to observe the Eagles' attempt to follow my instructions. I have the tents all arranged in a row, with same-gender pairings in order to avoid any socially compromising situations. The first pairing I walk up to is Petra and Bernadetta – who much to my surprise, chose each other as partners before I could assign any.

Petra, as I suspected, clearly has some experience. She immediately collected hay from the bale and enthusiastically lined the area inside the stakes that Bernadetta set. From there, the two worked in near-perfect teamwork on the frame assembly and flap-tying. They were just finishing up by the time I started my check-ins. This only took them about fifteen minutes.

"Is this tenting not perfect, Professor?" Petra asks earnestly.

"I'm impressed." I reply.

"T-thanks, Professor!" Bernadetta yipped. Much to my surprise, she was getting into the activity.

"You're enjoying this?" I ask her.

"W-Well, if I'm going to be stuck here for the week, I want to make the space comfortable enough to hide in, Professor."

"That won't be happening."

"I-I… figured you might say that…"

"Professor, we should be adding the trappings to catch wild bears, do you not agree?" Petra asks with a big grin.

"B-Bears…?" Bernadetta asks shakily.

"I don't think bears live at this elevation, Petra." I reply.

"It cannot be hurting to prepare, Professor!"

Eventually, I'm able to decline the request and make my way over to Lindhardt and Caspar's tent. Caspar, in a burst of energy, assembled the tent in a rather slipshod fashion – missing several flaps, but if I were grading the attempt, I'd be willing to grant a B+. Caspar himself is standing outside the tent proudly. Lindhardt is nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Lin, Caspar?" I ask the brawler.

"Oh, he went inside to take a nap, Professor!"

I peer into the tent. Lindhardt is indeed fast asleep.

"Kick him, Caspar. Say it's from me."

"You got it, Chief!"

Shortly after, I can hear a wheeze – no doubt Lindhardt after getting the wind kicked out from him by his tentmate.

Next is Hubert and Ferdinand's effort. While they're approaching it quite methodically, I'd argue that the effort is a bit disjointed. Hubert matted his side of the tent with what I would call a textbook approach – insofar as he took nearly the precise amount of hay I used to line his side of the tent. Ferdinand, being the enthusiastic noble that he is, has padded his to such a point where the tent is no longer flat to the ground, and is instead listing downward towards Hubert's side.

"Hubert, maybe you should add some more hay there." I offer.

He glares at me. Is this second-hand frustration for me riling up Edelgard, or something else?

"Curious that you wouldn't suggest Ferdinand remove some of his, Professor."

Before I can reply, Ferdinand cuts in:

"The Professor clearly appreciates my approach, Hubert! You should learn to take advice from a man as wise as him."

After Ferdinand's attempt at brown-nosing, I glance at Hubert and shrug. He narrows his eyes even further.

"You are wasting your time here. Why not inspect Lady Edelgard's?"

I follow his advice without protest and make my way over to Lysithea and Edelgard's tent. Or, what appears to be an abortive attempt at a tent. I got the impression that the Adrestian wasn't paying much attention to my demonstration when I started, as her eyes were focused on Fallstaff in the far distance, yucking it up with his platoon. I tried to silently get her attention a few times, but it failed miserably.

I notice immediately that she's failed to line her side of the tent with hay. I feel rather bad for her, because if she doesn't, she'll be sleeping on the bare ground with no cushion for her sleeping mat. I opted to get mats and blankets instead of bags from the quartermaster, given how we're approaching summer. I also didn't want to run the risk of one giving or getting the bag stained in Claude and Hilda's sexual fluids.

"Edelgard, don't forget to line the bottom of your tent."

She stares daggers at me.

"Hmph. I won't."

I shake my head. It's going to be impossible to work with her if I don't try to air things out.

I turn to Lysithea who's busy tying down her side of the tent.

"Lysithea, I'm going to borrow Edelgard for a moment."

"S-Sure… Professor…"

Her energy appears to be flagging a bit. It must be because of the weak constitution she mentioned having on our last trip to the dining hall. I'll need to make this chat with Edelgard a quick one, so Lysithea doesn't overwork herself in the meantime.

I beckon Edelgard.

She refuses to come.

I beckon her again, and she follows with a sigh.

Taking a few steps into the woods beyond the grassy knoll, I bring a hand to my chin.

"Edelgard, what's wrong?" I ask.

"Nothing's wrong, Professor." she says.

Here we go again.

"I'll wait." I say.

We both stare at each other in silence for a time. Mine's quite blank. Hers is quite intense but seems to die down in the weight of our silence.

"I don't trust your Lieutenant." she spits.

I shrug.

"Neither do I."

Edelgard's jaw dropped. I guess she wasn't expecting that opinion or something? I'll never know with her. Sometimes I think she provokes just to provoke, and then ends up in way over her head. She's clearly searching for words now.

"...B-but you've known him for years, haven't you?"

Does knowing someone for years equate to trust in her mind? I suspect it'll be impossible to get her to trust me if so. At least not before the year's end, after which I'll probably never see her again. Still, even if she does not reciprocate, she should know where I stand:

"I trust your judgment."

She looks at me with those pleading purple eyes again. Her brow is still furrowed in a frown, making for an intriguing contrast.

All things considered, It's a true statement. In spite of everything – the lies, the overreactions, the rushing to judgment, the outbursts of violence, I'll put my faith in her. I just wonder how long she'll take to realize that? What will she do when she does?

"Even so… how can you say that so quickly? Is he not a loyal man of your company?"

It's a fair question on her part, perhaps even justified. I consider my next words.

"All the time I've fought with him, he's avoided combat. It's hard to trust someone like that."

While Fallstaff is a jovial fellow, beloved by his platoon – well esteemed by my father as his most senior officer in age, Fallstaff has never had a taste for fighting. Drinking? Sure. Cavorting around with barmaids? Absolutely. Dropping Heals and Psyches across the battlefield with his right hand while performing amputations with his left? He does so with gusto.

But he's not a fighter. And I simply don't trust people like that. I get the impression Edelgard can see this written into my face, but refuses to believe it. That's what her eyes tell me, anyway.

"...But why take my word for it? You barely even know me."

She says that second sentence as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. And it doesn't matter at all to me.

"You're my favorite student."

The two of us grow silent for a time. I get the impression that she's midly flushed at throwing the quip back at her from this morning, but she's still sufficiently pissed about something to not get cute about it. Do I think Edelgard is cute? I'll need to consider that later, I suppose. She's not cute right now, I think? I shake my head to free myself of such thoughts.

"...There's another reason you're annoyed with me." I say at last.

She immediately gets defensive. I can detect the mask going back on.

"...Oh, and why do you think that?"

"You were agitated before class."

"Hmph. Maybe because you transferred a student into our class without telling me?"

"Manuela did."

"...You could have declined! Is it not true that you also have to sign the form that allows them to transfer?"

I'm starting to gather that I just need to pick my battles with Edelgard. And this… it's just not the hill I really want to die on. I'll give this one to her. With a shrug, I grant:

"You're right. I should've consulted you."

I get the impression that she wasn't expecting that reply, but still wanted to be angry at me anyway.

"...Then why didn't you?!"

Yup.

"I planned on pairing everyone." I explain.

This, again, really doesn't do much to pour water on the flames raging behind those irises of hers.

"I don't mind sleeping alone! I've done it my whole life. Unlike you, I don't need Ms. Goneril clinging to me in order to get a good night's rest."

I shake my head. I have no idea why she's harping on this. Especially when she wasn't there to witness it.

"Hilda was sexually assaulted." I say, slowly and clearly.

Those words hang in the air for a time. After saying them, Edelgard's purple orbs soften and eventually fall from mine. They're perhaps a bit overstated given that Hilda was fine enough with the encounter at first. But she clearly didn't give Claude the OK to "finish inside" – whatever that means. By that logic, it would be more or less my duty to report such an action Seteth. I only didn't because of Hilda's specific request not to.

So maybe it's not an overstatement at all? I can't wrap my head around something like this. Damn those two for trying to make me.

"I see... Perhaps I was viewing it rather callously." she offers.

In spite of all this, I find that I need to put my lecturing cap on. As foolish as that sounds. As foolish as I'll sound. But I'm prodded along by a dull ache in my chest:

"Hubert probably didn't get a good read. When people experience trauma… they'll reach out their hand..."

Edelgard grows sullen at this moment. Deeply, irrevocably sullen. That dull ache of mine grows into a stabbing pain.

"...And what do you think happens if there's no one there to take that hand?" she asks with eyes boring into mine.

I don't know what to say.

Edelgard's visage falls and she shakes her head.

"You… don't need to answer that question… And, well, Hubert was quite complementary about your efforts. He simply provides too much detail… I may have made some assumptions later on, as well…"

"Later on…?" I ask.

Edelgard seems to catch herself in some unprompted admission again, but any attempt at pressing that is interrupted when I hear leaves rustle behind me. Knowing who it is instinctively now, I turn to face Hubert. Who else could it even be, right?

"Professor, may I borrow Lady Edelgard for a moment?" he asks politely.

"Hubert!" she snaps.

Shaking my head, I take a few steps back.

"No, it's fine. I need to follow up on the tents, anyway."

I turn and walk away with a head full of nothing.

Did I just have an argument about nothing? Was Hubert attempting to spare me from continuing to have an argument about nothing, or he was also looking to have an argument about nothing with Edelgard?

What am I going to do with these two?

Nothing, right?

Making a beeline to the tent belonging to the white-haired mavens, I notice that Lysithea looks beyond, beyond exhausted. She's currently on Edelgard's side of the tent, attempting to latch one of the flaps together. I can't in good faith let her continue like this.

"Lysithea, take a break." I command.

Lysithea looks up at me with angry pink irises, and a pink, sweaty face to match.

"...Absolutely… not… If Princess Edelgard is being a child about this… I must finish it."

I shake my head. She may think she's being the adult about this, but all her rush to finish it did was create a situation in which Edelgard's side of the tent is now totally unlined with hay. If it rains, they're both totally fucked. And at this point, I'm more than content to let them stew in that particular choice, but I'm not quite ready to let this girl die of exhaustion right now.

"You're being the child by not knowing your limits." I reply brusquely.

Since when do I get this testy? Lysithea immediately takes notice of this too, and suddenly summons up a second wind to start berating me with.

"Don't blame this on me! Maybe if you weren't so busy coddling Edelgard, this wouldn't be an issue, Professor!"

Lindhardt, Caspar, and Ferdinand are now staring at us with raised eyebrows. It seems like Petra and Bernadetta are hanging out in their tent, totally unaware.

A question occurs to me at that moment: when did I become such an asshole? Or was I always an asshole and now there's just a coterie of short, white-and-sometimes-green-haired women who are calling me out on this fact? I shake my head. After letting her catch her breath some more, I tell her:

"Lysithea, you're right."

I don't think Lysithea was expecting such a quick capitulation, but she doesn't seem displeased.

"...Of course...I'm always right!"

Pulling out the tactical bon-bons from my satchel, I offer them with an apology:

"I'm sorry."

Lysithea has already closed her eyes and turned her nose up at me. She cannot see them.

"-Don't apologize to me, you're just wasting my time."

"Lysithea, open your eyes."

"...Why should–"

She asks that question but opens her eyes anyway - as I'm realizing women often do - and then notices the box of bon-bons.

"Oh… Professor, are those Enbarr Delights?"

I guess so? I look down at the box.

"Yes." I reply.

She seems to accept that without questioning my need to reference them. I suppose that's what a sweet tooth does to one's logical faculties.

"Did Professor Manuela tell you about my favorite candy…?"

I nod. I guess that's not entirely the truth – Manuela gave me this, but it's safe to say that this was in effect telling me what her favorite candy was.

"Let's take a break together." I repeat.

She blushes, quite like Edelgard – although her hue is a bit more vermillion than crimson.

"...Well, fine. Your gesture is… thoughtful, and there's nothing childish about restoring one's energy, is there, Professor?"

No Lysithea, there's not.

The gang eventually gathers for dinner, where I make oppressively bland camp-cakes. Lysithea, already on a sugar high, doesn't really protest – but it's clear most of the Eagles are used to finer dining. Even Ferdinand, our most-eager brown-noser offers no praise.

"Food on the march is often bland." Is the only solace I can offer.

Edelgard avoids me for most of the evening again – but it's not as if she makes a particular effort to talk to anyone else either. Whatever Hubert and her discussed after my departure seemed to sour her mood even more than I had managed to do. I suspect it's quite natural that they must have their disagreements as well. But about what, I wonder?

It can't just be about Fallstaff, can it?

As she leaves in silence, I shoot a glance over to Hubert. He's frowning, but makes no attempt to follow her back to the tent or continue any further discussion with her away from the campsite. He catches this glance of mine after it lingers for too long, but the squint he replies with doesn't have all that much force behind it. He seems rather exhausted as well.

Ferdinand, to his credit, is able to keep the conversation around the campfire going with Lysithea, Petra, Caspar and Bernadetta relatively engaged. Lindhardt has already passed out on his log. Realizing that he's got the right idea, I sling the sleeping mage over my shoulder and wish the rest of the Eagles goodnight.

After returning his rather light frame to his tent, I retire to my own. Rolling out the sleeping mat and tossing the blanket over myself, I pull out the weathered looking paperback from under my breastplate. I'm just about to open it when I hear a throat clear and two fingers flick against my tent flap.

"Professor, a moment of your time?"

I unclasp the tent flap and see Hubert on the other side. Nodding, I step outside with the book in hand.

"Filling what's left of your brain with trivia about that dullard Mauricius again?" He asks, noticing the book.

"I'm starting to see where you get that assessment." I grant.

It's less Mauricius that I'm criticizing here, and more my sustained and continued interest in him. What else can I learn from a man who's taught me all of his stratagems already?

This seems to amuse Hubert, and he lets his smirk sit for a time before growing serious once again.

"Because she won't – allow me to apologize on behalf of Lady Edelgard this afternoon."

I stare at him, a bit stunned.

"Don't look so surprised. I told you that I am watching at the moments that I am required to watch. She may not appreciate your vote of confidence in her trustworthiness, but I am more than willing to make use of it."

"...Is this in regard to Fallstaff?"

"Yes. How perceptive. For a moment I feared the Ashen Demon had grown sentimental."

"You all seemed rather off-put by him." I note.

Hubert smirks.

"Well, apart from his freakish figure – Fallstaff was and is a name that's quite detested. In fact, most people assumed that the fellow had met his end some twenty-odd years ago. The relief among certain figures within Adrestia was indescribable."

"How do you know, Hubert?"

"My father, the current Marquis Vestra, is the one to have claimed the head of that man and presented it to the Emperor on a platter. And yet, this fellow seems to live. And claim the identity of a man marked for death very openly, in front of the son of the man who supposedly killed him. Curious, wouldn't you agree?"

Hubert seems to be granting me some privileged information. I'll see if I can take his inch and get a mile.

"What's his story?" I ask.

"It's a very long one, Professor. Far too long for either of us tonight, I'm afraid. But know this – there are great many things that have caused pain in the life of Lady Edelgard. Some things that occurred even before her birth. That man – if he truly is that man – is no doubt the cause of quite a few of them."

Does he plan on killing my father's most beloved Lieutenant, I wonder? Hubert rather perceptively reads this question written over my face.

"...Don't give me that look. I do plan on killing him, but not before I can observe him first. That may take a week, a moon, a year. But I will do it. In the meantime, I would ask you to grant me your cooperation. If you do so, perhaps you can convince me of your utility."

I stare at Hubert for a long time.

It turns out that what I thought was nothing was actually something.

My eyes left Hubert at that moment, and gazed out towards the mock battlefield's entrance.

"During the attack on Remire, he was supposed to be leading the first platoon."

Hubert frowned.

"The one that was overwhelmed without putting forth any resistance, if I remember Lady Edelgard's description of the evening."

A nod is all I can offer.

"...Professor, it would seem as if we are both in the dark. About very different things, perhaps. But in darkness all the same."

I sense that Hubert is withholding something from me. That's to be expected – but now I take it that there's something that's deeply confused him as well.

We both retire for the night with more questions than answers.

Chapter Text

Lieutenant Fallstaff disappeared sometime last night.

His replacement, a Sergeant-at-arms from my father's cavalry platoon, mentioned that he had been rather suddenly reassigned to the siege detail outside Zanado – with orders coming directly from the Archbishop in countermand to my father's initial assignment. I relayed this information to Hubert and Edelgard, who both seemed equal parts troubled and relieved. I suspect neither were looking forward to spending a week at a campsite guarded by him when they themselves were in a vulnerable state. No one apart from myself had arrived here armed.

Prince Dimitri appears at the mock battlefield at brunch as I cook the Eagles another round of miserably bland camp cakes. Accompanying him are Sylvain and Felix – the latter of whom still bears the slightest evidence of the shiner inflicted by the former at the mock battle. Edelgard and Hubert look none too pleased at their arrival, but Edelgard's been pissy since yesterday, and Hubert's generally always pissy – so I'm not going to cater to either of them at the moment.

After welcoming him with a beckon, Dimitri sits next to me on a log by the campfire. Once I've finished distributing the midday ration to the rest of the Eagles, I give him a nod to proceed. Unfurling a large piece of parchment, he says:

"Professor, I've brought with me the Lions' plan for the defenses of Remire. The village's refortification is our mission for this moon. Since you're quite familiar with the territory, could I glean your opinion on it?"

Sylvain appears on the log to my left and offers a lazy salute.

"Yeah Professor, let's hear your thoughts. Dimitri's been bugging us all week about it, but I kept telling him to go see you."

Felix simply stands over my shoulder. After a spit, he says:

"The boar's never defended a damn thing in his life. That's why he's asking you."

I catch a glance at Dimitri following the pretty brutal insult levied at him by his future vassal. His bangs mask whatever view I can glean from them – although I suspect he's not even really bothering much with Felix. His chin is set straight, aimed squarely at Edelgard.

Bringing my eyes onto the plan, I immediately realize how true my father's assessment of it really was. The most prominent piece of the proposal was a pentagonal palisade around Remire proper. Impressively, the palisade also featured scaffolding around the entire interior perimeter, offering firing platforms along the length of the structure. Following that, Dimitri envisioned constructing birdhouses for owl messengers, blockhouses at the village gate, and an interior moat with descending canal locks in order to facilitate the travel of quicksilver from the blacksmithy to any point in the village under attack.

This was a defense that would've compared pretty well at scale against the grand fortifications of Merceus, Myrddin, and Arianrhod. The problem, of course, is the same one my father mentioned – Remire had about a hundred villagers total in population. Dimitri had envisioned a fortification plan that'd need no less than a brigade to properly man it.

Looking up at Dimitri, I consider my words.

"You showed this to my father?" I ask.

"I did, Professor, but unfortunately his old apprentice interrupted any assessment. Just before Sir Jeralt's departure, he recommended that I gather feedback from you."

I nod. I'll have to thank him later for punting the responsibility on to me, I guess.

That said, it's abundantly clear that Dimitri invested a great deal of time, effort, and energy into developing such a thorough plan. If I could merely explain how the resources available simply couldn't fulfill his objective – perhaps I could convince him to scale down the whole affair.

"Dimitri, do you know how many citizens live in Remire?"

Dimitri's turned to me and widened. I noticed that moment the great circles embedded in the canyon behind his high cheekbones and his eyelids.

"Professor... Do you mean to say that there were civilian casualties that evening?"

I shake my head.

"No, what I mean to say is that there are too many posts. There are about a hundred residents of Remire. That's it."

Dimitri's eyes fall back to the plan in confusion.

"Yeah, that's what I figured, Professor! No way there's enough warm bodies in Remire to defend that entire thing." The Lions' Red Lancer states.

I give Sylvain a nod. Have I mentioned how much I respect Sylvain's view of things?

"It's all a waste of time if you ask me." Felix offers. He sounds rather like Lysithea there.

Craning my neck to meet him, I expect him to continue his assessment. He takes his cue:

"...We're better off training a village guard. When the enemy comes, they can strike first."

I return my gaze to the plan. Realizing that another storm-cloud has rolled in over Dimitri's blonde hair, I realize that I've got to make my suggestion now before the adolescent becomes unreachable in a squall of angst.

"The blockhouses at the gate are a great idea, Dimitri. We can scale down the plan from there."

I bring my index finger right to the front gate of the map of Remire. A movement of Dimitri's bangs seems to carry his gaze down there.

"You could run palisades alongside them, and then curl them off at the woods. Stick some scaffolds at each corner for javelin throwers or archers. That sort of thing."

That digit of mine curves around the perimeter of Remire, which is flanked on the eastern, western, and southern sides by green shading.

"This is all old-growth forest, Dimitri. I don't think you'll need to throw up defenses there because it's very difficult to attack through. It's totally impassable for horses. A typical attack from brigands would follow much the same route as our fight on the twentieth."

Pointing at the forest and then bringing the side of my palm across towards the top quarter of the map, I point out that the principal access point to Remire fields is bisected by the Arundel-Bergliez highway. I clear my throat.

"...They'd have to emerge from either of the two passes in the Oghma mountains here, so any attack would get funneled directly towards the gate. That's all open field, so archers can make anyone threatening the village pay dearly in blood. We crossed through that area on our way to conquer the watchtower last month."

Dimitri finally looks up at me, with glassy blue eyes that seem to be replaying the events of that night. I wonder if he has any regrets about what's transpired since?

He's still silent.

"I think Felix has the right idea too, training the village guard will be essential. Fortifications are pointless without troops to man them." I say at last.

Dimitri appears like he's about to reply, but suddenly a white-gloved index figures strikes the map, pointing squarely at a rise in the ground labeled "Watchtower Hill"

"Why not set up forward defenses there?" The voice that follows the thrust of that white-gloved finger is Edelgard's, of course. I guess she worked her way around while I was pouring over the map.

My eyes fall to the position. I already know why it's a bad idea, but again I have to go about explaining this in a way that doesn't get her even more angry.

Before I can even reply, Felix decides that his input is warranted.

"I agree with the Bitch. She's got the right idea, for once. Take them head on."

Wait, is Dimitri the Boar and Edelgard the Bitch? That's bold, Felix. Very bold.

I crane my neck to see the entire class gathered around behind me. I can also see Hubert seething at Felix's new pet-name for my student.

"...What did you just refer to Lady Edelgard as…?" asks the Marquis of Pickled Sausages, venom dripping from every word.

"How long have you all been there?" I ask in an attempt to pre-empt Felix and Hubert.

"Since you began the talking of the planning!" Petra informs me jovially.

I nod and turn back to Edelgard, who's looking at me gravely.

"...That position is easily bypassed."

My eyes return to the map as I bring a hand to my hair.

"If the objective were just to beat an enemy force, sure. That's an ideal position but–"

"-If everyone is defending the hill, the Bandits would have enough room to ride around and steal all their stuff, right?" Sylvain, from my left, draws a big sweep sound the hill with his thumb. I nod at his sage description.

"Right. If we were facing them in a pitched battle, Edelgard – your plan would be perfect. But don't lose sight of the objective in pursuit of the goal."

Looking back up at my student, I notice that her cheeks have flushed a bit at the correction. I don't see why such a simple statement on my part would provoke that, but I have to admit that there's very little I understand about Edelgard as of late. It's as if each day was chastising me in my efforts to know her more by throwing up more walls between us. A few of those were thrown up by Edelgard herself, of course – but I'm getting the feeling that fate may be intervening against us as well.

"Professor..."

Dimitri's voice rouses me out of my contemplation. I look towards him.

"I think you're absolutely correct, Professor. In my pursuit to defend the entirety of the village – I lost sight of the primary objective of this mission. I've spent most of my free time imagining ways I can defend my own country. In turn, I thought that such dreams could be applied those to this humble village of Remire. I realize now that I must approach every situation with a better understanding of the individual circumstances that prevail."

After listening to that response, I'm convinced that Dimitri would make a better Professor than I would.

"You've got the right idea, Dimitri." I confirm.

He seems to have a good head on his shoulders. All he needed was a bit of redirection – and honestly, I'm not sure I was all that necessary in the quest of him getting such a thing. My father could offer the same, couldn't he? So why'd he leave it to me, I wonder?

As this comparatively slight praise soaks in, the sullen expression that Dimitri had been wearing for the past week or so began to melt away.

"Professor… I cannot thank you enough. Your sage advice here was exactly what is required for me to deliver these people from further privation at the hands of those vile bandits."

Unsure about what I really did apart from giving him a few pointers, I extend to him a comradely hand on the shoulder, a gesture he's offered me every now and again. The look I get from him in response seems to indicate that it's appreciated. I'm about to offer a reply in words, but Edelgard clears her throat behind us.

"...Do you not have your own Professor to consult for something like this, Prince Dimitri?"

I turn back to Edelgard who's now got her hands on her hips. I give her my own attempt at a pleading expression, but I think it falls flat because I can't really manipulate my face into something emotional. I think it just ends up coming off as a mild variation on my typical blank stare.

This mild variation is enough to unsettle her all the same, though. Maybe she can read me better than I suspected. Her expression softens as we hold eye contact.

"Are you feeling unwell, my–"

"You…" Dimitri whispers from beside me.

Both of our eyes divert to the Prince, who's stood up from his log and turned to face Edelgard.

"...You speak of consultation as if you consult anyone on anything. All you do is lie and create disaster wherever you turn, Edelgard. I swear to you – if you betray Professor Byleth, I'll–"

Realizing that I'm likely about to preside over a third go at the training grounds and mock battle, I clear my throat. Loudly. This interrupts the rest of Dimitri's threat, and both House Leaders – along with the rest of the Eagles, two Lions, and single Deer – turn to me.

"We should probably start today's lesson."

A stunned silence falls over everyone except Sylvain, who seems to be returning from a quick trip to urinate.

"Hey Professor, are we good to observe today? Hanneman gave us the day off to work with you. Guess you wrapped up pretty quick, huh?"

I shrug.

"Are you sure? You might find it boring."

"What's the topic?" Felix asks.

"Emergency wound dressage." I reply.

Felix seems to stew on it for a moment before saying:

"...Could be useful."

My eyes swing back to Dimitri, who seems to have edged back from his emotional ledge.

"Professor, I would be grateful for any seminar you'd be willing to give."

I nod and turn back to my House Leader.

"As long as Edelgard doesn't have an issue, that's fine."

My student appears rather surprised at me tossing the final decision her way. I don't really understand why, because we literally just had an argument about nothing regarding this very thing yesterday. After a few moments of awkward silence, she seems to realize that I'm deferring to her.

There are a number of expressions that appear on her face in these precious few moments. I'm beginning to get a feel for each of them now. The first is the aforementioned surprise. How her eyes get rounder, her brow seems to lift as if driven by the force of an uppercut – the parting of the lips and her jaw that flies open just a little too suddenly.

The next is what I'm just going to refer to in the future as the "my teacher did something I like" face. To be completely honest, this is my favorite face of hers and one that I find myself desiring to see her make more of. It's rather like the surprise face, except the jaw doesn't fall as deeply, and her lips part in less of a circle, and take the shape of a petite, almost delicate oval. Sometimes that oval metastizes into a smile that beams across her face, but I seperate that into the "Edelgard is happy face", which I never see enough of to properly evaluate. In this face, her brow is also a bit more relaxed, and the muscles that always seem to be at work on her forehead seem to lose all their tension. It's a very relaxed look.

To answer my query from yesterday: I think she's cute when she does this. I should also note that I've never really considered anything cute before.

As a postscript to this– my chest aches.

The final expression is one where she steeles her resolve. This is one I've seen more often than the other two, if only because she's a very determined person. It's a face of hers that provokes a great deal of ambivalence. She makes this face often when she's about to do something stupid or dangerous, like braining Dimitri on the training grounds, or running up to me in Remire unarmed with a bandit in plain sight.

These expressions fire off in a matter of seconds, but I feel as if all the time in the world exists for me to take them in. So when she stammers out:

"...W-well, I suppose that's fine…"

It seems as if an eternity has passed.

"Lady Edelgard, are you certain…?" Hubert cuts in from a distance behind her, standing among the rest of the Eagles, who have mostly watched the past exchanged in dumbed silence.

A big smirk then creeps across her lips. That same devilish smirk that she wore at Celica's last week. She turns to Hubert and says:

"We have guests today – a Deer and three Lions. It will be up to us to demonstrate our superiority, lest they think of challenging us again."

As I open the tent flap to Manuela's infirmary on the battleground, I take a quick glance around to see what I'm working with. The contents of the tent have mostly been left untouched since the afternoon of the mock battle, but a fine layer of dust has collected over the facility in the week that the infirmary's been out of use. There must truly be a fair bit of wealth concentrated in Garegg Mach for them to be able to leave an infirmary tent fully stocked like this.

On the Throat, leaving this unguarded would result in it being pillaged within a day or two.

Grabbing some gauze from what must have been Manuela's temporary workstation, I hand it to Lindhardt, who seems to eye it rather suspiciously.

"Professor, I'm quite capable at using heal spells." he notes.

"I know." I replied firmly.

The sleepy sage did not protest further.

I then turn to my transferred Deer. Given that she spent a good portion of the mock battle in here with Manuela, she'd be the most likely to know the general lay of things.

"Lysithea, do you know where Manuela keeps the disinfectants?"

Lysithea lights up at the idea of her having some sort of hidden knowledge. That's a quality of hers that's beginning to grow on me, I think.

"Yeah, Professor, follow me!"

"Today we're going to be going over how to dress a wound without magical assistance..."

I begin my miniature lecture while standing over an operating table located in the center of the field infirmary tent. Standing in front of me are the Eagles, Sylvain, Felix, Dimitri, and Lysithea. All look rather expectant. Basic first aid is something that I suspect they'd all have at least passing interest in – given that it could be the difference between life and death on the battlefield.

"...There may be situations in the field where you can't rely on healing magic, so I want to make sure everyone here is able to properly treat and dress a basic wound."

Most of the class nods along save for Lindhardt. I suppose that's rather natural, as supposedly Lindhardt possesses one of those Crest things that allows him to heal grave and mortal wounds. He'll probably have more use as a TA rather than a student today.

"Lin, you're going to be my assistant for this. Stand beside me."

Seemingly appreciative at the recognition, he strolls over to stand at my left.

"Of course, Professor."

I give him a firm nod and turn back to the rest of the students.

"For the sake of this lesson – let's imagine that I took a dagger wound through the hand. This isn't a fatal wound, of course, but needs to be treated before it becomes an infection."

Most of the melee fighters among the group seem to take this without protest – with Felix and Petra, our two resident blademasters, nodding in particular.

"There are three basic principles to field dressage in battle. The first is to assess the wound."

I hold up my hand. Eleven pairs of eyes follow.

"Imagine that the dagger is still lodged in my hand. Could you heal such a wound without first taking the dagger out?"

The room is silent. I swing my neck over to Lindhardt.

"What are your thoughts, Lindhardt?"

"Each person could approach it differently, but I do think I'd prefer to heal a wound without the weapon inside, Professor."

While I wasn't expecting such a long-winded answer, I probably should have expected it given Lindhardt's capacity to surprise.

Turning back to the class, I shake my head a bit to focus back on the lecture.

"Right, so you'd want to remove the foreign object. Second, you want to disinfect the wound."

I hold up a bottle of rubbing alcohol that Lysithea grabbed from the cabinet.

"This is medical disinfectant. Typically, you won't find something like this outside an infirmary. My father's mercenary company never even carried it with us on campaign."

This revelation seemed to surprise most of the group, sans Petra. I suspect Petra doesn't even know what medical disinfectant is. The Brigidians are quite rustic with their medicine. I appreciate that about them.

In acknowledgment of that, I walk back to the cabinet that Lysithea pointed out to me, open it's bottom door, and pull out a bottle of Enbarr gin. I place it on the table.

"Hey hey, you found Manuela's secret stash!" Sylvain says enthusiastically.

Edelgard shoots him a glare, and he straightens up almost immediately. The one that follows from Dimitri is almost totally unnecessary. I think they're being quite unfair to the good man, but it's not worth getting into another battle over.

"On campaign, though, there's usually plenty of clear alcohol like this. Enbarr Gin, Faerghus Vodka, Arz Lubaniyya from Almyra – all of those work perfectly. You splash this on any part of the wound exposed to oxygen to prevent infection. It will hurt a great deal, but the pain you experience at that moment will be far less than gangrene, which is an often-fatal infection."

Unwrapping the bandage roll, I apply it to my wound in a slow demonstration of proper technique.

"Third, you want to cover the wound like so to prevent further bleeding and fortify the wound against contamination. Feel free to try it yourselves."

I tear off my ready-made bandage and then toss the roll to Hubert, who gives me a rather dour look. Nonetheless, he goes through the motions. I suspect even the Marquis of Pickled Sausages can understand that this is no time for patronizing remarks.

I wait in due time for everyone to practice on the roll. Caspar, the last person to complete the task, chucks the roll back to me. It's a bit too high, so I have to jump to catch it in my right hand. This provokes a great laugh from Petra.

"You are quite sporting, Professor!"

Her quip manages to lighten what I suspect was a previously heavy mood. I even detect the contours of a disaffected smirk from Felix.

"Does that make sense to everyone so far?"

I receive ten nods. I check over to my left at Lindhardt.

"Indeed, Professor."

I turn back to the class.

"Good. Now I'd like to do a practical demonstration."

Pulling out my dagger, I slice open the bandage.

"This is typically a good way to just get rid of the thing. You'll need to replace these bandages frequently to ensure the wound heals properly."

A series of sagacious nods follow.

I then spread my freshly freed hand on the table, palm down. Then, with my left hand, I raise my dagger in the air. Ten surprised sets of eyes follow it. Without further ado, I then drive that dagger straight into the back of my hand, clear between my index and ring metacarpals, out my palm, and even through the thin metal operating table.

It hurts, but not terribly. Certainly not enough to grimace.

As expected, blood begins to pour out from the wound and onto the table.

Unexpectedly, Lindhardt begins to vomit behind me.

I look up at my students to gauge their reactions.

Hubert, Ferdinand, and Caspar all have dropped jaws like nutcracker dolls. Petra's eyebrows have shot up farther than I've ever seen. Lysithea looks like… dare I say… a deer in the carriage-lights. Bernadetta has dropped to her knees, her eyes gone glassy. Dimitri, Felix, and Sylvain, who I all suspect have seen a touch of true violence before – just stand there stunned.

Edelgard's look is one of terror. Not at the violence itself - but more at who is doing the violence to whom. I'd take more time to describe it if I really could describe such a thing through the throbbing pain. Perhaps another time. To her credit, she's the first to shake herself loose.

"M-my Teacher!"

She immediately lunges forward, yanks the dagger out of my hand and begins to use the heal spell that Lindhardt taught her on the training grounds – that familiar incantation being the tell.

The wound closes quickly, and the only evidence left behind is the small pool of blood it's left behind on the table and blade.

Unfortunately, I'll need to correct her mistake.

"W-why would you do such a stupid thing?!" she asks, her purple orbs alight.

"Incorrect." I reply.

A frown begins to form. This is Angry-Face Edelgard making its appearance. Frankly, I might be inclined to find this expression cute – but I suspect it's going to be here for awhile and will be giving me a fair bit of shit for the next hour or so. Naturally, the fire burning behind those irises seems to take my words as an accelerant.

"Whatever do you mean by that?! Incorrect?!"

"Edelgard, step back."

"No!"

Edelgard does that woman thing of following my exact direction while protesting bitterly.

I take the dagger and drive into the back of my hand again. From behind me, another wretch is heard from Lindhardt. This total lack of consideration for Edelgard's feelings seems to have stunned her a bit, which will allow me to check the rest of the students for reactions. Most – even Hubert – Mr. Cool and Collected Plotter himself – are positively dumbfounded.

Except for one person, who seems to have recovered well from the initial shock and follow up zinger with Edelgard.

"Lysithea, dress the wound." I command.

The Deer nods, a whirlwind brewing behind those pink irises.

"...Right, Professor!"

I'm pleasantly surprised when she summons up the strength to pull up the dagger, crack open the twist cap on the gin, douse the wound on both sides by flicking my wrist (this hurts terribly) and then begin to apply the bandage. She does not flinch when doing this.

After she's done, I inspect the wrapping. She's done it with remarkable precision.

"I'm impressed."

Lysithea, although also perhaps still in shock over my brazenness, accepts any praise that's offered.

"Well, of course! I'm a natural!"

I nod and turn to Lindhardt, who's bent over behind me. I notice that the half-digested remains of the morning's camp-cake ration are on the floor under him.

"Lin, are you OK?"

"Professor… I must say that I find the sight of blood… intolerable."

I shrug.

"We'll get you past that. Heal me."

He complies after I cut the bandage off. A dry-heave accompanies the sight of the wound, but he's clearly puked his guts out already. With his magic, the wound closes.

I turn back to the class. Most are beginning to regain their composure.

Disrupting it yet again, I drive the dagger into my hand again. Blood flows. Lindhardt gags.

"...Who's next?"

"...M-my teacher, you must stop this instant!"

Edelgard is probably right. But Edelgard has also been repeating that the entire lesson. Hubert tried to get her to leave some time ago, but she stuck herself there with stone weights attached to her feet. The protests were the same each time.

The operating table has pooled so much blood on it that it's taken to just dripping onto the infirmary floor. The bottle of gin emptied after Caspar's turn… I don't remember when Caspar's turn even was… so we've switched to the traditional bottle of disinfectant, which is almost empty as well.

"...A-are you sure you'll be alright, Professor? I can run and get Professor Manuela..." Bernadetta offers.

She's just finished her turn at dressing the wound. I really appreciate Bernadetta's concern. I figured she would've run off back to her tent by now, but she's been a real trooper.

"Don't worry about it, Bernie." I say light-headedly.

"O-Oh, you called me Bernie!"

I look up at her with what must be exhaustion in my eyes.

…"Sorry."

Her hands, covered in my blood, shoot to her mouth.

"N-no, it's perfectly fine, Professor! Wait… aaaaaahhhh!"

She realizes it.

"...Run along and brush your teeth now." I advise, flicking my wrapped hand.

The pain spikes all up my arm. I probably shouldn't have done that. I must grimace, because Dimtiri, who's the last person not to have a go– finally speaks up.

"...Professor, I am worried that you will be at risk for exsanguination if you do this again."

I squint my eyes at him, partly because I'm beginning to lose depth perception – and partly because I don't like the idea of being fussed over by a student.

"No. You came to observe, you're doing this." I snap.

Angrily, I turn to Lindhardt. Two Lindhardts appear before me. Both look as if they've lost whatever innocence they've come here with.

"Lindhardt, heal me."

He complies after a heavy hand of mine slices open the wrapping. The floor is littered with them now.

Turning back to the operating table, I stick my hand back into a pool of it's own blood. This is more or less the breaking point for Edelgard, as she finally snaps out of her frozen stance. As I reach for the bloodstained Almyran dagger, she grabs my arm in a vice-grip.

"...That is enough, my teacher. I shall not allow you to continue."

I stare at her blankly for a time and take a deep breath. She's right, of course – but I can't be dressed down like this in front of another house leader. I consider my options. I could just quit now, but I'm not a quitter. If Dimitri wasn't interested in participating, he would've left with Felix and Sylvain a long time ago.

In a flash of lucidity, another opportunity presents itself.

There happens to be a dagger at Edelgard's belt. The same one she attempted to throw up at Remire against the bandit before I interceded on her behalf. My left hand is quite close to that dagger – in fact, if I summon up the reserve of my strength, I could probably unsheathe that dagger and drive it right into the back of my hand in a very fluid motion – well before she'd have the necessary time to remove her own hands from my own blade's handle to block.

I look up into her purple orbs. If they're the last thing I see before I bleed out or anything like that, I guess that wouldn't be so bad.

So I do just that – you know, the stealing her dagger thing and the stabbing myself thing.

When she realizes that I've done that, she does that little surprised face again. I'm thinking I find that one rather cute as well.

If I could smirk, I'd smirk.

The world goes black before she can yell "...My Teacher!" or something like that again.

Chapter Text

In the stormy fugue state that I staggered through after stabbing myself to sleep, Sothis seethes silently, sitting astride her stone throne. I suspect we're overdue for a conversation about knowing my limits and whatnot, but she's clearly having none of it at the moment… and I can't say I blame her.

At some indiscriminate point later, I wake up inside my tent to the smell of bergamot tea. Even though raising my head prompts a sensation of light-headedness, I'm able to lift the rest of my body from the sleeping mat without issue. The events of the previous afternoon hitting me in full force, I realize that I must have passed out from blood loss shortly after attempting to finish the lesson with Dimtiri and Edelgard.

Checking my hand, I can see that it's been healed with magic. Giving the rest of my body a once-over, I unhook the front flap of the tent and step outside in the cool morning without putting my breastplate on. The rest of the day and night of the sixth must have passed in my slumber.

A gust bites at me, and I sense myself to be rather frail in its wake. I suppose I haven't quite recovered from the blood loss yet. Diving back into the tent, I unclasp my cloak from the breastplate and put it on the way Edelgard demanded that night before she left for Arundel. The carnation still rests on it, having been protected against the elements by the fact that the collar of the jacket usually falls inside the "cape" fashion in which I usually wear it.

Was she cute that night she clasped it on my collar? I suppose that's something I should give some thought to in the future, now that I consider her to be cute more generally.

Edelgard is also probably terribly angry at me at the moment, of course. I should probably think of a way to apologize, but that animalistic part of my mind drives me relentlessly towards the smell of tea. Half-expecting her to be there waiting for me with a frown and those fiery purple orbs of hers, I realize shortly after that the campfire is unoccupied. The teapot – though quite unmistakably my father's – is sitting on a log nearby the dying embers.

The sun has barely peaked over the horizon and the tea is still emitting steam, so the two must have set off rather recently. My immediate assumption is that Edelgard must have sent for my father after I passed out in the infirmary, and he had found himself busy in the interim. It would be natural for him to show up at dawn the next morning, no?

Shrugging at no one in particular, I take a swig of the tea directly from the kettle. And another, for good measure.

The jolt of caffeine gets my mind working almost immediately.

They must have set off the infirmary. Knowing my father, he'd want to see the scene of the crime, so to speak. Without further ado, I walk northwestward.

The Adrestian and my father were indeed at the field infirmary. After confirming their presence, I find myself peeping through a side window as the two stare at the operating room table, covered in dried blood blackened from exposure to the air and clumped from coagulation. The whole affair looks rather grisly now. Perhaps it looked rather grisly then as well, and I was just too foolhardy to notice.

They must have arrived rather recently, as they were both holding white mugs that emanated steam. At this moment, I lean closely to the window's edge to hear them.

My father takes a long gulp of his drink before clearing his throat.

"...Goddess above, all this for a fucking first aid lesson…"

Edelgard takes a sip as well, and then does the thing where she reflexively retreats from the heat of the drink. This is also something that I'm beginning to find rather cute.

"Ah, it's still quite hot…"

My father turns to face her and puts a hand to his hair.

"Princess, you were there – just how many times did that idiot knife himself?"

Edelgard fidgets in place and stays silent, clearly trying to recall.

"...Truly, Captain… it must have been at least twelve times, at least…" she says after lengthy pauses – doubtlessly to replay the event in that clever mind of hers.

Shaking his head, my father lets out a weary sigh.

"At least…? Aren't there only eight of you brats?"

"...We had students from other houses participate as well. That was my decision, I'm afraid."

He shakes his head again – more vigorously this time – and then laughs. After recovering, he offers:

"Damn… Must have been quite the show, then."

In spite of my father's chuckle, Edelgard still seems mortified.

"Captain, it was my fault for letting him continue, I–"

Thrusting up a hand, my father cuts her off.

"-Listen, Princess – don't try and take responsibility for my kid hacking himself half to death on an operating table. I'm not gonna hear that shit. He knows better than that."

Edelgard's chin droops down.

"No, really… I am his house leader."

"Princess, he's your Professor… Anyway, it's clear enough you tried to stop him."

Edelgard's eyes jump so far open that even I can see her silent shock from this rather remote distance. My father tugs the back-sleeve of her academy uniform.

"His blood's all over your schoolcothes. I can put two and two together."

"Captain–"

My father holds up a finger and grabs two wooden chairs from Manuela's workstation. After offering the first to Edelgard, which she sits in – he takes a seat himself, leaning forward.

"Call me Jeralt, Princess. I haven't been a proper Knight for twenty years. Right now, just consider me a consultant."

She does that little habit of hers – whispering my father's name silently before saying it aloud.

"Jeralt… Is he always like this?'

He takes another long gulp of the tea.

"I should be asking you that question, I figure."

His statement blindsides her – and me, of course – but my interest in her predominates at the moment. She squirms in the seat, and seems to chew on my father's words. At last, she says:

"Even so… are you not his father? You surely know him best. I've only had him as my teacher for a few weeks."

"Your teacher, huh?"

Edelgard blushes. She's so pale that even at this distance, I can see her cheeks brighten up. My father shakes his head with an apologetic look on his face.

"Forget it. To answer your other question – since that night in Remire, he's been completely different. You probably know more about his state of mind at this point, I'm ashamed to say."

Edelgard shakes her head.

"...I've only known him as he is."

"And I've only known him as he was."

A silence pervades for a time.

"I'm… not sure what you mean...?"

"Don't lie girly, you haven't got the face for it. Those big doe eyes of yours tell the whole story."

Edelgard seems to shove her white gloves to her brow as if driven by an otherworldly power.

"...D-do you truly think that I am so easy to read?"

He shakes his head and chuckles.

"I'm just teasing. I've been married before, you know. Men don't typically get that far unless they've got a sense of humor."

My student shuts her eyes and attempts to collect herself. I guess my father has a certain charisma with women that I failed to inherit.

"...To the Professor's mother?" she asks at last.

"Yup. Not for very long, unfortunately. But it's time I wouldn't have traded for anything in the world now."

"I see…"

"...I take it my Lieutenant was probably blathering about all that at the gate, wasn't he?"

Edelgard's eyes shot wide open. I have to admit, I was a bit surprised at my father broaching this topic as well. Perhaps it's been on his mind since assigning Falstaff's platoon to the gate.

"Falstaff…?"

"The one and only." my father replies – with more than a hint of ambivalence.

"He may have said a few things…"

"Did he tell you the one about my kid?"

The Adrestian pauses to consider her words.

"...About him not having a mother's love?"

He brings his free hand to his forehead and crunches his brows together.

"I told that bastard that if he ever mouthed off like that about my wife again, I'd throttle him. Good to know he's as insubordinate as ever."

I suspect Edelgard realizes that she has a window of opportunity to press him about Fallstaff. She, unsurprisingly, takes it.

"...Jeralt, were you aware that Falstaff is a former noble of the Empire?"

"I gathered that much… Not that he ever told me straight out."

"Is that so…? Can you remember when he joined your mercenary company?"

My father raises an eyebrow in suspicion, but he seems to relax it quite suddenly.

"I'm losing track of the years, girly. Fifteen years ago, maybe? Sixteen? My kid probably can't remember a time without him in the company, so that's about right."

"...He mentioned twenty."

"My kid, or Fallstaff?"

"Fallstaff."

He shakes his head and smiles bitterly.

"He's lying. I didn't have a mercenary company twenty years ago. I was busy trying to raise a certain infant you know without his mother around. Just, don't mention that to my kid, alright?"

Edelgard seems to recoil a bit at this. I also recoil at this.

"I didn't mean to…"

"...Don't worry about it. It took me a couple of years to get my feet back on the ground. I had a retirement fund, so I wasn't in a rush. They pay well over here. Nothing like an Emperor's purse, but well enough."

"So I've seen…"

My father must find that quip of hers amusing, because he leans back in his chair with a hand rushing to his hair.

"No doubt. I've heard the rumors about the Adrestian Alcoholics' Club at Celica's. Imagine my surprise when I heard from Seteth that my son was hosting it."

The Adrestian stiffens up in surprise.

"It's too late now, Princess. Might as well just lean into the reputation and move at your pace. Everyone likes the idea of living fast and dying young… all those Dagdan Romance novels play out like that. My wife used to read them in the library here, go figure – right…?"

My father trails off with a grimace, as if a lump is caught in his throat. Edelgard rankles a bit at the term "dying young" as well. It seems as if the two of them are sharing a moment that I'll forever be on the outside of.

"You're wearing that carnation like they do, too." My father says.

"I… just happen to like this flower."

"Yup… my son just happens to like that flower, too." he notes sarcastically.

Edelgard shakes her head.

"...I haven't seen him wear it since..."

And then my student catches herself in another undesired admission. That aspect of her is also starting to grow on me, I think. My father realizes the implication there as quickly as I do, and his grimace morphs into a grin.

"Heh...You're the one who pinned it on him? Guess I should've figured!"

My student melts into her seat in total embarrassment. Taking his cue, my father taps his back with his index finger.

"...It's on the inside of his cloak. I saw him hook it off when we went to eat on Sunday. When he wears it like a cape, the collar folds into the back. Damn stupid look if you ask me, but you can't tell him otherwise– right?"

He delivers that point home by yanking his thumb towards the bloody mess behind him. Edelgard laughs silently with a hand over her mouth. I don't think it's very funny at all.

Personally, I think the cloak is very functional. Clearly that opinion isn't shared by these two.

"I'm surprised you didn't notice at the bar on Sunday. You and your butler were watching the whole time, weren't you?"

…They were?

"J-Jeralt, I assure you Hubert and I were just–"

"I know. That said, it's not gonna kill you to trust him, you know. I don't think he's trying to jump ship to the Deer or anything like that."

For the record, I am not trying to jump ship to the Deer.

"I was a bit unsure at that point…"

Her gaze falls from him.

"So was I, but he seems pretty set on you and your Eagles. I'll be honest, Princess – I thought he was gonna choose the class from Faerghus. I probably would've… to be completely honest. No offense, of course."

The Adrestian has visibly taken offense at this.

"W-What's that supposed to mean, precisely?" she spits out.

"On your best day, I'm figuring you're a tough cookie. Your classmates look like real pieces of work too."

"I'll have you know that I can be just as pleasant to converse with as Prince Dimitri!"

"Heh. Sure, sure. But that's just it, right– he sees that, and I don't. Him and I aren't on the same page anymore."

"...Is that so…?"

"Might be. There's definitely some of his mother in play there, too – I think. She liked taking the scenic route, if you catch my drift… I prefer cutting through."

The two sit in silence for a time. Edelgard's head falls back to her mug. My father, noticing the swing in mood, clears his throat.

"Tell you what, Princess – I'll tell you one last story while you finish that tea. Then we can head back."

She looks back up at him.

"I promise It's a good one. Embarrasses the kid to this day. Feel free to use it as a reminder if he does something to piss you off..."

At this, I turn and leave them to the rest of their conversation. I already know what my father is going to say – and the idea of him telling it to Edelgard is just too cringeworthy for me to stick around.

Edelgard alone returns to the campfire about a half-hour later. I suppose my father must have cut directly South from the infirmary and past the woods in order to leave. That's his habit, after all. The particular Edelgard that returns to me seems to be Angry Edelgard, which I suppose is a bit unfortunate. I was hoping she might have cooled down a bit after the chat with my father, but that was probably too much to expect.

I crane my neck around the rest of the campsite. The rest of the Eagles are still asleep – even Hubert – as I can see two shadows inside the tent he shares with Ferdinand.

"My teacher…"

Turning back to Edelgard, I notice that she's closed the distance, and she's standing right next in front of me as I sit on the log. I turn my neck up to meet her glowering glare.

"You're terrible. Totally irresponsible, in fact." She informs me.

I shrug.

"How long was my father here for?" I ask.

"After you collapsed, I asked the guard to fetch him last night. He then sent a message by owl asking if you were dead, to which I replied no. His next reply was that he'd visit in the morning."

"That sounds like him." I grant with a nod.

We both stare silently at each other for a time.

"...Were you up all night?" I ask, noticing dark circles under her eyes.

"Hmph. It certainly isn't my first sleepless night. I would say that it was my most distasteful and pointless one in recent memory, however."

I guess it's time for me to eat shit and apologize.

"Sorry. I got carried away."

Edelgard's look of concern begins to seep through after my apology, but she shakes it off.

"Your father suggested that I slap you."

I nod. That does sound like a rather Jeraltian suggestion. Can I say that now that Edelgard is addressing him on a first-name basis?

"I deserve it." I say, flipping back her words the day of our picnic.

She seems to recognize this immediately, and turns up her nose in an attempt to hide a blush. My student holds that pose for a comically long amount of time, waiting in complete futility for her cheeks to cool down.

"Are you actually going to slap me?" I ask.

She closes her eyes and clears her throat.

"...Yes, I think I will, but…"

"But what?"

"...Could I ask you to take your jacket off?"

It's still kind of breezy, so I'd rather not.

"Why?" I ask.

"Because… well, I'm rather surprised that you still have that carnation on… and I'd rather not see it crushed."

How hard does she plan on slapping me, exactly?

"Why are you surprised?" I ask.

"...I may have thought you took it off in an attempt to pursue Ms. Goneril…"

I shake my head.

"I'm not pursuing Hilda."

"W-well, it's not my place to tell you what you can and can't do… it's just–"

This is turning into another argument about nothing, and I'd rather get slapped than argue about nothing again. I slip the coat off as she stammers out her reply.

"-Edelgard."

She seems to snap back to reality at the sound of her name.

"Let's just get it over with." I say.

She nods. Since I know what's about to come, I can just kind of lose myself in her face for a time, as she considers her approach and wheels her arm back – much the same way I did on the training ground.

This is the determined Edelgard face. Brave Edelgard, perhaps. It's a rather brave thing to strike your professor across the face, right? Anyway, I find myself finding this expression of hers rather cute now as well. I'm starting to think my general ambivalence was that this face of hers was usually joined by a mask – something making any assessment beyond her physical features totally inaccessible to me. I remembered this face of hers when she closed herself off in the conversation with Jeritza, and just before the mock battle in those verbal ripostes with the other house leaders.

Right now, there's no mask. Just those fiery eyes of hers looking rather conflicted about what she's about to do.

And it occurs to me – if I'm the only one in the world who gets to see this face of hers in its genuine aspect – naked to the world – I might be able to find myself happy someday.

A whoosh of air followed by Edelgard's palm across my face prevents me from further assessment. She hits me with such force I fall off the log and into the cool dirt behind it.

When I look up at her, lying with my back on the ground, I realize that she's petrified herself a bit with the force of her strike. I'm usually quick to get back up on my feet though, even in a reduced condition such as this.

"My teacher… Was that too hard?"

Brushing myself off, I say:

"...Not hard enough, probably."

This gets her nose turned up again at me again.

"I see what you're doing, you're being terse again...! Stop trying to ruin the moment!"

"Moment…?"

Her gaze returns to me in an animated frown. Hands take their position on her hips as if to admonish me.

"Hmph. Do you think Dimitri or Claude would be so gracious about you abandoning your responsibilities like this? You should be glad that I'm your student..."

I'm certainly not going to pass up an opportunity like that.

If I could smirk, I'd smirk.

"I am, and always will be."

Edelgard blinks her wild, lavender orbs a few times after I say those words – probably in total shock. Then, her entire face flashes the brightest crimson I've ever seen. She turns and runs off back to her tent shortly after, leaving me standing in the morning sun with a massive welt beginning forming on my cheek.

Those are my feelings, as primitive as they seem. They're also the first time I can recall having feelings about much of anything before.

As if to remind me of this, an invisible knife begins to stab at my chest. I wonder if I should've stabbed that empty space in there instead of my hand?

It would have made for a more interesting lesson, I'm sure.

I watch contentedly as a tree about twenty yards in the distance more or less de-materializes in a pillar of orange flames. The heat washes over me and provides no small comfort. In a moment of whimsy, I consider sticking my tongue out and catching a few embers on it – but then realize doing so would probably ruin the "cool teacher" impression that I've built up with Lysithea von Ordelia.

I've just taught her how to use a fire spell. In about five minutes, she's burned through the lesson… and roughly half what was once the mock battlefield's Western Forest. We had attracted a small crowd of villagers, guards, and Black Eagles to the lightshow, but after seeing the fortieth tree go up in flames, I can understand how pyrotechnics can lose their appeal after a while.

Speaking for myself, I never grow tired of it.

"See? I'm pushing myself to the limit, just like you did yesterday – Professor! Aren't you impressed?" Lysithea says after a few pants.

"I am impressed…" I confirm, bringing a hand to my chin. Are my patterns of speech really that predictable, or is Lysithea as talented at gaslighting as she is at tree-lighting?

"I knew you would say that! That's why I asked if you were impressed, get it?"

Thankfully she hasn't really figured out how to tell jokes yet. Against my better judgment, I give her a head-pat.

"Just don't overexert yourself." I say as I do.

"You're treating me like a child again!" She snaps, and withdraws her head.

"Adults get headpats." I say with a shrug.

I have no idea if this is true or not – but the expression that Lysithea gives me in return makes it clear that she doesn't have much of an idea, either.

"Then let me give you a head-pat." She commands.

Considering what I just told her, I suppose there's no harm in letting her do that. I squat down and Lysithea pink eyes seem to be carried to the top of my head. Her hand goes up and I receive what is a surprisingly gentle headpat from her. Looking into her face, I can clearly see she's excited about the opportunity to do this. Naturally as the "adult" in this situation, she's trying to play it off.

I suspect she's been on the receiving end of headpats so many times that she's probably quite eager to figure out what all the fuss is about from the giver's side.

Content with the first headpat, she begins to drive up the intensity of the following pats.

"Why do you look so surprised, Professor?" she asks.

…Since when do I look surprised?

"...Never mind." I say, shaking my head.

This does not please the scion of House Ordelia.

"It's because adult men don't actually get headpatted, right? I knew–"

Before she can follow through with that next statement, I notice Dimitri, Annette, and Mercedes approaching us from a short distance away. Mercedes is holding a massive wicker basket in her hands.

"-Oh my, Professor! I hope we're not interrupting!" the elder lioness says with a giggle.

"Professor – do you like headpats, too?" Annette chuckles.

"What brings you guys here?" I ask.

Dimitri steps forward and clears his throat. He looks rather angsty today. Or, rather – angstier than usual. At a baseline, he's always pretty angsty.

"Professor, I and the rest of the Lions were concerned about your condition following your practical demonstration. After Edelgard dismissed Felix, Sylvain, and I from the campground, we asked Mercedes and Annette for assistance in making some restorative food for you."

Mercedes chimes in next:

"I generally just bake sweets according to taste, Professor – but Annette informed me that peaches are good for people who've lost some blood. So the two of us collaborated on a cobbler! We made enough for twelve."

I'm always impressed with the Lions' ability to function as a group. From the first night I had sweets with them, to the mock battle, and even now. Even when they had their hiccups, they struck me as a more cohesive unit than my Eagles. And I needed to find a way to replicate that to succeed as a teacher, I think.

But how?

I can't really focus on this because of the constant thudding from Lysithea's headpats. She didn't bother to stop after the arrival of the three Lions.

Annette approaches me enthusiastically.

"Professor, can I try?"

I shrug.

Annette reaches out her hand excitedly, only for it to be viciously swatted by Lysithea's free arm.

"...Ow!"

I turn to the owner of that swatting arm, and notice a rather entranced look in her eyes. Those eyes are bounded in furrows and a frown, but it's clear that something is going on deep behind those magenta eyes that is far beyond accessible to me right now.

"...Lissy, what was that for?!"

Wait, are they friends…? I guess that would make sense. I've seen them in the dining hall making off with sweets before.

"Get your own Professor." Lysithea snaps, still not breaking the succession of headpats.

Would it be wise to remind Lysithea that I'm technically not her Professor? Probably not.

Eventually, the Eagles, Deer, and three Lions settle in for cobbler around the campfire. A fine brunch – Mercedes's technique at confection is second to none that I've ever tasted before. I can't say I was eating a lot of sweets before – but it's certainly the best from the little I've had in the comparatively wide swath around Fodlan that I've cut with my father.

Bernadetta's rendition of Saghert and Cream that I had at the picnic with Edelgard is a close number two, though – but I get the impression that even she is in awe of the cobbler. She's gobbled down her share in about four bites. Looking at Lysithea, I notice that she's trying to "savor" it, against her more base impulses.

Most of the other Eagles are sitting to the left of me on the current log that I'm seated on, but I really can't see them, because Mercedes is busy brushing the blood clumps out of my hair with a fine-tooth comb. I feel as if I must be getting some kind of makeover in the process, because I'm getting "oohs" out of Annette who's assisting, and I can also feel the presence of some sort of product being applied to my hair by the redhead. I'm also receiving a profoundly nasty glare from Edelgard, who's seated across the firepit from me.

Under most circumstances, I wouldn't even care about her leering, but I suspect me getting pampered by the Lions right now is going to act as a prelude to another slap from her at an indeterminate point in the future.

Dimitri, who just returned from taking a leak by the smoldering remains of the Western Forest, takes his seat on the log just to my right.

"Professor, when might you be concluding your survival training here?" he inquires.

"Tomorrow will be the last full day. I'll have everyone break camp on the morning of the ninth." I reply.

"The ninth is my birthday!" Annette informs me with a yip.

"I will also be presenting my plan for Remire to the Archbishop that afternoon, Professor. I'd be honored if you attended with me."

"If you go with Dimitri, you can come to our party after, maybe!" Annette suggests, clearly a one-track mind about her birthday.

The mention of the party seems to drive Edelgard over the edge.

"Prince Dimitri, do the Lions have their own Professor or not?" she snaps.

Before the Prince can fly off the handle, Mercedes tactfully jumps in.

"Professor, do you have a mirror? I'd love to show you how nice your hair looks now!"

Dimitri glances down away from Edelgard. He's still wearing a look of bloodlust, but I can see him trying his best to shake it.

"It looks excellent, Professor. Mercedes has been helping me tame my bangs as of late." He replies.

I have no idea if it's working on you, Dimitri – but any help is probably beneficial. After a squint and a rapid attempt at a non-creepy assessment, I can grant that his hair actually has been cleaned up a little from what I recall from Remire.

"I don't have a mirror, unfortunately." I say, turning back to Mercedes.

"I-I do, Professor! I'll get it!" Bernadetta quickly pipes in, and she trots over to her tent. I had no idea Bernadetta was about self-care like that, but if she is – I'll do my best to support her endeavors as a teacher. That said, dragging these kids out into the woods for a week is probably not much help in that affair. It's good that I'm wrapping it up early, I guess.

Bernadetta arrives in just a few minutes with a hand mirror. I take a look into it, and detect absolutely no discernible change in my hair. I suspect quite a bit was done given the sheer amount of activity by the two Lionesses, but I just have zero capability of actually understanding what haircare is about or what I'm even supposed to be looking for.

I defer to my House Leader.

"What do you think, Edelgard?"

"I hate it." she says with fire behind her eyes.

This clearly wounds Mercedes and Annette, which is unfortunate.

"You…"

The person, strangely, who takes the most offense is none other than the Crown Prince of Cyclones himself. I suppose that's justified, given how she just insulted two of his housemates – but if it was just her genuine opinion, she's entitled to it, isn't she?

I hate all this melodrama. Is this what the entire year is going to summon forth in an endless torrent, I wonder?

"You…hate everyone and everything, don't you? That's all you can do!" He yells.

Hubert, sensing a confrontation brewing, gets up from his log and begins to circle towards the prince, whose eyes are fixed squarely on my student.

He freaks out Bernadetta sufficiently to send her backwards. To her credit, she recovers quickly and then sprints back to her tent in terror. The Prince, after a pregnant pause, continues:

"...Edelgard… you are like some kind of twisted spirit who takes in the care and concern of others and spits out nothing but death and destruction in your wake!"

A hand of his slowly moves towards the dagger at his belt.

Edelgard's hand moves as well, but not with the same feigned indecisiveness that Dimitri's does. In fact, as she unsheathes it, Dimitri takes the opportunity to yell:

"Yes… draw that dagger that drew the blood of your own Professor. The poor fellow who endeavored to save you from the bandits. Show everyone what kind of monster you are!"

He realizes I stabbed myself, right? At this point I catch a look into Dimitri's eyes. Those blue irises of his have shrunk into tiny blips within the milky sea of his sclera. Red veins cut across them in bulging fury. This isn't him play fighting like he was in the training grounds not long ago. This is mock-battle Dimitri making another appearance.

This is the logical point to intervene, right? I step in between the two, and hold up a hand towards Hubert, who pauses in his attempt to stalk the Prince.

"Enough."

Silence prevails for a time. The rest of the Eagles – who were up until this point engrossed in conversation with each other, all have their eyes on me in anticipation. Faerghus's heir seems to be cooling off a bit again. I'm starting to realize why Hanneman keeps sending him my way. If he's had to deal with the kid everyday, he must be at wit's end.

"Dimitri, we'll talk again on the ninth. Don't return here tomorrow."

The Prince seems a bit wounded at me singling him out first, but I'm not about to have him try and kill my student. He's not even supposed to be here anyway.

"...Understood, Professor. I was just attempting to look out for your person… but you clearly have the situation under control, for now…"

"I appreciate the thought, Dimitri."

"H-He's not looking out for you, my teacher!" Edelgard yelps from the background, clearly exasperated.

"Do take care that she doesn't kill you before then. She's attempted it with everyone else I've been close to." He states bitterly.

What kind of history do these two have, exactly?

"Thanks for the heads-up." I say in my most patronizing voice.

The House Leader of the Lions returns to a place next to his female companions.

Turning to Annette and Mercedes, I say:

"Thank you for everything, Mercedes. I'll have a gift prepared on the ninth for you, Annette."

"Oh, Professor! There's no need! We'd just be happy to see you there." Mercedes replies, seemingly recovered from Edelgard's takedown of her efforts.

"Of course! Please come if you're free! Everyone would love to see you." Annette says as she turns with a wave.

I felt the sincerity there, but I'm starting to suspect that this whole event has scared them away more than anything else. And I'm in absolutely no state to really do anything about it.

After watching them clear the gate, I slump back onto the log, the remainder of my strength having left me for the day. I'm clearly still not one-hundred percent yet.

"I'm fucking exhausted." I say to no one in particular.

Suddenly, Lindhardt appears on what was formerly Dimitri's seat. Placing an arm on my shoulder, he says.

"Professor, might I suggest that you retire early this afternoon?"

I look up at Lindhardt. Knowing that he's an expert in the art of lazing, I suspect he has an innate ability to tell when someone's as checked-out as he is. As I stare blanky at him, he returns it in total, immovable passivity. It's the type of expression that could put you to sleep if you stared at it for long enough. His blue eyes remind me of the stillest waters in all of Fodlan – lake Teutates.

"Lindhardt, you're the wisest man I know."

He nods.

"As I said on the First, Professor – we're of like mind."

I head straight to bed without consulting Edelgard, Hubert, or the rest of the Eagles. What is there even to say, anyway?

Chapter Text

"...I got 'em!"

The Eagles' archer looks at me with an expression of terror that eventually fades into pride.

Bernadetta has just shot an arrow through her tenth pheasant of the day. This would be an impressive feat if it were any other animal apart from the profoundly dumb and flightless Fodlan Mountain Pheasant, but I still am compelled to congratulate her nonetheless.

"Great shot, Bernie."

"R-really?!"

"Yes."

"I-I'm relieved they didn't notice me!"

They almost certainly did, Bernadetta. That didn't save them, though.

As it happened, there were mountain pheasants roosting along various nooks and crannies within the motte on the Northeastern end of the mock battlefield. I suspect they took residence there quite recently – their breeding season starts this month. All one really needs to do to lure them out of their nests is just leave them some food, so I dumped a few shovelfuls of cornmeal into the center of the motte. The procedure from there is quite simple.

I instructed Bernadetta to shoot one and only one bird. After the first pheasant falls, the remainder of the birds will scatter about and exhaust themselves within the motte, whose front gate I locked shut before climbing back over the walls. Because the poultry cannot fly, they typically just bounce around the perimeter of the walls – and into each other – before finally running out of energy. When they do, they waddle over to the cornmeal again to gather some quick carbohydrates. As they peck at the cornmeal, Bernadetta picks another to snipe.

Rinse and repeat this process every fifteen minutes or so. Three hours later, we have ten dead pheasants.

Today is foraging day – one of the most essential skills a soldier can have on campaign. Without food, armies stop in their tracks and the officers who command them often end up dead alongside the road. I would hate to see any of the Eagles die in the future over something as basic as not knowing the principles of forage – and I am starting to get the impression that the Empire doesn't exactly rule its people with a white glove as delicate as Edelgard's. They won't exactly have a lot of goodwill to spare if they can't even feed their troops, I suspect.

I find myself worrying about their future at times.

Since I'll mostly be powerless to intercede on their behalf after they take leave of me, I can only resolve to do my level best to teach them these principles now. Hopefully they'll stick.

Currently, I'm pairing up with Bernadetta in order to hunt wild game. This will be the protein portion of the meal. Hubert, Lindhardt, and Lysithea are gathering berries – my hope is that there'll be some sort of bush around here to provide sufficient quantities of edible berries in order to create a sauce for the pheasant. Unseasoned white meat tends to be quite plain.

Against my better judgment, I sent Ferdinand and Edelgard to gather apples from a tree nearby the entrance gate. That's where I hope we'll get the lion's share of nutrients that are essential in preventing scurvy. I know those two are prone to bicker, but they'll need to start being able to collaborate at some point. Caspar and Petra are back at the campfire. I have the two of them on chuck prep.

The end goal today is for the Eagles to be able to forage, prepare, and eat a meal that they collected entirely through their own efforts. Once they're able to complete that without poisoning themselves, I'll feel relatively comfortable about having prepared them to survive on campaign. At this point, I'd emphasize survive in lieu of a term like thrive – but perhaps I can get them to really gel as a unit in situations like these further along in the future. I have to remind myself that we're only a week into the first full month of lessons.

And yet, in spite of all that I do not know and cannot hope to predict in regard to their futures, I feel more attached to them than anyone else I've ever known in my life.

It's a strange thing to think, given that I've known someone like Falstaff for – according to my father – fifteen years. Frankly, I wouldn't be all that moved if I heard that he died in a ditch in the Zanado siege camp. And yet, I'm starting to think it wouldn't be all that bad to throw my own life away in that same ditch if it meant giving these kids a chance at theirs.

The conversation I heard with Edelgard and my father also stands out rather prominently in my mind as of late. Every non-mission related thought I've had today seems to be just replaying it over and over.

As I collect the carcasses, Bernadetta says to me:

"Um… Professor?"

I turn to her, focusing on those darting gray eyes of hers in an effort to shake myself from the tempest of my own thoughts.

"… What are we going to do once we've collected all these birds?" she asks innocently.

"We're going to give them to Petra so she can pluck and gut them."

"P-pluck them? Like rip all their feathers off?"

I nod.

"Can I… just go back to my tent? I really don't want to see all that…"

At first, I'm tempted to demand that she watch it. But I realize that come the day of battle, I'll need her loyalty first and foremost. And I don't think I'll get that by driving her too hard. I am possessed by another idea, though.

"Bernadetta, do you want me to have Petra collect their feathers for you?"

"...Why?"

"So you can fill a cushion with them. An embroidered cushion could make your chair in the classroom more comfortable."

"Oh! That's actually a great idea, Professor… Thank you!"

"It's no trouble."

Pick your battles, and try to win the terrain in the meantime. Clearly she's attentive when her hobbies are appreciated. I wish I could say such a theory worked with someone like Edelgard, but seeing this play out so well with Bernadetta gives me a bit of hope.

I also know nothing about Edelgard's hobbies. I should probably figure those out soon.

The squishing sound of Caspar driving his toes into a massive bucket of Albinean berries fills the air around the firepit. Curiously, I notice Hubert staring rather intently at his comrade dancing in the tub of mush and juice, deep in thought.

"Hubert."

"Professor."

"You seem captivated."

"Perhaps… I am mulling over the possibilities of this act being used as a torture device when I eventually assume the role of Household Minister."

"Punishment for Lese-Majeste?"

"No… I will maintain my idea of flaying the guilty alive for that particular crime. I am considering this for other offenses at court. Ones that you will likely never have to familiarize yourself with."

My eyes return to Caspar. Is it really punishment if the victim doesn't feel all that inconvenienced?

"Caspar seems to be enjoying himself." I note.

He shakes his head and chuckles.

"No doubt. But few Adrestian nobles have the same joie de vivre for the vicissitudes of life that Caspar does."

"I'll take your word for it."

"...That would be advisable, Professor. If Lady Edelgard insists on bringing you to Enbarr someday, I suspect that I'd need to find alternative forms of punishment that far exceed this in cruelty."

"Any ideas?"

"None as of yet – but do not underestimate my creativity. For her sake, I would suggest disappearing voluntarily after she ascends the throne. Otherwise, I may be compelled to make you disappear. What happens after that will not be pleasant."

All I can do is shrug in reply. I suspect at this rate, I might just have to.

As our conversation peters out, Lindhardt strolls up looking rather nauseous.

"Professor… are you sure… given the unsanitary nature of our classmate's feet, that such an act would not render the berries contaminated?"

I've eaten Albinean Berry sauce crushed by random merc feet for years. I don't know what the issue is here, but given the look from my drowsy doctor – there must be one. That said, I suspect Caspar's feet are a lot cleaner than a professional soldier who's marched twenty miles over rough ground, too. Most of this camping trip has just been spent lazing around.

It then occurs to me that he's been tenting with Caspar, and may have privileged information that I do not. That's worth exploring, isn't it?

"Do his feet smell, Lindhardt?"

"Terribly, Professor."

Perhaps the Younger Bergliez has some sort of fungus?

"Would you prefer to do this the next time?" I ask.

Lindhart shakes his head. I can tell that he's probably not enthusiastic about the amount of energy one needs to expend in the process of stamping the berries into mush.

"No… I think not."

Bringing a hand to my hair, I have to admit that I'm at my wit's end.

"Then why are you complaining about it?"

Lindhardt seems to chew on the question for a time before simply telling me:

"Hm. I'll… just take a nap then, Professor."

Walking over to Petra, I can see that she's having a grand old time plucking and gutting the birds – having brought nine of them to the skin already. Sitting cross-legged, she appears to be humming a Brigidian tune. I've heard it before, played by mercenaries on the throat who carry these sort of wind-pipe blowing instruments with them. The echoes they create in the Throat's canyons are unimaginable.

I take a seat next to her and observe her handiwork. My thoughts return to those instruments, however.

At times, they've scared off entire Almyran raiding parties just from the cacophony of sounds they emit. Strangely, Petra's rendition of that tune comes off more as a lullaby. I bring a hand to my hair in a reflexive effort to find the song's identity in the deep recesses of my mind.

"Do you have memory of my humming song, Professor?" she asks, turning to me expectantly.

Petra's quite perceptive. I can specifically recall the tune being played when the Brigidians celebrated one of their religious festivals on the Throat. Those were always a bawdy, raucous affair.

"...It's one about the Flame Spirit, right?"

Just after asking it, I realize what a very stupid question it was – given that I've been told by Brigidian mercenaries that most of their music is devotional in nature, anyway.

"Yes, Professor! It is a blessing we sing during the month of marriage."

"Ah, that's our Harpstring Moon, correct?"

"Our month of marriage is doing its beginning today, professor!"

That information roughly checks out. Various mercenaries had gotten engaged while fighting one another in the endless spats along the Throat. As I recall, however – there were no camp marriages, however. For the Brigidians to legally marry, they needed to return to have the ceremony on Brigidian soil.

Fodlan has no such custom. I've witnessed people get married in tents before a climactic battle. All that's required is a Priest. Before arriving at Garegg Mach, I thought the only requirement for the priesthood was magical fluency. Now I'm starting to grasp, only vaguely, the massive machinery behind it all.

And that's less of a comfort than I thought it would be. So much escapes my ability to understand. Does that make me a poor Professor, I wonder?

"I see." is all I can say.

Petra doesn't seem bothered at all, and continues on jovially:

"In Brigid, the beginning day of our marriage month is for the family of the Kings of Brigid. Today is the day my father and mother had their beginning as husband and wife."

I have to parse through her words again in my mind to gather what she means by this. I genuinely think it'd be just easier to converse in Brigidian, but I know how dearly Petra wants to improve. So I will help her in whatever way I can.

After a minute, it hits me.

"...Their anniversary?" I suggest.

"Ah – yes, that is the word for the people of Fodlan, Professor! I have gratitude!"

Her statement carries with it a natural follow-up on my part:

"Was your father the King of Brigid as well?"

Petra pauses at this, perhaps searching again for the right words. This takes a while, and after meeting my eyes, she just decides to wing it:

"Um… no Professor… he was just the same as… the Yellow King-to-be of Faerghus."

She must mean Dimitri.

"The Crown Prince?"

Her eyes light up and her expression relaxes. This rings a bell for her.

"Yes, the Mac an Rìgh!"

I nod. That was a term I've heard before – Rìgh is the term I've heard used by the Brigidians to describe their current King – Petra's grandfather.

"What about your mother?"

"...Our… circumstance is quite the same, Professor. My mother died bringing forth my sister. I was not old enough to have memory of her."

"Is your sister doing well?"

"My sister was not born with life, Professor."

There seems altogether too much tragedy in this world for a world that invests so much of its energy into worship of the Goddess – or for Petra's case, the Flame Spirit. It's something I've never really considered until very recently.

"I'm sorry."

"Do not be feeling such sadness, Professor. You could not be knowing…"

Gazing deeply into her eyes, I find an understanding behind them that seems to pass through the barriers of language. Communications across cultures does not seem as impenetrable a fortress when you can ram through the front gate with shared experience.

"...When the Large Man spoke of you in such a way, I felt sameness between us." she says, confirming what was just at the tip of tongue.

"I see." is the only thing I can manage as I sort through the tumult in my mind. She must mean Fallstaff's assessment of me not having a mother's love.

We're both silent for a time.

"Are you ever thinking of your mother, Professor?"

Shaking my head, I realize what a strange circumstance we both share. To carry around the vision of someone so important to you but who exists in a realm of total mystery whose threshold will never be crossed. The occasional story from my father provides precious little insight into the person who I owed my life to.

"Not really."

She nods.

"It is being too difficult to remember someone so long ago, is it not?"

I nod in turn. She gets it. How can you miss someone you've never seen or known?

My eyes fall down to Petra's hands, which are sticking the stem of a pheasant feather into a twisted Albinenan berry vine stalk. She's already ringed most of the vine – twisted into a semi-circle, with upright feathers already.

"What is that, Petra?"

She notices my gaze and jumps up a bit.

"Oh! These are wedding crowns of Brigid, Professor. It is how we celebrate the weddings of people who can no longer celebrate themselves. We would lay them burial place of family. Because I cannot be reaching Brigid, I will just leave them here on the grass of Fodlan."

"A fine tradition."

We stare at one another for an indeterminate amount of time, drowning in what must be each other's wordless empathy. Eventually, a mischievous grin from Petra begins to emerge.

"...Are you wishing to place one upon your head, Professor?"

I'm a bit surprised at the query, and straighten up a bit. Petra seems unperturbed by my reaction and informs me:

"The flame spirit would be happy for us to share the activity!"

Since I'm already in bad graces with the Church of Seiros, I might as well hedge my bets with the Flame Spirit. I take the other wedding crown, sitting on the ground in front of Petra's feet, and place it on my head. It fits snugly, but well enough.

I turn to Petra, who is giggling like a child.

"...What's so funny?"

"...You are wearing the wife's crown, Professor!"

I have no idea what the difference is, frankly.

"I will wear the husband's!" Petra offers.

From what I can gather after a squint, it just seems to have the feathers spaced more widely on the crown.

Petra must notice my confusion, because she starts explaining:

"...It must be so, Professor! Now, I must wear the King's crown when I become ruler of Brigid. The Empire does not allowing the people of Brigid to have a Queen. Just a King."

I suppose that's why Hubert mentioned that Edelgard would become "Emperor" instead of "Empress". I wonder what the reasoning is for that?

Right on cue, a person who could probably answer that question appears before us, but I doubt she's really in the mood. I say this because she's glowering down at me and Petra. Edelgard is almost assuredly about to snap at the two of us before Ferdinand, who is carrying a wicker basket full of green apples cuts in front of her and shouts:

"Professor! We have returned with the fruits of our labor!"

Ferdinand has mostly made up for the past three days of us not talking to each other very much with that single stupid pun. What a guy.

"I'm impressed." I mean this in regard to the pun, of course – but they're welcome to interpret this to mean general contentment with their efforts at apple picking.

"Hmph. Why should you be, it is a simple task – after all." Edelgard spat.

"What's wrong, Edelgard?" I ask.

She does that thing where her resolve melts a little bit in the face of my genuine concern about her wellbeing. I lose myself in her eyes when she does that – which might be a very dangerous thing indeed. I'm starting to really like her reactions to that question, so I think I'm going to do little-check-ins on her health more often now.

Naturally I'm already concerned about that because I vowed to protect her that night in Remire, but I suppose vocalizing that concern isn't such a bad thing, is it?

My chest hurts a little bit at this moment. She places her hands on her hips.

"Whyever are you wearing that stupid feather crown?" she asks viciously, with that petite little nose of hers turning ever so slightly skyward.

Should I tell her about the fire-frill feather figure I saw at Zanado? I surely don't look anymore stupid than that guy.

"Professor is being my wife!" Petra informs her.

"Incredible, Professor!" Ferdinand says, awestruck.

Edelgard doesn't say anything at all. She just squints.

It takes a very long and arduous explanation about the finer points of Brigidian custom to walk back from that exclamation of Petra's. By that time, the pheasants, cooked rotisserie, finish browning.

Everyone seems to enjoy the pheasant – much to my surprise. I suspect it's because of the Albinean berry sauce. Lindhardt is the only person to decline use of the dressing, but he chows down all the same. Caspar is the first to finish by a longshot and immediately starts jumping into the apple bin.

"How was the pheasant, Caspar?" I ask.

"Great, Professor! It's been too long since we've had any meat!"

It's been about three days. I worry about what he expects the food on the march to Zanado to be like. In all likelihood, it'll be more of the same cornmeal cakes, given Seteth's appraisal of the logistical situation last week.

My eyes drift to the rest of the class who are managing their meals in a more measured fashion. Eventually, my gaze falls on Edelgard, who's only picked at her pheasant. I notice that she's squinting again – but thankfully not at me. In fact, her vision seems to be squarely directed at something far behind me. I'm about to turn and check for myself before she gets up from her seat across the campfire, and plops down on the log right next to me.

"My teacher – you told the Guards to not let in any other students, correct?"

"I may have just specified the Lions. Why?"

"Look behind you."

I turn, and notice that His Deceitfulness and Hilda are chatting up the Sergeant-At-Arms posted by the gate. Claude flashes his yellow cape, presumably indicating to the Guard that he's a Deer, and not a Lion. The Guard allows him to pass.

"You must tell him to leave at once." She informs me.

Before I can reply to Edelgard, Claude is already waving me down.

"Yo, Teach!"

"Oh, it's Claude. How unfortunate!" Lysithea notes.

His Deceitfulness powers through her lack of enthusiasm and takes a seat on a nearby log, looking rather dejected that Edelgard is sharing mine. He turns back to his housemate.

"How's it hanging, Lysithea? Did you pick up that Fire spell from Mr. Ashen Demon himself?"

"Yeah. He's much more useful than Professor Manuela. But he's kind of a big baby, too."

Lysithea's assessments of character are truly brutal at times. What happened to this fourteen-year-old that prompted her to take on such acerbity? I wonder if it had to do with the white hair of hers.

"Do tell!" Claude says, striking an animated pose of intrigue.

"He likes headpats!" Lysithea replies.

For the record: I do not like headpats. I tolerated the headpats because Lysithea seemed borderline obsessive while giving them.

Claude then turns to me with a sympathetic look.

"Listen, don't let anyone ever make fun of you for expressing your identity. This world will never improve if we don't accept people for who they are."

Profundities leaving the lips of Claude von Riegan are always an unexpected occurrence.

"Sorry we can't offer you any pheasant." I say.

"No issues here, Teach. I enjoy white meat, but not like that."

An eyebrow of his shoots up and towards a certain pink-haired lover of his to clarify what I really didn't need clarified. I choose not to explore the implications of his meta-statement there. Hilda sits down on the log next to him after finishing her fussing over Lysithea.

"Wow, Professor! Did you change your hair, it looks great?" she asks.

"Mercedes did something." I reply, still not clear about what the Lioness even did even yesterday.

Hilda assesses my hair thoughtfully.

"You sort of look like that songster who sings love songs in Enbarr… What's his name… hey, Princess–"

Claude clears his throat and muscles into the conversation.

"So… I heard about Edel's little spat with Prince Party-Pooper."

At mention of her name, my student decides to jump in:

"And naturally you had to come and make everything worse, correct?"

Edelgard's eyes blaze at him. Under most circumstances, I'd tell her to relax a bit lest we get a repeat of yesterday, but Claude isn't working with the same portfolio of goodwill that Dimitri's invested in me.

In effect – go for it, Edelgard. I'm rooting for you.

Claude does an animated flinch backwards.

"You wound me with your cynicism! I came here to act as an impartial arbiter between two feuding houses!"

"Hmph. I doubt you could negotiate your way out of a paper bag." Edelgard notes. I'm proud of her ability to riposte like this.

That said, I should probably intervene before he trips her up in some double entendre.

After bringing a hand to my hair, I state:

"Yesterday, Dimitri… he went way over the line."

Tilting his head in an animated fashion, Claude takes to analyzing my statement.

"...Hey, gotta say – I'm surprised to hear you say that, Teach."

Edelgard rankles up at his quip.

"What precisely is so surprising about my teacher protecting his student?"

"Oh, nothing at all, Edel! He's your teacher, after all. No one else's, right?"

She goes flush at this. Will she ever stop taking this awful bait of his?

"I'll need to talk with him tomorrow. He can't just go around provoking my House Leader." I say at last.

"Woah. She really has been whispering sweet nothings into your ear, hasn't she?"

I glance at the girl sitting next to me. Those big purple orbs of her seem to recognize my admonishment just before she goes headlong into another verbal booby trap.

I look back at Claude and clear my throat.

"No. I think I was probably too lenient with him yesterday. His concern was genuine, but the way he went about it was unacceptable. He tried to initiate a duel in front of a Professor, with a bunch of unarmed students present on monastery grounds. That's… a bit much."

I balk a bit throughout my lengthy explanation. In spite of these past few weeks, I still hate lecturing like that. It occurs to me not long after that this might not be right line of work for me if so. Maybe this year will be a one-and-done.

"Yeah, Dimitri gave me the rundown, but his takeaway was that he was in the right." Claude notes.

"You two spoke?" I ask.

"I reached out to him after I heard the news through the grapevine, Teach – I've got spies everywhere, you know. Creepy Uncle Hubert isn't the only guy with a network around here."

My eyes shift to Creepy Uncle Hubert. He looks up from the Pheasant wing he was gnawing at with his yellow eye squarely affixed on Claude.

"...Naturally, I infiltrated von Riegan's shortly after arrival. Not that it was difficult. He met with Prince Blayddid yesterday at about 9pm on the gatehouse ramparts, his favorite place for clandestine conversation."

Everyone seems impressed at this revelation except Edelgard. And me, I suppose. I had a clandestine conversation with him at that very location not long ago.

His Decietfulness shakes his head and concedes:

"True enough, lapdog."

I jump back into the conversation before Hubert and him can trade further insults.

"That's not how I intended it to sound. I appreciate Dimitri's concern, but I trust Edelgard."

Claude looks at me with a genuinely stunned expression. His eyes squint at mine ever-so-slightly, as if he's attempting to assess my sincerity.

"Damn Teach, that's bold! I doubt she's all that intent on returning the feelings, either!"

Edelgard leans into a snap at him.

"... You speak awfully boldly for someone who knows so little. Who are you to know the contents of someone's heart?"

The Heir to the Alliance seems genuinely wounded at this, and then swings one of his arms around Holst's sister. He leans up against her in what must be something relatively romantic. I'm gauging this by Hilda's own behavior with me at the bar last Sunday.

He nuzzles her neck and then looks back up at Edelgard, who seems to be blushing at the sight of such a public display of affection

"No offense intended, Edel! You just seem like the type with trust issues. As for me, I'm an open book – if you don't believe me, you should ask Hildie over here."

Realizing what he's referencing, I meet eyes with Hilda.

"You two worked it out?" I ask.

"He's actually still the worst, Professor." she says while nodding. I guess that's a yes?

"We are in agreement, Ms. Goneril." Edelgard says at last, looking relieved.

Hilda seems to detect this relief in Edelgard's words, and a dangerous smirk creeps onto her face. She turns back to me.

"You know Professor, if you're still–"

"-He is most certainly not!" Edelgard says with pure exasperation.

"Jeez Princess, I didn't even finish!" Hilda says, pouting.

I turn back to the Adrestian. All the relief is gone from her face now.

You-know-who uses this as the perfect time to strike with one of his usual gaslights.

"Woah, does the possessive princess want to share something with the rest of the class?"

This, of course, sets her over the edge.

"...Can you just leave my teacher alone! Every day we've had to endure this or that visitor causing trouble for our lessons. You have Professor Manuela to harass, do you not?"

"Woah! So defensive, Edel."

I shake my head.

"She's right."

Claude turns back to me with a raised eyebrow.

"You guys are always welcome to observe. But I can't allow you to pick on Edelgard or the rest of the Eagles. They're my students, Claude. I will protect them."

He leans forward on his log.

"You know I'm not actually a threat, right?" inquires his Deceitfulness.

"Let's not revisit what happened last week." I say.

He sighs.

"Well… fair, enough Teach. I guess I've got to get out of your doghouse first, huh?"

I shrug.

"I'm sure you realize the best way to start."

The Deer's expression goes solemn for a moment, and then I sense a great deal of resolve from him. I'm willing to at least grant that he's reflective, if not exactly perceptive.

He turns to Hilda.

"What do you say we head back to campus, yeah?"

She shrugs.

"If that's what you want, Claude."

The two non-transferred Deer take their leave shortly after. After they do, I take a look at Edelgard, who is staring at the ground with those pale cheeks lit up in the evening twilight. I suspect she's thinking about something, so I drift my gaze over to the rest of the Black Eagles, who mostly seem to be just staring in dumb silence. Hubert, however, is looking smartly silent at the moment.

"I must admit that I was wondering when they'd finally drain that cup of goodwill of yours, Professor. It took far longer than expected."

I shrug.

"You guys come first. If I need to remind Dimitri of that tomorrow, I will."

The rest of the meal finishes up in contemplative quiet.

Just as we finish, it starts to downpour.

Arriving back at my tent, I detach my breastplate and fetch the paperback book that I've clipped to its interior. Getting settled into my sleeping mat and lighting a lantern shortly after, I jump back into the biography of Mauricius, comforted by the dull thuds of rain drops hitting harmlessly against the tent. I rest in safety knowing that a thick bed of hay rests in between me and the ground of the knoll which has quickly become waterlogged.

Just as I revisit a rather dry description of Mauricius's shedding of decorum and routine in Enbarr as a youth, I see a tiny fist pounding at the front flap of my tent.

An all-too familiar voice follows.

"Professor! Professor! There's no time to waste!" It's Lysithea.

I unclip the front flap of the tent to see an angry looking Deer staring back at me.

"Professor! It's raining! Move!"

Is she trying to enter my tent? Does she want to get me dismissed, or what?

"What's the problem, Lysithea?" I ask.

Her reply to this is to simply plow through me. As she plops onto my sleeping mat holding her nightgown, I realize that whatever happens from here is something that needs to be handled very delicately.

I tilt my head at the Deer. She takes this cue, thankfully.

"Edelgard didn't line her side of the tent, Professor! Everything is soaking wet!"

Poking my head outside, I see Edelgard standing outside, completely drenched.

Before I can say anything to her, or even assess her sorry-looking state, Lysithea yells at me as if I'm the one at fault here.

"Professor! Step outside! I need to change!"

I bring a hand to my head. Will no one rid me of these troublesome white-haired women?

As I stand outside in the torrential late-spring rain waiting for Edelgard and Lysithea to dry off and change into their bedclothes, I run through potential disaster scenarios in my mind. Obviously, I won't be able to sleep properly tonight – that will be unfortunate. If Seteth finds out that I'm bunking with the heir to Adrestia and House Ordelia, I'd probably be thrown in a dungeon. If my father found out, he'd probably be disappointed and slap me.

And then there's Hubert.

Hubert is also lurking diagonally behind me, underestimating my peripheral vision again.

"Hubert."

"Professor."

I wait for him to round the tent before turning to him. I'd raise my eyebrow, but I suspect the force of the rain would just drive it back down again.

"No jacket for this rain?" He asks. Hubert is also in his shirtsleeves.

"I'll need a blanket after this." I reply.

"A suitable solution given the situation…" He says – clearly as a sort of feint while he considers his next words.

I wait for him to prepare his monologue in silence. Our only company is the beating of raindrops against canvas.

"Professor, the weather is quite inclement, so I will endeavor to keep this as brief as possible..."

If Hubert's goal was to be brief, he probably should've used shorter words than that. I let him finish his downpour dressing-down without interruption:

"If you so much as touch Lady Edelgard's person in that tent, I will be forced to use you as my first experiment for that punishment we discussed earlier today. My father, Marquis Vestra, has entrusted me with full oversight of Her Highness's person. Understand that I will utilize that responsibility quite liberally."

I shrug.

"I just want to go to sleep." I reply.

I really do.

"Of this I have no doubt. I suspect your problem will not be your own preference, but the circumstances that you currently find yourself in regarding the Deer transfer."

"Speak Fodlanese, Hubert."

"In spite of her size, the girl snores with the force of an obese man. I would seriously doubt your ability to sleep under such conditions. Lady Edelgard has not been able to."

If there is such a thing as fate, I curse it at this moment.

"Thanks for the heads-up."

Hubert begins to pace in the mud, totally undaunted by the fact that he's barefoot.

"If Lady Edelgard attempts to initiate anything untoward with you Professor, please retreat to my tent immediately. I would be happy to surrender my sleeping mat to you."

While I appreciate the gesture, a natural question follows:

"...Are you saying she would?"

I think he glares at me, but now both eyes are completely unseeable due to the rain wreaking havoc on his coiffure.

"...Don't be flippant."

I shake my head.

"Get some rest, Hubert."

He shakes his head in turn, partially in an effort to restore his vision. He succeeds at this, marginally.

"A reminder, Professor: I am forever vigilant."

As he turns to walk away, I wonder if he's brought his satin sleep mask with him.

Lysithea does in fact snore with the force an obese man, to use Hubert's indelicate parlance. For the past hour, I've been leaning up against one of the tentposts to the side of my sleeping mat – knees tucked up in my cloak – listening to the sounds that emit from the back of her throat in abject horror. On occasion, Holst's band would run into wild demonic beasts on the Throat. She sounded an awful lot like one of those right now.

Initially, I suggested to Edelgard – who is occupying the sleeping mat with her – that the baying Deer should be flipped onto her side. My student did this with some effort, and succeeded in stopping the grating noise for a grand total of three minutes. Lysithea then flopped back onto her back and resumed the assault on our ears almost immediately after.

I try my best to return to the book, but am unable to concentrate. Eventually, I notice a pair of purple orbs poking out of my sleeping mat and looking at me with a mischievous expression.

"Are you alright, Edelgard?"

Although I can only see the top half of her face, the usually fierce expression on her brow melts a bit at my show of concern. I think I'm going to play this gambit for as long as I can – especially if I keep getting these results.

"Lysithea stole the pillow, my teacher." she replies.

I try my best to visibly shrug from underneath my cloak-blanket.

"Just steal it back." I suggest.

She shakes her head.

"You should give me another one."

I get a sinking feeling that she's trying to pilfer my blanket and use it as a pillow, much like she did during our picnic.

"...You want my cloak?"

The purple eyes squint and sink down a little bit into the sheet.

"Of course not! That will crush my flower."

"Your flower?"

Her eyes squint further.

"The one on your jacket, you fool."

I shrug. I have no idea what she's trying to imply, so I make an effort to return to the book. The Adrestian gremlin in my sleeping mat seems unsatisfied at this turn of events, and now sits up.

"What are you reading now?" she asks with an attitude.

I sigh.

"A book about the other fool."

She seems to immediately recall the assessment of her ancestor at our picnic before the mock battle.

"...Mauricius?"

I nod and then return my eyes to the text. Much to my chagrin, I can't seem to advance them along the page. I suspect this is because they keep getting drawn back into the purple orbs that are now staring very intensely at me. I return to those fiery eyes with what I hope is a blank stare.

"I want to read with you, my teacher."

"...You want to read about a fool?"

"It seems that I must learn about their ways, given that you are one."

Is she inviting me to join her on the sleeping mat? That won't be happening.

"I'm not going to fit on the sleeping mat." I politely inform her.

She rolls those purple eyes of hers and stands up. As she does, I take in the view in the dimmed lantern light. She wears a pale vermillion set of two-piece pajamas that accent her eyes and rather naturally remind one of her nationality. They're also, amusingly, at least a size too big for her. The sleeves cover the entirety of her arms and hands, and the legs of the pajama bottoms drag on tent floor. Adding her very thin frame into the final accounting, and it's almost a bit garish. But also – I'm starting to think – rather cute.

If I could smirk, I'd almost certainly smirk at how comical it all seems at the moment. The clothes themselves are doubtless made from the finest silk from either Varley territory or Morfis imports, but they look as if they're hand-me-downs from an older sibling of hers.

I wonder if she has siblings? I suppose if she's heir to the Empire, however – they'd be younger, right? And presumably female if they prefer men to sit on a throne like that.

Even in the unlikely event that she did have older siblings, that wouldn't explain why one of the richest women on earth is wearing such oversized pajamas, however.

It's got to be a personality quirk or something.

As I muse on this, she finishes her approach. She's got a very interesting expression on her face at the moment.

It's definitely the determined Edelgard – Brave Edelgard, even. But it seems like this bravery of hers is resting on a knife's edge. As if a single wrong move by either me or her would send her running out into the pouring rain in total embarrassment.

And this assumption of mine makes my chest ache a bit.

"...Lift your cloak." she commands at a tone just above a whisper.

Against my better judgement, I comply.

She plops down on my left side, right up against my shoulder. Her eyes are dead set on me, burning with such intensity that they seem to heat the space around us. She then yanks the cloak down to cover us both in its equally warm embrace.

Speaking of heat, as I stare at her like this, I can see her cheeks start to give off steam from the amount of blood rushing to them. We'll both be sweating if she keeps this up.

That said, did she really just lose all of her resolve as soon as she sat down? I feel as if I so much as opened my mouth right now, I'd send her running.

Still, if that's the sum total of her courage – I suppose it is quite bold of her. She's only a day removed from slapping me, after all.

She's even cuter up close, tangentially.

"...You should return your eyes to the book." she says, apparently maxed out on attention at the moment.

I return my eyes to the book, but I literally cannot focus on a single word. A significant impediment to my concentration is added by the fact that Edelgard has just delicately rested her head on my shoulder.

Neither of us address this immediately.

"...Is this alright, my teacher…?" she asks, finally. From my periphery, I can see her staring at me with pleading eyes.

I turn to them.

"You should return your eyes to the book." I say.

She does not return her eyes to the book. Instead, they narrow ever so slightly – but they're also joined by a devilish smirk. She can't seem to keep that curl of her lips at the desired distance, however – and it just melts away into a smile after she gives up on trying.

"You're terrible." she says at last.

"...I thought I was foolish?"

She shakes her head against my shoulder. My chest really starts to hurt at that moment, but can't seem to communicate that pain to my face properly, which seems to be pursuing its own agenda.

"You're both, in fact." she says.

We both seem to lose ourselves in each other's eyes for a time, just like in Remire. The act of gazing into those purple irises feels so deeply familiar to me now – but every time I look into them I find myself doing so rather greedily – as if each time I do offers some new experience or insight that I've never once had before until that very moment.

At last, Edelgard breaks what must be a very, very, long silence.

"...I was worried about you yesterday. I… hated the way you harmed yourself." she said, her eyes dropping away at last.

"It was for the lesson." I said with a shrug.

In reply to this shrug her head pushed against my shoulder with remarkable force.

"...Then don't teach me such things… I've seen too much blood pooling around me to accept such reasoning from you."

I feel as if she's just told me something rather personal about her past. I'd press on it if I wasn't completely entranced by her in the present.

"I'm sorry." I say at last.

This seems to sour the mood significantly. A furrow and a frown appear on her face, but they seem to relax as she draws the rest of her body against mine.

"Don't apologize. I hate it when you say things that you don't mean as well… if you intend to make a mess of things, have it be worth something next time."

On the bright side, she's not telling me to not do it again. I'd struggle to commit such a thing, but to her credit – Edelgard left it sufficiently open-ended.

Still, I feel compelled to lighten the mood.

"Do you hate apologies as much as you hate my hair?"

Her chest heaves several times in a silent series of laughs. I feel each rise and fall against my obliques. She looks up at me with crimson cheeks.

"...Maybe. I must say that I preferred your hair the way it was before."

At this I nod while trying in vain to hide a yawn.

"...Try to sleep, Edelgard."

"I'm not the–"

The yawn is sufficiently contagious to catch her in the midst of her protest. A few moments after her recovery, she rolls her eyes and says:

"...Goodnight, my foolish teacher."

Her eyes close shortly after, in spite of Lysithea's snoring. Sleep evades me for a time, until I resolve to focus on the pitter-pattering of the pouring rain.

It feels as if my chest hurts long after my eyelids draw down their curtain. Eventually it fades away with the rest of the world around me. The last thing I find myself noticing before the night takes me is how gently Edelgard breathes.

Chapter Text

Today is Annette's birthday.

Staring at my disheveled hair reflecting in my dormitory's bathroom mirror, the unwelcome houseguest inside my head decides to appear in the rear-view, just over my shoulder. She seems totally unconcerned that I'm naked above the waist. Sothis, swaddled in one of my sheets, appears to have something on her mind, and apparently that can't wait for me to finish washing up in the sink. Her brow is furrowed, and I can hear her tapping her bare foot impatiently against the wooden floorboards.

She'll have to wait, though – because I'm trying to work out in my mind what precisely happened this morning. As I greeted my Eagles, one by one as they roused and wandered over to the campfire, they all started laughing at me. Frankly, I'm not especially bothered that they were laughing at my expense, but the reasoning eluded me. I tried asking Lindhardt after he finally tired of chuckling. I trust Lindhardt as a man of supreme intellect, and his reply was unfortunately quite cryptic:

"Professor… I am sure my mention of it would… [yawn] …cause a great deal of trouble for us both."

While I was sure that Linhardt was proferring this advice in a measured and sagacious fashion – it still offered no insight into the actual cause of my students' merriment.

The only two who weren't laughing were Edelgard and Hubert.

Edelgard wore a look of profound second-hand embarrassment.

Hubert looked as if he was thinking through particularly demonstrative ways to murder me in front of his classmates.

It occurred to me as I stared into this mirror that I did not own a hairbrush, and should probably invest in one. Previously, I did not experience so many women fussing about my hair, and never considered it a particularly useful tool to carry with me on a campaign. Now, since I'm a Professor – appearances clearly matter as a component of professional courtesy.

Admittedly, I may have a slight desire to arrange my hair in a method that makes Edelgard smile. If that's all I really need to do to provoke such a reaction from her, it's almost stingy of me to think about doing anything else.

As I start to run a hand through my moistened locks in an effort to reorder them into a semblance of how they once appeared, Sothis clears her throat.

She needs to wait another moment or two.

My thoughts return to the events that occurred this morning:

Upon waking up in the tent, I noticed that Edelgard had already left the embrace of my cloak. Lysithea, to her credit, was still fast asleep. The heir to House Ordelia's drive to make the most of her day made a great deal of sense after realizing how long and soundly she must sleep in her free time. I suppose that's a natural thing, given how frail her constitution can be at times. This campout could not have been easy for her body to bear without proper rest each evening.

After considering those facts, I resolved to get up for myself and set about making breakfast for my Eagles. Curiously, upon rising – a hitherto unnoticed white glove fell from my lap and onto the tent floor. The white glove was familiar enough – it was undoubtedly Edelgard's. This naturally raised some questions about why she had taken it off last night, but it did strike me that temperatures might have gotten warm under the cloak, and dispensing with the gloves was something she had done for comfort's sake. My concern over it ended at that moment, and I simply resolved to hand it back to her as soon as possible.

As I stepped outside the tent, I noticed that Edelgard and Hubert were already outside, deep in discussion over this or that topic. Given the solemn expressions on their faces, I'm sure it was political in nature, and I'm happy to be on the outside (not) looking in on those fireside chats. As I strolled up to the campfire, though – I noticed Hubert's usual solemnity start to shift into murderous bloodlust as he took a long look at me with his visible eye. To his credit, his greeting to me didn't match the look on his face:

"Professor, you appear disheveled… I trust your rest was not… interrupted?"

Curiously, he didn't really appear all that focused on me. Instead, that eye of his was squarely affixed on Edelgard, trying to gauge her reaction. My student – for her part, managed to keep a poker face… although her making no effort to greet me did sting a bit.

Spurred on by her attempt to ignore me, I offered her the glove she had dropped in my lap.

Edelgard's purple orbs widened as she noticed it, and then proceeded to reach out with her ungloved right palm to grab it. At that moment, I could see why my first aid lesson from the other day might have provoked her so intensely. The back of her right hand – from her knuckles all the way to her wrist, was covered in long, thin, lines of depressed, pink-colored scar tissue. When she noticed my eyes falling upon that feature of hers, she immediately pulled back her hand and reached for the glove with her other, covered digits.

Hubert winced as he noticed me noticing.

I opted not to press on it, as I heard a great yawn emerging from behind us – Ferdinand had awoken and his stomach was already beginning to growl at us.

The image of those long, thin, scar lines has been present in the forefront of my mind since. While we were breaking camp and dissembling the tents – it was all I could think about. When Bernadetta tried to strike up a conversation about embroidering those tents of ours with Black Eagle insignia, I must have seemed very detached. I did give her tentative approval, however.

I'm not sure I have the ability to even grant approval for something like that, but she eagerly took all of our tent equipment back to her room as we returned. Edelgard and I didn't speak at all on the walk back – and her only statement to me was a confirmation that she'd meet me after my audience with the archbishop outside the reception hall. I suspect that in spite of all this morning's awkwardness, she couldn't withhold her excitement at the thought of me giving Dimitri a verbal warning on her behalf.

I was kind of looking forward to it myself, I suppose.

That urge to protect Edelgard was firing up again. And this time, I felt positively warm in its afterglow.

After that thought escapes my unconscious, Sothis finally lose her patience:

"It's unacceptably cold here! You should make use of the fireplace!"

I was not even aware that there was a fireplace, but then note then she must be referencing the small dutch oven located outside the entrance to the bathroom.

Still, I have no desire to make use of it.

It's not cold at all this afternoon. Like most days of the Harpstring Moon, morning chills give way quickly to the sunny warmth of the afternoon. By the time we had crossed the viaduct back into Garegg Mach, it was nearing noon – and the sun was already hard at work drying up the remnants of the rain from yesterday evening.

I should also note that my visits to Sothis's abode usually revolve around her sitting half-naked on a stone throne with no heat source anywhere to be seen. No sun, and certainly no fireplace. I have no idea why she's being so picky about my residence.

"I'm not being picky. Your sleeping quarters are very dark."

"That's beneficial for sleeping."

"You and I have inhabited the same body for a very long time, and I need no such preconditions for a good rest!"

"Really…?"

"Yes! When you were sleeping last night, I was wide awake, for example!"

If that's the case, perhaps she knows what wreaked such havoc on my hair.

"What happened last night, Sothis?"

"Are your observation skills that poor? Phooey! I know they are, of course. You did not know when you were about to bleed to death the other day. What would have happened to us then, you idiot?"

I shrug. If this is the worst I'll get from her, I suppose it's not as bad as what I got from Edelgard.

"...Fine, it seems that I must guide you in such matters as well. You are quite helpless!"

"True."

Picking my battles with Sothis seems like an increasingly good stratagem.

"...Anyway. It was very strange indeed. I thought that little girl with the Crest of Flames was taken by the night before you were. Then, to my surprise – she wakes up and starts running her hand through your hair. Over and over and over! I am surprised it did not wake you!"

On the contrary – I recall being particularly comfortable and well-rested in spite of the adverse sleeping conditions. More comfortable than I've ever been – at least as long as I can remember.

"Is that all?"

If this is really the extent of what she did, I have no idea why the Eagles were in such an uproar about it. My hair must have looked amusing, but – I still really couldn't make heads or tails of why people found such things amusing.

"I did not like her expression." Sothis adds.

This… doesn't surprise me a bit.

"I'm getting the impression that you don't like Edelgard." I reply.

"It is not a question of like or dislike! Merely your safety, as well as mine. I think you are setting yourself on a path towards pain and suffering if you continue to support her in this way!"

I shrug. Sothis seems less than enthused at this reply.

"...It is quite frustrating to attempt to reason with you! How stubborn can you be?"

I turn and raise my eyebrow.

"You sound just like her, you know."

This finally shuts her up for a moment. Her cheeks flush red as well, just like a certain someone's.

"How dare you compare me to that little girl?!" she spits out as I return my attention to the mirror.

Shaking my head, I reply:

"Don't drag the bedsheet like that."

"...Why might you be changing the topic?"

"There's owl shit on the floor." I indicate this with a backwards point towards the dormitory doorway. Beside that door is the window the owl uses to travel back and forth. Just below his perch is a motionless pool of white… material.

I'm thinking of blocking off the window at this point.

Apart from the missive informing me that it was Anette's birthday, the owl made no less than a dozen other visits over the course of the camping trip – mostly with letters from Seteth. The first two were queries regarding the location of myself and my class– which he reminded me consisted of the heirs to half of Adrestia's noble houses. Apparently he was concerned that some sort of indecent incident was brewing, and prevailed upon my father, who sent a letter informing me that Seteth was looking for me.

After checking-in with Edelgard, my father then sent another letter to my empty dormitory informing me that he had made a visit to the mock battle ground. Then I received another set of letters from Seteth informing me that Dimitri had mentioned the first-aid-lesson. And so on, and so on.

Why they just didn't relay these messages to the mock battlefield is beyond me.

After scrubbing the floor, I head out to meet Dimitri. And Edelgard, too – I suppose – although she won't be attending the audience with us.

"-By focusing the lions' share of our fortification efforts around the front gate of the village, I believe we can make the most efficient use of the scant human resources that Remire village currently possesses. Moreover, with the time saved in focusing our defenses along the village's weakest point, I can assign Felix, Ingrid, and Ashe to give the residents training in the sword, spear, and bow."

Dimitri says these words with great determination, his fists clenched. Seteth and Rhea nod approvingly. The four of us have since moved from the audience hall to the more intimate setting of Rhea's drawing room, where she and Seteth are analyzing the plan that Dimitri and I collaborated on.

Perhaps collaboration is the wrong word. Refined? Advised on?

"This is a fine plan, Prince Dimtri." Rhea grants. It is the first time I've seen her in weeks. Although she is complimenting Dimitri, her eyes rest squarely upon me.

And they're unsettling.

And I don't recall ever feeling unsettled before.

"I am glad you were able to make the project more manageable for the citizens. The blockhouses in particular are a keystone, and excellent positions to build around." Seteth notes, bent over and scrutinizing the map of Remire that Dimitri has laid on the table.

The Cardinal then stands up straight again, and casts his gaze on me.

"I suspect you – given your military experience – were the one to make that suggestion of paring down the defenses to the most critical junctions, were you not?"

I shrug. Dimitri, mortified that I wouldn't take credit for helping him, jumps in to defend my rather sparse efforts.

"Cardinal Seteth, Professor Eisner showed me the most efficient way to help these villagers end the cycle of violence that is wreaked upon them by banditry. For that, I am beyond grateful."

Seteth's eyes return to the Prince.

"Indeed. I suspect your house will be back to its full compliment by the time you depart?"

"Yes, Cardinal. Ashe will likely return to the Academy tomorrow."

At this, Seteth nods.

"For everyone's sake, let us hope that he has talked some sense into his father. The last time that man missed paying his tithe, a tragedy occurred."

Dimitri took those words as gracefully as he would a stab in the back. I noticed him stagger – gracefully, albeit – backwards a bit, and shut his eyes tightly. Cleary the Cardinal had triggered him in some manner. After a few moments leaving myself and the two clerics in stunned surprise, he seemingly recovered his senses.

"...Yes, Cardinal. Avoiding another tragedy, as you call it… is imperative."

"I am glad you see the necessity as well. Student, Professor. You are dismissed."

As I exited the drawing room and entered the audience hall with Dimitri, I found myself wanting to inquire about what prompted such an animated reaction on his part when Seteth used the word tragedy. Could that have been a word designed to be a thorn in the prince's foot, or was it simply a word that Seteth had used carelessly?

Before I could ask my own question, Dimitri halted at the double doors leading back to the second-floor hallway and turned to me.

"...Professor, might I have a word with you here, before we step out?"

I nod.

"First… allow me to thank you, for attending that audience with me. At times, I must admit to finding the Cardinal and Archbishop a bit intimidating. I entered that room believing that the plan would be insufficiently tailored to their own ambitions for the village."

What were their ambitions for the village, I wonder?

"It's no trouble."

If my presence there offered him some solace, I can only hope that it would be a signal that my oncoming critique of his behavior at the campsite is not intended to be in ill spirits.

Not that it ever would be, of course – I am just often poor at communicating my intent in such matters, if Edelgard is any metric.

"...Professor, my uncle through marriage was the Lord of Remire – before he pawned it to the Church."

That's quite the admission. Wouldn't that make him and Edelgard… related? I suppose that must be a big reveal to someone like me. But I'm somehow not as surprised as I feel I ought to be. I recall Mauricius being married to a Princess of Faerghus, after all.

"Is that Lord Arundel?" I ask.

Dimitri grimaced at the name.

"Yes… I am curious how you knew that, Professor."

I shrug.

"Edelgard mentioned him before."

Dimitri's blue eyes, full of torment, fall away from mine.

"...Did she mention anything else, Professor?"

"Regarding Arundel?"

A lump seems to take root in his throat.

"...Or, more generally?"

At this, I can only shake my head.

"She just mentioned him in passing."

"...Then I will leave any further discussion about the particulars of that matter to her, as you are her Professor."

That last possessive comes tinged with a great deal of bitterness.

"I'm not trying to pry, Dimitri."

"I understand, Professor...I would just ask you to know this: much like his niece, everything that man touches… he is hellbent on destroying. If I have even the slimmest chance to rescue the innocents of Remire Village from the suffering his neglect inflicted, I will do so gladly. Rest assured of this fact. I will go above and beyond – even if it means that I must take responsibility for those people myself."

That was a very impressive statement from someone who seemed like he was just trying to settle a blood feud a few days ago. Although – he was a noble, and he was describing what nobles do if they followed the noble standard, to steal Ferdinand's term.

"You seem quite determined." I reply, genuinely.

At this he shakes his head vigorously, as if trying to cast away the compliment from his own mind.

"...My determination is all I am left with. Circumstances have endeavored to take almost everything else from me."

We both soak in silence for a time.

"...Could I ask one more question?" he asks.

I nod.

"Why did you bring Edelgard here with us, Professor? I cannot bear to look at her."

Opening the grand doors, I beckon him through. Edelgard is staring at us from the hallway on the other end of them.

"I need you two to listen."

The two of them immediately start glaring daggers at each other as Dimitri and I step out into the hallway. They also are both wearing daggers, so if I don't intervene soon – those will be out next again, I suspect.

I clear my throat.

Their eyes turn to me, but the intensity remains.

"Dimitri, I'll start with you. Inciting Edelgard to draw her dagger was unacceptable. If you try to do that again, I will fight you myself – and I will not hold back. You know that I'll always consult when time allows. But my duty is to protect my students. Edelgard is my student."

After saying these words, he looks at me as if I was the one who drew a blade in anger. Letting him stew for a while, I turn next to Edelgard.

"If that happens again, don't escalate. I was right there, and you never once deferred to me. Why call me your teacher if you don't even trust me to fulfill that role? I would not see you come to harm."

Perhaps that sounded more sappy than I wanted because she did the "my teacher said something I like" face instead of the solemn resignation that I was kind of expecting.

Do I treat her too gently now, I wonder?

That said, I probably couldn't just slap her in the middle of the monastery. Shaking that thought from my head, I continue:

"I don't know what history you two have. I don't care, really. As long as you're here, learn to tolerate each other's presence. I'm not asking you to enjoy it, or become each other's friends. But you're House Leaders, and you have responsibilities to others. Suck it up."

Both seem to accept my reasoning, but the mood seems altogether too serious now. In other words, it's a perfect time to cut through the tension:

"Final point: if this happens again – don't talk to Claude. He's an idiot."

Thankfully,. both of them find this quite amusing, and break out into laughs. After the two settle down, Dimitri puts a hand on my shoulder in his usual comradely way.

"Professor, would you still attend Annette's birthday party with us? The Lions would love to have you there."

I raise a finger.

"On one condition."

He seems to treat this as a challenge – although that might just be his general demeanor, I'm guessing.

"If I can fulfill it, I will, Professor." he says in reply.

"Allow me to bring Edelgard along."

Dimitri's eyes go wide. Edelgard's eyes narrow. She steps forward and places a hand on her hip.

"Hmph. You are mistaken, my teacher, if you think I would ever want to attend such a gathering."

I shake my head.

"I didn't think you would."

This catches her off guard, and I notice her weight shifting to her left leg. She brings up her white glove to her chin.

"...Then why make such a foolish condition?"

"As I said, you need to learn how to tolerate each other. Now is as good a time as any."

Her purple orbs roll, but maintain their flame.

"...And what if I decline your condition?" she snaps.

I shrug.

"Then I'll walk back into the drawing room and explain what happened at the campsite."

Dimitri steps forward now.

"Professor, the consequences of that…"

He trails off, but I nod because I know what he's getting at.

"You two would be expelled, I'd be fired."

This leaves them but stunned for a time. My student is the first to recover.

"...You would truly see yourself dismissed for something as trivial as this?"

She remembers that I nearly stabbed myself to death during a first-aid lesson a few days ago, right?

"I would."

My student's shoulders slump and the seriousness of the whole affair seems to finally set in. Her shoulders slump ever so slightly. Or do they relax? I guess that's one and the same with her.

"Fine. I suppose I must go along with your plan, then. Just do not expect anything to come of it."

Dimitri is the next to look like he just lost the wind from under his sails. After staring at the ground for a time, he finally brings his gaze back towards me.

"Professor… I have reservations, but if that is your condition, I will see it through. Allow me to inform the rest of the Lions. We had planned on meeting in our classroom in an hour."

My gaze turns to the water-clock in the hallway. That would mean that the party starts at seven-PM.

"We'll be there, Dimitri."

"I will take my leave then, Professor."

I turn to my House Leader. She has a rather petulant look on her face.

"...Well?"

"We need to get Annette a gift."

She squints.

"...We?"

"You were rude to her. The present will be from the Black Eagles as an apology."

She turns up her nose at me. I will never stop finding this amusing, simply because she's too short to actually look down on anyone.

"...You are far too sentimental, my teacher." she says with a huff.

A cheeky reply comes to mind.

"You like that."

As if waiting for their cue, her cheeks combust into crimson.

"...N-No I don't!"

"I was joking."

This statement just makes them redder. Her purple eyes that I find myself growing fond of fall away – I know she's about to try and tell me that I'm not all that funny or something. This is becoming something of a routine for the two of us

"S-Some Joke! Will you ever learn that I do not find your deadpan humor all that amusing…?"

Even if she does not – I do.

We're fashionably late to the party, as we had to make what I had hoped was going to be a quick detour for Annette's gift. It was anything but a quick detour, unfortunately. While Edelgard and I were crossing the viaduct, the two of us had to set about the task of considering what Annette's interests actually were – a difficult task given that neither of us knew all that much about her.

Luckily, Edelgard did stumble on a useful piece of trivia – altogether accidentally. The two of us had met Dorothea on the way into town. As she was heading back and we were heading towards, our place on the viaduct had been set in stone for a time. Thankfully, the delay was not in vain. In the midst of Edelgard's overlong conversation with our songstress, we both discovered that Annette also had a passion for singing. As it happened, both Dorothea and Annette were members of the choir club in the monastery.

The only problem, of course – is that my student couldn't really pry herself away from Dorothea after gathering this information – the temporarily transferred Eagle was extremely eager to catch up on the happenings and various melodramas that occurred on the camping excursion. I suppose she had recovered early from whatever "That Time of the Month" was. Dorothea had also acquired quite a few nuggets of gossip second-hand from Claude and Hilda during her time with the Deer, and insisted on grilling her classmate and I about it on the viaduct.

Realizing that time was growing short, I opted to leave Edelgard and Dorothea to their conversation and make a beeline for the bookstore. Diving headlong into the disorganized racks, I found a book of devotional sheet music after about ten minutes of shelf-searching. Much to my surprise, I also happened to find the book that a certain plague doctor was immersing herself in on the twenty-ninth while stalking me in order to share a picnic. Titled Monarch Studies, it was a rather clinically written assessment of various historical rulers in Fodlan. Even more curiously, it was written by none other than Cardinal Seteth himself.

I suppose I should be grateful he wasn't assigning his own tomes as textbooks, but something did feel a bit spurious about stocking the monastery bookstore with texts written by the boss.

Nevertheless, I purchased both books – and had the shopkeeper seal them up in separate gift wrappings. If the Adrestian could make a good showing at the Lions' party tonight, I'd give her the book as an expression of my thankfulness for her cooperation. If she insisted on making an ass of herself and me, I'd save it for her birthday next month. That's the teacherly thing to do, right? Incentivize and all that?

I also made a momentary stop at the florist, realizing that Mercedes was also probably offended by Edelgard's curtness at the campsite. Looking around the shop, I noticed that there were several beautiful arrangements of lavender flowers, which were currently in season. The peach cobbler she and Annette cooked together was held in a wicker basket with lavenders adorning the sides, so I quickly extrapolated that she may have been particularly fond of the purple petals to adorn her own personal tote with them.

Tangentially, they reminded me of Edelgard's eyes.

After the bouquet was purchased, I hurried back to the viaduct, where Dorothea and Edelgard were still locked in heated conversation. By this time, my student was also blushing beet red. Finally able to pry her away, I had to endure a nonstop succession of critiques on our way back to the quadrangle, such as:

I would prefer not to attend this stupid party if we're going to be this late!

And:

Whyever did you purchase that bouquet from the florist when the academy has a greenhouse? You must stop wasting money on other houses' students!

Along with:

I only wish to attend this event for long enough to apologize to the offended parties. Will your conditions let me leave after that?

Responding to these and innumerable other henpecks with silent nods, shrugs, and stares, I take some solace in the fact that Edelgard seems to exhaust herself of complaints as we reach the quadrangle. And in spite of her protests about lateness, it's only ten past seven per one of the grandfather clocks that we passed in the reception hall.

Still, she's clearly displeased. Her red leggings halt their forward movement just before the open threshold of the Lions classroom. Far in the back, Dimitri and his classmates have pushed three or four of the long desks together and thrown a great white tablecloth on top. The smell of sweets is unmistakable, even from this distance.

Two visible, empty chairs are waiting for us.

"My teacher… what should I say?" my student asks, eyes on the grass under our feet.

I shrug.

"Just improvise." I suggest.

She shakes her head at the suggestion.

"...Will that even work?"

There's obviously no guarantee of it working, but I still think she's being a bit hyperbolic about this.

"You'll be fine." I say.

Her arms cross and she shifts her weight on her right leg again, but her gaze makes no effort to return to mine.

"Hmph. That's hardly reassuring."

A thought creeps into my mind: Edelgard often does what I want to do when I compliment her. It's not precisely an A to B line on her doing so, but at times my words surprise her enough to at least modify her behavior slightly. She also makes cute faces when I say those things, and I'm starting to really like those.

"You're very charming." I say.

Heat begins to radiate from her face.

"...W-What is that supposed to mean in this context?"

"Let me think…"

Her head starts to shake angrily.

"W-why must you think about that statement after saying it?!"

I offer her the fruits of my run into town.

"Can you hold these while I do?" I ask.

Her brow furrows, as if she really is intently waiting on an explanation as to why she's charming. All she'd need to do is look in a mirror, of course.

"...Well, I insist that you hurry." she commands.

After she accepts the bouquet and gift, I grab her by the shoulders. I still can't get over the fact that she pads them – but I just suppose that's the equivalent of another mask of hers.

Anyway, I toss her by the shoulders through the threshold of the Lions' classroom. Perhaps out of supreme shock and surprise, the rest of her body complies without protest.

The Lions' attempt at a birthday party is honestly exactly what I expected the Lions' attempt at a birthday party to be. In some ways, it resembles more of a tea party than anything else. A massive cornucopia of assorted pastries baked by Mercedes sits at the center of the white tablecloth, with large pitchers of tea, peach juice, and water to accompany the sweets.

The seating arrangements were much less formal than my night with the Eagles at the bar for Ferdinand's celebration. Everyone more or less settled on their seats independently, caring little for status or placement. Duedue remained standing by the doorway, with his eyes affixed on Edelgard – for good reason, I suspect. But I also found his lack of suspicion for me somewhat strange. Did we have a sort of silent accord between us, him and I?

I suppose we might, given how I came to rescue Dimitri that afternoon at the training grounds. My continued advisement of his efforts with Remire possibly contributed. At the very least, he seemed to not accompany Dimitri to the campsite that day.

Or perhaps he was just lurking, like Hubert. But then again, Duedue might be too large of a man to lurk.

I found myself rather liking Duedue. I knew the people of Duscur were generally hated by most of Fodlan, but I never had issues with his people on the Throat or otherwise. They were warriors – some of the finest, in fact – to a man and woman. Out of everyone I've seen here at Garegg Mach, I suspect I'd fear fighting Duedue the most – if I could feel fear, that is.

Ingrid sat diagonally across from Sylvain, and Felix diagonally across from me. Across from us was the trio of Dimitri, Mercedes, and the birthday girl, Annette. All three seemed completely immersed in their own conversation when I took note of them. I suspect Dimitri probably wasn't as interested in whatever the topic was – but he was clearly trying to avoid meeting eyes with Edelgard.

As for Edelgard, she… managed. The gifts were given to their intended recipients without much fuss, and now she's sitting in between myself and Sylvain, miserably munching on a sweet bun while the Lions' Red Lancer shoots his shot with her. I feel somewhat bad for him, because he's making a terrible attempt at wooing her. My student has a number of dislikes, from what I've gathered – and apparently one of them is long-winded explanations from men. If that's the case, I should probably never let her read this journal of mine. In case of trouble, I'll leave it to Lindhardt.

In any event, the heir to House Gautier is currently comparing my student's white hair to the coloration of his family's famous cheese. I suppose this is how one hits on girls. Still – I do not get the impression that he is executing it particularly well. At first, the comparison seemed to mortify her – but as Sylvain continues his diatribe, that mortification on Edelgard's face has metamorphosed into that furrowed brow of frustration that I'm starting to really come around on.

Facts being what they are, I still feel as if another part of me would be envious if Sylvain's pickup routine actually worked. I wonder why that is? Sylvain is an upstanding gentleman who clearly understands matters of romance. I am sure that a strapping, emotionally sensitive cavalier like him would treat Edelgard nobly. But still… I find myself bothered by things like that. I push them from my mind in an attempt not to grimace.

Sylvain concludes his monologue by asking her out on what must be a date:

"— So, Princess, what do you think? Maybe you and I could try some of my family's handiwork at the dining hall sometime. They serve Gautier Gratin on Wednesdays. They import it straight from home."

My student shakes her head, unimpressed.

"Hmph. I think I prefer Winnimere. My teacher introduced it to me quite recently."

This… is a small relief to me.

I must betray this in my expression, as Sylvain's eyes immediately dart over to mine. I attempt to save the situation with a shrug.

He smirks a bit when I do this, as if he just figured something out. I consider Sylvain an intelligent and perceptive fellow, someone I would be unafraid to seek advice from – but I have to admit that I would be extremely troubled if he had read me so easily.

"Hey Professor, I figured I'd save this as a gift if you ended up teaching us, but since you're here, I figure we can share it anyway."

He pulls out a bottle of what is unmistakably Srengian Absinthe. It glows bright green in the dim candlelight of the classroom.

My eyes widen. Sylvain smirks even wider.

"Heh, I knew you'd know what this was, Professor. Figured you must have crossed swords with these guys, given how they're allied with Almyra."

The Srengians I certainly crossed arms with – but there isn't a single man of Sreng who'd be caught dead with a sword. They use the pike in absolute exclusivity. When sending their contingents to Almyra, the latter would deploy them in strategic mountain passes. Unfortunately for us, when Holst took the offensive, we'd often need to cut through several hundred of these men sticking their six-yard pikes in between us and our next objective.

Those longspears of theirs were second only to the Almyran wyvern riders in terms of killing potential. And as a swordsman… well, I rather detested having to fight them. The challenge of charging a tight-massed group of pikemen with their flanks protected by solid stone cannot be understated, even for an experienced warrior such as myself.

And like the Almyrans, they're not exactly forthcoming in offering their cultural produce to the other nations of Fodlan. Sylvain getting his hands on a bottle of the stuff is worth comment.

"...I'm impressed." I offer.

Apparently, I'm not the only one.

"How did you even get that, Sylvain?" Ingrid cuts in, eyeing the enemy liquor with a frown.

"What can I say, Ingrid? Sreng loves our cheese even if Princess Edelgard isn't a fan!"

Felix is the next to jump in. Looking dead straight into my eyes, he asks:

"My old man… says they're a formidable foe. But he's gone soft. What do you think?"

Very apropos that he'd totally ignore the booze and go straight towards assessing the Srengians' combat abilities.

"I'm not sure what they're like as a neighbor, but as mercenaries… they're formidable."

Ingrid is next to jump in with a distressed expression. I'm getting the impression she's rather hostile to more cosmopolitan – to steal Dorothea's term – conversation topics.

"My father said that their nobles are constantly defecting to Almyra. Apparently they will sometimes stop in Galatea territory on the way."

I shrug.

"That sounds about right. Most of the fighters on the Throat were mercenary exiles from their tribal civil wars."

That much I can confirm. Edelgard seems unimpressed with this fact – particularly the mention of their habit towards civil war.

"I fail to see how one can be so afraid of them, then."

"Politics are politics. Skill is skill." Felix spits.

Edelgard's irises dart over towards the Lion who so plainly called her a bitch the other day.

"Even so, they sound rather like the Alliance to me – the constant infighting and reliance on selling their own countrymen as mercenaries. Divided enemies are weak enemies. Is it not curious that a larger neighbor like Faerghus cannot eliminate them?"

Felix shrugs, and seems to be as contemptuous of politics as I do. I appreciate that about him, although I suspect that his penchant for self-improvement are his only positive qualities.

Before they start going at it, I catch her attention with a look.

"They're not divided when they fight a foreign enemy, Edelgard."

This comment attracts the attention of the rest of the room. I notice that apart from my student's, Prince Dimitri's eyes are particularly focused on me at the moment. I clear my throat before continuing on:

"In fact… Srengian fighters are totally standardized. When we'd challenge them on the Throat, their formations moved as one. Their equipment was entirely the same, man to man. Every pike was six and a quarter yards, exactly. The spear-tips were cut to the exact same measurements. They all wore the exact same type of plate armor, pack, and helmet. I've never seen anything like it before."

Ingrid is the first to draw a conclusion from that statement:

"I'll never understand those barbarians... I mean, doesn't that all sound weird? Who tries to make everyone's fighting style the exact same? People are different, aren't they?"

Getting past Ingrid's open xenophobia there, the nature of miltary standardization is certainly a subjective topic. A good commander, I suppose, would want to weigh the strengths and weaknesses of his force and attempt to use individual qualities to his or her favor. But command seems to be a rather fractious matter in Sreng, perhaps as a result of their tribality. A single Srengian pike unit on the throat would carry several banners in its formation – which I learned from my father were to signify the different tribes present in that particular phalanx.

If command was diffused, standardization would be necessary to maintain unit cohesion. Is that something that I could properly explain to them, however? I give it my level best and try to summarize it succinctly:

"Not every soldier cares enough about their craft to develop a fighting style. Many mercenaries only fight for coin. Conscripts simply fight because they must. Standardization helps give them a guide to survive."

"If they're not born to fight, then they should just roll over and die… damn cowards." Felix says contemptuously.

I bring a hand to my hair, as Felix's assessment of them doesn't ring entirely true.

"Most Srengians are conscripted. It doesn't make them any less competent. An army doesn't have to be noble to be professional."

At this, Edelgard stares at me with profound interest, as if I've just said something important.

Felix still seems unconvinced.

"Oh yeah? It sounds like you respect them." he says.

"I do. Once, I suggested to my father that we copy their methods for our company, but he refused."

This statement seems to bother Dimitri, who has mostly been watching the conversation play out in reserved silence from across the table.

"Professor, to strip individuality from soldiers under your command…"

He trails off, and I raise an eyebrow.

"You may change your opinion when you try training the citizens of Remire." is the best I can offer.

"Still…" the Prince ripostes weakly.

Suddenly, my student stands up and clears her throat.

"I agree with my teacher's assessment."

All eyes are on her now, and she takes the tempo of the moment naturally. She begins:

"...In a long war, many people are forced to fight who may not be professional soldiers. If that is the case, then they should all be given equal opportunity to survive. If… standardizing those things helps even one person improve their chance at victory – I think it is a worthwhile way to train troops. One that I would consider when ruling Adrestia one day."

Dimitri grimaces at this statement, as if she drove an axeblade straight into his gut. Sylvain, meanwhile, seems rather amused at Edelgard's monologue.

"Oh yeah, Princess? Are you going to have your Adrestians do the goose-step, too?"

"Goose-step…?" she says, toying with the words in her lips.

Sylvain then does the typical dressage march of the Srengians – one they perform in a parade ground fashion before forming up for battle. It involves kicking their legs high in a rigid march.

"Like this!" he says in a Srengian accent, turning the "th" into a "d" sound.

"Whyever do they do that?" Edelgard asks, sitting back down.

"I dunno, might want to ask the Professor here." Sylvain says as he settles back into his seat and unscrews the Absinthe bottle cap.

"To maintain formation as they approach the enemy." I reply.

Everyone seems to be waiting for me to continue. I suppose that's natural, as so few of them have tasted real combat before – and certainly nothing that approaches the knock-down, drag-out melees on the Throat.

"...Pike formations like Sreng uses are incredibly strong from the front, but they have two glaring weaknesses."

"And those are?"

"Disorganization and flank attacks. The goose-step prevents the former. It's difficult to do anything about the latter except fight on good terrain."

"You speak wisely, Professor." Duedue offers from the back. He gets it, naturally.

Annette is the next to jump in. I had no idea she had a taste for strategy, but impresses me greatly with her reply:

"The geography of Sreng is quite mountainous, Professor. Maybe that formation allows them to fight favorably there."

"I think you're right, Annette. The Almyrans would deploy them in mountain passes to cover their retreats."

"Oh– thank you, Professor!"

I'm not sure why she's thanking me for just confirming her opinion, but I guess she's just being polite. Sylvain then busies himself pouring absinthe shots into empty mugs.

"Speaking of birthday girls, why don't we actually get to celebrating, yeah? All this talk of battle isn't why we're here."

Dimitri shakes his head.

"Nonsense, Sylvain. Professor Byleth is here with us now, and we should seek out his counsel on such things."

It occurs to me that there actual professor is nowhere to be found.

"Where's Hanneman?" I ask

"He said that he was committed to a research study tonight, Professor." Mercedes replies.

I notice that the Red Lancer has already distributed the entirety of the bottle into everyone's mugs.

"If he's not here, he can't stop us from having a little fun, right?"

Sylvain's logic is sound. As he slides a teacup full of Absinthe towards me, I turn to my House Leader.

"You wouldn't mind…?" I ask.

Edelgard eyes the glowing green liquid.

"I suppose… I can stay for a little while."

We stayed for a long while. By the time we start walking back to the dorms, it's almost eleven at night. Dimitri insisted that we not stick around for the cleanup, and Edelgard – being Edelgard – was happy to oblige that request. I suspect the Prince wanted to get rid of the Princess as soon as possible. From his perspective, I suppose it's hard to blame him.

They both seemed as if they spent a great deal of the evening holding their tongues at each other, anyway. That's the best I can ask for, I suppose.

The two of us walk alongside one another on the promenade in silence until just before the right-hand turn towards the entrance to the second-floor dormitories.

"That Absinthe did not have a pleasing taste..." She informs me rather suddenly.

I shrug.

"It's not supposed to." I reply matter-of-factly.

I suppose it may be worth noting that Edelgard couldn't manage to even take more than a single sip of the Srengrian swill before choking – sending the green alcohol rather comically through her closed lips and open nostrils. The Lions got a laugh at her expense, and I suspect that is still troubling her even now.

"Then why serve it at a party?" she asks, still perturbed about the beverage.

Again, what can I do but shrug?

"Ask Sylvain."

"Hmph. I'd rather not."

The opportunity to inquire about a nagging question presents itself.

"You're not going to go on a date with him?"

From the corner of my eye, I notice that my question prompts her to blush.

"A-a d-date?! With him? I think not..."

"Why not?"

We arrive at the threshold to the student dorms. Edelgard stops and turns. Her lavender orbs beam desperately in the moonlight – directly into mine.

"...W-what does it matter to you?" she asks hesitantly.

Shaking my head, I consider ways to pivot the topic.

"Just making conversation."

At this moment, her eyes fall.

"Well, suppose there is someone else that I like…"

Hubert, right? That would make sense. The two of them seem rather close, after all.

"Ok."

She seems a bit distressed at my one-word affirmation. I suppose I should've expected as much. At some points, it just seems impossible to ever make her happy.

"...Aren't you going to ask who that might be?"

Wouldn't that be an invasion of her privacy? She seems like a rather private person, so it doesn't make any sense as to why she'd be encouraging me down that path, unless she wishes to be perennially angry at me.

"Why would I do that?"

"I-I don't know! Why did you ask in the first place?!"

The appropriate reply for this would be I didn't, but it occurs to me at that moment that I've still got her gift in my satchel. So I pull out the delicately wrapped item and offer that to her instead.

Her shock at this is nearly indescribable. Those purple orbs of hers dart around the perimeter of the wrapping, and she takes it from my hand with trembling fingers that still hold the present in what seems to be the utmost delicateness.

"...What is this?"

"A gift."

Her eyes return to mine. I can detect a smile that she's trying to suppress. I wonder why she does that? She has such a beautiful smile, I think. I can't recall thinking of many things as beautiful before, either – so it must be quite special for my mind to immediately default to such a description.

"For what?"

"I thought you deserved it. You were a leader back there and set an example."

Those beautiful eyes of hers roll at my compliment.

"...Of course I was a leader... that doesn't necessarily mean that I deserve a gift! Such behavior is expected from those who must lead."

She's doing the political talk again.

"You want to open it, though." I say.

"S-so what if I want to?"

Bringing a hand to my hair, I utter:

"Just open it."

"...Fine."

She says that almost dejectedly as her gloves greedily tear at the wrapping. I'll never understand why she does things like that. She very clearly is excited about the gift. When she realizes what it is, she gets even more excited.

"This…"

"A plague doctor was reading it before the mock battle."

The Adrestian crosses her arms and clutches the book tightly against her chest. Taking a long moment to blink, she gets very close to me and says:

"My teacher… what if you were–"

Before she can finish that thought, exhaustion seems to overtake me. I give off a long, very audible yawn. When I open my eyes, I notice that Edelgard is staring back at them in total surprise, completely flushed red.

"...If I were what?" I ask, goading her to continue.

"Y-you ruined the moment again!" She shouts, shaking her head vigorously.

I notice Marianne peep her head out of her side window at the sound of Edelgard's yell. Acknowledging the Deer would just make my student more angry, I think.

"Sorry." Is all I can offer.

Edelgard shakes her head at this, her normal color returning.

"You should sleep. You must still be recovering." The Adrestian advises.

It's hard to argue with her at this point.

"You're right, of course." I say with a nod, and begin to turn.

Before I can finish my wheel around, she pushes her gifted book directly into my shoulder, stopping me in the middle of my turn. I raise an eyebrow as she says:

"Thank you for this wonderful gift, and... Sweet dreams, my teacher."

My student says those last four words with a certain hesitancy, as if she's never wished that to anyone else before. If that's the case, I feel as if I could be content forever in such knowledge. I walk back to my dorm feeling quite warm.

My chest, which had been mostly quiet today, ached the whole way home.

Chapter Text

This morning, ten thousand boots belonging to five thousand soldiers parade through Garegg Mach's ruined gatehouse in goose-step. They do not enact this march in the total unison I really want them to, however. But that is understandable. This technique is so very new to them, after all. In time, it will become second nature. I felt the same way when I learned reason magic. Like with so much, I owe that to you.

Squinting, I can see the tiny mouths of the soldiers from up here on the ramparts. They are grumbling, clearly inconvenienced by how high they have to kick their legs into the air, and having to time it perfectly with all their peers as if they are one great mass. They will learn, though – as they have no other choice.

Few wish to leave now, given the consequences of desertion. It is a consequence of the path we've chosen – few troops are particularly loyal after a civil war. Even fewer are loyal when they're fighting a religious authority that they believe in. Couple those two factors with the formal excommunication of the entire Imperial Army, and there's not exactly a lot of goodwill left among the rank and file. They have to be dealt with an iron fist, for now.

The punishment for the accused is one that Hubert developed recently – the immersion of the absentee soldier into boiling Albinean berry juice mixed with lye. The acidity of the Albinean berry (when underripe) at such temperatures causes the skin to blister and peel, and the lye provokes truly torturous pain. Submerging them below the neck in a tank of the concoction eventually melts all the flesh and muscle from their bones after several hours of excruciating pain. If they desert a night watch, Hubert will sometimes see fit to command the executioner to lift the accused by ropes out of the pool, and expose the subject to the bitter winds of Garegg Mach. Apparently exposure to the air only heightens the pain. Most at that point can only beg to be put out of their misery. They are simply dropped back into the bucket and left to dissolve.

This is another policy that I have some reservations about – one that he enacted without my approval as Household Minister.

We need to have a talk soon, him and I.

Because of this, or in spite of this – we have an army. Even if it is just a shell of what Adrestia could field during my father's reign.

They march in the Srengian goose–step because I've just mandated this as the Empire's official parade march. It's another one of my sweeping military reforms inspired by you, my teacher.

I remember so vividly when you spoke to the Lions about Sreng, their detested neighbor. About their divisions, divided loyalties, differing interpretations of religious folkways, and tribal blood feuds. It reminded me of the Alliance at first – but now it just reminds me of old Fodlan, the present Fodlan – the one I live to destroy. And I also remember when you mentioned the way in which they fought as one in wars – their standardization of dressage, armaments, tactics, and unity of command in spite of their petty differences. Their absolute unity against a common foe. Those things were a revelation to me, my teacher. When you complimented them for this, my heart overflowed with anticipation and joy. Even as those superstitious rednecks from Faerghus dismissed your thoughts as esoteric.

They were not esoteric to me – they were my very hopes and dreams for that future which became ours.

They represented that you clearly understood my vision from the very first moment.

So why couldn't I trust you with it completely until so very recently?

We never had enough time to chat about things like that during that month of the Harpstring Moon. Everything was so fresh and new on those nights. Perhaps not as new as our explorations of our bodies on those nights earlier this year – but close, my teacher. Very, very close. Did you feel the same?

Do you remember the night before we attended that party for that fatherless woman who I will so gladly kill someday…? No, I shall not remember it that way…

Instead… that night when I clung to your arm in the tent, running my bare hands through your hair while you were fast asleep… that was the first night in years that I wasn't chased by nightmares. When I finally got a chance to ruin Mercedes's handiwork, it felt as if I reclaimed you. And then I slept so soundly afterward. Five hours of total peace and tranquility. Perhaps not as long as you or Lysithea snoozed that night – but it was a port in a storm.

I still thought you were such a fool in those days. A fool for picking me instead of Dimitri. Hubert thought so, too. In those days, I was tortured by the germ of an idea that he planted. Hubert speculated that you would leave us at the first moment of conflict with the other house leaders. That your commitment to me meant comparatively little. You always treated Hubert with a sincerity that he never granted in return back then. He regrets it now, my teacher – because he thinks you're dead and that he played some role in killing you. It's just another thing he's wrong about. So come back and cheer him up.

Did you ever realize what was making me so pouty? You could extrapolate such things so well. Later on during that camping trip, when your father said that he thought you would join the Lions instead of the Eagles, that nagging feeling that you'd betray me crept into the forefront of my mind. And then he pointed out how we had traded carnations, as if I was special to you. That story about how you watched the Dagdan girl die in front of you without emotion… I hated hearing that. But I loved hearing it, too.

Your father confused me terribly, and left me with no idea where you and I actually stood. When I struck you… that was to prove to myself that there was enough resolve to fight you if that day ever came. After you fell onto the ground, I thought I had succeeded too well and nearly killed you right there. I was so relieved when you stood without needing my hand to help you up, and thought we could get on with one another from a comfortable distance after that.

But then your foolish face that I love so much looked at me so warmly. And then you said your foolish words that I've so kept close to my heart even today.

You were grateful that I did that. You were grateful that I was your student.

And I had to run off, all confused again. You confirmed everything and nothing at that moment.

I had nightmares the night before the rain, when I had that spat with Dimitri. In that poorly pitched tent of mine, night terrors took hold of me like they always did. Imagine how foolish I felt when I realized that you could chase them away.

They've come back to me now, and visit even when I'm wide awake. That isn't a new thing, of course. I felt one of those daytime terrors coming onto me when Claude and Hilda wandered onto the campsite in their little attempt to "negotiate" you further away from me. When I sense that betrayal is nearby, those fears climb all over me and cripple my reason.

Then you drew a line in the sand. You protected me again – not from that fool Claude – but from my own doubts. That line was a figurative one of course… But I could see it etched on the dirt by the campfire in front of my eyes as if it was real. And so I sat there, nose tilted downward and my cheeks burning – staring at it while you told Claude to fuck off with his stupid, volumptous lover who tried and failed to claim you first.

My eyes – tired and not entirely dry – drift back to the troops that pass through the gatehouse, onto the viaduct whose central arches are bridged with wood instead of stone, now. I remember the look on your face when Hubert finally ordered it blown. It was one of such finality and resolve. And then the way you looked at me, when you realized that I was still by your side. I never saw you show anything like that before – that fear. And it was all for me, and no one else.

It will haunt me until you're back, my Byleth. So come back soon.

A bugle blows, signaling the passage of the commanding corps of the Black Eagle Strike Force. They are led by Caspar now. And he will bring us victory, because we cannot win without protecting those we care for. That is what you always entrusted to him. I trust him to do the same.

He grins and waves at me from his horse. As if he's not weighed down by a care in the world. He's never lacked the confidence in himself and his dreams.

Is that the real reason why you had him protect the most vulnerable among us? Is it his fearlessness?

Caspar and I could both wield an axe. I could brawl, if I wanted to. I can use a sword too, which he has no dexterity in at all. So why did you choose him for such a role instead of me?

…Is this another lesson too?

Please tell me, my teacher. Walk up those ramparts. Appear just over my shoulder and lecture me. I wouldn't be opposed to you taking me in your arms again, either. That gentle way you held me…

"Edelgard."

That voice coming from behind my shoulder isn't yours, and it tortures me every time it isn't.

I turn to face that voice, hearing its contempt. It's a tone that I had grown so used to before I heard the care, concern, and love in yours. It was one I heard from everyone – the nobles, my torturers in that dungeon – my own siblings when they realized that I would live and they would die…

"Yes, Lysithea?"

The woman who shares my curse glares at me with contempt – as if I know nothing of her suffering.

"Why did Caspar transfer me out of his uncle's battleplan?" she asks.

The Black Eagle Strike Force still gossips like we did in the academy, so I shouldn't be surprised she caught wind of that– right? Still…

"...How did you know that to be the case?"

It's worth exploring.

"Because I asked his uncle to be part of the task force." comes her reply.

This stuns me slightly, if only because this is the first time I had ever considered her feelings on the matter. But this is what it means to lead, doesn't it? How can one know everything before making decisions like mine?

I'm working out a reply to her before she continues on angrily:

"I wanted to seek Claude out on the battlefield. If his invasion is about my parents' decision to–"

At this I must cut her off.

"-It isn't. They are just scapegoats. The Church of Seiros is the reason why we are at war with the Alliance. The… Grand Duke… could not have taken the mantle of leadership so soon without full support from the Church. Otherwise, the Lords – like your parents, would have joined us peaceably."

Lysithea is unconvinced with my reasoning here. Granted, it's not that great. I'm tired. Even more so lately.

"...Then why is Marianne not supporting Claude's campaign? Or Lorenz and his father? Why are they not arrested for treason? It doesn't make sense."

What else can I do but steal the words you taught me? You were always throwing my pithy remarks back at me, anyway:

"They are fighting for the future in a different way."

She clenches those tiny fists of hers – hands smaller than my own.

"Then they're enemies, Edelgard. Felix was right to call the Professor a fool for believing otherwise. I should not have held my tongue that night!"

If he had been as harsh to you as you always were to him, Lysithea… No, I cannot hold her to that standard.

"...They're not enemies, Lysithea – our paths are simply on parallel lines for now. The battles they must fight will be different. But those fights of theirs are working towards a shared vision."

After what Marianne wrote during that tribunal proceeding – how can I believe differently now?

"So then why not allow me to fight my own? That's why I'm here. I can handle myself, even against my former classmates. I'm not a child."

I shake my head. I see why she gave you such headaches…

"...Because my teacher would never let me. Not like this."

At the mention of you, she sours. I don't know why she's like this now. For so long, she hung on every word that you said. Now she resents the both of us. And yet here she is, following me to the end. I wish I could understand her reasoning.

"I didn't wish to speak of him… but I guess I cannot avoid it when talking with you, Edelgard." she replies.

I can understand the sentiment, I suppose. I don't wish to speak of you either. I wish to speak to you. And then, maybe never stop speaking to you as long as I live.

"He is coming back, Lysithea. And I cannot lose you before he does."

"Who says I would be lost? I can handle myself, you know. Remember when I defeated the Death Knight?"

At this, I may have smirked. I appreciate how she still calls Jeritza Death Knight after they've been formally introduced for months now. I saw them eating Peach Sorbet in the dining hall recently. When she was trying to get his attention, she used the words "Professor Death Knight". What terrible and strange circumstances have conspired to bring those two sitting across from one another at the dining hall…

Then again, Lysithea keeps strange company anyway. That fellow from Faerghus, for example.

Still, she deserves an answer to her query:

"...With the Alliance fielding so many archers, it would be difficult to protect your position on the battlefield and use your skills to their full potential. My teacher would not waste your talents in a fight where they cannot be utilized properly. That is how he always handled the Eagles. While he's gone… I will do my best to lead following his example."

She crosses her arms.

"Do you plan to die pointlessly too? Because that is what he did the last time he led us. He died."

Lysithea's face is filled with anger. Those pink eyes of hers… ones that you advised to always keep track of… are ones that I would distance myself from now had you not forced us together so frequently. I am thankful that you didn't.

From her position, I can understand. She cared about you so much… and then filled her head with all of Hubert's death talk. I cannot convince her otherwise now

"...He isn't dead."

"He is. You're being immature."

I close my eyes in an effort to consider how I can bring her back to my view of things. She does not allow me a moment's repose though – and continues:

"...And I hate him for it. I hate him for dying before me. He's haunting me too, like an angry ghost. All those pointless things he taught me… what a waste of time!"

Those words. Hating this, hating that. They were mine not long ago. Perhaps they still are. When I see Rhea again, that monster who claims to be the Immaculate One… I suppose I will hate her for interfering with my dream. Right now, I am just too busy for hatred.

As I lose myself in my own thoughts, she continues, anger giving way to grief.

"...I had lived life so greedily before that. I had no time for anyone, because I was so sure that I would die before them. That growing close to someone was pointless, because it would just result in me dying before I could… And then he goes and dies before me…"

These crests of ours curse us to think of spending time with people in this way. Accelerants on an hour-glass near empty.

"I know the first part of your feelings, Lysithea. But we will never agree on the last."

Her emotions were mine once, lost in a darkness I felt before the light. After a time, she stiffens and says:

"...He avenged my parents' suffering, Edelgard. And yours too. He brought the Mages who tortured us to their knees and for what? To die over something as pointless as the Church?"

At this I can only shake my head in disagreement.

"The Church is just as responsible. One would not exist without the other. All that we did before this year's Rite of Rebirth was an effort to seize enough power to topple them."

The heir to House Ordelia walks up to me with an expression of unchecked rage.

"Did you come up with that excuse yourself, or is that just another fake seminar of his? All those lessons about pacing myself, not overextending, taking care of my body… they were all lies that he told me. He threw away his for nothing – so how could he believe his own words? He probably lied to you, as well!"

No, Lysithea. I was the one lying to him. All I did was batter his trust into a pulp to prove that he couldn't be trusted. And in the end, it…

"He never lied to you. I did."

She seems to care little for this admission. Her mind is one-track, so I should've known better to try and pivot the blame on myself, I suppose.

"I don't believe it."

"He's our teacher. He said and did those things for our sake."

"Then he was coddling us. It's unforgivable."

She turns her back to me.

"He was protecting us. Always."

I speak of you in the past tense as if you're dead. I know that can't be true, of course – but how else can I speak of you when you're not here?

After my reply, I can see her shoulders slump. She must know it to be true, in spite of all her griping. Turning back, she says to me:

"Then he was just childish for throwing it all away... because knowing that he… well, it makes me want to do something with the time I have left. To be more mature than he was. To live and see the future that he was willing to die for… Your future, Edelgard."

A lump forms in my throat. She leans in with her hands on her hips.

"...If you mess it up– I'll hate you forever, too. Just like I hate the Professor. Until then… I won't waste another moment."

I feel as if I've said nothing at all to her in this conversation. And that troubles me a great deal, as if she came seeking help and I was just too detached or distracted to give any.

"Where are you going, Lysithea?" I ask as she turns away again. Only her neck cranes back to meet me.

"My boyfriend is waiting for me.."

A tinge of jealousy is aroused in me. I'm still waiting for mine, after all!

As far as the identity of this boyfriend of hers… I know who she means, but he's become just as unbearable as she has lately. I have no interest in keeping his name in my thoughts.

I know what you saw in Lysithea…

But what did you see in him, my Byleth?

Still, he remains. In spite of everything.

Maybe he's like you in one regard. He's got a troublesome white-haired girlfriend that he doesn't give enough attention to, too.

My eyes close as I begin to feel nauseous again. Tomorrow, I absolutely must see Lindhardt.

Chapter Text

To: Professor Eisner

Lady Edelgard will be indisposed for the weekend, as she has been once again summoned to County Arundel on the Regent's orders. She asks you to excuse the suddenness of the affair but stresses its urgency.

Her expected return is Monday afternoon. Due to the arrangement of next week's seminar schedule, she trusts that it will not cause any particular issues. Although I'm sure you already realize this – Monday is a combat art seminar for healing magic, presided over by Prof. Casagranda. Under most circumstances, Lady Edelgard would not be expected to attend a seminar outside of her own listed combat proficiencies.

While she is indisposed, Professor – I would like to propose a meeting between the two of us to discuss that corpulent serpent we met at the mock battlefield earlier this week. I will make myself available between the hours of noon and eight P.M. in my dormitory quarters.

I would not suggest waiting outside or arriving concurrently.

Eyes are always upon you.

If you do not announce yourself during those hours, I will interpret your absence as permission to proceed with this matter independently. Expect this to be our last communication on the matter if so.

Do not post a reply to this message.

Your Student,

Hubert v. Vestra

Professor Eisner,

You did not submit a student's name for this week's Saturday Stable Cleaning. Understand that the consequence for failing to post this roster is the expectation of your personal participation in the activity.

The group activity hours are 9am-2pm.

Dutifully,

Seteth

I've been on latrine duty before, back when I was a fresh-faced addition within my father's company. Stable cleaning at Garegg Mach, as it turns out, is rather like latrine duty. The horses are fed quite well here, and naturally – that food takes leave of them at some point. Since I've arrived at the stables, I've been shoveling the remnants of that.

To her credit, though – Marianne, the Deer's volunteer – has also been shoveling. And in a weird way, seems to be enjoying the activity. I get the impression that she's humming, but that barely audible music is drowned out by the noise of the horses and shovels.

…And Ingrid.

The Lion's volunteer has been doing less shoveling and more vomiting out what remains of her breakfast with each drive of her spade into the brown-stained hay. I suspect the heir to House Galatea, while rumored to be a fine equestrian, may have left more base activities of knighthood to stable boys in the past.

"Everything ok?" I ask the Lion.

"...Fi–… Fine, Pro… fessor!" she manages in between gags.

My father said that the best way to get through latrine duty was to strike up a conversation. He referred to it as "shooting the shit while you shovel the shit". My only issue is the company – Marianne isn't exactly an eager talker, and Ingrid can barely make it through a sentence without dry heaving.

Still, I feel as though I might as well try. After shoveling a particularly large turd into the gutter, I turn to the Deer.

"Do you sing as well, Marianne?"

Marianne turns to me, absolutely mortified.

"-Oh, Professor? You heard my humming…"

I nod.

"No… I will just sometimes do it to Dorte. It seems to relax him…"

"That's Dorte?" I ask, nodding towards the horse whose droppings she's shoveling.

"Y-yes…"

I've encountered Marianne on a few occasions going to and from the stables with all manner of treats for the steed.

"He's fortunate to have you looking after him."

"I can't say I agree…"

Our conversation trails off from there. Unfortunately, I'm not much of a conversationalist, and neither is Marianne. I suspect Ingrid would be more engaged if every scoop of hers wasn't followed by some sort of reflex reaction.

Five hours pass in this way. Although I thought myself generally acceptive of monotony beforehand, I felt somewhat cold in its wake today. Could it be because of the warmth I felt last night with Edelgard? This is probably something I should consider when not knee-deep in horseshit.

The cathedral's ringing bells signal the end of the group activity shortly after this thought crosses my mind.

"Did you guys want to get something to eat?" I ask my two erstwhile companions.

"...Professor, I… don't have an appetite left, actually…" Ingrid utters nauseously.

A pretty surprising statement given how much she usually eats generally. When we first met, she wolfed down three massive sweet buns. Additionally, at the party last night, she ate roughly half of Annette's birthday cake and downed three shots of absinthe. She outdid Sylvain, who brought the damn drink to the party.

After saying this, she staggers out the stable door.

I turn to my other activity partner. Her tired eyes look back at me apologetically.

"I usually don't eat on Saturdays…" Marianne informs me.

Perhaps this is because I'm just a mercenary – but I've never heard of anyone not eating on a particular day when there's abundant and free food available right next door. I must grimace at the thought of it – as I notice Marianne recoil.

"It's for a fast, Professor… I'm not harming myself…" she informs me hesitantly.

Does she think that I think that she's harming herself? I didn't until this very moment – but now I might.

"...A fast?" I ask.

The only time I've heard that word before was curiously enough – from my father in reference to Fallstaff. He's a fellow who always seems to be perpetually ballooning in size – at least for the length of time that I've known him. My father had made that suggestion to fast in order that he might keep his good health into old age.

Marianne appears to be in excellent shape physically – and I don't get the impression that she's much older than one of my Eaglettes… perhaps somewhere between Edelgard or Dorothea, age-wise. The only giveaway that she might be under some stress are the ever-present dark circles under her eyes.

So why does she need to fast? If anything, she should eat some sweets and relax.

I bring a hand to my chin to consider her words further. My thoughtful stance seems to have aroused a bit of resolve in her.

"It is a way to ensure that your prayers reach the Goddess, Professor." the Deer explains.

"I see." I don't, but I also have no desire to offend her sensibilities.

This just makes her look all the more troubled.

"I-I'm sorry if I offended you by declining, Professor."

I bring a hand to my hair in what must be exasperation. I'm really trying not to make her feel bad, but I just seem to be making a royal mess of things at the moment.

"...No, you're not at all– I was just curious. I wasn't raised in the Church."

Curiously, my admission of confusion seems to put her at ease.

"Oh… maybe you should attend a Mass, Professor. I-I think you would understand more about the Goddess if you participated."

It then occurs to me that I've been at Garegg Mach for nearly a month and haven't bothered to step foot in the cathedral yet. Nodding at her brilliant advice, I say:

"That's great advice, Marianne – thank you."

Much to my relief, she seems to take my genuine gratitude at face value.

"...It's no trouble!"

Marianne takes her leave of me shortly after. It seems to my admittedly rather primitive understanding of people that a nearly impenetrable wall exists between us. What would one even call that? The difference in perspective between a believer and a non-believer? I'm not even sure I'm a non-believer, though. My stance on the existence of this or that deity is never one I've really committed much thought to in my life before.

Here at the monastery, however, it seems of the utmost importance that I make a decision one way or the other. I probably won't be able to get any closer to Marianne until I do.

Which is a shame, as I find myself appreciative of her perspective at times. Her treatment of animals is so gentle, and her relationship with Dorte makes me consider my own past with beasts of war. That is to say that they're certainly not beasts of war to Marianne. To her, they are undoubtedly beings that deserve to be treated with care by sole virtue of existence. And that's a valuable way of thinking - one that I'd like to explore more if I ever have the chance.

I suppose that thought portends a follow-up, though: is that solely Marianne's opinion, or the Goddess's as well?

I'll never know the answer to that question unless I set about learning, of course.

Realizing that I'm about two hours into the range of time Hubert offered for that meeting regarding the "corpulent serpent" – obviously Fallstaff, I head straight over.

Hubert's room looks exactly what I expected it to look like.

Covered from ceiling to floor in massive black bed-sheets surrounding a small table and two chairs, it's clear that the Heir to House Vestra has taken every effort to obfuscate his living space from me. He's even blocked out the windows and resorted to illuminating the room by candlelight at three in the afternoon– a very dangerous thing considering the sheer amount of linen hung all around. It's almost too campy even for a yokel like me and prompts me to comment on it as soon as he invites me inside.

"Hiding something?"

"If I was, do you think that question would prompt me to tell you, Professor?"

"Probably not." I grant.

"Those are very thick, padded bedsheets, Professor. Ochs wool, as it happens."

I shrug, as if he expects me to be familiar with whatever Ochs wool is.

"Perfect for soundproofing a conversation you would not want others to hear."

That's actually a pretty innovative idea, I guess. No one would expect bed-sheets to be a means to insulate secret exchanges in a dorm room, right?

Not following that line of thought further, I take a seat at the coffee table at Hubert's behest. He occupies the seat across from me, and lifts a small teakettle between two white mugs.

"I'd offer you some tea, but I regret to inform you that it is currently lukewarm."

Shrugging, I say:

"I'm not picky."

His eyebrow shoots upward.

"That I cannot argue with."

I take a sip, and am overwhelmed almost immediately with the sheer frutiness of the affair.

"It's a Dagdan fruit blend. Lady Edelgard is raving about Dagda's produce nonstop now, so I thought it prudent to see what all the fuss was about. Like most barbarian food, I consider it unrefined, but not altogether unsavory."

"It's similar to the Dos Cravos." I say rather absent-mindedly.

Hubert treats this as a revelation, though.

"Ah, that is the name of the libation that you're using to curry her affection. Good to know."

Blinking, all I can reply with is:

"...What?"

The Eagle shakes his head bitterly, and pulls out a tightly wound scroll, bound together with a thin red string affixed with a seal bearing a double-headed Pheonix.

"Shall we get down to the business at hand, Professor?"

I nod.

"Good. Allow me to introduce you to Adrestia's greatest failure since the Battle of the Tailtean Plains."

Hubert unties and unfurls a piece of parchment before me.

"This, Professor – is a schematic of the Ark Naglfar, the flagship of Nemesis, King of Liberation and his Ten Elites. A legendary vessel used to wage war on river and sea against Saint Seiros and her Champion, Emperor Wilhelm of Adrestia roughly one millennia ago."

Nemesis is a name I've heard before, in that dream.

The rest… it's all as indecipherable as Almyran, at least to me. Which isn't even fair to the Almyrans, as I probably know more about them than I do any of this political crap.

Cutting through the rest of the mumbo-jumbo that he just mentioned, what appears before my eyes is a clear enough representation of a massive water-going vessel whose scale is almost unimaginable. My eyes fall to the key which is detailed in cubits – a unit of measure that while unused in Fodlan remains in Almyra. Their signposts track distances in those units, a common sight along the Throat. I only have the vaguest understanding of their length, however. If my guess is right…

Before I can speculate too much, Hubert cuts back in.

"...How curious that you'd look straight towards the key. I did the same, although these are recorded in ancient units. Allow me to translate – the vessel was at least two-hundred yards in length, had a beam of roughly forty yards, and possessed ten decks. My guess based on that rather cryptic measure of weight there…"

He points to a series of Cyrillic letters that I cannot make heads or tails of.

"... means that the vessel probably displaced well over twenty thousand tons. Given the large siege weapon posted here at the bow, I suspect that this vessel was used at one point to challenge the Bridge of Myrddin."

My eyebrows raise at the sheer size of the weapon, a sort of cylindrical drill – and really just the ship itself. There's not a single galleon that I've seen in Derdriu, the seafaring mercantile capital of Fodlan – that even approaches the scale. Albinea, the island nation with a "wooden wall" of ships, has a man-o-war that their mercenary sailors often brag about – which I've heard only displaces about two-thousand tons. A ship ten times that large must be truly enormous.

"...As an agnostic raised outside the church, I'm sure all that history means very little to you. I would just ask you to understand that what you are looking at is a waterborne weapon of unimaginable power, lost to history for nearly a thousand years in the wake of Nemesis's defeat." Hubert continues.

"I know a weapon when I see one." I say, shaking my head.

This provokes a curl to form along Hubert's lips.

"I thought so. You aren't the only one, either – Professor. Twenty-five years ago, Emperor Ionius commissioned a one-to-one scale recreation of this vessel based on this long-lost piece of parchment. That engineering project was the single largest in the history of Adrestia since the foundation of Enbarr itself, a city raised from the swampy marshes of Hresvelg. The entire endeavor was also attempted in complete secrecy, hidden from the Church, upper nobility, and foreign powers."

At mention of the Emperor, I'm finally spurred to ask a question that I've been teasing around for a while.

"...Edelgard's father commissioned this?"

Hubert's smirk widened at this, as if I had asked a profoundly dumb question. Perhaps I did.

"Indeed, I suppose I should have clarified her father's identity for a commoner such as yourself… In any event, the man who was selected to lead that top-secret project was none other than your father's lieutenant– Falstaff von Hrym, Baron Morgaine."

A hand goes to my chin rather reflexively.

"You're sure that this is the same person?" I ask.

Frankly, Fallstaff never struck me as a military engineer. I certainly never saw him partaking in any sieges, at least.

Hubert brings out some supplementary information – from what I can see, they're newspaper broadsheets from Enbarr featuring sketches of a man who is unmistakably my father's subordinate. The man we called Sir Fallstaff.

"-At first, no. But shortly after our introduction to him, I sent a letter to my father by carrier owl asking for… assorted books and scrolls such as the one lying before you. Although he and I are on somewhat shaky terms, information on such an event so far in the past was something he was willing to oblige. I suspect he takes a great deal of pride in it, even. House Vestra has a sizable library devoted to just this event."

I nod. I don't recall him sending a carrier owl, but I suppose I should just accept that Hubert's always plotting. It seems like a better thing to do than obsessing over how he goes about doing it. My Eagles are a quirky bunch, I'm starting to realize.

That said, they probably find me rather strange, too. Except Edelgard – she just thinks I'm foolish. And really… I don't mind if that's her impression of me.

Hubert endeavors to get my attention back. It seems as if my blank stare drifted downward when thinking about his liege.

"Baron Morgaine, it should be noted, was the younger sibling of the late Count Hrym, and the uncle to the current Count Hrym." he says.

At times, I wonder what Hubert expects me to do with trivia such as this. I haven't the slightest idea who rules Hrym, or why that should matter. I've certainly never met the current Count.

"In any event, the man that stood before us on the mock battlefield as a mere lieutenant of your father – that man whose head my father apparently presented to Emperor Ionius the very year I was born – has a rather dubious distinction, Professor. Care to guess what that is?"

I shake my head. I'm not really sure what he's getting at.

"As it happens, he was Emperor Ionius's most trusted friend and confidant. They have quite the history together, going back to their days at the officer's academy, here at Garegg Mach. A forty-fiver, to pilfer his own term for it. And like so many alumni from that class, he betrayed his liege when the moment became opportune."

While I don't think the Eagles are as close as I'd like them to be, I wonder if they'd ever be betraying one another like those earlier Adrestians did. Maybe that should be a broader concern of mine in general. Teaching them how to wage war is one thing – but if they just use those skills to murder each other in the future… then I would've done them more harm than good in the end, as their teacher.

"...Was it that bad?"

Hubert runs a hand through his coiffure and squints with his visible eye, as if taking note of my conflicted mind.

"The project was one of the worst feats of mismanagement in the entire history of Adrestia."

I nod. I suppose you can't hide something like that forever. And from what I've gathered, the Church doesn't like that sort of thing appearing under their nose.

"Was the…Ark… completed?" is my logical follow-up.

The heir to House Vestra shakes his head.

"No, not at all. The attempt to reconstruct Naglfar was a complete and utter disaster. From what I can gather, only the frame of it was raised. After five years, it ended up as one of the worst financial boondoggles ever committed by Adrestia in her long and illustrious history."

I sat on this thought for a time. Ionius seemed to have the right idea in building a weapon that formidable, especially with a historical analogue of success present. On the Throat, the strongest citadels often would dissuade attacks from a man as brave as Holst. That's basically what a battleship is as well, isn't it? A big, waterborne fortress? I'm no expert in naval affairs, of course. My battles have been fought on Terra Firma.

With that in mind, it's clear enough from Hubert's story that Ionius didn't acquire the sufficient talent around him to see through that vision. No commander should waste his men on an objective they cannot be expected to fulfill. My father always kept that in mind when he led his company.

So... why did Edelgard's father ignore a maxim that? She made him out to be a fine warrior.

"You look as if you're deep in thought, Professor." Hubert says.

"I am." I reply.

I can pretty easily tell that my statement intrigues him.

"Well, do tell…"

"Why do you think he entrusted Fallstaff with such a task?"

Hubert shrugs.

"The Emperor kept bad company, it would seem. That is the reason why I scarcely keep any at all save Lady Edelgard. Using people for their talents is one thing but trusting them with one's dreams without the bonds of duty… it strikes me as beyond irresponsible. Unforgiveable, even. No offense intended to present company, of course."

Is that what binds him to Edelgard, then – duty alone? Is duty even enough? Nobles are often bound by duty, but this means comparatively little in places like the Alliance which seems to be in a perpetual state of discord and low-level civil war. And Adrestia too, it seems...

Hubert continues on noticing that I proffer no reply.

"...If I might be so bold, Professor – I'd say that every failure of Emperor Ionius's reign from that moment on can be attributed to this disastrous bit of whimsy. It eroded his reputation with the high nobility and began to isolate his more competent supporters." Hubert notes.

Just a month ago, I'd be inclined to accept his assessment of things. Now, I am not so sure. A pang in my chest tells me that this is not the case.

I think of my student – would she ever trust me with her dreams one day? A part of me that hopes that would be true.

Was it Edelgard who gave Hubert all this information, I wonder? It seems so very close to her. Spurred forward by this thought, I inquire:

"How did you get all this information, Hubert?"

Folding up the newspapers, he chuckles.

"Entirely by circumstance, Professor. My father assumed the vast resources granted to Baron Morgaine following his exile and demise. Prior to this, House Vestra was merely a branch of nobility confined to palace politics. Our sphere of influence had never departed far from Enbarr and the Emperor."

He rolls up the scroll again, and ties it tightly with the red string that once held it.

"...After this affair concluded, my father assumed the engineering society that Baron Morgaine had cultivated in his term as Armaments Minister for Adrestia. The responsibilities of Fallstaff's old cabinet position – particularly cleaning up the fallout – became those of House Vestra."

A hair reaches for my hair by reflex.

"...Does this have something to do with Lord Arundel's position as regent, as well?"

Hubert grows rather solemn at this question – as if he didn't expect me to prod along this particular topic line. After a time, he finally delivers a very considered reply:

"Partially, Professor. That said, in my own estimation of things – there is no man more directly responsible for the weakening of Adrestia in the past half-century than the person of Fallstaff von Hrym. I will not bore you with the details that followed in the wake of this – but know many of them have at least some indirect relation to the scars you saw on Lady Edelgard's hand yesterday morning."

Hubert must sense that I'm about to continue this line of questioning, because he holds up a hand of his to stop me before my mouth even opens:

"I will not say another word on that particular matter. You saw what you saw. It is not my place to ever broach such a topic with you any further."

Deciding to push my luck anyway, I prod just a bit further:

"I'd like to learn more about this more generally, Hubert."

"Learn, you say? And you expect me to teach you?"

"Edelgard is my student. If her circumstances are affected by what happened in the past, I should know as much as her privacy would allow. That's my job, isn't it?"

The Eagle stares at me for a long while, as if trying to assess my true feelings behind those words. I am starting to find Hubert's attempts to do this immensely amusing, because, like with Edelgard – I usually just say whatever is on my mind.

Perhaps the downside of eternally dealing in artifice like he does is never knowing when someone is actually being sincere.

"Your… perspectives are always disarming, Professor, but I must decline to assist. I say this for your sake and hers – you would do best not explore any further."

Leaning in, I decide to give it one last go. Meeting his yellow eye sqaurely, I say:

"Let's think of it as an exchange."

If Hubert views relationships as purely transactional, maybe this will encourage him.

The expression on his face that appears a moment later – one of mild bemusement – seems to confirm this.

"Professor – I cannot agree to that without seeing you hold up your end of such a bargain first."

"You sounded like Claude there." I note.

"Your continued comparison of me to that dullard is growing tiresome."

I mean, if the shoe fits – right?

"What can I do for you, Hubert?"

Hubert pours himself some of the lukewarm brew into an empty mug on the table. Considering his next words through a long sip – he finally says:

"Assist me in breaking into his quarters. Before I rid the world of this man, I need to know what he's been plotting in the intervening years. Adrestia has a number of disaffected nobles with eyes towards threatening Lady Edelgard's ascent. If this man remains alive, I suspect his designs on revenge are present as well."

This provokes an eyebrow of mine to rise. He clearly wants to protect Edelgard as much as I do, but the means that he advocates always strike me as the wrong way to do so. I'm willing to grant that he knows more particulars, I suppose - but a part of me feels incredibly prideful. That I know best on how to protect Edelgard. And I'm not sure what to do with that feeling.

"You need my help for that?" I ask, a bit confused.

He nods.

"Unfortunately, disguising myself as a member of your father's mercenary company is not an option. Your father's band appears to have their own code for watches that I haven't deciphered yet."

I'm surprised at this admission. Our watch-phrase is just saying a nursery rhyme line backwards. Maybe Hubert didn't read many nursery rhymes as a kid. My father only read me that one – so maybe the two of us are actually more alike than different in that regard.

That said, I'm not entirely sure I want to give him that just yet.

"...I can just ask my father for his skeleton key to the barracks." I offer.

This alternative strategy seems to ambush him.

"...Without arousing his suspicion?" he asks with a piqued eyebrow.

I shrug.

"I don't think my father thinks I'm smart enough to be held in suspicion."

This provokes a belly laugh from the Marquis of Pickled Sausages.

"Ha! I suppose you don't seem like the type, Professor. If you believe that you can acquire access in that way, I will not encourage you to deceive him. Shall we reconvene tomorrow to explore the matter further?"

I nod and get up, eager to leave this curiously adorned abode of his. Before I turn, however– Hubert cuts in:

"A warning, Professor."

My gaze returns to him.

"Lady Edelgard has mentioned that you're rather sentimental. If you carry that sentiment with you too far along this particular path, I'll be forced to kill you along with Baron Morgaine."

Replying with a blank stare, I take my leave without another word.

Chapter Text

My father takes a long gulp of his favored Itha Stout as he scrutinizes the next iteration of my battle-plan against the bandits. Again, we've decamped to Celica's for Sunday afternoon's grog. For the most part, the positions and general thrust of the plan haven't changed all that much – although I did move Caspar into a position to cover Bernadetta's rear. The younger Bergliez has the sharpest vision I've seen out of all my students, and I can perhaps neutralize his own impetuousness by keeping him in as master of the backline.

I'm also giving his family's beer another shot – but I just don't think I'll ever come around on it. All it's done is send me to the bathroom – it works its way through me faster than water.

That's the responsible thing to do, right? With Caspar, I mean – not the beer.

As my father's eyes trail down to the entrance of the canyon – he lets out a sigh through his nostrils. Shortly after I notice this, my own eyes shift to focus on where he's committed his vision.

Marked down there are a few additional letters – "Cl", "Hi", "Ig", "Lo", "Le", "Ly", and "Ma" – indicating the Golden Deer, along with a "Dad" for – well, obviously – him.

Considering the words of Fire-Frill Feather Figure and her mercenary captain Metodey, I've started to commit some time toward developing a deployment strategy for the Deer, lest they be engaged against enemy reinforcements. I don't have anything so clear as confirmation of force or approach path – but it can't hurt to deploy them in a rearguard formation, I figure. With their complement in skilled range units – particularly Claude – they could keep the enemy at bay for a time before reinforcement from the Eagles.

Naturally, if we are overwhelmed, the Deer – already in formation, could also deploy under the leadership of my Father to assist.

It's not the perfect countermeasure by any stretch of the imagination – but I have few other options without having a firm idea of what we face. On the Throat, we often encountered situations like this when sieging a citadel. Since we were in their home territory, Almyran relief columns – led by the wyvern riders, would approach from any and all angles. Even in the brightest desert sun, we often still found ourselves in the dark.

"Kid… are you expecting trouble?" my father asks at last.

"There are bandits in the canyon." I reply matter-of-factly.

"You know what I mean."

I shrug, wondering if I should explain what I saw to him during that reconnaissance. I think better of it, knowing that his hands were probably tied tight by logistics as well. Seteth had stressed that much at the audience.

"The siege camp looked vulnerable." A half-truth, but an omnipresent one for any siege camp, really.

My father brings a hand to his hair.

"They've had ten days to start moving troops and supplies in." he notes.

While he's not wrong, I wonder if that will be enough.

"...Still." is the best I can offer.

He shakes his head.

"I know better than to doubt your sense of things. It's a good countermeasure, at least."

Content with his tentative approval, I roll up the map and slide it under my breastplate. We both nurse our drinks in silence for a time. My father looks like he's toying with something in his mind. I'm doing the same – wondering how I should go about asking him for the skeleton key to the barracks in order to carry out that task for Hubert.

"How's the Princess? I saw her getting into her carriage again yesterday."

Unable to put my own thoughts aside, I shrug.

"She's going to Arundel on her uncle's orders."

A frown creeps across my father's face as he hears that.

"...Arundel, huh?"

Nodding, I wait for him to reply. It takes a while – I can clearly see him working through his own memories.

"...Never mind, kid. It was a long time ago."

It's pointless to push him on these things – I'm his son, not his peer. That said, there is something more pressing that I need to ask, anyway.

"Father."

I need that skeleton key.

"Uh-oh."

He smirks whenever I preface a question like that, and I'm getting the impression he does it to work me up a bit beforehand. I can't blame him – but I don't really get worked up, do I?

"Can I borrow the barracks key?" I ask.

Unclipping a keyring to his belt, he detaches one, slides it across the table, and returns his gaze to me with a conspiratorial eyebrow.

"Sure."

When he does stuff like that, all I can do is stare blankly in return. He usually takes that cue as an expression to speculate about why I asked the question – which he does right now:

"It's about Fallstaff, isn't it?"

"Yes."

There's no point in lying to him. My father nods at my confirmation, and leans back in his seat, content with my response.

"I was going to pay a visit to his quarters, anyway. He's up to something." he says.

"...How did you know?"

He brings his arms behind his head in a stretch.

"I didn't until your Princess started asking questions about him. And then a few things made sense. Little things, but things all the same."

Was her gentle prod about Fallstaff enough? Maybe they spoke more about him after I wandered off – but knowing my father, he was probably filling her head with stories. What a strange circumstance that is. It feels like I've learned more from Hubert about Edelgard than I have from her own words. And in turn, Edelgard's probably learned more about me from my father than from my own perspective.

Is that what it means to learn about someone? This is all oppressively new.

"...Such as?" I ask absent-mindedly, still churning the previous thoughts around in my tumultuous mind.

A smirk creeps across my father's lips.

"You should ask her, kid. She's got my approval, now."

I tilt my head at that statement of his.

"...Approval?"

Chugging about a quarter of his mug in one great gulp, he leans in.

"I thought you were gonna have a hard time with her... And boy was I wrong, kid."

I take a measured sip from my own mug of Bergliezauer.

"What are you saying?"

He shakes his head – his smirk turning upwards even further.

"I mean you're still gonna be in for a hard time, but not in the way I was expecting. In a good way."

Leaning back in my own seat, I shrug at this. He prods at me further:

"I'm glad she found you, kid."

Although he probably said this in a ribbing way, I can't help but agreeing with him. I am glad Edelgard found me. I'm glad I found Edelgard, too.

"...I'm glad that I'm her teacher." I say after a pause.

Nodding, he replies:

"You should try smiling when you say that to her, it'll make her day."

"...I'm not sure I can do that."

I've never expressed myself like that, and he knows as much. So why would he make a statement like that, I wonder?

"...Should've figured you'd give me that line... Move at your own pace, then. Just don't let her slip away before you do."

My eyes fall back to the battleplan, where I've placed Edelgard by my side. I don't want her anywhere else.

Looking back up at my father, I realize that he's been watching me intently for the past few moments. His look has grown suddenly solemn, though.

"...Just remember that the future takes as much as it gives, kid."

We both take our time, nursing our drinks in silence.

Unlocking the door to Fallstaff's quarters, I am immediately overpowered by the smell of dirty laundry. On his best day, the man was always slovenly, so that should be expected – but I was still completely unprepared for the jet of moist air that awaited me upon pushing the door forward. Several dirty towels lined the floor in front of the door, preventing any air from circulating. Couple that with the sizeable collection of dirty socks and stained undergarments, and the place bore no small resemblance to a pigsty.

The stables seemed more inviting than a place like this.

Although, in fairness – I wasn't invited.

Wandering over to his small workstation, I immediately find what I came here for – which is a good thing, as I doubt I'll be able to stay for much longer under such pallid air.

On his desk is a letter – and under that letter, what appears to be a map. His letter is the first to command my attention, and I begin to read it:

Thales,

I have nearly found it – this time, I am sure!

Two decades lost fumbling around the desert with that band of fools, dodging those bastards in the Eastern Church, and it was all for a red herring! Damn that old Imperial– he was loyal to his Emperor to the very last breath. Even his final words before I assumed this mask were a misdirection – sending us so far afield when the original Ark was right under our nose all along.

This winter in Remire, I had a thought – what if the mountain referenced in the Eddas of the Elite was not in ancestral lands of Goneril, but much further afield from Shambala? What if Naglfar never survived the retreat from the Red Canyon, and never descended back down the Airmid? There were never any records of its repair in the dockyards of Hrym, and one must expect it took damage from the so-called Immaculate One's deathly fire.

We also know of Seiros tracking the Tenth Elite, Goneril, to the White Cliffs above the sea– but did it not strike you as curious that no mention of the Ark was ever recorded? Why did the builder of such a magnificent weapon not deploy it against Seiros in a last stand against that vile Fell and her stupid lapdog Wilhelm?

My only answer at present is that the vessel must have been lost beforehand – perhaps during the Anabasis of the Ten.

And I am beginning to think it was lost near Garegg Mach.

Since arriving at the monastery, I've taken to hiking the hills along the outer ring of the plateau. Much like those canyons in the Throat – I see water lines cut into the cliff faces – as if the area was once a giant caldera long since drained. I would ask you to recall those Eddas, and how they mentioned a connection between the Magdred and Airmid rivers. Could the monastery be the key – or rather  what lies underneath ?

I should have a specific location for you within the month. Unfortunately, however, our next communication will have to be in-person. I believe my cover is about to be blown, as the Captain has assigned me to a night watch of several Imperial nobles, including your weapon. Her whetstone, I fear, will not take kindly to my presence. Still, there is little he can do against me directly, as he is merely a student. My contingency plan is nearby.

That said, if they plant a seed of doubt in the Captain's son, their Professor – my show here will be over. My acquiescence to that plot of yours with bandits has destroyed my esteem as an officer and a gentleman among the men. Losing the Captain's or the Ashen Demon's will be fatal.

Enclosed in this letter is a map, to which you will you see my proposed location of the Ar–

It seems that he never finished the letter, perhaps being cut off as he finished the word "Ark" – which appears rather repetitively in the preceding paragraphs. I wonder what drew him away before finishing something of such importance?

And who is this Thales that he is addressing it to?

My eyes fall to the map that lies next to his incomplete missive. It looks identical to the one Hubert presented – right down the cubit key.

My eyes drift towards the top of the map next – it's title doesn't refer to the Naglfar, however – it refers to something else entirely.

The name reads: Abyss.

It's at this point that I realize how clearly out of my depth I really am. For better or for worse, the only person I can count on to decipher this information is Hubert. Tucking both documents under my breastplate, I take my leave, locking the door behind me.

As I depart, I wonder if anyone else will enter the room ever again.

Hubert has left me waiting outside his door for some time now. After knocking, I immediately heard the sounds of nails being hammered into walls. It occurred to me that he must quite literally be nailing the wool-lined sheets into the walls and ceiling to absorb the sound of our conversation.

That said, isn't me waiting outside Hubert's room in the middle of the afternoon going to arouse more suspicion from a passersby than anyone potentially hearing bits of the conversation?

A familiar voice confirms this thought of mine almost immediately.

"Oh, Professor! Are you lost…?"

I turn to meet the voice, and realize it's Hilda.

"How are you, Hilda?" I ask, hoping I can divert the conversation back to her. Women like to talk about themselves, right?

That's probably wrong, though. The first example that comes to mind is Edelgard – and my student never wants to talk about herself.

"I mean I'm fine, Professor – but if you're trying to hook up with Princess Edelgard, you might want to knock on the door next to that one… after you run away for a little while."

I think hook up is Leicester slang for sexual relations.

"I'm not trying to hook up with Edelgard." I clarify.

"Well, it's probably too late anyway – that's Hubert's door!"

Hilda informs me of this while making an exaggerated expression that indicates her distaste for Hubert. I wonder why Hilda finds him so unappealing? He could just be a bad neighbor, of course.

"Indeed it is, Ms. Goneril." comes a reply from behind my back – naturally Hubert's.

"Oh… well, I'm gonna leave now, Professor. Claude's taking me into town tonight."

"Have fun." I offer.

"You too, Professor – if Horny Police Hubert lets you with Princess Edelgard, that is!"

As Hilda says this, she sticks a tongue out at the Eagle over my shoulder, who I've yet to turn to face yet. Eventually, after a deep breath, I pivot around to the Marquis of Pickled Sausage.

"You will not be having fun with Lady Edelgard, Professor." he informs me.

Shrugging, I reply:

"I never said I would."

A hand of his runs through his coiffure.

"...Consider that a simple statement of fact, then."

We both stare blankly at each other for a time.

"...I suppose I should let you in. You smell like absolute filth, so I take it that you've been inside Fallstaff's abode?"

Curious that he didn't comment on my smell after cleaning the stables yesterday – but maybe he was trying to avoid volunteering himself for such an activity next week.

He beckons me inside, and we return to the small coffee table surrounded in black bed-sheets. We both take our seats and lean in, the good conspirators that we are.