Author's Note:

Hoping you enjoy the O.C. introduced this chapter. He'll eventually be our segue into Cindered Shadows. Took me a long time to figure out how to seam that in – probably why the writers had it as a sidestory themselves.

I don't see how one can fit it into a single month unless you either compress it right before the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, or have a "facilitator" outside of the Wolves who can trigger a certain series of plot points. My goal is to take the latter path and weave it in slowly with the principal events in an effort to get the Ashen Wolves involved in White Clouds sooner. Hope that makes sense and I'd be eager to get the readers' thoughts on it.


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.