Author's Note:
Hope you all had a wonderful holiday!
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.
