Author's Note
To Jackko – I have White Clouds written in "raw form" and am editing + uploading as I go along. I've been putting it together since December of 2019 and was aided substantially by COVID quarantine allowing me to go into monk-mode for a year. Grand total for WC was ~1.5 million words, but I've already begun to hack that down significantly.
Finally PRT Numerical Reply King – you're gonna hate the next chapter, I think. Might want to call it quits before seeing how dirty I do your favorite green-haired dragon-mommy-gf. As far as your point about antagonism goes: you as the player are given the option to be explicitly antagonistic towards Rhea, Seteth, and Flayn throughout White Clouds. This Byleth takes those options.
Also, IMO – you can't write a good story without antagonists. The antagonists of my re-telling of White Clouds will be TWSITD. The antagonists of my re-telling of Crimson Flower will be the Nabateans. I have made this quite clear in the interludes thus far.
Cheers
Kid,
Seteth's got me teaching a combat art seminar on lances today. I've got your ginger on the list – but my ginger is on it too. Probably won't have time to catch up given how Leonie is.
Getting some horses from the stable to prep them for cavalier certs. Wonder how your silver-spoon brat will like riding in the mud? Let's go over how he did over the Sunday grog.
By the by, I caught your Princess at the tailor's last night while I was getting my gambeson patched up. She looked like a ghost when she saw me – more ghostly than usual anyway. Don't mention that to her, I'm sworn to silence.
Princess didn't prohibit leaving a memo, though, so I figure we're good.
Today is the faculty meeting.
It has also been raining – steadily – since I woke up.
Knowing that I'd check in on him first, my father left me this letter on the desk of his office, thankfully having the foresight not to send an owl to mess up my floor. As I stand in here, I'm starting to wonder if it wasn't the workspace of the fellow I replaced. My father has clearly carved out a small shelf of his own filled with the only books I've ever seen him read – spiral-bound accounting registers for the mercenary company – but most of the literary selection lining the walls of this office isn't what I'd call my father's taste.
In particular, there's a great deal of content regarding King Loog of Faerghus, including a row of various thesis papers detailing extreme minutiae regarding the Battle of the Tailtean Plains, all written by a group of researchers working with the "Western Church", whatever that is. At random, I slide one off from its place on a shelf, kicking up a great deal of dust in the process. Flipping to the inside page, I take note of its title:
An Examination of Skirmisher Deployments at Tailtean: Orders of Battle for Houses Lonato & Rowe.
From what I can gather, it's a very dry tome on the archery forces that contributed to Loog's victory on that peculiar, river-run terrain. Such a detailed study seems strange, through - because from Mauricius's own assessment of the battle in the Tacticon, he found "Loog's V" a rather uninspired tactic, going so far to coin it as a "cold croquette waiting to be fried". As his book wore on, I noticed he often made analogies to battle based on his late wife's favorite meals. His biographer had mentioned as such, too.
Was that grief, I wonder?
It's an emotion I've never experienced before, of course – and hopefully never will.
Mauricus had a flair for strange analogies like that, but I have very little idea what he meant by the turn of phrase specifically. Perhaps I'd need to study the battle more closely in order to make sense of it. For a time, I consider borrowing the book in an effort to grapple with it – but my contemplation gets interrupted by Professor Hanneman, who beckons me into the meeting room several doors down.
Manuela and Seteth are already seated at the table, next to one another, and Hanneman shuffles into a seat at the Cardinal's right. Taking my seat across from my boss, this meeting takes on the look of an interrogation. An awkward silence fills the air for a time before Seteth informs me that:
"We are waiting for Professor Jeritza, as this is his first year at the academy as well."
That's reasonably interesting to learn – I had figured he was an old hand given how relaxed he seemed here. I nod in reply to the Cardinal's information.
My fellow rookie colleague arrives shortly thereafter and takes his seat to the left of me. He assesses me somewhat coldly behind that carnivale mask of his.
"Now that we have our four faculty members present, allow me to begin..."
Seteth clears his throat before continuing.
"...Although the academy is in something of a precarious state given the situation at Zanado, I see no reason to disrupt the celebration of St. Macuil's Day. From its very foundation, the goal of our curriculum here has been to bring the future military and political rulers of Fodlan into closer collaboration with the people they are destined one day to rule. The holiday celebrating Macuil, our Patron Saint of Knowledge, has always been one where we invite the townsfolk for an evening of food, drink, and general merriment. On that evening, they are to be waited on by the students. We do this because an essential component of rulership is knowledge of those the ruler will one day rule."
In some respects, it's a venerable goal. But I get the distinct impression that the goal here rarely matches the end result of what they actually want. One day over the course of a single year at an Officers' academy probably isn't enough to imprint a concept that heady on someone. Or maybe it is, and I'm just a fool. Edelgard seems to think so, at least.
It's just that in my mind, as primitive and as new it seems to me to think in such a way – practice is the only way to truly grasp a concept like the one Seteth is talking about. And one day a year, once in a lifetime – seems about as far away from a good practice regimen as I can imagine.
"It's truly a lovely little holiday." Manuela offers, meeting my eyes and dragging me out of my recent contemplations.
The boss follows up on Manuela's comment:
"...Indeed it is. But, given the privilege of many with noble blood in Fodlan – service to the common people can sometimes seem like an anathema. That is why I would encourage you all to treat this as a side-mission of sorts and establish for your students a clear objective. Moreover, set individualized goals for them to achieve."
Mission-based, on-the-job learning isn't a bad idea. But again, I wonder if the principles are properly expressed. You don't just throw a guy a sword and tell him to start hacking and then call it a lesson. Although someone like Felix or Caspar would like that, I'm sure – I have my doubts about it really working in general.
"I have always found it best to do just that in my years of teaching here." Hanneman confirms, expressly against my recent thoughts.
And Hanneman's a very experienced fellow, I'd wager – so he might be more right than I am. Biting my own tongue, I wait for Seteth to continue:
"We generally encourage the student body to follow their talents in whatever way they can to serve the townsfolk. In the past, students have baked sweets for the children, drawn caricatures, taught archery or fencing to interested locals, or even offered free labor. Generally speaking, we are quite open to anything the students wish to do, as long as it maintains the spirit of almsgiving."
Seteth, Manuela and Hanneman look expectantly at myself and Jeritza, but neither of us reply. The Cardinal then takes that as a cue:
"...Unfortunately, given our compromised security as of late, we will be restricting that freedom slightly. Due to the lack of Knights and potential proximity of other bandit groups, the festival will be limited to the quadrangle outside the houses' classrooms, and we will require the houses to participate in three group activities instead."
Given the circumstances, I can't fault Seteth's logic there. If I was running the academy based on the scant information I have, I'd probably take the same course of action. Still, these seems to distress the two more senior colleagues – Hanneman and Manuela.
"The last time that occurred was…" the elder mage begins, but trails off in a rather pained way.
The Cardinal taps the desk with his finger, returning everyone's attention to him.
"...Many years ago, correct. But we cannot afford to take risks with the well-being of our students. Without a full complement of knights to protect them, we must remain vigilant."
A sentiment I can get behind.
"Hm." Jeritza adds, absently.
I add nothing at all, so what does that make me?
The meeting dragged on for quite a while after, as Seteth detailed the various activities that the students could partake in that contributed towards the broader goal of almsgiving. They mostly washed over me, because I figured Edelgard was plotting something.
She, unlike Hubert, really doesn't seem to have a conspiratorial mind. Any time my student actively tries to hide something from me, she seems to let things slip eventually on account of her passion. In a way, I can appreciate that. Even if I can not trust her entirely at the moment, I can take some surety in the impression that she'll accidentally tell me everything later in a fit of determination or excabreation.
And in a strange way, that's quite a comfort.
When I think about the other two House Leaders, I find myself feeling relieved, in fact. With Dimitri, I suspect I'd always feel slightly on edge about setting off some sort of emotional trigger of his, and with Claude – well, Claude is Claude. That's all that really needs to be said, right?
Edelgard is Edelgard, by that previous metric too, of course. And I prefer her that way.
And maybe that is the reason why Hubert's been coming to me with the Fallstaff business. After thinking all those messy thoughts, I handed the Maniacal Marquis's leave of absence to the Cardinal – who accepted it distractedly. Perhaps I should make sure he's distracted when I take personal days as well – if I ever need them.
Making my way downstairs, I took another small comfort in seeing that Edelgard was waiting for me. She had a very expectant expression on her face as I walked up to her, and upon reaching earshot, took to watching her shift her weight onto her right leg.
"...How was the meeting?" she asked, her expression becoming very intense thereafter.
"Fine." I say with a shrug.
The weight shifts from her right leg to her left leg, and a white glove reaches up for her chin.
"If I might be so bold… you don't look as if the meeting went fine."
Taking a deep breath and sighing it out, I say:
"I just think I'm out of place in those things."
This lightens her mood a bit. The ever-present furrow in her brow dissipates.
"Well, perhaps you are. At times, you seem very detached from life at the monastery."
Wincing, I'm forced to accept that she's probably all to right there. But there's very little I can do about that, unfortunately. I've never been one to emote very much, and none of the religious things about this place make any sort of sense to me. Is Edelgard religious, I wonder?
Embarrassed at my continued lack of knowledge about both my profession and my student, I find my gaze departing from those lavender irises of hers, and – justifiably, maybe – she recoils a bit at her own words.
"...That comment was not meant as an insult, my teacher!"
I shake my head.
"Don't worry about it."
Somehow, my calm reaction to her protest just seemed to set her off even more. I wonder why she's being like this today? Is it because of the rain?
"Really, I meant that statement in a positive–"
I hold up my hand, and she gets the picture.
Over the short time we've known each other, I've come to learn that she's a bit of a hair-trigger, but there's got to be something behind all of this today. Recently, I've also found myself forming a modified opinion about her exasperated face. Or, at least – one that has evolved from my experience of it on the campgrounds last week.
There are still certain times when I find it quite cute, but now there are other times where I don't like it at all – in fact, it provokes great trepidation. This is one of those times.
"Are you alright, Edelgard?"
A wave of relief washes over me when I see get flustered again. It's just so comfortable this routine we have, her and I. She closes her eyes and shakes her head.
"I am… truly, I should not be fussing in this way – it's unacceptable."
The doors leading to the cathedral open in the distance and I notice the rain has died down a bit from this morning – it's more of a drizzle now.
"It's raining." I say matter-of-factly.
This rather plain observation seems to unsettle her even more.
"Whatever do you mean by that?"
Shrugging, I reply:
"Everyone seems a bit down."
"And you blame that on the weather?" she asks, a bit stunned.
The last time it rained I had to deal with two very agitated white-haired women storming into my tent and being very demanding. Although the behavior of one of the white-haired women in question – the one standing before me, coincidentally – wasn't so bad in the end.
Best not to intimate that, though – so I stare blankly instead. This seems to spur Edelgard on.
"...I had wished to have this conversation somewhere private, but everyone seems to be indoors today because of the rain. It is quite troublesome."
I take a look at one of the wall-clocks, and it indicates that it's only ten in the morning.
"Celica's is still closed, too." I note.
"...Most unfortunate."
"There's one other place we could go, though."
The fire in Edelgard's eyes return as soon as I say that.
"Oh...?"
I nod and reply:
"Do you have an umbrella?"
Edelgard does indeed have an umbrella. It's precisely the type of umbrella I'd expect her to have, as well. Tipped with extra-soft goatskin leather on the handle, the pole seems to be made from rosewood, with double-headed eagles etched into it. The color of the canvas on top, of course – is dyed in a rich hue of scarlet, with a floral pattern embroidered on it.
"...What…?" she asks, when I first lay my eyes on it.
"It's very Edelgardian." It is.
"Naturally, you're in awe of it's tastefulness." She quips haughtily.
Getting the impression that she's fishing for a compliment here, I give a once-over of the umbrella again, which I realize she's held out more prominently, as if she's presenting it to me for a formal assessment or a show-and-tell.
In my own totally inexperienced estimation of these things, I find the whole embroidered rose motif a bit tacky. It reminds of that Fire-Frill Feather Figure and their mercenary lackey. But I do have some genuine appreciation for woodwork, finding the contrast of the jagged wings of the eagle and the swirling patterns inside the rosewood to contrast each other quite well.
"The wood carvings are a nice touch." I say after a few moments of scrutiny.
As soon as I compliment her, she seems to look very unsure in her own footing, and her eyes dart back to the rosewood as if to confirm their existence, and then back to me. What a strange thing to do.
"...Of course! I designed them myself, you should know." she tries to say this confidently, but I'm not sure she's convinced me of that.
Still, all of this is certainly news to me. And not unwelcome news at all. I'm always ready to hear about what interests her. And I have to admit, I'm curious what her role in it was.
"...Designed?"
Her eyes narrow at this question, which is unfortunate.
"Hmph. Do you not believe that I have artistic interests?"
"I just don't know what that entails."
"Oh… I drew them on paper and submitted them to a master woodcarver who replicated them."
Taking that kind of initiative is remarkable, I think. I've certainly never put that much thought into an umbrella. I scarcely even carry them around with me – most times, I just throw my cloak over my head.
"Still, I'm impressed."
At this compliment, her chin falls down and her eyes fall away.
"Must you… gah… there is no need to compliment me so…"
She likes that, though.
With nothing better to do, I return my attention to the umbrella. This seems to cause her even more frustration, and she immediately yanks it away from me, blushing.
"...S-Stop looking at it so intensely…!"
As we step outside, she opens and attempts to hold it under us. The issue here is that I'm roughly eight inches taller than she is, and she has to extend her arm all the way up. Putting my arm on the pole, I attempt to fetch it from her, but she tugs back on it.
"I hardly need you to pretend to be a gentleman on my behalf."
Those purple orbs blaze at me intensely. I return them with my blankest possible stare.
"I'm not pretending."
"T-then you're doing it very foolishly."
A cheeky reply leaves my lips as soon as it crosses my mind:
"You like that."
As if by clockwork, her cheeks flash crimson as soon as I say that phrase.
"I… Well… perhaps I find it amusing…!" she manages.
While she stammers out that reply, her grip loosens, and I take the umbrella.
About a half hour later, the Heir to Adrestia and I stand outside Manuela's infirmary on the mock battlefield. She had initially protested the idea bitterly, under the impression that my blood was still all over the infirmary cot and was attracting unsanitary rodents. Her vitriol softened when I informed her that Fallstaff's old platoon had been ordered to clean up the mess we left last week, however.
The only issue at present that's blocking us from taking our final step into the massive tent is the fact that there are candles flickering from the inside. A warm glow emits from a partially-open flap.
"It seems to be occupied." I note.
"Then we must force the occupants to leave, my teacher." replies my student.
Taking a few steps towards the tent flap, I assess the sounds coming from the room. It sounds like someone is snoring softly. Maybe one of the guards is skipping duty and asleep inside.
"Let's try asking politely first." I offer
Edelgard shakes her head.
"I refuse to return without having our discussion here, my teacher. If they do not assent willingly, I will make them."
At this, I have to agree with her. It'd be a waste to come all the way out here and have it be for naught. Since I am a professor, I do have the leeway to occupy certain spaces for the sake of a lesson. I could theoretically use those powers here.
"Just give me a minute, then."
My student steps forward.
"...I'm going with you."
"Are you sure?"
"I will not abandon our effort after coming all this way."
Sometimes, the things she gets riled up about give me pause. Whatever this conversation is going to be about – she clearly has attached quite a bit of weight to it. I should ready myself for when it comes, I suppose.
Still, given the gravity – I appreciate that she's entrusted me with whatever she's about to say.
I part the tent flap.
Much to my surprise, upon entry, I see a familiar clump of ruby-colored hair under a dusty field blanket – fast asleep on the operating table. All around that red hair and blanket are various empty bottles of booze pilfered from Manuela's stash inside.
I trade glances with my student, who looks rather stunned.
"Is that…" she begins
And then that clump of red hair shoots up, revealing its owner to be none other than Sylvain Jose Gautier. He is nude from the waist up, and wears a look of groggy surprise on his face, with the edge of his emotions clearly dulled by what must be a truly vicious hangover.
"Woah… Professor… and… Princess Edelgard…?!"
To add to the surprise, a young girl with shoulder length black hair, deep-set goldenrod irises, and a thin-if-toned figure shoots up right beside Sylvain. Her only clothing appears to be a black crop-top camisole and matching bloomers (not that I am looking at those). Adorned around her neck is a black choker with a small shield on it.
I suppose those two were hooking up, to use the Deers' parlance for casual sex. I wonder what term Fearghus uses? I should probably ask Sylvain when he's not otherwise indisposed.
"Hey, hey. Guess the secret about this place is out, huh Syl?"
The girl states those words with a thick commoner's Leciestrian accent. The one where the "H"s in "Hey" are almost totally silent. Holst has that accent as well – although Hilda and Claude both speak in the more received pronunciation of Fodlan's nobility.
Imagine Holst pronounced as "'Olst" when first introduced, and that's how I thought his name was spelled for roughly three years until corrected otherwise when I was sent to collect the paycheques in the stead of my father.
My student recovers from the shock rather quickly, and immediately spits out:
"W-what are you two doing here?"
The black-haired girl's lips curl into a devilish smirk. She leans forward on the operating table, crunching her very visible abs, and stares directly into Edelgard's big purple orbs with her smaller, squinted yellow ones.
"Guess."
Does she have some sort of death wish, I wonder?
"D-do not attempt to give me orders! Identify yourself immediately!" Edelgard shouts, clearly flustered at the sudden new arrival in what must seem like a very close-knit circle.
Sylvain clears his throat, slides off the bed, and finds his land legs.
"Oh yeah… let me introduce you guys. Professor, Princess – this is Maya Kirsten, she's the sister of Raph, from the Deer. He brought her here to stay the week of St. Macuil's day."
I had no idea that students could invite family members to the monastery for visitation – but it doesn't seem all that far-fetched to hear it now. Given the nature of most of the students here, however – I doubt many have time to check-in, given how they're all Lords and Ladies governing huge swaths of territory.
Still, the most surprising part of this was to learn that this girl was the sister of that massive Deer. Perhaps it was the hair that threw me off.
"You seem close in age."
"Yeah, we're Brigidian twins. Eleven months apart. People used to say we looked alike until I dyed my hair black."
The term she used was general Fodlan slang, but the one Brigidian student I have is an only child. Is that ironic or just racist, I wonder?
Sylvain follows up on this enthusiastically:
"It's crazy, Professor. The way Raphael talks about her, you'd figure she was a little kid, and then she shows up and she's absolutely smokin'. She even drinks more than I do."
"...Just how old are you?" I ask.
"Are you a professor or the sheriff? I turn eighteen next month."
Would it be wrong to suppose that what I'm seeing here is fine? I really don't know if I should be prodding anymore than that, given that she's not one of my wards or anything. It's not like she's hooking up with an Eagle, either. She also doesn't look to be as emotionally traumatized by the experience as Hilda, either.
Edelgard seems to be fuming, however – although the rage seems to directed towards the heir to House Gautier.
"...And you've already sunk your claws into her, have you – after asking me for some sort of… lewd… encounter last week?!"
Sylvain throws up his hands, palms open and out, rather defensively. He seems to be at a loss for words at the moment – a rare state of affairs. A fine gambit, Edelgard.
Much to my surprise, Maya scoots over towards Edelgard shortly thereafter, her legs hanging from the edge of the operating table. This catches her attention.
"When a tall, moderately handsome guy comes through and lays those compliments on you, it just makes you want to get your back blown out, doesn't it – Princess?"
She recoils from this question, bringing a white glove to her mouth in surprise.
"...A-absolutely not! I have excellent posture!"
Those goldenrod eyes shoot back to me, and her smirk starts to remind me of Claude's.
"...How far back can she bend, Professor?"
I stare at her blankly. It's a fair question – one that I do not know the answer to. Me knowing the specifics of Edelgard's flexibility would probably assist in teaching her more advanced combat arts, certainly.
Reflexively, I bring a hand to my chin in thought, and my eyes drift over to the person in question. When my eyes fall upon her, I can see her face burning brightly.
"D-Do n-not dignify such a question with a response, My Teacher!"
I nod and move onto the next order of business. Looking to the Lions' Red Lancer, I say:
"Sylvain."
He nods enthusiastically.
"How can I help?"
I point to his drawers.
"You missed a few buttons."
Sylvain's chin tilts downward. After affixing them back together, he looks back at me.
"Ah, yeah! Good look, Professor."
I notice that in the interim, Edelgard has been moving ever closer to my side and rear.
"...W-whyever are you two in such a state of undress?!" she asks, her neck craned towards a nearby window.
Raphael's sister gets up from the operating table next, and wanders over into Edelgard's field of view, bare feet tracking along the dirty floor. Edelgard jumps a bit when she notices her cutting in.
"I just finished sucking him off."
"W-what?!"
At mention of this, my eyes turn back to the bottles of hard liquor arrayed across the operating table. It occurs to me that I heard various rumors on the Throat of this type: an extreme intervention method to deal with otherwise fatal alcohol poisoning was to suck the offending fluid out of the bloodstream, typically from the wrist. Maya must be a very experienced healer.
"Impressive." I grant.
"M-my teacher…!"
Why would Edelgard be wearing such a mortified expression? She too must appreciate a useful combat art like that, no? Perhaps she does not want to give any credit to Sylvain or Maya. That seems natural enough, given her personality.
Then, much to my surprise, she places her thumb on my chin and yanks it down to align more evenly with her eyes.
"Not as impressive as you, tiger. You're the serial killer from the throat I've heard rumors about, yeah? Your face is a bit more delicate than I thought it would be… my teacher."
After hearing someone else say the term, I find myself preferring Edelgard's particular intonations. They seem a fair bit more genuine, at least.
Speaking of, my student immediately tries to cut in between me and Raphael's sister, sending the latter's arm reeling back in the process.
"Enough of this! Which one of the Deer is disclosing that information to you about him? Might it be Ms. Goneril?!"
At this point, Sylvain slides into the mix.
"...Professor, we should probably get out of here, yeah?"
Nodding, I reply:
"Probably."
Sylvain and Maya take their leave shortly after. Edelgard's eyes do not leave the two until they are long past the opening flap of the tent, and far gone into the rainy exterior.
It takes Edelgard a little while to settle down.
I'm able to speed the affair along ever so slightly by reaching for two highball glasses and a bottle of Enbarr gin left over in what was Manuela's once well-stocked liquor cabinet. It's picked pretty much clean, now. Given how gin is not commonly consumed in the two countries Sylvain and Maya hail from, it makes sense that it was one of the sole survivors of their binge last night, along with a nipper of Srengian Schnapps.
Taking a seat by her side at Manuela's workstation, I uncork the bottle and pour a sizeable portion for myself. Edelgard looks at me like I'm a madman when I pour her a modestly filled glass.
Her lavender irises assess me accusingly.
"...It is eleven in the morning."
I stare at her blankly.
"It's raining." I reply.
She stares at me blankly.
"So it is…"
We both take long sips. For a time we stew in silence, listening to the pitter-pattering of the rain, like we did together last week when he huddled under my cape. I wonder if she's thinking about that as well. Our proximity to each other that night has never quite left the back of my mind since.
"...This meeting was about our group activity, right?" I say at last.
Edelgard takes a petite sip of the gin, purses her lips slightly, and then turns to me.
"Yes, it is."
Nodding, I reply:
"I'm open to any ideas you have, Edelgard."
"Well…"
Those purple orbs drift from her drink to me, blazing with passion and drive.
"...It is my opinion that the best use of our time, resources, and talents as a House would be to convert our classroom into a Maid Cafe."
Those last two words constituted a phrase that I never once expected to hear leaving the lips of Edelgard von Hresvelg. Which makes it all the more crazy given how the previous twenty-odd words sounded exactly like her.
The surprise is such where I feel the need to repeat them, just to make sure those were in fact the words she said.
"...Maid Cafe?"
Upon repeating those two words, my student suddenly becomes very flustered.
"D-do not force me to repeat myself, I am sure you've encountered them in your travels!"
She's not wrong. They're particularly popular in Myrddin, given the swift trade they do with the Empire. As I understand, the custom originates from Imperial territory as well. Most mercs with a background from there would eagerly visit the expatriate ones operated within the Alliance when on leave from the Throat. Myrddin is about as far away as you could get on rest and relaxation trips before the cost and time outweighed the benefits.
All that said, since I spent most of my early childhood in Remire – I guess I was also technically an Imperial. At least until Lord Arundel pawned it to the Church. So was I Churchman now?
My absent-minded contemplation on these topics seems to have left my student very agitated, and her pleading eyes beg me for a response, one way or the other.
"Sure." I say.
This, much to my chagrin, just sets her off more.
"...And you clearly wish to ask me why I want to do that, do you not?"
And you clearly wish for me to ask and then be shot down in asking, don't you, Edelgard? At this point I suspect asking will just lead to one of these inevitable nothing arguments. Moreover, since I did such a good job of dodging them earlier in the reception hall – I'm not particularly eager to disrupt my winning streak.
"Only if you want to tell me." I reply carefully.
A kaleidoscope of emotions take root in my student's face at the moment, and they seem only to intensify as she stands up from the dusty chair she was sitting on. I look up to her, and see that she's beginning to hide them. The mask is going back on, in effect.
But I saw them all the same – surprise, shock, anger, guilt – all emotions that I can only feel the slightest hints of and never express, but ones that she feels so deeply and can scarcely hide at times. In a way, I can sense a certain jealousy welling up within me. Not at the idea of her expressing those emotions – but at the idea of Edelgard expressing them to anyone else. Does she, I wonder?
"I-I am not comfortable disclosing the reason at present!" she exclaims.
Shrugging, I say:
"Ok."
"...And you still intend to follow my opinion?" She inquires hesitantly.
"I do."
When I say this, I notice her hands migrate to her hips, and she starts to lean down a bit, as if to accuse me of some misdeed. Those narrowed purple orbs of hers remind me ever so slightly of that accusative squint she gave me and Dorothea a few nights ago. Tangentially, I'm glad they seem to have patched things up. Maybe Hubert is quite good at facilitating such things, as well.
It's a shame that the Marquis of Pickled Sausages is going to be leaving for a stretch this weekend. I could probably make use of his talents as an interlocutor, had he stayed.
After the Adrestian has completed analyzing my blank stare, she states:
"I… fail to understand why you would allow something so foolish."
This earns a shake of my head.
"I'm a fool."
Shifting her weight from leg to leg, her eyes from fall from mine
"You must know that is just a thing I say sometimes…"
I shrug.
"...So then why do you insist on letting me continue?" she seems quite intent on letting this nothing argument continue.
Edelgard must know the reason by now, doesn't she? Perhaps she's just unsure and needs a reminder, though. I can understand her trepidation given how my face probably never matches the sentiments I find myself feeling lately.
"I trust you."
The guilt I can detect in her eyes is immeasurable. Why feel guilty over such a petty thing, I wonder? It makes no difference to me if she won't disclose this or that reason behind a festival booth. My foggiest guess is that there's something emotionally significant in the undercurrent here. But my feelings are too primitive to really understand.
So I can only hope against hope that she'll decide to tell me one day. Just like those nightmares of hers, like the one she had on the viaduct while I carried her back to her dormitory. She's still never intimated a word to me about that, and we've had plenty of free time to discuss it.
"T-truly?"
"You're my student, I'll delegate to you." I reply with a nod.
"R-really?"
I feel as if I need to supply a reason for her to finally give up. Although… I find her increasingly cute now, and wouldn't mind her in this state for a little while longer.
But that's selfish. Putting my lecturing cap on, I state:
"It seems like you've got a vision for it, even if you won't give me the details. Let's see it through."
Her chin tilts down.
"I… will tell you my reasoning soon, then… for now, I must ask for your patience."
"Take as long as you need, Edelgard."
And her cheeks flush so brightly that they illuminate the long-dead candle wick.
"...Thank you for giving me your trust on this matter, my teacher."
"It's always been yours." I reply.
Immediately after saying this, my student melts back into her seat, a beet-red mess. As I watch her try and recover, I realize that any darkness that remained in the field infirmary has been chased away by those lips of hers rising into a smile.
