Author's Note:
Thanks everyone for keeping up with the reviews! I'll have a long-form note up at the end of the next one!
Should I have entrusted Edelgard with ordering drinks?
No – I can't ask that. That ruins the resolution.
Admittedly, I had been waiting for her so stubbornly before I ended up needing to use the outhouse and delegated the task of ordering them to her. When I returned to the table, I noticed that the waitress had cleared the table of our dinner – onion gratin soup, of course – and delivered the fruits of Edelgard's trip to the bar counter.
Resting on a massive wooden charcuterie tray are eight cocktails. They all happen to be the same cocktail, in fact – the Dos Cravos – that juice-gin concoction that prefaced my journey with Edelgard nearly a month ago.
Still standing, I raise an eyebrow at my student.
"...What? I thought this would be a fine way to rally our spirits." she says, looking very, very guilty.
My eyes fall back to the cocktails. There are no carnations garnishing them, which seems suspicious – but I'm not going to press her on it just yet.
"...For what?"
She raises an eyebrow at me.
"...We're celebrating, are we not? Please sit down, my teacher."
I comply, as soon as I do – another one of Edelgard's assessments begins.
But I'm assessing her too – and it seems that she's so busy assessing me, she doesn't notice.
The Adrestian exudes confidence right now – at least in comparison to a half hour ago – but I think I know why. While I was perusing the menu, or eating the soup, or taking a trip to the outhouse – or any other point in which I was immersed in the present… Edelgard was looking towards the future.
My student must have thought up some kind of plan during that window of time in order to dominate the evening so that she wouldn't have to let her guard down. I'm no emotional expert, but I have fought and killed hundreds (not thousands, as I bluffed to Caspar earlier) of people in the past half-decade… and more of a few of those people whose life I drained from their eyes struck me as rather smart. Or at any rate – smarter than I am.
The smartest people who I killed were often big planners. That tended to be the case particularly with staff officers, generals, that sort of thing. Holst knew I had a particular skillset, and it was murdering people who thought that they were very intelligent. In particular, when storming citadels – I was assigned ad-hoc formations to take on blockhouses along ramparts where the gold earring'd princes of Almyra plotted and planned their responses by the flicker of candlelight to Holst's wild charges at their walls.
My plan for taking these redoubts was never particularly complex in nature. After a brief reconnaissance, I took stock of the structurally weakest and strongest defensive points surrounding the blockhouse. Following that – I engaged the full complement of Holst's men against those weak points, and then took on the strong-point – usually the forward defenses around the front door – all by my lonesome.
This logic, of course goes against traditional military strategy – usually you want your best units going around to strike the enemy at their weakest point. Naturally, I always thought of myself as the best unit – and I was carrying around a nickname like "Ashen Demon" – one which the enemy was aware of as well.
With that said, the Almyran officers plotting and planning inside were often very good at assessing traditional military strategy as well. Whenever I entered one of these blockhouses, they were strewn with books, maps, astrolabes, abacuses, that sort of thing – all covered with that illegible, squiggly written language of theirs. I would still want to learn it someday, but I digress.
Anyway, those very smart people would then – without fail – strip their strongest point of its best defenders – and then reinforce the weak points of their defense that were currently under attack. I am almost one hundred percent sure some book that they all read encourages them to do this.
That is when I would attack the strong point – now its own weak point. And that strong point, of course – was almost invariably the defenses at the front door or gate. At that point, I would set about eliminating the remaining troops outside and after kicking in that front door with my foot, fire, or improvised explosive, I would then methodically execute the people inside that command center – and if circumstances provided – locate whoever I thought was the smartest person in the room, with the intent of saving them for last.
Only after I had taken the lives of everyone else, I would set about the yeoman's work of disarming this smart person, usually by gradually exhausting them – observing each strike, parry, or block beginning to take longer and longer until they were weakened. Once that was done, I would bring them to the ground and grip their larynx.
With that slightest pressure – that very smart person – who had often taken lessons in Fodlanese, as their officers did – would start to talk. And I'd allow them just enough air to allow them to continue on and on – as long as they wanted to.
They would let me into their mind.
Then, when they had told me what I needed to know... that pressure would increase, and I would watch – staring at them blankly – as the life faded from their eyes, hurt and distraught that I had no intention of sparing them. As if all their plans had burned to ash.
I'm going to do that tonight to Edelgard, I think. Figuratively.
But when I — figuratively — get my hands around her throat, I'm going to take stock of all that she's willing to tell me, and use that knowledge to help fulfill her dreams and desires. Because I'm her teacher… and personally would want to see that smile I'm always chasing after when she succeeds.
This was a very long and strange analogy, and while the idea of potentially telling this to Edelgard someday has crossed my mind – I seriously doubt I could ever express this in a way that doesn't make me seem like a…
"dangerous and malevolent sociopath who threatens children with a dagger…"
To use her words, at least.
Still – I think she likes that.
Which is strange, because she was asking for me to be more gentle with her three weeks ago.
…Does she want both?
My eyes scrutinize the ungarnished cocktails again. When Edelgard witnesses me do this, she doesn't let me consider this question for much longer.
"Is something wrong…?" she asks leadingly.
"The garnish." I reply.
The Heir to an Empire fidgets.
"I… I believe the bartender said that they were out of red carnations."
We're already off to an excellent start to the evening I see – she's lying again.
There's a cocktail at a nearby table that's decorated with a white carnation. In the event of a proper Dagdan establishment not having the crimson flower they decorate this particular cocktail with, they'd stick any old color carnation in the beverage. A white carnation and a crimson one have the same smell, and that's more important than any of the decorative qualities, particularly for their countrymen across the sea who live on land pockmarked with sulfuric volcanoes. Hubert's island coffee plantation is quite near that belt of volcanic activity as well.
I lean back in the seat a bit.
"You are scrutinizing me." she accuses.
This is getting rich. Again, I'm saying this in respect to a seventeen-year-old – but in fairness, I've only just found my footing for social interaction a month ago.
"They'd just garnish with white ones." I note.
I point to a nearby table where there is a white carnation garnishing another fruit cocktail. This sends her purple eyes darting around a bit. I suspect she's going to eventually locate four other white carnations in the bar, along with two other red ones to dispel her supply shortage fib.
Edelgard being Edelgard does her best to deflect, however.
"...The Dagdans don't distinguish color? Then why decorate them with red ones?" she postulates weakly.
"Color isn't the main factor."
"What is, then?"
"Scent."
In a weird but cute way, the Adrestian is simultaneously angry that I caught her lying, and thrilled about getting this bit of trivia... and I find that so incredible about Edelgard in general. And perhaps this is why I can never stay frustrated at her myself.
"...Ah, you mean to say that they're selecting them for aromatics first, and then for the color?"
I nod.
"...I see. That is – certainly a perspective I had not considered."
"Neither did I." I add with a shrug.
She shakes her head and smirks bitterly at this, saying:
"This is going to be another moment where you say that a mercenary told you that."
Correction: it was a bartender, but she's close enough. My student deserves an A for effort, at least.
"More or less."
Her eyes fall from me.
"...I quite enjoy those stories."
Is it strange that I believe her more when those lavender irises fall away?
Relaxing in my chair and soaking in the complement, my eyes drift out towards the bar – and then unfortunately see Sylvain Jose Gautier and Maya Kirsten enter through the front door. Even at this distance, I can spot a massive black-and-blue shiner around the Red Lion's left eye. That must have been a gift from Raphael – and as they pass the mirror behind the counter, Maya locks her arm around the Lion, wheels him 90 degrees to get a look at himself and begins to cackle maniacally.
At the sound of that all-too-familiar laugh, Edelgard then notices her.
"Why are those two here…?" she seethes.
Maya then gets up on her tiptoes and presses her lips against Sylvain's mouth – who also has a bruise on his chin, I realize.
But to answer Edelgard's query – it's patently obvious, isn't it? They're at a bar to drink alcohol, like most people at a bar do. Should I state this explicitly to her, or leave some room to draw this conclusion herself, I wonder…?
Earlier this month I would've simply explained this to my student, and probably have drawn her ire. This time, however – I do the teacherly thing and engage her critical thinking faculties:
"We're here for the same reason, aren't we?"
I take a sip from one of the cocktails and wait for what should be an obvious answer, especially now that I've basically owl-messaged it to her right in front of my eyes.
To my surprise, however – the Adrestian blushes and those entrancing irises of hers seem to expand like a pair of blowfish.
"...M-might you be implying that we're on a…?"
My student must be really flustered by the prospect of dealing with Maya again, which is a shame – as Sylvain is seemingly the person who hits nice people like Marianne for no reason. Maya's quite a forgiving soul if she rescued a scoundrel like him.
…Should I give Sylvain the same routine I did with Caspar? I suspect Hanneman would never allow it, so I'll let the matter drop. This cycle of the strong picking on the weak is best saved for the battlefield, where that sort of thing is a necessary reality of war. Why the students are so desperate to invite that reality here is… unclear to me, but I'm no philosopher. I've never even read a book on philosophy before.
I notice that Edelgard has gotten progressively more red and progressively more surprised as I've let her stew in that question for a time.
"Edelgard, are you OK?" I ask.
My show of concern only seems to make it worse. Reviewing my options, I realize that our current seating placement would allow us to make our way to the second-floor staircase without being noticed by either of the two offending presences.
I stand up, grabbing two fresh cocktails.
"...W-wherever are you going…?!" she yips.
As I look back at Edelgard, I notice the barely visible viaduct in the window behind her. Trying in vain to figure out what's got her so flustered, I then see one of the streetlamps along the side of the bridge illuminate, the flames spitting about as the first speck of accelerant hits. My guess is that it must start burning on a timer or something – which is easy enough to do if the lamp has its own internal mechanical clock.
The clock in the bar reads ten in the evening, so that must be the cue.
And then I notice – there's an eagles' nest on top of that streetlamp overlooking the cliff face.
Turning back to Edelgard, and with poetic thoughts from that earlier reading of Ishtar filling my head… I point upwards and say:
"We'll soar away."
My student followed me up those stairs with the most glassy-eyed, entranced look imaginable, but after a few moments on the patio, she's already looking quite frustrated. It's hard to blame her, though – they've moved all the seats indoors on account of the winds tonight, so we're stuck with appreciating the view of the Monastery on our own two feet.
"It's… quite cold…!" She complains.
It's really not – it's just windy, but Edelgard seems very sensitive to just about everything lately, not just temperature changes.
So, I try to do one of the chivalrous things that she supposedly hates so much – and offer her my cloak after a fluid motion to unclasp it. The Adrestian crosses her arms and gives me an extremely pouty expression, a manifestation of the one that I tried with Dorothea earlier today and failed so miserably at. Once I complete the task, I gently push it down on those padded shoulders of hers. When I do this, she goes back to blushing.
"I hardly need your chivalry at the moment."
The emphasis she puts on the word hardly throws me for a bit of a loop. Edelgard needs to make up her mind about how she wants me to act around her, because this is becoming increasingly difficult to navigate.
How could I possibly put a cloak over that with the required aggression she's looking for? The cloak is inherently quite soft, so I can't do it hardly. Should I thrust it on her chest and push down harder on those padded shoulders of her academy uniform next time?
Does she like that?
This is impossible, so I just capitulate:
"You asked me to be more gentle."
Remembering our conversation on the 29th, her chin dips and her eyelids shut. A shake of her head follows.
"Honestly… my teacher – you're a cretin."
I hand her the Dos Cravos that I left on the patio railing when I went to unclasp my cloak. When she takes it from my hand, her white-gloved pinky finger on her right hand brushes across mine. She nearly recoils when she realizes.
Tilting my head at her, I reply:
"Honestly, my student – you're a bad liar."
This gets her blood up, and those lavender irises start blazing anew.
"Oh? And how would you go about measuring that…?"
"It's like you said – we're alike." I reply, also tossing back her words at the picnic.
Edelgard crosses her arms under her cloak, and something in my chest twitches as she does. I really can't get enough of that pose, just by virtue of how cute it is.
"I daresay that you're the one who's constantly twisting my words this and that way."
My head pivots side to side at this – she remembers me standing behind her this morning, no?
"You did that to Ferdinand and me this morning."
Her neck cranes out towards the viaduct.
"Ugh. Do not speak of him here… and I must say that your words are far harder to twist, as well."
This piques my curiosity
"Why is that?" I inquire?
"Well, there are many reasons..."
"Such as?"
In spite of not actually looking at me, her chin dips, and as a result – it seems like whatever mask she was wearing falls into the ravine.
"...You say so very few of them…"
That twitch in my torso then starts to twist like a knife. Undeterred by my silence, her eyes return to me at last, and I get an impression of immense resolve.
"And… well, the few that you do say, My Teacher… I happen to vastly prefer them over his." she says.
Her honesty prompts me to reply in kind:
"I prefer yours, too."
And I really do. At this Edelgard takes a single step closer to me, and stammers out:
"I-Is that so…?"
Of course, it is so, and moreover – I want her to tell me everything about her in the most exhaustive detail. In a weird way, I feel as if I'm at the precise moment where I have my hands around the throat of those Almyran generals… but in a strange way – I find myself identifying with the people I murdered right now.
Because like them, I find myself pleading – pleading for her to let me in just a crack into that mind of hers that seems to be always turning over something. With that in mind, I decide to throw caution to the wind and cut through – hoping against hope that I can turn the tables:
"...I'd prefer them more if they mentioned the book title."
Remembering that she lost the bet with Claude at the training grounds, and owes me that ticket into her interests, she stiffens.
"...Why should I do that?"
Apart from the fact that you shot me...?
She's back to the assessment. But since I've already overcome the strong-point, I think it's time to just keep hammering away:
"I want to understand your perspective."
For the first time in quite a while – maybe even since our picnic on the 29th, I feel like I've made an in-road. Her eyes hold my gaze quite tightly, and her weight shifts around under the cloak as she works through her reply. But behind those tells of hers is a clear sign that she's thinking – and I don't think it's simply a machination… it almost seems like Edelgard might be considering how much she is willing to say – instead of just a pure deflection or attempt to shift the topic.
Although – naturally – my student is not going to make it easy on me:
"...We will have very different perspectives regarding that book, I think. So, perhaps we shouldn't."
And now I know what she was actually reading. Because in her own, cryptic way – she was letting me in, wasn't she?
"Ishtar…?"
"...Ugh... I must credit your ability to extrapolate, I suppose…" she groans
She looks surprised, but also doesn't look surprised. A month ago, I wouldn't have thought such an expression possible – if it was even readable to me. But, I'm starting to learn that anything is possible with Edelgard, though. Acknowledging that, I can surely afford to surrender some tempo at the moment, mostly because I want to try and make my student smile.
"I've only read two books in my life. It was between that or the Tacticon."
This prompts the slightest of smirks, and I sense that the Battle of Tailtean was an easier-fought win that the verbal skirmish we had to fight to get her to even make that one expression. An expression which drives me into each new day in search of its appearance.
"...Well, we are attending a military academy, why didn't you think of that one?" she queries.
Shrugging, I reply:
"You were talking about romance while reading it."
"...Perhaps, but I don't see how that's relevant."
Reflexively, a hand appears in my hair, and I find myself thinking how amusing this is.
"The Tacticon isn't really romantic." I say.
And that's not a lie, of course – Mauricus was, probably a romantic, certainly – given how much his wife grew to love him, but the text itself was quite dry and failed to cover anything regarding matters of that nature.
Was he romantic because he was a fool?
"Is that so? ...I found Ishtar quite romantic, but you thought it was terrible." My student tells me.
She's twisting my words, as usual. Although… I suppose I should be happy she remembered them well enough to twist, right?
"I didn't think the book was terrible." I correct.
My student immediately attempts to interject with a:
"But then–"
"-What happened to Ishtar was terrible." I'm able to power through, though.
And we both stew in the silence that follows after that completion. In the meantime, we both nurse our drinks. Naturally, Edelgard's sips are shorter than my gulps, and she's the first to claim back initiative in our renewed conflict as a result.
"Why?" she asks.
This, admittedly I have to contemplate as well. Since that teatime conversation with Dorothea I haven't exactly had a great deal of time to consider why I found the poem, and particularly Ishtar's situation so troubling – but I think I realize now.
"Ishtar always proceeded alone." I say at last.
At this, Edelgard shakes her head and brings a white glove to her chin from under my cloak that she's been clinging very tightly to as of late.
"It is not as if she needed assistance – she nearly killed Wilhelm, Adrestia's first Emperor all by herself. I assume you read the description of the battle in the footnotes."
Another tell of hers that I find so insufferably, extraordinarily cute. She's too smart for her own good – Dorothea had purchased the copy of the text with a great deal of footnotes. There was another version available in the bookstore without the index and glossary – which is the one I purchased.
"You have Dorothea's copy?"
And then I realize – was this Dorothea setting everything in motion? Perhaps I had underestimated the Songstress's intentions here... and her intelligence. Is she our Hubert of the Heart?
"I-I don't see how that information is relevant…!" my student yips.
It's very relevant to me of course, but I'm willing to grant that it's not exactly pertinent to this discussion. Shaking my head, I reply:
"It's not."
And wait a few moments before noting:
"...But Ishtar died before she could bury her brother and family. So what's the point?"
At that question, I notice the fires behind those lavender irises begin to burn so brightly I feel as if I'm staring directly into the sun.
And frankly, since everyone is telling me that I'm into self harm, I keep staring.
"She sacrificed herself to avenge her loved ones, and for what she perceived to be the honor of all mankind. I found that to be quite chivalrous and romantic… and perhaps that is something I would do myself… if put in similar circumstances as Ishtar."
Naturally, I would sacrifice myself for Edelgard, because I made such a firm resolution on that desire of mine that I felt so strongly in Remire. And that was… was it the first feeling in this waterfall of sensations that I've experienced since arriving at Garegg Mach?
And then I realize that waterfall isn't really the right analogy here. It felt sort of "off" like the tears in rain quip that I used to make Caspar less chipper about rough-housing Bernie. I'm starting to think this is because I may not really be a person who flows like water. At a baseline, I keep finding myself not letting things wash over me so easily anymore.
Jeritza referred to me as a flame, didn't he?
I am the Ashen Demon, I guess – I'll ask Linhardt for some fire-based analogies when I see him next.
A pair of expectant eyes are demanding a response, so I say:
"I don't have an issue with the sacrifice part. It just seemed like she needed allies."
"You must understand how ironic that sounds from someone who claims to be a sociopath."
In all or at least most of my descriptions, I'm sure I must have identified either the presence of Holst or my Father.
"I didn't take citadels by myself." I clarify
"Hmph. At times, your stories often make it seem that way…"
Correction: No, I didn't.
"Taking objectives, sure. But objectives aren't goals."
She frowns at me, but it's more of a I'm thinking frown and less of a fuck you frown.
"I suppose you did say that with the Lions at the campsite. Would you care to explain it?"
"I tried explaining and then..."
She doesn't let me finish the thought, of course.
"Well – I would remind you that I am your student. You should have been lecturing me."
This is not a justification for going daggers-out for Dimitri, but she's being very cute and demanding so I'm going to table that for now. I also don't want to derail the conversation before I have a chance to really push her a bit on this, and see what her feelings are.
So, I throw caution to the wind and say:
"Let's say I have a goal."
The Assessing Adrestian shifts her weight again, slightly, forward, and snaps:
"What's the goal?"
"Protecting you." I reply without any hesitancy.
And the light-show on her cheeks begins anew, burning brighter than any of the streetlamps below.
"...J-just me?"
"It's easier if it's just you."
"What's easier if it's just me…?"
"The analogy."
Edelgard almost looks a bit dejected when I say that, but I do want her to think about this seriously for a moment.
"...Well, proceed, then." she grants.
"If my goal is to protect you, I could just throw myself in front of enemies for you…"
Before she gets the wrong idea – I obviously include:
"And I'd still do that, but…"
And this starts her own gears turning, as if she's waiting for me to betray her.
"...But what?"
Careful not to misstep, I find myself preparing a response. And considering how much I hate prepared responses, this feels rather frustrating to do. It's as if with Edelgard, I have to really work hard to get her to live in the moment.
But… I like that.
"You've been taking a fancy to many strange people and things lately." I'm told by The Beginning.
"You included." I reply.
Can Sothis blush? Maybe I'll try making her the next time she appears in my room.
"Phooey! Focus on your woman."
Another yellow arrow flashes before my mind's eye, and then I return to the conversation with the other Sothis-like figure before me.
"Taking axes for you would be the completion of a just a single objective. It's only a part of the whole." I manage.
In the time that I spent arguing with the deity, it seems like the Adrestian was working through her own logical series of strikes. After flipping her hair and leaning slightly against the railing, she replies with a bit of a haymaker:
"Well, what if your only skill is taking axe wounds for me?"
Not missing a moment, I reply:
"...From you."
Confirmation: My student never saw Kostas make contact with my back. Edelgard definitely did see herself making contact with my head, however.
Still, the budding banterer continues unabated:
"What else could you do, then? Is that not enough? Should you not focus on becoming the finest axe-wound-taker in Fodlan?"
"It's not enough. You're disaster-prone." I reply, shrugging.
This prompts her to smile again, which is… it's honestly so refreshing to see after all this arguing today.
"You sound just like Hubert." she accuses.
"He wants to protect you, too." I grant. He's reminding me of this ad nauseum with his daily essays.
"Well… I have disagreements with him as well, naturally. I hardly need protection." she notes, looking back at the monastery wistfully.
What do they argue about, I wonder? There's obviously the fact that he didn't want me to teach the Eagles, and I start to think… Does she give Hubert the same amount of backtalk that she does to me? If so, he must be quite devoted to her.
…Why am I starting to sense that I'm also devoted to her?
An aching chest spurs me along:
"I'd prefer to enlist the support of someone like Hubert. His skill set and mine are different, but complimentary."
Edelgard frowns at me, but I sense she agrees.
"...And how do you propose trusting people with those objectives? What if they fail to understand or appreciate them?"
"Communication." I reply.
She raises an eyebrow at this, given how terse that reply was and I suppose how I am more generally.
"And you would do that by…?"
This is where five years of military experience can outdo the trust-issues of a seventeen year old Adrestian Princess who spends too much time dreaming about romance and self-sacrifice:
"A mission briefing." I say.
Her eyes go rather wide at this remark. Perhaps she's never seen one? Like clockwork, her gears start turning and she starts wondering what I could mean by this. Although it was meant to be a pithy reply from me, I'm rather amused how it's got her thumbs twiddling under my cloak, as if she just got a failing grade on an exam.
Why has no one else made me think about someone's mannerisms so deeply before, I wonder?
When she reaches the end of the logical thread she's weaving, she simply asks:
"...A what?"
"I'll send you one when we get back to the dormitories." I reply.
"What for?"
"St. Macuil's."
And at this moment, I learn that Edelgard is a procrastinator. If this had been my only notch tonight, I'd consider it a win. Thankfully – it's not.
"My teacher – the fitting took so long that I've completely forgotten about planning for that…!"
At this she wheels around on her bootheel, I can see her eyes make a clear beeline to the door downstairs. Before she can take her first step, however – I tug on my cloak and bring her attention back to me.
Resolutely, I say:
"Allow me."
This one gesture seems to get her impossibly riled up, which admittedly – I really don't understand why. There's got to be some subtext with this festival that I'm not seeing. She wasn't half this worked up about the mock battle, and she nearly killed the heir to Faerghus while practicing for it.
"H-how can you expect me to allow you to do that? Was it not my idea and responsibility?"
"I'm your teacher."
"...But you delegated that task to me – I had intended to work into the morning on it."
That's quite the admission as well, as I hadn't guessed that she burns the midnight oil.
"No." I reply.
Her eyes look at me so pleadingly, as if she failed, which is beyond strange. She must know the esteem I put in her now, doesn't she?
I'm wearing a fucking maid dress for this woman, and she won't tell me why.
"Still. This was my responsibility." she insists.
"Ours." I insist... more insistently.
"I-I still have no idea what this mission briefing you mentioned is regarding..."
Putting a hand to my chin, I attempt to summarize it:
"It states goals, tasks and objectives."
"So… a plan, then?"
With a nod, I confirm:
"A plan that you develop with others."
She's with me until I say others, and then realize what she's really fishing for – her ability to have some degree of control over it:
"You can add or subtract whatever you want from it in the morning." I offer.
And this sets those eyes darting around my face for clues.
"So... you are giving me final approval…?"
"Of course. I defer to you."
Just at this moment, I realize that I've never seen her more engaged and evaluating. Those lavender irises that have filled up every page of this damn diary have been guiding me along this night's debate so, so easily. And then, she naturally has to ruin that sentiment in order to deflect:
"...Sometimes, when you say deferring – all you mean is challenging me. In the end, you ignored my suggestion about the mock battle, as well. And you've yet to consult me about the Red Canyon, either."
This is just patently untrue and I find myself taking a step forward to her to prove my seriousness. Her chin tilts upward to maintain my gaze, but she doesn't step back.
"Just the opposite. You saw the value in the hillock."
I look down at her brow, which furrows. I then detect her starting to stand up on her toes to level us a bit more.
"...And we did not fight for it." she says with an attitude.
No, Edelgard – I actually made it the hinge of the whole damn plan. It was at the center of every movement we made. Just like you're becoming the center of all my thoughts, my student.
"We did, indirectly. Later, we even won upon it. All the Lions save Ingrid fell at the foot of the hillock."
And then the realization sets in on those purple orbs and I find myself thinking so greedily about. How even after she graduates – a time still so far away – I might want to keep seeing them. And how I can basically never express that thought given the vast abyss of the unknown that acts like a canyon filled with flames between us.
"...We just turned the flank." I say, to put a finer point on things.
And then... her smile – a weak one, one that seems to be fighting against all of her better judgment to make it – but it's there, and it's there solely on the account of my words. And what a relief that is, after all this posturing.
"...And it seems you are always turning mine, my teacher."
If a Deer said that to me, I suspect that I'd think it wasn't wholesome. But Edelgard is Edelgard, and I take such surety of that. And my chest begins to lurch and ache and feel very warm again.
"I trusted you, and the battle confirmed it." I say.
Now if she'd only trust me.
"And what was confirmed, precisely…?" my student asks, clearly fishing for a compliment, rather like Dorothea earlier this week.
Two words that I've been meaning to say for a long time, but never have exit my lips.
"Your brilliance."
And finally, the overbearing, opinionated, obfuscating, and overeager Heir to Adrestia grows silent. And then flashes as crimson as I've ever seen her. Brilliantly, crimson, in fact. And that little, pensive smile that she had on just a moment ago curls into such a grin that she turns away from me for a moment... and I end up tilting my head to follow it.
And I sense that a taking a thousand Almyran castles wouldn't bring me this kind of satisfaction, this contentment, this warmth – and of course…
This pain. But what a pain it is. How it makes me feel, a verb which I could scarcely understand just a month before – one that I cursed my father for using when giving me the instructions to write this diary.
What a fool I've been. Edelgard, you are brilliant – and by virtue of that... I've got just as much to learn from you, haven't I?
Before I can tell my student that, and before Edelgard can respond in that cute way she does when she's flustered, the clacking of steel-toed boots up the stairs can be heard. My neck cranes to meet it, and I see that it's Maya Kirsten, alone.
With a long, unevenly shaped cylinder of paper containing crushed leaves that must be a Morfian cigarillo.
"Holy shit, am I interrupting a love confession…?" she asks with a surprisingly genuine tone.
The shock on Edelgard's face when it rapidly peels off from the view of the Monastery and back at that familiar voice… is almost beyond words, but still so impossibly cute to witness. Maya strolls right up to us, stares at my cloak on the Adrestian, stares at me, and then stares back at my student's face.
"This is so kitsch it makes me wanna vomit."
That comment leaves the two of us speechless – and I'm not really sure what Edelgard's thinking, but I find myself agreeing with the first sentiment of hers. If only because of the impression the past few moments left on me. But kitsch isn't a bad thing, right? It's sentimental... and I resolved to fill my head and Edelgard's with as much of it as I could to get back at that ratfucker Hubert... and for my own reasons as well, of course.
As we stare blankly at Maya, she then smirks with a vicious intent. She plucks the cigarillo from her mouth and begins to push it up against the Adrestian's left cheek.
"Wow Princess, those cheeks are hot! Lemme try lighting my cig off them!"
I squint at the paper.
"Is that tobacco or…" I ask with some trepidation.
If it's an opiate of any sort, I need to keep Ferdinand the hell away from this girl. She'd kill him with the way he dropped from Manuela's ephedrine. And that's just extracted from hemp.
Maya grins at me with too many teeth to be worried about the alternative. Although – I think tobacco just ruins dental health on a longer timescale.
"Wow, you really know about these huh? Syl said you were a real cosmo kind of guy." she asks.
Shrugging, I reply rather wistfully with:
"I've just killed a lot of people."
That grin is followed by two very greedy looking flutters of those goldenrod colored eyes of hers.
"How quick did you get Princess in your dorm with that line?"
It's really good that I didn't, because again – what you're supposed to do in there is very, very unclear to me at the moment. And currently illegal, right?
"I-I am not in search of cheap thrills like yourself!" My student corrects, with her chin suddenly down very low.
Is she actually in search of thrills? …What's an expensive thrill?
Maya's yellow eyes bore into mine with passion.
"Still, It's a fucking great line. If there was a table here I'd ask you to throw me on it."
…For what purpose?
But, I guess I'm glad there's at least someone who appreciates my deadpan. Turning to Edelgard, I see that she still does not appreciate it, in spite of Maya's ringing endorsement.
Maya kicks my shin with her steel toed boot – but not with the required force to make me jump.
"She's being a drag. Now gimme a light."
"...Aren't you a mage?" I ask
Raphael told me that earlier.
"Morfis bans fire magic, Professor. Kinda need to when half the city is covered in paper mache dragons."
Credit where due, I have heard about their dragon festival – and recall it occurs rather close in proximity to my birthday, in fact. Granting that as a logical reply, I do the shorthand incantation in my head, snap my fingers, and produce a flame.
She leans and brings the tip of the cigarillo to it.
"Nice." she says.
Maya takes a surprisingly long drag from the cigarillo, and then proceeds to exhale it in Edelgard's face. Raphael's sister lost some support points from me for doing that.
My student coughs.
"Smoke…? And you're breathing it voluntarily?!" She asks with a tinge of rage.
Maya sidesteps the Adrestian, and leans on the railing next to me, making a sandwich of hostile white bread separated by a cut of blank-staring bologna. My student stares at the Younger Kirsten from past my shoulder.
"You wanna explain, Professor? …I need another drag or two. Syl finished without getting me off so I'm still all hot and bothered.
The fast-living Leicesterian Lover elbows my back.
"Faerghan boys are the worst like that, but I heard you're from Remire."
Edelgard tugs at my sleeve very angrily. Those lavender irises dart from me, to Maya, and back to me – and the frown that forms on her face tells me that I owed her some kind of lecture.
"My teacher, what is she talking about?" the Adrestian asks aggressively.
I raise an eyebrow– does she want an assessment about the men of Faerghus? I think my father might be from Faerghus…? Maybe. Fallstaff may had said that once. Is it strange that I don't know my father's hometown? The Heir to an Empire does not grant me the time to consider this.
"...N-not regarding the Men of Faerghus!" My student clarifies even more aggressively.
"Those are tobacco leaves and… other stuff rolled in paper." I say. I've never bothered to read the back of the boxes they come with.
Particularly because the back of the box is written in Morfian, which I'm illiterate in.
"...And?" I'm asked expectantly.
"People who smoke them take… chemical pleasure in it, I guess."
There is clapping from behind me. I turn to greet it.
"You've got a real way with words, Professor – are your lectures always that short?"
She sounds awfully like Claude there. Although… she says it with a lot more conviction than Claude does, so I wonder if this isn't a case of Claude failing at sounding like Maya.
"Is not such a thing… habit-forming?"
Like you wouldn't believe, and I hope at this moment that she doesn't ask. Nodding I just reply with:
"Absolutely."
I hear Edelgard tap her boot as if she already knows.
"...And what then?" I'm asked.
"You kick it." I reply with a sigh.
"...Is that not extremely difficult?"
Perhaps in the same way that I know how Edelgard was lying about Ishtar, she knows I used to smoke like a chimney on the Throat.
"...I've already kicked it once." I offer.
And she's not surprised at all – and merely frowns and squints at me in confirmation. She's pursing her lips as well, which makes me think they're being prepped for a pout.
Before that can happen, however – Maya yanks a few locks of my side hair.
"Hildie said you fought with her brother. He smokes, too. And… is smoking hot."
Holst kind of has a Raphael-esque build. But to use that weird glowing-axe thing that he uses, I suppose you need to have a Raphael-esque build. Is Raphael-esque similar to statuesque?
"With Holst… we just scavenged rations from corpses. Cigarillos can prevent hunger to make rations last."
Linhardt, if you are reading this – and you shouldn't be – do not smoke tobacco in an attempt to monopolize more time for napping. Smoking is bad.
I feel Edelgard fixing the strands of my hair with her white gloved hand, and I look at her with a raised eyebrow. What's gotten into her lately?
"Ugh…! Well, what happens when you become an addict, my teacher?! You must take your health more seriously."
…Am I being henpecked by my student over stuff that happened before we even met…?
"Last time I asked my father to lock me in Remire's jail cell for a week. I only drank water until I kicked it."
"Syl said you were into self-harm, I fucking love that. You wanna hit the infirmary later? Maybe do a repeat of that day with his classmates…? Just you and me, of course."
Was I just propositioned? I suppose this isn't the first time... this also happened to me in a bar, too... but it's the first time I've had this sudden rush of feelings about it.
I really don't have much more time to consider this, because Edelgard shoves me out of the way in an attempt to get into Maya's face. And, for the first time since her argument with Lysithea, she is able to stare down the other person – although to do this she needs to stand on her tiptoes and tip her chin up slightly.
The sensation in my chest when she does this is the warmest I've ever felt it. The jabbing sensation is also as sharp as I've ever felt it, and my breathing is growing a bit short. Whatever struggle is going on inside that empty cavity must be a scaled down battle of Gronder Field, because Mauricius's assessment of that one was particularly grim.
It involved a lot of fire, as well – and Edelgard's cheeks look ready to combust as she says:
"...I cannot allow such a thing on my life… as I am–"
Maya waits expectantly.
I wait expectantly.
"...I am his… House Leader... Edelgard von Hresvelg, Princess and Heir to the Adrestian Empire – and am responsible for the moral upkeep and physical safety of My Teacher–!"
Moral upkeep? She's setting herself for a Claudian response here.
"I'm trying to fuck him, not kill him, Princess." Comes the Claudian response.
"...I cannot allow it!" she yips.
Maya turns back to me.
"...Who's in charge here, Professor…?"
Shrugging, I reply:
"I defer to her."
Edelgard looks at me very resolutely and nods after gulping down… what would she be gulping down so aggressively, exactly? I notice that her cocktail is empty after that.
Anyway, the Heir to Adrestia returns her impassioned gaze towards the Heir to the Kirsten Firm.
"Precisely–! …And, I should have you know that My Teacher has no time for romantic liaisons at this moment, particularly not with you. And... obviously, I would need to approve of it as his House Leader."
"That didn't sound very precise, Princess."
Edelgard fumes, and seems to be preparing another reply. As she does, the Leicesterian turns to me.
"...Claude was right about her, huh?"
At this, I shake my head.
"Fuck Claude."
Surprisingly, Maya seems to agree with me.
"You see it my way, Professor – I'm trying to get him, too."
Correction 6.13.1180 : Maya does not agree with me.
Edelgard's sense of romantic chivalry(?) seems to be activated after this reply, and she blurts out:
"...Did you not arrive with the Blue Lion?!"
"So…? We're not exclusive." Maya shrugs.
Edelgard then walks up to me and yanks my sleeve. The pout she has been working up since this conversation began appears.
There's no warmth when I see it – just that knife twisting away in my peritoneum.
"...M-my Teacher, it is cold. Hubert isn't here so you must walk me back to the dormitory."
There are six more cocktails downstairs, but I suspect she's not going to take no for an answer.
And in spite of how managed her pout is – as if she must have practiced this on her father or siblings or mother or Hubert well before any of this, I find myself utterly unable to say no to it.
I turn to Maya.
"I defer it to her."
The sibling of the Deer nods and smirks devilishly.
"Maybe… but she's definitely addicted to you, Professor."
I traded the other six cocktails for a single cigarillo for the road. Raphael was correct in identifying his sister's exceptional business acumen.
The walk back over the viaduct and to the promenade, like so many other times this month, was punctuated with nothing but the sounds of our boots and the gusts of the wind. At times, I struggle to understand why Edelgard gets like this, because I must at least outwardly demonstrate that I'm not interested in liaisons – to use her word.
Particularly with underage girls, of which Edelgard is also included.
She's also reading my mail, where everyone seems to think I'm with her, but we're not actually an "item" in the same way that Claude and Hilda are.
Does she like that?
I never really feel like asking over the walk back because my chest aches terribly, unceasingly, and with each step as we make our way back through the gatehouse, through the reception hall, dining hall, and towards the greenhouse where the entrance to her dormitory is.
For most of the return trip, she clings to my cloak with her chin buried it in, and makes no attempt to make eye contact with me. I assume something I must have said or didn't say must have offended her at some point during the evening – as it always seemingly does – and just shrug it off.
My student's entire existence seems to be in vacillation. One moment, she's extremely driven, intense, strategic and calculating – and other moments she's flustered and agitated over very minor social interactions. Obviously, she can hold her own unlike Bernadetta, but.. I doubt I'll ever understand the extent of it in the short time that I'll be her teacher.
I say that knowing we're only concluding the first full month of classes, but in nearly a full month of employment here, I still feel like I'm at net zero in terms of understanding her. The vast amount of time with her has given me data points sure – observations as they are – but the only window into her mind that she's allowed is that she likes to read.
I ascertained that much in a single teatime with Dorothea, for example.
Hubert has detailed more about his life in thinly-veiled threats against my own.
I've learned more about Petra in one afternoon in the campsite in spite of our different native tongues.
And that's… frustrating.
And on the Throat – when I was frustrated – I would usually smoke a cigarillo.
And as Edelgard turns to me outside her dormitory entrance, I do just that, snapping my fingers to create a light and taking a single long drag. This time, I do her the credit of not blowing it directly in her face, of course. And… I should talk to Maya about not doing that Edelgard ever again. That all said, I really don't get much time to think of this, however – because as soon as I return to the cigarette to my lips, a white glove exits the protection of my cloak, and soars through the air – directly towards my face.
To my surprise, however – it doesn't slap my cheek – and merely whacks the cigarillo out of my mouth. Edelgard does this so precisely that her gloves don't even touch my lips – a clear credit to her dexterity.
"What would you be doing, my teacher…?"
When Edelgard says those words, I take note that I've never heard someone speak so calmly when their face reads "pure, unbridled rage" like hers does.
Her lavender eyes look ready to set me alight.
In reply, I take a deep breath and shrug. We're going to have a nothing argument soon, so best not add any more fuel to the fire.
She takes a few – possibly unsure – steps towards me, but it's clear that the strength of her will is carrying her body along whether it wants to or not. Looking up at me, she asks.
"Why do you insist on doing such things…?"
She's going to just keep asking questions until I provide her one, so I offer:
"I was frustrated." with a requisite shrug.
And... that was probably a mistake.
"Oh… frustrated, is that so...?" Each one of those words is delivered in a rising pitch and threat level.
And the face behind them furrows with increasing hostility as well.
"...Hmph. Could you understand how impossibly frustrating it is to see you wasting away your health in such a frivolous, self-destructive manner…?"
And at this point, I've kind of had enough of the angry henpecking. I'm fine with good-faith henpecking, sure. I think I'm also being quite Saintly, for lack of a better word, with the mail situation. So, I issue a reminder:
"...I've thrown myself in front of–"
Which Edelgard does not let me finish. And she does this rather... cleverly, by making the most hurt face I've ever seen from her.
And that gets my chest stabbing in pain.
"-Precisely… I know quite well that you've saved me more than once now, and probably will again in spite of how foolish you always are. And know that… I am always your grateful student."
"I–"
The Adrestian shushes me with a great exhale and continues.
"For the past few days, I have been terribly worried about you. I even had… Hubert check your mail to see if you had been fired on account of my own errors, and… I was ready to…"
Oh, she kind-of admitted it. My student trails off and shakes her head.
"Anyway... I have come to rely on you, My Teacher – and… I do not wish to see you come to harm in the time ahead of us. "
And then, she hits me with words that I'll carry with me into every trial I'll ever encounter... proud beyond all measure that she thinks of me like this:
"...In the same way that you said you find me brilliant, I find you brilliant… and frustrating, and foolish… but I wish to follow through with that toast we made when you first arrived here. To share our path as long as we are able."
And, without a moment's hesitation, I reply:
"I feel the same."
And when I do, those purple orbs fall from me, crippled in self-doubt. One that even my primitive soul can sense.
"...Truly? I've never heard you say feel, before… you always seem so detached…"
"You'd remember?" I ask, mildly surprised.
"...I remember every word you say, my teacher…"
She leaves me dumbstruck and continues:
"So, before we part ways tonight – there are two things I wish you could agree upon…"
Nodding, I wait for her:
"...First, you must promise me to never smoke that thing or anything like it ever again. Especially not from that woman."
I question her particular emphasis there, but I'm not going to disagree. I did promise to defer to her… and I did resolve to protect her.
"OK." I say.
"Secondly, I will… defer to your mission brief for St. Macuil's Day if you… send me a mission brief about your plan against the bandits as well… I may have seen you working on it once."
When was that...? And then I remember - the monks... and my father laughing at the small one, which must have been Edelgard.
"I was going to present that to the entire class before we departed..." I reply, a bit unsure in my own footing.
And then those eyes return to me with complete solemnity.
"...I would prefer that you present it to me before that, as I am your House Leader and… responsible for you as well. I do not want your plan to… put yourself in harm's way without me by your side."
And I realize that if I don't let her in here, we'll never advance another step along this path together.
I say, full of resolve and conscious of this leap of faith:
"You were already there."
This throws her for a loop. If I could smirk, I'd smirk. If I could smile... I would never stop smiling. But I'm not there yet, as my face has turned into a jailer for my feelings. And for the world it must seem like they're never there unless I state them.
And... I'm not sure how comfortable I would be with anyone else. These feelings are ones that I can only trust with Edelgard.
Reaching under my breastplate, I hand her the battle-plan that my father and I had been developing for the past few weeks.
"Is this…?"
"Some of the notes are my father's. His handwriting is..."
"...Why yes, It's quite small…!"
There's a glint in those lavender eyes when the Adrestian sees the small, circular squiggles that my father considers good shorthand. Is she as sensitive to size as she is to temperature?
"I can prepare a proper brief on it tomorrow, but that is the attack plan." I say with a deep exhale.
Edelgard looks up at me with the most relieved expression I've ever seen her make. And that… offers me a great deal of comfort too, especially when considering that this very painful chest of mine making itself known after each word my student utters.
"No… that is not necessary, as I can see that... I am indeed by your side, my teacher… this is a fine plan, and one that… I could not possibly criticize. Even Caspar and Bernadetta are… you are looking after them, aren't you…?"
Nodding, I confirm.
"I will protect you all."
""My teacher… when you say those things, I find myself believing you. But, soon…"
Raising an eyebrow, I wonder what she's getting at.
"No… I am speaking out of turn… could I hold onto this, perhaps?"
I bring a hand to my chin, as those words give me pause. But, I realize that we will advance no further if I cannot trust her here. So I do.
"I defer to you."
"...You do, of course… I– …Well, to return your trust, on St. Macuil's day I will tell you why you will be wearing that dress… and perhaps something else… about my perspective."
And those were the words I had been so desperately searching for nearly every day since I've arrived.
"I'd be glad to hear it."
Still, Edelgard looks as if she's holding something back... as if she's awaiting some hidden signal that I'm not there to harm her.
"Would you…? But I'll only tell you if you can complete the objective, as you say… for that we must triumph."
What is so damn important about St. Macuil's? For now, I will just have to play it out.
"It'll be easy." I confirm.
And it will have to be, as we must win. And perhaps detecting my resolve... or feeling something I could never understand, she stammers:
"...You always–"
And that silence holds until I notice something. Her cigarillo flick caused a bunch of black dust to get caught up in that ever-pristine white hair of hers, just above her ribbon.
"Edelgard…there's ash in your hair."
I take my hand and ever-so-gently brush the dead embers off the side of her snow white locks. When my eyes return to her face, I realize that whatever I've done has made my student go beet red from forehead to neck.
"...Are you ok?"
The Heir to an Empire, wearing my cloak, takes four furtive steps backwards, and then turns and runs back inside to her dormitory.
Before she clears the threshold, she yells:
"...G-goodnight, m-my t-teacher!"
And a concerned looking Marianne once again pokes her head out the window. As soon as we meet eyes, hers dive back into her dormitory. When I look back to her window, I notice that her candle lights were at full burn and blinds wide open.
…Were we being watched?
…Could Marianne be working for Hubert…?
…No, it couldn't be that.
But…
Upon returning to the dormitory, a scrawny, jumpy young owl is waiting for me.
Tied to his talon is a letter:
Professor Eisner:
If you are reading this, the messenger which the academy uses to communicate with the Black Eagle House is dead. I will not extrapolate how this owl met its end, but I would imagine it had something to do with its proclivity to deliver fresh feces on your floor along with the daily mail.
The reason why it was doing this was simple: I bribed the bird-keeper some time ago, and she has been feeding that particular avian with a steady dose of laxative prior to takeoff. As your residence is naturally the first along the promenade to receive deliveries, I trust that it has been relieving itself there with some regularity. My constant one-way correspondence with you should put a finer point on this fact, considering the frequency of its visits.
This owl is my owl, and he will only defecate on your floor if I order him to do so. Additionally, he has replaced Garegg Mach's owl, and will be a useful tool for private, secure communication among members of the Black Eagle House. Unfortunately, I could not replace the Monastery's owl without it meeting an unfortunate end first – otherwise I would have endeavored to do this from the very first day. You have my thanks for speeding that along.
Our assistant here also has been weaned on nothing but the sounds of our classmates' names and portraits of their faces for some time now. With this in mind – you may avail yourself of him to reach specific students over the course of the day and deliver correspondence to them. All you need to do is state their name. He will find them – as this fellow understands the consequences of disobedience.
Finally, I should note that his name is Danton.
He – like me – is forever vigilant.
Feel free to reply to this message.
Cordially,
Hubert v. Vestra
After reading Hubert's letter, I realize that I've actually returned the favor.
I didn't kill the owl – Edelgard did.
And he'll never know…
With that knowledge, a mission plan begins to take shape around midnight. And as the edge of dawn approaches, it blossoms into something actionable and real, knowing Edelgard is relying on me.
And that she trusts me, if only slightly.
And cares for me, if only because I've made her worry unnecessarily.
And is willing to share something close to her, if our victory comes to pass.
As those thoughts synergize with the plan, that hole in my chest feels very warm. And I, too, feel very warm.
Just before I expect her to wake, I send Danton off with a letter.
And resolve to buy that skinny bird some food, which apart from an overlong class meeting that Edelgard domineers over, takes the remainder of the day.
