Edelgard von Hresvelg is staring at me. After she shouted I don't wish you to walk that path alone at me from across the campsite, both of us froze solid, remaining dead silent for quite a while now. My mind in particular – not knowing Edelgard's, of course – had become as parched and as empty as that sun-baked, cracked, cratered, sandless ground in Almyra's Nefud Depression. This pregnant pause has also summoned the entirety of the Eagles and Deer to the general area around myself and My Student – to stare at us two very intently, I guess.
The Heir to Adrestia, in spite of refusing to maintain eye contact with me for more than a passing moment, still seems very poised – and I'm proud of her for that. She's brought up a white glove to her chin, with the back of her index finger pressed to her lips, a particular variant of this mannerism that she does when she's working up her resolve to a fever pitch. Reflexively, she bites down on the silk fabric.
As My House Leader does this – much to my surprise and relief – those lavender orbs of hers find enough courage to bore into my own with a sort of accusative aggression that feels quite natural in spite of how hostile it all must seem to anyone else who's looking as closely as I am. The fire behind them accelerates from some unknown stimuli and manages to become marginally more intimidating when she leans rearward on her back heel – her left leg trailing behind her right in a pose that's become so typical for me to observe now.
Still, it feels fresh every time she does it. I wonder if she's actually angry, or just working herself up with anger in order to follow through on whatever she wants to say next.
If it works for her, I suppose it's no place of mine to criticize.
I'm kind of enjoying it, anyway – in spite of how absurd it all must seem to any of the other bystanders around us.
Naturally – I can't emote enjoyment, either… but that's probably for the best.
Anyway, this feeling of newness is confirmed when instead of using this series of maneuvers to work towards a pithy reply or demand, or re-statement of intent in terms that invite a nothing argument… she's clearly setting me up to say something, now.
I'm impressed, really.
In fact… it seems that with each passing moment that I don't say anything, Edelgard locates a little bit of confidence – as if she's stunned me into speechlessness. So I hold this silence for a little while longer, and allow the future Emperor to recover her Imperial aura. Once the imperious Edelgard returns… the Edelgard that I find myself liking much more than her silent plotter variant that I got for most of the day – I offer her my thoughts, as dim and unfocused as they are:
"You need to look after the Eagles."
This was my plan before she expressed her desire to join me – and now my head… but more presciently my chest – is a hot mess of confusion and pain. But the good kind, I think. That very particular sort of pain has made me very susceptible to suggestions at this moment – to use that Edelgardian turn of phrase.
Naturally, the Edelgardian-speaker suggests… by way of demanding:
"I must insist that such a goal would be best realized with my assistance in your efforts at Remire... I've taken the afternoon to… consider this matter, My Teacher. I alone am suited to lend you my strength."
Under most circumstances, this would be enough. But given the nature of what I'm about to do… something very instinctual in me desires to shield Edelgard from even witnessing it. In fact – I find myself wanting to shield all of the Eagles from it.
It's a silly and stupid desire, too – because war is chaos, and making it seem so very systematic and ordered and controlled like I did with that artillery bombardment probably did nothing to truly shred their innocence. Even their first kills in the valley were managed and systematic – right down to Sothis and I turning back time to save Petra from the barber's blade. That hair-and-throat-cutter just magically lined herself up in Caspar's eye as he wandered off for a piss. Perhaps that was chaotic from a third-person view of things… but from where Caspar was standing – did he realize it? Probably not, given Caspar.
I certainly never thought of it like this until the fight in Remire on the 20th of Great Tree Moon.
"It's a one-man job." I reply, weakly.
And that's the truth, of course – I've just lost any of my own desire to pursue that truth. My Student wants to join me… and I'm struggling to say no. And this isn't because I'm all that afraid for her. I know that on the battlefield, she can act decisively. I don't fear for her in the same way that I would fear for someone like Linhardt or Bernadetta… and I wonder if that's the right emotion to have under these circumstances.
Even though I know just how dangerous the proposition she made is… I'm finding myself increasingly content with the idea of bringing her along in spite of that knowledge… because I want to, maybe?
Edelgard, being Edelgard though – interprets my statement in the most negative possible way:
"...I refuse to believe that you've suddenly become a chauvinist."
It should be noted that when Edelgard asked me to wear a dress on a high Church holiday – and in deference, I wore a dress. I also spent the better part of the day serving coffee to villagers in women's pumps, while three of my female colleagues – Bernadetta, Petra, and Dorothea – switched over to boots as soon as the day's service started. Shortly before doing this, I was also informed that my participation in her flight of fancy would be offending large groups of the male population resident at the monastery.
I didn't give a shit and rode the teacups with her, even though Felix called me a faggot.
So… no, I don't think I've suddenly become a chauvinist…?
This is all to say that I don't understand gender norms – a term I'm only familiar with because of Hubert's assessment of my behavior in one of his letters. I don't even possess enough context to even have a clear grasp on what chauvinism actually entails. But I think it might related to some or most or all of that stuff.
"What I meant was…" I attempt – throwing up a very visible white flag as I trail off.
In the same way that I know when My Student is about to fold like a deck of cards… perhaps she's beginning to figure me out as well – in spite of what little I offer. I think this because she charges in at full gallop with complete initiative… and cuts me off in the process:
"-You meant to say that you defer to your House Leader in these matters, and will adjust your plan appropriately to her wishes."
Am I being Princessed…?
…Is Edelgard Princessing me?
At the very least I know she's House Leader-ing me.
She's also being demanding – and like she said last night, this is a rather effortless thing for her.
"I did say that." I grant.
Claude von Riegan – who has been staring at me and Edelgard for quite awhile now… bemusedly, I should add – finally steps forward towards the two of us. Winking at my student, he then winks again at me with the opposite eye and yips:
"Crack goes the whip, Teach…!"
Dorothea indicated that she was inspired by such an image when witnessing a conversation I had with Edelgard. I never cared much for fighting with whips, though. My boots also have detachable spurs as well… so I've never needed to utilize a horse-whip like Manuela's, either.
As I mull over what Claude meant, Hubert then takes the opportunity to detach from the crowd of silent gawkers and appear at his Lady's side. Eyeing me very suspiciously, he says:
"Lady Edelgard, I have to insist on accompanying the Professor in your stead due to the–"
Unfortunately, I never get what circumstances Hubert is about to describe – which I suppose should have troubled me more at the time, given how I am totally reliant on him for reliable field intelligence. I couldn't expect anything useful from Garegg Mach, at least. Not with that insufferable idiot Seteth running the war room.
I never get this information because – of course – because His Lady cuts him off.
"-I seriously doubt that the war-horse would be fit to carry three of us with the requisite supplies, Hubert." she corrects.
Clearly, Hubert seems to place an image of myself and Edelgard on a horse together, because he betrays a very genuine and pained grimace at the thought. I'm beginning to read him quite well – facially at least. I suspect that is a reason why he prefers the shadows… he's got a very emotive face that he must not have complete control over all the time – try as he might.
If I had any idea how to contour my face into anything resembling sympathy, I would… but I cannot, so I merely make a blank, impressionable, expression and note:
"Her idea, Hubert."
At this, an eyebrow of his raises.
"...And you're enabling that idea, Professor."
Now, I should note here that I am starting to think the Marquis of Pickled Sausages may not be as consistent in his evaluation criteria as he often claims. To put a finer point on it… if Hubert liked her idea, and I had suggested an alternative – he'd be very annoyed at me not enabling her, wouldn't he?
Does everyone become inconsistent in the face of Edelgard, I wonder?
Another person who is frowning at me in the distance – Lysithea von Ordelia – puts this thought to rest almost immediately.
I think she wants to drop a meteor on my student right now… but sadly, her meteors are so large they'd probably kill me, too.
Still, the point about Hubert remains.
Shrugging, I realize that I need to reply to the Ratfucker.
"I defer to her." I note.
This earns a shake of the head and squint from the Heir to House Vestra.
"That is precisely the issue." He says – and it feels almost incomplete, as it's short of a finger wag. If I could look amused, I'd betray amusement. But I can't, of course… and what a relief that is, as I suspect I'd be required to explain to the Adrestian Schoolmarm why the Adrestian Schoolmarm was so amusing. What a damn chore that would be, given our recent conversations as of late.
Edelgard doesn't seem to find her Schoolmarm particularly amusing, however – and commands him:
"Hubert…! Presently, I require you to lead the Eagles back to the caravanserai."
Although Hubert…! would do fine in such a command position normally – I do fear that the woman he supposedly serves might be offering too much responsibility on a plate for him, given how our black-hearted magician would also be responsible for signals and intelligence gathering. Before I can intervene, however, Her Servant replies with:
"Lady Edelgard, while I appreciate your consideration… that is not what I was–"
A flash of orange appears in my periphery as Hubert attempts to tread the line between questioning Edelgard's logic and appealing on behalf of her safety. The issue is that… while she's probably safer with me in the sense that I'm very capable of dying on her behalf – and I don't know Hubert well enough to know that he'd go quite that far… the Eagles are absolutely better off with her leadership in this particular circumstance.
As I worked through that logical thread, the flash of orange revealed itself to be my Red Lancer. Managing to look both chipper and resolute under that clump of orange hair of his – rendered into a windblown mess from his scout ride and several days without a shower – he shouts:
"Professor! Edelgard!"
And the white-haired woman who was referenced whips her neck around to meet this summons. Her reply is more of a dismissal, however:
"There's no time to listen to your complaining. Go about your incessant undermining elsewhere."
Ferdinand, to his credit, blows right past her as if there was never an Edelgard von Hresvelg to begin with. Placing a hand on my shoulder, he begins:
"Professor – as the legitimate heir to House Aegir, foremost House of Adrestia – I must ask you to allow me to lead the Eagles withdrawal in Edelgard's stead. Hubert taking command of this effort would be a gross violation of Imperial protocol, as his father is only a Marquis."
Following this baggage train of thought to its logical endpoint would require me to wonder if Ferdinand would take orders from me if he made me the Baron of Morgaine – given how it is a lower noble rank than both Duke and Marquis. This is why I prefer being a common swellsword… there's no hierarchy to get caught up in when you exist outside of it. You kind of have to in order to still receive contracts.
Still, there is a currently extant hierarchy that I feel compelled to remind Edelgard of. She may be the visionary, but I still get veto power.
"That's fine, Ferd." I say to the Red Lancer while looking at my White Axewoman.
A pair of accusative purple orbs glare into my face as if the past fourteen hours of avoidance were but a distant memory now. Eventually, my own eyes meet them after checking back on Ferdinand's orange ones – and as they do, My student begins to lecture me:
"I fail to see his mere birthright as sufficiently meritorious to deputize him in such a role, My Teacher. It is most unfortunate that you're leaning into his reactionary ideology."
I still don't have a clear grasp on what reactionary means. It seems to me that Edelgard is reacting an awful lot, and Ferdinand is the one who seems to exist in a state of unflappable self-assurance and total disregard for the opinions of others… particularly hers. How is that reactionary?
"I'm not." I reply.
She's clearly waiting for an explanation though, and I'm left to wonder why she's taking issue with my choices here if she's the one who torpedoed the original plan in the first place.
"Ferdinand will be at the vanguard of the marching column. With Claude at the rear, we'll have leaders on either end." I note, as sagely as I can.
This… at least placates her slightly.
"Well, as always… Your evaluation was tactical in nature. I suppose I should've expected that…"
A part of me wants to remind her that of all the considerations I could possibly make – political considerations would be at the very bottom of that list. And ideology, I think, is very political. Or at least it motivates politics in a particularly toxic way. At the very least – those ideologies, and the politics that result from them seem to be driving a wedge between my House Leader and my Ginger Gentleman.
If only I take politics by the neck and strangle it… I would make it grant me all of its secrets.
"Lead them well." I command Ferdinand.
"Hmph." Edelgard exhales, as if I was speaking to her at that moment.
Ferdinand, content with my appointment, brings me in for a hug that is such a welcome relief to all the melodrama at the moment. Whispering into my ear – but whispering loudly enough for everyone to hear – he says:
"Professor, I have always endeavored to show you that I can lead the Black Eagles better than Edelgard. Tonight, I will have that opportunity! After witnessing this most noble march, you will have to concede that a Hresvelg as base and as disagreeable as Edelgard can present a rather dull and common approach to leadership in comparison to the majesty of an Aegir!"
I don't have the heart – or any at all, really – to tell Ferdinand that I won't actually be witnessing any of it. Any assessment I'd have of his effort would have to be gathered second-hand. I do feel sufficiently compelled to defend My House Leader, though.
"Edelgard is brilliant." I say.
And for the first time in what feels like forever, I can see a smile form – probably against her better judgment, to use that Hubertian term – curling up so cutely on the corners of her lips. She maintains that smile until I mount the horse and await her to climb on.
She then admits – softly – that she has no equestrian experience whatsoever. This is a borderline bizarre state of affairs for a noble – as most of the bluebloods on the Throat went on and on about their enjoyment of horsemanship and hunting… even if they themselves preferred to do combat on foot. I'm about to press on this rather strange circumstance before I get a sharp verbal warning from Hubert, who explicitly tells me to:
"...Never pursue that line of questioning further than you just did." – identifying the threshold as a raised eyebrow and two slightly parted lips.
Still, I find myself rather annoyed that Hubert thinks that he can boss me around because his Lady can. Only Edelgard can boss me around – that's how I feel about it. And only within reason, because she gives me a certain amount of latitude to boss her around, given how demanding she is… and I suppose I find myself liking that a lot, because I've never had that sort of relationship with anyone before.
And I certainly don't feel that way about Hubert, in any event.
"I was going to offer to teach you." I tell Edelgard in a soft and managed rebuke to Hubert's threat.
And that's the truth – because my next statement after asking that reflexive question was going to be an offer to help her mount the steed. After that, I was going to put on my lecturing cap and try to explain the process. And in case Hubert is reading this when he shouldn't be… Any question I had was also going to be directed towards the very worthwhile end of understanding Edelgard better, particularly if she had a condition like Lysithea that made equestrian activities difficult. So stop being so curt with someone who cares about her, too.
Additionally – one would have to grant that those two have certain commonalities – like having white hair and being generally disagreeable. Maybe an aversion to riding is part of that commonality.
So no, I'm not trying to bully Edelgard, Hubert.
I want to protect her and offer the ability to achieve what she wants to achieve.
And… perhaps drawing a very clear line in the sand between you and I – I'm not wholly dedicated to stopping everyone else in the world from interfacing with her, either.
Still, Hubert clearly doesn't recognize any of this… or perhaps more likely – given his intelligence – he does, and is insistent that no one else in the world be allowed to offer a hand in support to this visionary adolescent who seems so damn intent to hoist the responsibilities of millions on her shoulders even well before she really needs to.
Realizing this very acutely at present, another thought creeps into my mind as well:
Do I need to protect Edelgard from Hubert, too?
Or would that be making me just as guilty as he is?
Unfortunately, the Caffeinated Conspiritorialist offers me no opportunity to consider this point further:
"Lady Edelgard has no need to be taught by the likes of you, Professor. My patience in this song and dance is becoming very thin indeed – and in that sense, I am far less patient than the person you deign to insult with this behavior."
Does Edelgard enjoy being spoken for all the time by him, I wonder?
She musn't, I'm thinking… only because I can see her immediately frown and grow very annoyed as he says these words. I wouldn't extrapolate any further than that, because that would be reducing me to a Hubertian level.
The Hubertian doesn't notice this, however, and tries to stare me down even though I'm on horseback. He must be used to doing that, though – because he is quite tall and probably never occasioned to have the tables turned on him like this. Nonplussed by my height-mog of him, he opts to hammer the point home:
"In any event, I must insist we stop this charade at once. The Heir to Adrestia cannot participate in a madcap scheme such as this, especially under the watchful eye of the Church. I warned you on the night of the mock battle that your continued insistence on flagrant violations of Church Law would bring undue attention to Lady Edelgard, who has far too many responsibilities to deal with on account of her station."
The Future Emperor storms over to her Servant at this moment and then gets in between the two of us, like she's breaking up a fight that's never going to happen.
I'm not going to fight Hubert.
I'm going to make him my friend someday.
"Hubert…! Perhaps there would not be undue attention if you weren't sending those disgusting screeds to Cardinal Seteth every morning!"
The surprise on his face is quite genuine at this point.. Which leads me to believe that whatever heated argument they got into about six hours actually wasn't about his literary pursuits.
"...B-begging your pardon Lady Edelgard – b-but whatever did you mean by that…?"
Did Hubert just stutter?
Just like I've encouraged her lately, My Student notes his momentary show of weakness and seizes the initiative:
"I shall not speak of this matter in any further detail. Just know that I am aware of it – because I am always aware of your schemes – and that Knight-Captain Jeralt, My Teacher's father is aware of it. And that as of this moment, you will cease all attempts at publication and dissemination of that… rat-like material."
Thankfully, the only person with access to my thoughts, wishes, and fears is able to understand my intentions without me having to say them. And what a strange, warm, painful comfort that is… one that sends a shot of pain from that empty chest of mine straight to my forehead, prompting an extra-long blink of my eyes.
"Regarding your assistance on training my equestrian ability...I know that was your intent, My Teacher… Please ignore any protests from Hubert, now or in the future."
That's quite the blank cheque. Still, now I feel rather shitty about the tack this has taken lately. I realize that Hubert is just trying to protect Edelgard… from me, presumably – even though I only want to protect her, too. And while that's very confusing, because I'm quite content to assist Hubert in the protection of Edelgard – he seems totally unwilling to budge at times, and even sets me up for failure, like with those letters he is sending Seteth about putting out cigarillos on Edelgard's breasts.
Which is such a strange accusation to begin with… because Edelgard has no breasts, particularly when compared to peers like Dorothea and Hilda.
But anyway – I come to Hubert's defense all the same.
"Hubert is worried about you." I say – unsure and sure as I say those words… perhaps because I'm projecting.
"Well, if he is worried about me then he should cease and desist publication of that… harlequin of his immediately…"
At the sound of the word Harlequin, Claude von Riegan – who has been very quiet up until this moment, slithers ever closer to me and my student.
"Harlequin, you say…?" he asks with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.
The shutdown from my Student comes as rapidly as an executioner's blade:
"This is none of your concern! I'll see that My Teacher fails you if continue to prod like an idiotic little pervert!"
Can I do that?
I would want nothing more than to fail Claude.
Finally, the other master manipulator is struck dumb. Fashionably late to the party as always, Claude's retainer – and apparently my future wife if my father and Holst have their way – approaches and attempts to chide Edelgard for dressing down her House Leader.
"Hey, Princess – maybe you should act a bit more… Princessly…?"
And this query of Hilda's confuses me terribly. Considering that Edelgard was the first Princess I've ever met, my entire frame of reference for that adverb is based around her behavior. And since that behavior – even when it is frustrating – provokes such an addictive cocktail of warmth and comfort and solace and pain… I never want Edelgard to act any differently. To me, this Edelgard – I assume the Princess-ly one – the one that is about to snap at Hilda in the same way that she snapped at Hubert and Claude… is the wellspring of all these sensations and feelings that I am so addicted to.
And… perhaps in a way – Maya's statement about addiction on the nineteenth of this month was so, so, right… but in a very Mayan way – as it is so clearly the opposite of the circumstances that lie before me so nakedly now.
I'm addicted to Edelgard.
Perhaps I would be considering all of the inherent negatives of that statement if the person I was addicted to didn't immediately bark at the woman who my father and Holst want me to marry matrilineally(?) – whatever that means. It's apparently not a normal marriage, which means I have no frame of reference for it – particularly considering I have no idea how married couples behave who aren't married matrilineally.
I wonder if my father was married matrilineally.
This wonder is quickly satiated by the spectacle before me, though.
"...Fuck off, Ms. Goneril…!"
The pride that statement from Edelgard provokes in me just simply cannot be expressed in the paltry vocabulary that I have.
At his Lady's exclamation, the Marquis of Pickled Sausages returns for more punishment:
"Lady Edelgard, allow me to–"
"Absolutely not!"
At this point, I realize that I should probably intervene before weapons are drawn.
"Quiet, everyone." Even though I say this… quietly – everyone listens, and that's a relief.
"Everyone has their orders. We are on a strict timetable, so further delays are risky. House Leaders and Deputy House Leaders must assemble their classes immediately." I continue.
"Damn – guess you're right about that, Teach." Claude grants, much to my surprise.
Ferdinand is next to exceed my expectations:
"I will not fail you Professor! As you can see, I have avoided participation in these petty arguments, just like yourself!"
Maybe they won't die on the way to the caravanserai.
As the columns begin to form some distance from Edelgard and I, my Student decides to try to vent about her frustration with Hubert. The present issue for me is that I actually don't dislike Hubert – and I suspect she doesn't either, because they have some weird relationship with each other that I'll never quite understand, and I'm fine with that… even though I suspect that My House Leader thinks that I'm not actually fine with it.
"...You are being far too lenient, My Teacher. Did you not notice in the letter that he was dragging your name through the dirt? He was attempting to see you fired. How can you even know that he is worried?"
Is she trying to get me to admit to reading the letter purposefully?
It was an accident.
And I'm not going to recapitulate that.
"I worry about you." I say instead.
And thankfully, this disarms her.
"T-that is not as logical as your confidence asserts… but, I worry about you as well, so…"
That blush overtakes her and turns her head entirely crimson. Taking the opportunity to get things moving, I seize the initiative and grab her under the armpits to hoist her onto the horse. Half-expecting to be chided for not giving clear instructions, I'm pleasantly surprised when she accepts this without verbal protest.
Her body sends a different message, however – because accompanying the blood rushing to her face is the sensation of her muscles going ramrod straight… as if she doesn't like being touched by me. I guess that strikes a strange note, because this is the reaction of a young woman who just snuggled up under my cloak last night after making a bunch of barely-comprehensible demands of my fast-fading attention in the wee hours of this morning before stealing five hours of sleep and then giving me the silent treatment for the rest of the day… until about fifteen minutes ago.
Was my grabbing of her as gently as just I did really that much more surprising than the closeness we shared the night before? Was there something materially different about this gesture and the one she made in the wagon? Is that why her response is so different?
As I lower her onto the saddle, my focus darts peripherally, thinking that I may have socially compromised her in some way… to use that Hubertian term – but Claude, Hilda, Ferdinand and the aforementioned plotter who started all this melodrama all have their backs to us now, with the Heir to House Vestra in particular sending off Danton on some new mission with a letter enclosed around its left leg.
When my eyes return to Edelgard's I realize hers are squinting and frowning… even though this version of Edelgard is still most certainly still Redelgard. And… that's very confusing, so confusing that I forgot my hands are still tucked under her armpits. Edelgard must have forgotten that as well, though, considering how she just crossed her arms and locked those hands of mine in place there.
It is also at that moment that I feel the side of her breast, and realize that she does have breasts – they are just very small. But now that I know that she has breasts… they occur to me as very wonderful and beautiful, even though I have not seen them… and with the knowledge that it would of course be unacceptable to ever see them in my life. And while the pain is beating its rather monotonous drum at a fever pitch in my chest… the warmth that spreads all over my body when this rather mundane realization happens… reaches all the way down into my loins, which I can safely say have never felt warm before.
And they don't feel warm now, I should clarify… but it feels as if my mind wants them to be warm for some reason… and some contrived circumstance seems to prevent them from actually being warm. As a result of that, I'm left to soak in how strange this all seems… strange enough where I feel utterly unmoored. I'd probably fall of the horse if my hand's weren't inhabiting the enclosed space in between Edelgard's inner arm and upper obliques.
Edelgard's neck then whips behind her, and I can tell through the back of her head that she is rather squarely staring at Hilda Goneril doing some light calisthenics that involve a slight… gyration of her hindquarters. No doubt she is limbering up for the long march ahead – but I suspect that I will be accused of gawking over a woman who doesn't make me feel warm like the woman who is about to snap at me does.
In acknowledgement of that fact, I do my best to pre-empt it by reaching into my word-bank. Unfortunately, the words that come out are ones that Edelgard herself said to me not long ago:
"...Was that alright, My Student?" I stammer out, feeling rather weak… at least too weak to properly withdraw my hands from under Edelgard's armpits in their current vice-grip.
At the rather effortless recapitulation of her own title for me, the frown that she was wearing seems to melt away into two eyebrows raised in what must be bewilderment. And… while I might be projecting here, as I'm also very bewildered, myself… I do feel as if those are her feelings too… because it's as she said on the twenty-third, the evening where we first made any physical contact in a bloody mess together – we're quite similar.
That memory makes me hope that she's as confused as I am, at least. Every part of my chest seems to be telling me that's not the case, however.
Sothis is nowhere to be found when I need her, of course… although I'm willing to grant that her recent intervention on Petra's behalf may have tuckered her out a bit.
After I fail to rouse Sothis from her slumber, Edelgard seems to rouse from her momentary stupor instead. Frowning again, she says:
"...Your eyes shouldn't drift from that which you're holding, My Teacher…"
And it's at that moment that I realize that she's realized it, too. We were replaying that conversation in the tent on the Eighth of this month… it's just that I was Edelgard, and she was Byleth.
So why was that Edelgard Redelgard… but I'm not Redleth right now…?
Shouldn't I be blushing?
Is it bad that I literally cannot blush?
Have I ever even wanted to blush before?
Isn't blushing an involuntary reaction, though?
Does that mean that I find Edelgard repulsive, given that I cannot blush in these circumstances?
What even are these circumstances…?!
Why do I find myself using an exclamation point there, even though nothing about my life is really that exclamatory outside of this pain in my chest that is rapidly becoming unbearable… in spite of the monotony I accused it of just a single moment ago…?!
I think of apologizing, but I know that the person who's still strangling my hands in her armpits isn't really one for apologies. So I use what little is left of my logic, instead:
"I didn't want to socially compromise you." I manage very blankly, in spite of not feeling very blank at all – and actually being very fraught… even though I can't even really contextualize fraught outside of the experience I had… with Edelgard… exactly nine days ago
"Ugh… you sound like Hubert." she sighs.
As she says this, I remember how Hubert engineered that evening to invalidate every dream of hers by soiling it with intrigue and fakery, and a million daggers stab and stab and stab into my chasm of a peritoneum in that single, silent, solitary moment – and it hurts in a way that I haven't really felt before. It hurts more intensely now that I'm over a week removed from that situation… and I wonder if it's because I've been content to be an accomplice in that lie as well.
But the face that should be grimacing as a result of that pain and guilt can't even fucking move – as if those imaginary knives have killed me in reality.
And that – of course – is more evidence that My Student is wasting her own emotions on a dead man. On a demon without a heart, which must be the organ responsible for making one emote in the first place. In response to my silence – which I would actually assert is very un-Hubertian, in spite of my dishonesty… which is very Hubertian, she says:
"...You must stop sounding like Hubert, My Teacher."
And in an effort to stop all of this crippling self doubt before I go commit a war-crime that has landed Almyrans in fire-pits before, I ask a question that suddenly appears at the forefront of my mind while pushing all the other uncomfortable ones away.
"Does my breath smell like Hubert's?"
Thankfully, this question disarms her bloodlessly. She even laughs – and how I wish I could even so much as curl my lips upward at this... or just say what I feel. This is Edelgard – My Student, My House Leader… the woman who I grant so much of my trust to in spite of everything… and yet… I ask a stupid question like that instead of just plainly stating:
"I would strangle the whole world to see you smile."
Or, more chivalrously:
"I would subject myself to endless torture to make you happy."
Or, more eloquently:
"If you asked me to build a world for you to feel safe in, like you seemed in that tent on the Eighth or in that wagon last night – I would face entire armies for you without hesitating for a moment."
Because with Edelgard, I can feel – and I never want to stop feeling again – even if I cannot express a single iota of these sentiments… or if it makes me as weak as I know I am now.
So I must observe the status quo.
With that in mind, I soak in My Student's smile in blank silence and chastise myself for what I a parasite I've become. Protecting her is the least I can do in return. The most I can do is help her grow into the person she wants to be, of course – even though the only way I can probably do that is to just drown myself in a pool of her enemies…
But then… what exactly separates me from Hubert in that respect?
And I damn myself for not understanding her more… and damn the supposed omnipotent, omnipresent progenitor for not being able to manipulate time sufficiently to find a moment in the past or future where Edelgard would be willing to offer those thoughts to me.
So for now… I listen to her muse about how my breath must smell – but hopefully not as bad as Hubert's.
"Heh… well, no I suppose it doesn't, thankfully… but that isn't to say it smells good, either. Perhaps we should bring mint candy with us for the next mission."
Edelgard's breath smells wonderful because she's Edelgard… even though I know her breath smells terrible, too. And the mints strike me as both a terrible and wonderful idea at the same time, because I find the idea of masking My Student's rancid breath intolerable – and also very appealing because I'd want to smell that simulacrum more, which as I put pen to paper seems incredibly lewd, at least based on the definition of lewdness that I've gathered over the past month.
In a fit a total mental exhaustion and deference, I confirm:
"You're the quartermaster."
Which provokes the frown to turn up into a smile, setting the whole world right on its axis again.
And she is, of course – even if she loses interest in that when she gets what she wants out of it, like I know she will – because seventeen year old nobles probably don't have much a taste for logistics outside of getting the food that they want to eat on campaign. As that knowledge settles into my mind, I get a warning from my innermost thoughts telling me that thinking any further would be dangerous.
But thinking always feels dangerous around Edelgard, and I like that.
She does, too, I think.
…I hope.
And I've never really hoped before – at least until I met her.
That smile of hers is growing into a smirk right now, and suddenly, this five-foot-two future Emperor who is cutting off circulation to my hands is the most imposing adversary I've ever faced before in my life – even though I could never once imagine raising my sword in anger at her.
"...Since you'll be facing the front rather soon, however… There is something I wish to discuss with you. When we depart from the present company, of course." She notes.
I nod at this while gripping the reins of the horse as tightly as Edelgard's arms gripped my hands… and wonder if the horse deserves that treatment. The kick I give it is much more gentle to compensate.
As she says this, I fear that it's going to be a long ride.
The ride certainly felt long – and I felt a great deal of relief as I saw the last milestone before reaching Remire.
The "discussion" was also very long and continued well past that milestone.
See, Edelgard wanted to know a couple to three things based on her reading of my father's letters. The first, was stated by her as follows in a very prepared and practiced way that I've italicized for emphasis:
"I keep thinking about what your father wrote to you, My Teacher. While I'm sure you must constantly be receiving marriage proposals lately on account of your sudden rise in status, and your proximity to me as the future Emperor of Adrestia, naturally… I must ask you to please present any of those to me for evaluation in the future. The nobility of Fodlan are notorious for their fickleness and lack of scruples, as I'm sure you've seen. As your House Leader, it is my responsibility to advise you on such things. You defer to me as well, of course…"
Her logic – with what attention I could provide – seemed sound here. Edelgard, as a future Emperor, is probably one of the most noble nobles around, isn't she? Even if she thinks little of her peers. Admittedly, I probably could've leaned on that thread further, as I was curious where all of this talk of marriage had come from… but my attention was also divided, first by the fact that I was driving a warhorse with a bunch of easily flammable poisonous materials behind me (the Halite, not Edelgard) by the fact that the side of my House Leader's head was pressed against my upper back for most of the ride.
After nestling there for a moment, she added:
"Naturally, I expect you to decline them all until I graduate. After that – or perhaps just before that– I could arrange more appropriate employment in Adrestia for you... By then… we can have a more pointed discussion about our futures."
Concerned about me potentially acting as a hindrance to her own goals – which she doggedly refuses to share with me for whatever reason, I'm compelled to bring up the very reasonable and well-considered suggestion that I received from the Halitosis-Haver of House Vestra during the camping trip.
"Hubert advised me to never interact with you after graduation."
I can't parasite off her like this forever, can I? It's very likely that I've tapped out on my ability to function as a normal human being. It's utterly unreasonable for me to expect that I'll be able to suddenly emote one day, or that Edelgard will reciprocate my desire to know more about her life and goals in order for me to help her. If she endeavored to drag me along in her reign of Adrestia… I would only succeed in holding her back, at least with the ground our relationship – whatever that is – rests upon now.
And I know Hubert is right about that concern of his… which grants me sufficient understanding to realize why he's so dead-set on preventing us from spending time together, even now.
Her reply to this is a bit unexpected:
"He is not going to assume the Imperial Throne, My Teacher – I am. The decisions regarding who I want to spend my life w– or, rather… the individuals I choose to place within my circle of advisors and allies are mine alone. And I firmly believe he quite likes you, in fact. Hubert is… just not as forthright as you are, as I'm sure you already know."
If he understands my situation as acutely as I'm beginning to think he does… how could he ever endure me? More importantly, could I expect myself to endure him as he threads me further and further – against my will – into a web of deceit that has already cost me so much in keeping the secret of St. Macuil's to this young woman who I so nakedly desire honesty from?
Does that not make me a hypocrite of the most base kind?
Am I expecting that which I cannot grant myself?
Isn't that irredeemably selfish of me?
"I'm just a mercenary." I offer very distractedly.
In a way, I'm desperately fishing – and probably failing in that effort – to get to a monologue stating how I'm actually irredeemably foolish or frustrating or someone that she finds repulsive and unfit for life with… particularly hoping that she'd voice the terrible thoughts I had on St. Macuil's about how ugly and garish I was, needing to be dressed up like a maidservant to be remotely presentable to the public eye when standing next to her.
She grants me no solace, however – and replies with:
"As I've always said… the station of a person is something I put very little stock in. What matters to me is merit. In the same way that I find Ferdinand's worldview rather… contrived… I also have very little appreciation for the pointless blathering of that bandit, preoccupied with killing nobles purely on the accident of their birth. It all seems so pointless. Particularly the cycle of resentment and oppression that it creates."
This all sounds very political, but the core sentiment is one that I can agree with… at least in whatever superficial understanding of these circumstances that My Student is talking about in the closing statement she provides:
"Both of them… if one were to probe their logic… seem to believe that people are fated to be good or evil based on the status of blood. And this world that we live in, especially the system of government that the Church has designed… it just seems like the current state of affairs only succeeds in continuing that cycle. Even now, we are riding in order to "distract" a group of peasants killing the children of nobles. Don't you think that all of this is… self-destructive?"
Desperate to lighten all of this heavy thinking, I quip:
"As an expert in self-harm, sure."
"Be serious about this, My Teacher!"
The problem I have with formulating a proper reply to this argument of hers – in either affirmation or criticism – is that I've never really bothered to have these sorts of thoughts before. And honestly, if it was anyone but Edelgard asking these questions… I'd probably just supply my usual retort about my total disinterest in everything ideological.
But… I can't do that anymore, can I?
Because she's My Student – and this is literally a window into her thoughts and feelings, isn't it?
She told me – incompletely, I suspect – her opinion on the world and circumstances which surround us. And that viewpoint of hers is uniquely hers – so agreeing with it outright would feel fake and contrived, too.
As much as I want to say "I agree" and leave it at that – hoping that she'll be content with it – I can't do that and be content with myself.
So I summon up what focus I can and reply:
"When I fought against the Almyrans, I never really thought about people's nobility. I never thought much about people at all… My Father told me things. I guess I understood some of them. I was aware that Holst was a noble, and that's how he could pay us."
"I think I agree. I just don't know how to… express this sort of thing. And Garegg Mach has confused the hell out of me."
The relative length of my reply provokes a squirm in the saddle behind me.
I'm surprised too, Edelgard.
"...In what way?" she asks.
"I'm teaching nobles who are better educated than I am."
That's just the tip of the iceberg, honestly. There's all that Crest stuff, too. Still – this statement is not left unpunished by the Anti-Noble Noble:
"Not better – merely different. And I believe rather firmly that most of the people born into the nobility are purposefully misled about the rationale behind the system they benefit from."
"I can see that." I confirm.
A silence overtakes us after I say that, and only after coaxing our mount into a winding s-curve that weaves around a cliff-face do I realize that Edelgard is awaiting me to expound on that topic further. In response to that prolonged, pregnant pause, I offer, haltingly and belatedly:
"The only nobles I really know are Holst, who prefers mercenaries. And you, of course."
"...And what about me?" she asks me with an emphatic lead.
Edelgard, I've written a couple hundred thousand words about you. If I answered with the full depth and breadth of what I thought, we'd travel this highway across the Bridge of Myrddin and arrive at the gates of Derdriu before I even finished a description of the camping trip.
"You also don't care, but don't care differently." I say with the confidence that she would at least understand an inkling of what I've been working out so laboriously within these pages.
She pauses for a moment, and then presses onto my shoulder with a gentleness that I never knew belonged to the woman who has been my ward and… so many more complicated things past that for the past forty days.
"...Yes, My Teacher. I suppose that I don't care… and don't care very deeply about it…"
Doubting she just intended to confirm my confirmation, I wait for her to gather her thoughts and continue, which she does a few moments after:
"…Truthfully… I've failed to sleep much on this campaign precisely because I don't care… you were right in identifying that last night… And I must admit that I just had no desire to talk about it, then… I thought that spending time with you would give me some peace of mind, at least for the night."
Even those moments can provide some relief for her… well, they justify every trial I'll ever face for her in the time that I've still got with her… and I say that as if there aren't going be another ten months of this in front of me, too…
After that…
"Did it?" I ask, my mind still very much preoccupied by the above thoughts as I do.
A nudge against my scapula returns my attention to her just as she replies:
"After you assented to my demands, of course."
Ultimately, that's a rather small price to pay, right?
"I'm glad." I say… and I really am. For a moment, I feel as I can reciprocate just a little of what she offers to me so effortlessly… and that feels wonderful, dragging my thoughts so far from the horror I'm about to commit under the nose of a hundred churchmen.
Something tells me that Edelgard can sense my relief here, as she's quite intent on chiding me for it. After feeling a renewed pressure from the arms wrapped around my midsection, I hear:
"Perhaps I'd demand that you be glad if you weren't…"
As if I wouldn't be? Come on.
"Yes, Princess." is what I reply to the Princess-ing.
And this sets her off, as a fidget nearly makes the saddle tilt to one side.
"N-not in that particular manner…!" She clarifies.
Letting the matter drop and the tightness around my abs relax, I eventually rejoin the conversation with a question that has been eating at me for some time:
"Did you actually sleep? You worry me, at times."
Because I worry that she doesn't sleep enough, given the limited experience I've seen with Nightelgard.
"...I did. Quite soundly, in fact…"
This provokes warmth beyond words. As I soak in them, Edelgard feels compelled to continue:
"...Naturally, when you decide not to include me in your decisions… you provoke nothing but the same emotion – worry, that is – from me, My Teacher… I have no desire to lose your guidance over some conflict that could be resolved with my timely intercession."
By timely intercession, I suppose she means that she'd argue with some priest about the ills of the current year until he gave up in exhaustion and put the torch away. Still that sentiment means the world to me, and reminds me to remind her of what I actually want from this relationship between her and I, as fraught as it can be at times:
"Let's collaborate more."
I sense a nod pressed against my shoulder, and take some comfort in that as she replies with:
"I should say I'm certainly owed collaboration if you insist on wasting time with consulting Dimitri twice a week."
Here we go again.
"...I only did that because he asked." I clarify.
Without considering that statement for a moment, she snaps back with:
"Then I'll just have to keep you busy with consultations of my own."
I would actually be very happy if you did that, My Student. Does she realize that's what I really want?
"That's fine." I say – and curse myself for not being more specific at this moment… as if specificity is a strong suit of mine.
"...Can I consult you right now, then?" she asks.
I take my right hand off the reins to give her a thumbs up. Expecting that she's going to require me to do more of this ceaseless, senseless talking… I take a long swig from my canteen in preparation shortly thereafter.
It should be noted that a consultation with Prince Dimitri averages about fifteen minutes. Most of it involves map staring in silence, finger-pointing on said map, and scarcely-audible grunts to agree or disagree about placement of the scaffolding system I suggested via a letter.
This consultation will have none of that, I expect.
And this expectation is proven correct, because Edelgard has clearly been rehearsing her side of this consultation-conversation for a very long time, I suspect – to the point where I've formatted the diary with italic script to indicate the parts of her dialogue that I believe she might have been practicing while pacing all alone in her tent yesterday evening.
She begins with the following admission-cum-thesis:
"Well, to be honest, I've been up all night lately reading those tactical manuals about Sreng that you told me the names of. While their pike formations are probably unsuitable for the open fields of Adrestia, Faerghus, and Leicester… I've been trying to get a grasp on how they order their society. As a future ruler, that is so very captivating to me… and I had not even considered it until you mentioned their method of warfare to me earlier this moon…"
And when she finishes, part of me – perhaps a mischievous part of me that I haven't really ever acknowledged up until this moment – wants to throw her off her dress rehearsed monologue. As she pauses to gulp down some air, I clarify:
"Pikes aren't bad on open ground. You just need to cover their flanks. Cavalry works."
And I sense her weight shift around on the saddle, which brings her clasped arms even tighter around my mid-section.
"...Well, I suppose I had not considered that… but my focus at the moment is not on the tactical!"
Which is why you fell for my gambit, My Student.
Attempting to nod visibly, I reply:
"I'll focus on that for you."
And this provokes another stir… but a more gentle one.
"...I feel rather safe when you do, My Teacher."
When she says that statement, I feel very comfortable in my triumph. She can lecture me the whole ride there if she wants to, now. In an effort to guide her back to her desired topic, I offer:
"You were talking about Sreng?"
And Rehearsalgard returns:
"Yes… They're quite close to Fodlan geographically, but they possess neither hereditary nobility nor any relationship with the Church of Seiros. They apparently insist on this, even though there is rumored to be a relic of great importance somewhere in their country, related to Saint Macuil, actually… That has led to Faerghus and the Alliance attacking them on the Church's behalf, as it happens… But in any event… I don't believe any other country fits both of those criteria – that much is true. My Uncle, who is the Regent of the Empire, recently confirmed this with me."
Her reference to her uncle lacks the same rehearsed quality to it, leading me to believe that her facade here is only skin-deep. And that's a comfort, because I much prefer Bantergard to Rehearsalgard. I find myself wondering, of course, if her uncle deserves all of this indirect verbal abuse from her, though. As another victim of her fickle attitude at times… I find myself feeling some sort of sympathy for this fellow who is utterly unknown to me apart from a glance at a portrait. But I suppose that's enough – because I drew a positive impression of her Mother from that painting rather quickly.
But I wonder if that positive impression is due to the fact that she was apparently difficult to be around, and bears such a complete resemblance to her daughter.
According to my father, Eisners are drawn towards easily misunderstood and difficult women. The issue here, of course, is that I don't understand My Student much at all. And to be chivalrous, you need to understand chivalry, which I don't. Edelgard and me – as it must be noted as nauseum – also argue a lot, even when I don't try to argue with her and just want to make her happy.
And it seems to me eminently logical that any future we have together will result in more argument and unhappiness for this person whose heart I have sworn to protect.
She is also explicitly not interested in romance with me, and clarified this in a very exhaustive manner to Seteth in a 5600 word letter. While I have written 5600 word entries in my diary… I certainly do not intend them for consumption – particularly Edelgard, who I can never allow to read this… or for distribution in the form of a message, for that matter.
I also cannot forget the line – which my father highlighted as important – that I'm unsuitable to produce future Hresvelgs with – perhaps because I am an Eisner, therefore the son of the Knight, and also effeminate to the point of looking good in a maid outfit.
Could I even pretend to be like my father someday under such circumstances?
This is ignoring the fact that Papa Hresvelg wore a maid dress at the request of Edelgard's mother… but he's an Emperor, and I'm a mercenary. Clearly we share nothing in common except for our teal eyes and the fact that we wore a maid-dress at the request of two related women with purple irises, cute expressions, and long hair that provokes wonder from me any time I have the time to consider these features. Certainly nothing that I mentioned above is significant in any way, particularly in light of all of the other poignant facts that I accidentally gleaned from my father's letter to my House Leader.
Particularly that my mother would have hated me for frustrating Edelgard as well.
And since I never knew my Mother… I suppose it would be rather difficult to explain to her that I didn't mean to frustrate Edelgard invariably, and that anything I could do to ease both of their anger would be a comfort to me.
But for better or for worse, My Mother is dead, and My Student is growing to hate me slowly.
So what else is there to do but try to move forward with this knowledge grasped tightly inside my empty chest, and in spite of all my shortcomings… become a better person to the one that is still alive, and able to benefit from my improvement?
"Nobles and Church, you mean." I clarify, attempting – perhaps quixotically – to grasp the contours of what she's even trying to argue here.
Sreng doesn't believe in the Church teachings? That's what I can gather so far. This is also apparently extraordinary. Neither do I believe in Church teachings, I think… but that doesn't make me particularly unique, does it? It certainly doesn't make me a Srengian.
Does Edelgard believe in Church teachings? Or the Church more generally?
At face value she should… but she is taking a tack at the moment that would imply otherwise. To evidence this point, she continues:
"The lack thereof, My Teacher… Almyra has no diplomatic relationship with the Church of Seiros, for example – but it has nobility. – more than Fodlan, even You mentioned killing one of their Princesses, of course… that is your dagger's original owner, is it not? And Albinea, with their navy that caused my father so many defeats, as I'm sure Hubert told you… they have a relationship with the Church of Seiros insofar as they allow proselytization there… but they have no hereditary nobility to speak of…"
Her pause at the end seems particularly practiced, so even though her question in the middle was rhetorical… I'm guessing she still expects me to formulate some sort of prompt in the face of all of this. – which is so far above my head that it might as well be the North Star. The best I can manage to is to simply recapitulate a few of her points for my attempts at understanding:
"Their nobility is their admiralty, right?" This tracks with what little I know – but it's clear that My Student has the one been the one pulling all nighters on these and other topics. Another canned response follows from my very genuine query.
"I believe so… from what little information I can gather. Their Grand Admiral, at least, is the Regent of a Kingdom without a King or Heir. When they intervened in My Father's War, they vassalized the Dagdans after we vassalized Brigid. According to my Father, who wanted to vassalize Dagda as well, of course… After their conquest of land rightfully won by the Empire, they replaced all of their Plantation Princes with Donatary Captains."
Her use of the word replaced here implies that she hasn't had the opportunity to chat with many Dagdans regarding their feelings about their puppet government.
"The Dagdans despise them, though." I note.
This interjection seems to throw her for a loop, and I get a reply intoned with a familiar rise in the "ly" syllable, an immense relief given how removed she sounds when she lectures like that to me. Do I sound the same when I lecture to her, I wonder?
What is even the point of lecturing?
"...Truly?" I'm asked, if I know some sort of Big T Truth.
And so I'm compelled to illustrate my shoddy reasoning:
"Anecdotally, from tavern-keepers in the Alliance."
To my surprise however, a shift forwards into my back and slight loosening of the arm-noose around my stomach seems to indicate that I've brought the Heir to an Empire to a momentary, contemplative pause. In response to this, I ease up the horse's reins ever so slightly, bringing us to a more consistent pace in order to give her some room to consider the new information. Even more surprising than the initial contemplation that this challenge provoked, however – was the reply that followed:
"Those who flee their nations in an effort to protest their circumstances are doomed to fail, my Teacher… A-anyway, I wouldn't put too much stock in their views if they cannot resolve to better their own homeland."
The previous statement of hers, delivered just after hitting a bump in the highway that sent her hair flowing into my face is another quip of hers that I'm willing to grant as unrehearsed and genuine. At the very least, it's certainly got that trademark acerbity. And… if I'm projecting a bit – I certainly couldn't maintain an act like that after getting my head jostled like hers… and the slight coloring of pain and resignation that she drew out in her words before that forecful pause… caused by the horse stumbling on a rock in full gallop – makes me believe that she may have firsthand experience in such a matter.
Exile would be a fine rationale for not knowing very much about the Imperial Capital which she is destined to rule from.
But maybe she just grew up in a country home somewhere, too, of course. She seems to have a rather close relationship with this Uncle of hers, even if she protests him more generally. Edelgard often protests my points too, and I'm forced to grant that her Uncle… presumably that man in the portrait with the long brown ponytail and glassy, calculating eyes who share the same color but differ wildly in appearance to Edelgard and her mother's…
As Regent, he may have had his reasons for keeping her away from her Father, as well. I'm left to speculate wildly here, of course – because there's a great big door that's titled "Edelgard's Past" that is lined up right next to a door that's titled "Edelgard's Goals" that might as well be plastered with a sign that says "My Teacher can never be allowed to enter" – given how her butler seems quite intimately aware of her motivations, and doggedly refuses to share them with me either. For her benefit, I suppose.
Tangentially, from what I can gather based on that one chat with Hubert about Fallstaff where he shut the faucet air-tight on any further information about the Empire following that failed naval engineering project, Papa Hresvelg also had a habit of getting in over his own head that may have required familial intervention.
Of course… I say this while very much in over my own head – wrapped up in a political discussion with his daughter, I should add – so I speak here from personal, proximal experience regarding this set of circumstances.
His daughter, meanwhile – wraps me tighter in her speculative analysis while also wrapping my abs ever-crushingly in those surprisingly lean but sinewy arms of hers… ones that make up for mass what they do in forcefulness. Perhaps I have underestimated the inner strength of women all of my life. Doing the arithmetic in my head rather quickly – I've certainly killed more men than women… and I doubt I could ever manage to bring a sword down on the one I'm speaking to.
In any event, after completing her own analysis she extrapolates that:
"They might have more tolerance of their government if their rulers were appointed locally. Albinea refuses to do that, however. Although – some of their Captains actually follow the Church of Seiros, as well. One is even the half-brother of Baron Ochs. That relative of his happens to have a Dagdan mother… but from what I know is true, they are very much Adrestian by way of upbringing. Don't you find all of this rather interesting?"
And I realize after she says those words – that she can plan and rehearse an argument far faster than I could ever imagine… as if her boon in banter now requires the issuing of an S-Rank certificate. She's certainly far above my skill set now, at least.
This is all to say that: No – I've never thought much about all of this political mumbo-jumbo at all until right now… and now I'm only curious because the person grilling me about these opinions is My Student.
Additionally… I am slowly getting the impression that each of these thesis statements with a question tied in at the end have some sort of trap door on them that I'm very narrowly avoiding each time by virtue of my own stupidity. And, given Edelgard's hairpin-trigger – if I make a move toward one of those trap doors under any circumstance… I know this conversation where I'm learning so much about her view of society – will be over in an instant.
But what other option do I have but being real with her? For the past month and a half that we've traveled along this very winding and bizarre path together… culminating in our upcoming arrival at an army camp which we intend to envelop in a poison gas attack, I've always been frank in my discussions with her. And when we have discussions like this… I'm often rewarded with insight, even if she refuses to explicitly state why she's speaking so damn obtusely about everything. With that in mind, I reply:
"Only because you've mentioned them, honestly."
I can't see her reply to this, as my attention is affixed squarely on the path ahead of me – but the tightening clamp on my mid-section seems to indicate that I'm veering dangerously close to one of those trap doors that will drop from under my feet. And strangely… I begin to feel somewhat nauseous and even a bit a reticent about supplying any response at all – as if I'm not being extremely terse already as she paints a picture with words in more detail than anything Ignatz can manage with a brush.
"...Did such thoughts never occur to you in your travels?" she leads me further.
The rumors of my cosmopolitan nature have apparently far surpassed my actual travels.
"I've only really spent time in Almyra."
"Did you not visit Albinea as well…?" Edelgard seems to have mistook my adventure with their navy to be within their territorial waters. This must be one the knowledge gaps seeping its way though, as it so often does with her. Gently, I correct her:
"An Albinean Galleon. That's it."
"Even so, you fought alongside them, is that story of Hubert's not true?"
I feel a bit of relief that she's assuming Hubert would mislead her and not be. It seems that he just failed to disclose the actual location – it was in the Kupala Lordship, which I had lectured about this afternoon. Edelgard had ignored that lecture to go yell at Hubert… presumably about his participation in publishing some untruth about her breasts.
Does Hubert not like Edelgard's breasts, I wonder? Can women even change their breasts to fit the wishes of a man?
I suppose I never need to worry about any of this. The only breasts that provoke any sort of warmth from me are Edelgard's, who has no interest in marrying me apparently, and is even so concerned for the other women of Fodlan that she would interfere in their attempts to marry me as well, even after she graduates.
That's the responsibility of an Emperor, I guess. Although, perhaps she might let me marry someone some day. At the very least, my father – who seems keen to marry me to Hilda for some reason – and is plotting with Holst to do so, apparently – will likely be frustrated by Edelgard's vast power and reach. It will be very hard to marry anyone if she remains my House Leader in life after she graduates.
Would she still be my House Leader at that point, and I her Teacher? The future, which I've never committed much thought to, now suddenly seems very murky and troubling. Perhaps I should just become a duelist in Brigid and enjoy the company of Petra. She's a Princess like Edelgard, not from Fodlan, so Edelgard can't interfere… and could teach me the way that Brigidans hunt and fight with swords. Maybe Brigid, like Adrestia, has an inner circle.
Should I tell my Father about my plan to eventually leave him and join Petra in Brigid? Would he agree to that? Do I need his agreement, even? Couldn't I just run off with Petra in the same way that Dorothea suggested that I could run off with her to some hotel in Enbarr?
A pair of purple eyes bore into the back of my head – which I'm able to verify on account of noticing a small, fractal and fractional mirror image of My Student from the reflection of silver decorative bearing on the reins of the horse. A splotch of what must be sweat from the horse gives Edelgard – particularly her hair – a light brownish hue, reminiscent of her mother. How wonderful she is with brown hair and white hair.
Can all women change their hair color on a whim and still be that captivating?
I doubt it, because My Student is brilliant and exceptional.
Still, that frown of hers – which is also no less wonderful, of course – drags me back from warm thoughts about her and back into the cold reality of this discussion during a night ride.
"My father did most of the talking back then." I clarify.
He did most of the thinking, too… Although now I am willing to be that my diary entries are longer than his. I will need to add more pages to this spiral journal soon, at least.
In reply to this assessment, I get a pause and what sounds like another one of her practiced, rehearsed replies – now that we are belatedly back in the realm of facts instead of feelings. And how I find myself hating that… at times like this, anyway.
And I so rarely can bring myself to hate anything. Not even my enemies… who I find myself pitying more than I hate. Why would they align themselves against those who I've sworn to protect is a question I find myself asking more and more now… when I never gave much thought to my opponents at all before.
Perhaps I could bring myself to hate an enemy if they brought one of the Eagles to harm.
And I dwell on this… I realize that I might very well hate someone who brought Edelgard to harm quite effortlessly. Her voice forces me out of that awkward consideration, thankfully:
"Do you know if your Father agrees with our perspective on the nobility?" she asks, in such a measured way that tells me that such a thought has been on her mind for a very long time.
The only word that feels out of place there is "our" – as if she had intended to say "my" – but took some solace in the fact that the two of us, for whatever reason we're fated to, seem to share the same ambivalent assessment of the nobility that rule Fodlan. But Edelgard is also nobility, so all of her argumentative approach manages to do is to confuse me even more than I already was… which I should clarify was damn near totally confused.
Add the requisite meddling that my Father does in regard to his own backstory – and I'm beyond unmoored at the moment. The horse could be leading us straight into the eternal flames, and I'd have no idea where to turn in order to avoid them.
"I… don't know much about my father. Not even his age. He hasn't told me much about my mother, either – except that they met at the Academy."
Or the Monastery more specifically? But I've never seen any young women at the monastery as nuns – they tend to skew older. My Mother was somewhere between fifteen and twenty-one – most recently seventeen and eleven months, when my father claims to have met her. That is certainly far too young for any of the cloistered monastics that I've encountered on the way to classes and the like.
So she must have been a student then, right?
Edelgard seems to agree at least, saying:
"That is certainly an intriguing piece of trivia… I'm sure you know that several heiresses in the Kingdom and the Alliance made offers of marriage to Captain Je– well, your Father, when he was Knighted as the Champion of Lady Rhea. Curiously, he declined them all. In point of fact, the Count of…"
And she says that so genuinely… as if she hadn't committed a single moment's thought to anything she just said. And what a relief that is, even if the content of what she has to say is less than nice to hear coming from a person who claims at least some superficial care for my own feelings – which I certainly don't understand well enough to properly look after myself, at least. To her credit, she seems to realize this as well:
"...Of course, that is not intended to seem unduly cavalier about your parents, My Teacher…"
Shaking my head, I properly ration out words in reply to this, perhaps because of the extreme disjointedness I feel in both her halting statement and her non-apology… and I come a certain conclusion as she labors through these competing statements: Edelgard rehearses these sorts of things to spare the feelings of other people – not least herself.
"I see now that I may have wandered too far off the beaten path…" she adds with a final, long trail behind those words.
"It's fine. I'm listening." Is the best I can manage.
And that's the truth.
There's nothing wrong with what she said – merely her approach vector. And that's what happens at times in battle when you play for initiative… Sometimes you get caught with your pants down and end up like me in this discussion – neck deep in shit that is far beyond your capacity to deal with.
The way out of that is through, though.
And the only way to get through after catching yourself in shit that deep… is to improvise.
Particularly if the plan was what got you into a deep pile of shit in the first place.
Taking my cue for what it's worth, she presses forward without a stratagem… and I'm proud of her for doing that:
"...What I mean to say is that if she attended the Academy… it is likely that she was in fact a noble. Roughly eighty percent of the student body is already titled, second-in-line, or an heir to territory themselves, after all. That has been rather consistent throughout the history of the Academy, from what I have read. In My Father's class… there were only two students who were not of Greater Houses."
With that nugget of information, I'm able to put two and two together regarding Edelgard's Mother and Uncle. That said, it helps to confirm:
"...Your mother?" I ask.
And My Student cracks open the door to her past, briefly and slightly:
"...And my Uncle, yes. Whatever led you to guess that, though…?"
Although that's a question… I would like to refer to here as a hard-won victory, however brief… and however Pyrrhic a cost I won it at.
"Your mother looked very kind." She did in the portrait, at least. And kind people can be difficult as well. Marianne, for example, seems like a kind person – but I can scarcely maintain a conversation with her without exertion.
My mother might have been kind as well, as she would've hated me for troubling My Student, who my father thinks is easily misunderstood.
"...Not that I really had one." Could a mother who would hate you really be considered a mother at all – at least in a figurative sense?
Nevertheless, The Teacher is corrected by His Student:
"You did, My Teacher… she was just taken from you. And when reminded of that… you found the necessary resolve and moved forward, in your own way. That red-haired woman who was after Captain Jeralt's affections did not trouble you for more than a moment… I watched you quite intently then – to tell you the truth…"
When she said this, I resolved to check my diary at the earliest opportunity and recall if I made note of her noticing me. I did. Although… that shouldn't surprise me. Even now – with her back to me, I feel as if my eyes are always being drawn to Edelgard, one way or the other.
I… well, your resolve is… something that I feel is very similar between the two of us, even though we can never truly understand each other's grief."
Perhaps I'd understand if you told me, Edelgard.
But I suppose I should just accept that you never will.
My chest disagrees with my assessment violently, however – but when haven't the two of us been at odds lately?
It's a shame that it's empty enough to offer me no solace yet full enough to chastise me into painful conversations with this woman who I parasitize my feelings from… and then have the audacity to desire an even deeper window into her heart, an organ which I don't have and could never offer a window into in return.
At this thought, a pallor washes over me and brings me towards a sort of nausea. And before last month… I never felt nausea before, as if a condition like that – separate from feeling and emotion more generally, is wrought on me because of that axe I threw myself in front of just forty days ago.
And as that nausea crawls into every fiber of my being – I ask myself: what did I do to deserve this punishment?
Why is every sentence above ten words in length a labor worthy of Hercule, that Almyran hero?
Why is every emotion that I read on people's faces – particularly this woman clinging to me for dear life utterly inaccessible for me to even mimic?
Why must I walk through life like a dead man, only to be revived partially after being granted a worthy death on the battlefield?
What the fuck does it all mean?
What the fuck is the point of dropping a poison gas cloud on a gaggle of longbowmen harassing people I barely even know?
What the fuck does it mean that even as I question these things… I realize that I wouldn't trade any ounce of this confusion for the life I lived before?
That every one of these emotions springs forth from the woman behind me, who I can't seem to shake myself free of?
The only person who can answer these questions – Sothis – is still fast asleep.
I certainly lack the ability to answer them myself.
As I lean into the horse, imprisoned in my own thoughts – the conversation between myself and My Student dies a rather regretful death there, because I don't supply a reply to her – and merely nod with an exhale that could've been a sigh – if my dead lips and dead lungs could even manage such a thing. At times, Edelgard fidgets against me – as if she hadn't intended our conversation to end there… but nothing else is said until we arrive outside the village.
To use Ferdinand's quote – I'm overwhelmed.
And not in a good way.
Poison gas is heavier than air. I'm not sure why – considering that smoke will rise from a campfire or chimney and climb up toward the starry skies without much protest… but this crimson gas that the Almyrans use – a terror weapon that I'm using myself now – is just too slow and stodgy for that sort of thing. When the crimson cloud begins to rise from the flames, it suddenly falls to the ground as soon as it spreads – particularly in dry air… and tonight's air is as parched as the desert sands of the Throat.
I pointed out this salient fact to Holst in the Kupala campaign's aftermath. Specifically, I noted that this particular nerve agent seems to lose all of its killing power after it clears around seven feet in altitude from the ground. The noxious haze that wafts above the main cloud is vomit-inducing, but rarely fatal.
This conclusion was one I reached after committing to a rather detailed survey at the site of the attack at the request of my father. In most scenarios, this was a job we undertook together – but he expressed a firm reticence and disgust at the use of that weapon on innocent villagers. I had no such compuctions or scruples back then, and joined Holst without a single word spoken between us.
For a time after that, my father and I grew quite distant – more distant than we generally were at least – until he locked me up in that Remire jail cell for a week and insisted on keeping me distracted as a quit the tobacco habit.
Anyway, as I picked over the dead bodies in total apathy – I took note that the Kupalan townsmen had defaulted to retreating to their underground cyclone shelters, a necessity for that part of the continent. Unfortunately for them, the lazy clouds of gas rather easily found their way into the dugouts, as it seemed to be heavier than the air it floated in itself. Those subterranean safe havens quickly became family graves, with the sights of children having puked out the last of their blood all over their mother's bosom – who had puked out the last of her blood all over her child.
Holst, when he saw this, cried bitterly for his people. When he finally recovered, he stared at me for a time – as if he had just allowed himself to sob in front of his most embittered foe, or some sort of demonic beast which had migrated to the coastal desert of Kupala from the chaparrals of Edmund.
This is to say –I emoted nothing, and he emoted everything. In response to this, he quipped:
"Byllie, you're a fuckin' demon… n' Holst fuckin' loves ya for it... But Holst fuckin' hates ya for it, too…"
It was the first time someone had confessed their love to me.
It was not the first time someone had confessed their hatred to me.
Shortly after that exchange, my attention was drawn to a cat that was alive and well on a rooftop. When I informed Holst of this, he shrugged it off and said that since cats were native to Almyra, it would stand to reason that they'd be impervious to Almyran gas clouds. I'm not really sure I followed his logic given that they were a domesticated animal and thrived all over the world – but was willing to grant it at that moment to avoid an argument.
In retrospect, Holst was not as difficult to deal with as Edelgard is.
But I was less equipped to deal with Holst at the time, because I was not possessed by the idea that Holst was wonderful like Edelgard is to me, in spite of everything.
As I think these thoughts, a chorus of coughing, yelling, begging, pleading, dying, and crying has begun about fifty yards away from myself and my student. Fifty yards is the maximal range at which I can light a spark with the snap of my fingers through the use of a fire tome. With that in mind, I summoned Edelgard to a bush exactly fifty yards away from the the campfires after we completed their setup at around three in the morning.
When we lit the dud fire, alarm bells rang through the enemy camp at the base of the rising hill that villagers named after Saint Ceithleann, which itself blossoms into a ridge that villagers named after Saint Cichol. This gentle ridge is in fact one of the few access points between Remire village and the Lordship of Arundel beyond two mountains that are named after two "Apostles" – Aubin and Noa. Edelgard, of course – supplied me with this information regarding the apostles, with the names "Mt. Aubin" and "Mt. Noa" those two dated names meaning comparatively little to me at all before receiving that bit of theological trivia.
What I did know about those two mountains was that they'd channel the Eastern wind into a driving, whipping gale as the moon began its descent towards the horizon line – a circumstance that begins in earnest right about now. To confirm this suspicion, one of those first gusts actually managed to put out the right fire's flame before the spark could consume the kindling. Edelgard, who was crouching at my right – pointed this out with her excellent vision.
I snapped my finger again to light it, and the fire began to rise anew.
And with that fire – slowly – a crimson cloud began to form that captivated my Student's attention so intensely that… had I not known her mannerisms so well at this point… cause me to think that she might have been hypnotized against her will by some Derdriu carnival barker. And naturally, when I think of Derdriu Carnival Barkers, I think of Claude von Riegan… and realize that he rather curiously never offered an opinion on what I intended to do here. This of course now strikes me as impossibly odd, given how the poisoner extraordinaire usually had strong opinions about everything.
In fact, as soon as identified the origin of this red nerve agent… he clammed up like a mollusk.
That's something I should probably explore, some other time.
I've reached my limit of consideration at the moment – and my interest in all of this constant adolescent melodrama is rapidly beginning to wane now that the chorus of death is harmonizing in my ear.
It's singing a tune I'm all too familiar with, and my body seems to take to it as I should be ready to leap into that cloud at a moment's notice… to defend the young woman sitting next to me who seems so very enraptured by it. I wonder at this moment if we were too far away to properly use their deaths as a teachable moment. At the very least, thanks to the boisterous blusters bellowing from the Oghmas… we could've positioned ourselves about twenty or twenty-five yards closer in order to afford myself a closer view of the proceedings.
As these thoughts trail off in succession, I find my mind empty as I stare into Edelgard's left iris, fixed on the scene of death unfolding before us.
A gas attack is always… interesting the first time one sees it, primarily because it's always difficult to figure which aspect of the spectacle your eyes need to focus on – if you can manage to hold your vision at such a macabre, grisly, and bloody spectacle. The sheer scale this is playing out on is worthy of note as well.
Peasants are smarter than nobles in some ways – particularly in regard to self-preservation. When one of the helmeted Knights leading them stumbled across the campfire at full gallop, he dismounted from his horse, wrested the helmet off his face revealing a face of total, agonizing pain – and then coughed out the bloody pus inside his lungs until he expired on the ground next to the campfire. In time, the skin on his face began to dissolve as well, leaving a ghastly corpse behind – far ghastlier than any of the burn victims that the Eagles dispatched in the valley.
Edelgard, to her credit, did not flinch.
Some of the peasants in the first lines of the columns immediately scrambled to the Knight while the rest of the attack column that was sent to dispatch our supposed "diversion force" ground to halt without a noble driving them forward. Eventually, of course – a noble appeared – and this noble sounded rather like Captain Metodey. When one of his commands was first heard, I noticed Edelgard grimace and reach reflexively for the handaxe at her belt.
Her Labrys was still strapped to the horse.
Eventually, Metodey grew closer – and as noble commanders of peasants often do – ordered his expendables to go extinguish the fires emanating the toxic gasses.
"They are retreating and attempting to delay us! They must be just beyond those flames, you fucking fools! Ten cunts of Leicester to add to the tally when we finish those sniveling little Faerghans! Right under Lonato's snout, the good little dog!"
In a way, I was impressed at Metodey – he was very wrong while also being very right at the same time. This was, of course, being used to cover a retreat. Edelgard and I also were just beyond the reach of that gas cloud. He was very wrong, though – particularly about the presence of any of the Deer, or their numbers. I had only seven Deer, with Raphael – hopefully – being safe inside Remire.
At the very least, Metodey had indicated that the Lions were still under siege, and that Remire was not yet taken. So… that was an encouraging fact, right?
Metodey was also wrong about being able to kill any Deer at all, of course.
In fact, a gust of wind dragged a crimson cloud straight over to him, and sent the merc into a hacking fit. The peasants around him dropped in short order, wheezing and crying and choking and generally dying in complete and utter misery.
At this moment, I expected Metodey to fall from his horse.
But he didn't, in spite of the fact that he was shouting "My leg! My leg!" – leading me to believe that the gas had seeped into an old or recovering wound of his incurred in some recent engagement and not fully healed.
Since the toxicity of the gas comes from the cocktail of cochineal beetle ink – which is deadly if allowed into the bloodstream through oral consumption in significant doses – and salt from the Halite which activates the liquid into a gas along with the heat and carbon from charcoal… that finding its way into an open sore must be impossibly agonizing.
Still, Metodey – about seven feet tall on his massive warhorse – a noble-looking giant of a steed whose white and black splotches give me the impression of hailing from the Rowe stock – a region famous for well-built steppe horses suitable for light lancers and horse archers – instinctively has its massive, elongated neck craned upward to avoid the worst of the gas attack. I suspect that like the cat, it understands the usefulness of altitude.
Eventually Metodey rips off his helm as well, and reveals what must have been a cold sore on his lip that has metastasized in a dissolving mess of pus which causes parts of his nose and the entirety of his lips to dislodge from his face in a gooey, melting, cheese like substance that falls onto his breastplate as clumps of liquified mush. Screaming in absolute but unintelligible terror as the chemical burn begins to fry his skin like a hash brown on a griddle – perhaps noticing that he is literally dissolving before his very own eyes – if those haven't been blinded yet – he manages to drive his spurs into the horse, wheels it round with a choking neigh, and only just manages to evade a fresh gust of wind pushing more gas down the slope.
Riding off, he leaves a trail of liquified flesh in his wake as he starts down the hill.
Eventually, he disappears from our view entirely.
We hear his utterly agonized, incoherent utterances for a good ten minutes afterward, though.
Had I not seen that exact sort of progression a thousand times before – having the images of lipless children covered in their own melted-off body parts and choked out blood… I would've probably grimaced at such a sight, particularly of a person who was as animated a character as Captain Guillame de Metodey was. One that I had the opportunity to observe twice in some detail, as well.
Still, he was a fellow mercenary – for whatever small comradeship that conferred.
Very little of it mattered, of course – because he expressed a desire to kill me, but more particularly Edelgard – in the last words he spoke. That command was uttered just before he was likely forced to drink down the dissolved remains of his tongue.
When I turned to Edelgard, though – her expression was almost entirely unmoved. Her brow had frowned a bit, her eyes had squinted – at least in comparison to when I stole at her last… but there was almost no way to tell she had just witnessed the horrific deaths of at least a hundred people in approximately five minutes – my arithmetic there going by the heaps of bodies that are visible to the two of us from our mediocre vantage point in the nearby woods.
Perhaps there were more, is what I'm getting at.
More than likely, Metodey would be body 101(+) at some point rather soon as well.
In spite of all that, there is nothing that prompts a reaction from what she just witnessed – at least one which she would betray to me silently observing her. Eventually, those lavender-irised eyes of hers withdraw from the scene of the massacre – shortly after the last body stops jittering in its death throes – and she brings to bear her full attention onto what must be a very blank stare coming from me.
"My Teacher… it's for the best that you didn't bring the rest of the Eagles for this… at least, not yet. Several might be troubled by what they've seen here – at least if their reactions at the canyon were indicative of their taste for war."
"Are you troubled?"
"Not at all. I meant to identify Linhardt, Bernadetta, Ferdinand, and Dorothea, specifically."
Shrugging at the harsh assessment she just made of the people which both of us share some responsibility for, I decided to try and build them up the same way in which I want to build Edelgard up – this time to Edelgard, of course.
"They did fine." I grant.
At this, she gradually shakes her head and returns her vision to the aftermath of the gas attack. Both campfires have burned through the ink and halite… and the crimson cloud begins to dissipate in a comparatively harmless way down the slope of the recently dead.
"There's no need to sugarcoat it… our class is not ready for a fight like this yet. At the end of the day… many simply do not have sufficient understanding of the costs associated with victory."
This cost us whatever the price of pen ink was. The rest of these items were acquired… improvisationally. And I'm not even sure I agree with her assessment of their combat readiness. If Edelgard herself is to be believed – through accidental admission, at least – Hubert was so ready for combat that he tried to kill me at the same time he was analyzing the tortuous death of a man crushed under the weight of his own warhorse.
"Even Hubert?" I ask, hoping against hope that she'll be nice to Hubert.
And to her credit, she is – in a very Edelgardian way:
"Well… I suppose Hubert wouldn't be all that bothered."
"I agree." and I do.
Beckoning her towards our own warhorse, I realize that the mission has reached its most time-sensitive phase now. We need to get out of here before another column of troops arrives, presumably led by Fire-Frill Feather Figure or Edgy Female Ferdinand. My Student, however, refuses to budge from behind the bush and asks:
"...Were you troubled the first time you used such a tactic against one of your enemies?"
Shrugging, I replied:
"I haven't used it before."
Her eyes go a bit wide at this statement – but only for a moment – because she doubtless must remember the lecture notes that Hubert asked me to hand to him after the two had concluded their argument with each other. He must have given her a copy of them, given how he is Hubert – and covering for his Lady is simply the most Hubertian thing to do any situation like that.
"Ah… that's correct, of course– you had said you witnessed this… done by the Almyrans, correct? And this is your first attempt at this gambit yourself…?" she asks haltingly.
My reply is a swift nod. This seems to trouble her, however – and she notes that:
"You look… rather detached for someone who just committed a war crime."
Part of me reasons that if Metodey had access to the same set of resources, knowledges, and circumstances that I had before – he might choose to do something similar. Maybe with a different motivation in mind, given how I doubt Metodey has anyone he wants to protect… but that is the nature of war. If you kill your enemy before he kills you – you get to live on for the next fight to come.
At its core, that maxim is at the heart of soldiering, particularly when you're a soldier of fortune. And even for heartless individuals like me who cannot afford to have a heart for war with none at all to speak of in the first place… it just makes good, logical sense.
"It's best not to dwell on it." I offer, realizing that my efforts in explaining my logical thread to Edelgard have gotten me in hot water in the past.
Best to just give her the seven-word summary.
"Even so, most wouldn't consider this morally acceptable of waging war." she presses.
And it's at that moment that I realize that we're not really talking about tactics as much as we're talking about my willingness to use certain tactics. And that's a distinction that I'm cognizant of without fully understanding why she's so insistent on going there.
Affixing my imaginary lecturing cap by running a soot-stained hand through my hair, I try my best to sound sufficiently philosophical to meet the ever-increasing demands of the brilliant mind beside me:
"War is chaos. Morality can be one of many lights that people use to guide them through it."
With that, I turn back around to the horse, but a familiar fist wraps itself into my cloak-cape and yanks me back toward her.
"What about you, My Teacher?"
She's probably not going to like the most basic response of "I'd murder the whole word to keep you and the Eagles safe and happy" – so I think of a bit of imagery that might appeal to her. Looking into the pitch-black old-growth forest that rises over her shoulder across the road… I stumble across a metaphor that works:
"If you spend enough time in the dark, your vision adjusts."
At this a slightly pained smirk creeps onto the corner of her left lower lip… and I don't like that smirk at all, because it looks like the smirk of someone who is rather used to betrayal – either as a victim or a perpetrator. It's a smirk that looks at home on someone like Hubert and Fallstaff in the same way that my father would make that smirk when he realized he'd been had by a noble employer who bounced a cheque to the company and hid behind the courts of the land to drag out the payment until the very last moment.
When she does that, I'm forced to wonder… is that the smirk of Hubert or my Father? Perhaps it's even both. It's not Fallstaff's, at least – because Fallstaff's was unsettling and never has prompted any sympathy when looking back upon it. I know why Hubert is ratfucking me – for example, and can sympathize. I know why my father was betrayed at times, and I can sympathize.
And Edelgard's… I know that if I had a heart, that smirk of hers would break it into a million pieces in a second.
"If only everyone could face reality so unflinchingly…" she says, with that hurt seeping through into her words as well.
"I'm here with you." are the only words I can really offer – so I offer them as genuinely as the jailer operating my face will allow me to. Perhaps that jailer takes momentary sympathy on me as well, as the words seem to move her ever so slightly. Her grip on my cloak slackens and she takes a furtive step forward, bridging the gap between us.
"...Still, the Church has rather strong opinions about these sorts of things. Doing this on their behalf won't win you any laurels from the Archbishop or Cardinal."
On the contrary, you and I both know what deep shit I'm about to be in for doing this – given its total illegality.
"I know." I say.
I'm shrugging in spirit if not physically at this moment. Suddenly my whole frame feels rather heavy, as if my back is starting to buckle after the past few days on this madcap ride through Church territory and County Arundel.
"...Truly?" she asks accusatively – the usual rise in that "ly" dropping like a brick in this particular intonation.
She wants an explanation, I know that much.
And I guess it won't hurt to talk a little now, if only to get those legs of hers willingly astride the saddle in another a minute or two.
"The Almyran general who did it was captured. Priests burned him alive in the stocks of the Locket." I offer as my eyes glance back onto the highway, ensuring that no other enemies are inspecting the attack site.
A white gloved index finger appears in my view, and then wheels around back to a pair of purple orbs. Am I being princess-ed again?
"My Teacher… pay attention. You claim to understand fully the gravity of the choice you made here… so why commit to such a gambit while knowing the political and religious consequences? Was this worth risking your own freedom – or your own life?"
Is she pretending to be obtuse?
She can't actually be stupid about this, can she?
Of course not, right...?
She's Edelgard – and My Student is brilliant.
So she must be gaslighting me a bit, isn't she?
Is there where I'm supposed to say something cool…?
It may be the last time I get to do so before I'm whipped in the stocks and then set on fire until I burn to death – so I should probably make the best of this teachable moment. Clearing my throat, I begin:
"Edelgard..."
And a very agitated voice interjects before I can even arrive at my point with a:
"Yes, My Teacher?"
For a moment, I linger on that voice – and the beautiful eyes that stare at me in such unrestrained agitation, and the brow that seems to be struggling to maintain a frown – and the lips that can't seem to commit to a scowl, and the woman who stands before me who can't keep from shifting her weight from one leg to the other… and I realized that if there's a God or Goddess or Saints and Apostles – they've blessed me with the ability to feel warmth when she does all of these things in spite of how angry I've made her.
The thousand cuts into an empty chest – if that is what others feel when speaking to Edelgard – must also be a blessing.
Hubert has a heart, right?
Does he feel these lashes when he covers for her, too?
Finally, I manage to spit out:
"I said I'd protect you and the Eagles. I mean what I say."
And it's not as cool as I hoped.
But this doesn't end the conversation… because I'm talking with Edelgard, and she makes every interaction an excruciating siege until one of us finally surrenders to each other's will.
"...Even so, I would argue that there's no true benefit in selfless acts over trifles like this…. How can you go about fulfilling your goal if you insist on inviting punishment? Can you not see that they would easily impart the same twisted auto-da-fe on you as they did to the Almyran?"
Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if Seteth served me with a death warrant the moment I stepped back inside the walls of Garegg Mach. But if he thinks that's going to get me to reply to one his monotone lectures… he's got another thing coming. He could light the fires himself and I wouldn't bother offering a single word in his general direction.
And in light of that realization, I make a note that:
"It's not selfless."
And this completely disarms the girl who carries a handaxe at her belt at all times. Taking the initiative that she seems to hold so tightly as of late – I deliver the best coup de grace I can with:
"I want to protect you."
And she betrays that smirk she had on a while ago with a smile that just sets the whole world right again.
And every deity is this goddamn world, especially the one who's napping rent free in my head must know that by now, right? So can one of them please inform Edelgard through divine revelation or something like that? All she needs to do is become Emperor and smile a lot, and then the whole world will be able to share that joy that fills my empty chest each time I see her turn up those lips of hers.
Unfortunately, the minor Deity that I was gifted forty days ago can't really communicate to herself – let alone to me or to My Student, or to anyone else, for that matter. I guess we're made for each other, in a way. Two bullheaded idiots inhabiting the same mind and arguing over the bullheaded idiot in front of me who's also brilliant that's brought a white glove up to her lip in a fit of thoughtfulness that seems intent on hiding her smile for a time.
Finally, the bullheaded idiot who is also brilliant asks the bullheaded idiot who just committed a war-crime to keep that white hair of hers safe on a pillow for the next moon:
"Even if you were to be branded a heretic and killed for this?"
To be clear – she's the one who oft accuses me of being foolish.
As I quip this to myself, a flash of green bedhead appears in my mind's eye. Has Sothis woken up, I wonder? I'll probably be getting shit from her, too.
But she helped me save Edelgard, I realize… and for the first time… I feel genuinely thankful that Sothis is here all the time. And she's probably too groggy to get a direct line into these thoughts now… so I enjoy them in a waning moment of solitude. Exiting that when I see what must be a sort of angry-pout appear on the lips of the other demanding woman who occupies the other half of my mind, I reply to her stupid, stupid question with the following line:
"I'd burn without regret."
And that sounds cool, I think – because Edelgard evolves into Redelgard and those lavender irises of hers reach the brink of implosion before dropping from mine like a hot potato.
After a precious, pregnant pause – Edelgard returns and opts to lecture me:
"You're… far too simple with your logic, at times."
But… I find myself wanting to talk to Redelgard again, so I simply reply with:
"You like that."
And that expression that I would challenge all the stars in this night sky to shine brighter than settles in for a more permanent stay.
"...E-even so, you're avoiding the argument…!" I'm told – as if I ever want to argue with her.
Shaking my head, I voice this thought by noting that:
"I don't want to argue with you."
Her weight shifts backward again, which makes her seem just a touch taller. To her credit, she's trying her hardest to be imposing… but when the warmth in my chest overtakes the pain… and almost every other rational thought and consideration that I can muster – I could never be afraid. Fear is something that isn't warm… and that sensation would be utterly consumed by the blanket that's lining the inside of my torso right now.
"Well, what if I wish to debate this point with you?!"
Then you're shit out of luck, aren't you, My Student?
I close my eyes in an overlong blink and shrug, my blank face not betraying for a moment the soupy mess of joy that makes wherever I'm standing with Edelgard the most appropriate, worthwhile, and wonderful place in the world.
And I suspect I'll feel rather guilty about all this later – but I know she's very clearly worked up and working through a response to my totally nonplussed non-reaction to what must be a very legitimate concern of hers for whatever reason.
"My Teacher… you must understand that I wouldn't let such a thing come to pass… as the Heir to the Empire, I…"
I understand, Edelgard. If you asked, I'd follow you into the Eternal Flames without a second thought. If they're half as warm as my chest is right now – I'd be impressed. But I realize too that I can't just be a leech on this warmth… and that there's a duty of mine to protect and shield her from what will inevitably be a countermove by our opponent who just lost half of his attacking force in a rather underhanded strike that goes against all the highfalutin proselytization from armchair generals about the supposed justness of war.
So, in light of all this knowledge that would be dread-inducing if I didn't feel so damn comfortable right now… I place a hand on her padded shoulder to shut her up. She does exactly what I expect her to do and freezes up in mid-sentence.
"Edelgard."
Recovering without having a meltdown like the night in which I brushed the ashes out of her hair, she yips out:
"Y-yes…?"
"A gas attack gambit only works once per battle. If the other column arrives, we're fucked."
If I could smirk while saying this – I would – but not in that Hubertian manner that implies betrayal and harm and hurt and pain.
Can one smirk warmly?
Or is that just a smile?
Goddess – what I'd do for you to just let me smile at My Student just once before I burn because over some stupid damn rule you cooked up that wags your bitchy little finger at me for ruthlessly and efficiently murdering the people who threaten the precious lives that I've sworn to protect, at any cost – at any hazard.
Goddess, if you can bring Sothis back home and grant me some peace before I burn in the eternal flames forever, I'd appreciate it, too. I know she's trying really hard to be omnipotent in your stead – and she means well, and I'm thankful for what she's done so far… so she doesn't deserve to go down in flames with me.
Goddess… if you're real and I escape punishment… and if I ever meet you on a battlefield and you threaten a student of mine… particularly Edelgard, but any one of them, really…
…When that day comes… which I really hope it does, frankly… I'm going to strangle you so fucking slowly and maniacally that I'll make you regret killing my mother, and Edelgard's mother, and rendering me some sort of half-dead demon who can't smile at this wonderful, brilliant, bull-headed, white-haired woman who is the only person I've ever wanted to smile for.
And if I could laugh as I killed you… Oh, how I would fucking laugh.
And cry too, maybe. If I could cry.
