"Those are… dromedaries, are they not? Or… rather, camels? The latter is the colloquial name for that animal in Almyra if memory serves…?"

Edelgard, from over and behind my shoulder, has spotted a train of camels being watered outside the walls of the Arundel caravanserai. She's unfailingly cute when she's curious, particularly when she asks me a question that seems very basic for anyone not living in a dungeon for most of their adolescent life. I'd repeat here my usual surprise of a literal princess asking about this to a sociopath mercenary, I suppose, if this was not becoming a such a regular occurrence.

Linhardt, if you are searching for an image here, just imagine it on a horse, this time.

And with her arms wrapped so tightly around my midsection that I'm sure she's left a welt behind.

After thinking those thoughts, the pain in my chest becomes unbearable but also extremely bearable because the warmth hits me shortly after – as if I've just downed an entire bottle of peppered gin – which I might tonight, to celebrate our victory at Remire, if it does turn out to be a victory. At minimum, we killed something like a battalion's worth of longbowmen. That's something to be celebrated, given how those bowmen would've killed the people I'm sworn to protect… and I killed them instead.

That's good, right? It certainly can't be evil, I figure.

So it's a victory, and maybe I'll ask Edelgard to share a drink with me.

And perhaps we could make this a habit, because as Hubert mentioned to me not long ago… it's unlikely I'll ever have the chance to do this ever again when she takes leave of me.

Knowing that, I could never keep her past the time that I've been allotted by accident of fate.

That'd be a selfish rebuke of the gift that was granted to me when I leapt in front of that axe in Remire.

Speaking of feeling, I feel a tug on where my cloak wraps around my neck, choking me ever so slightly.

"Were you even listening, My Teacher…?"

Shaking my head, and then realizing that shaking my head implies that I wasn't, I then nod. But she's not going to let me slide that easily, is she?

Of course not. So I opt to blurt out:

"I was. Camels. Almyrans."

I sense a calculating squint behind me, and the words that follow make it seem like they must have been accompanied by that exact orientation of her eyes.

"Now I must ask whatever distracts you so…?"

You, My Student. But I couldn't ever say that, could I? I'd say it too curtly or tersely, she'd get angry – and I can't really express enough to get the conversation along the proper path anyway.

So I try to focus on what's in front of me – the high, octagonal walls of the caravanserai.

"I haven't been to one of these in years."

For the best, I suppose. That last trip – four years ago in Almyra – resulted in me killing every last person in that structure. Even Holst grimaced when he saw just how thorough I was. My father, who saw it… well, he always grimaced when I got to the butcher's work and ended up killing a hundred or so people in the span of a few hours.

I wonder if he grimaced when he figured out what I did in Remire, too? Maybe he's gotten used to it by now.

If it's any consolation to him, it was much harder this time. As if I was distracted, and my mind and body aren't entirely my own anymore. Still, at some point rather soon, I'll have to explain my rationale to him if he ever wants peace of mind, particularly because he expressed his extreme dissatisfaction at our enemy's gas attacks during our campaigns on the Throat.

"...I must admit to having very little idea why caravanserais exist in the first place." I hear from over my shoulder, dragging me out of these thoughts.

In reply, I point at the camels, whose sides are strapped with slabs of red marble. From where I'm sitting, the explicit – if not implicit – reason is clear enough for me. They're stopping at the Arundel caravanserai as part of the massive continental trade network that emanates from Derdriu, the capital of Leicester. If I had to guess – and this guess would be uneducated, but informed by experience – that red marble is on its way to Almyra, where the traders will sell it at a profit to the Princes there who so enjoy building their palaces and temples from that decorative limestone.

I've strangled several of those Almyran princes in their country homes before.

But that's a story for another day.

Anyway, Arundel has a monopoly on those quarries thanks to its rather fortunate placement along the Oghmas, which present limestone faces that are easily quarried. What Arundel doesn't possess very much of, however – much like the rest of the Empire, in fact – are metals of any kind. With the diplomatic breakdown between House Ordelia and Ionius, Adrestia must be sourcing those materials from somewhere… and since they're not at war with Almyra, who has access to the mineral-rich Western half of the Throat… they must be trading with them.

Transporting heavy metals over long distances like that must be quite expensive, though. I'm not an economist, but – caravan guards – particularly the platoons that my father rents out to merchants, don't come cheap. Additionally, I'm figuring that those costs are built into the final price of hauling all of this stuff overland.

And honestly, I'm a bit surprised that a future heir to Adrestia isn't aware of this, or even familiar with why such a place like this would be of critical importance to her future reign. She seems to have ambitions about improving the Empire's declining military reputation, and… well – I'm not good at making soldiers want to fight, obviously… but putting better weapons in their hands is a start, isn't it? With all that in mind, I ask:

"Never visited here?"

"Of course not… whyever would I…?" she asks in turn.

It's a pretty logical place to stop on her carriage-rides to and from Arundel, isn't it? Especially if those carriage rides are through territory that a relative owns. That's how nobility works, right? You get perks if your family owns something, or something?

I should ask Ferdinand about all of that at some point. After last night's excruciatingly long political discussion with Edelgard… I'll need to brush up on all of the stuff I've been so contentedly ignoring for my entire life.

"It's your Uncle's." I note.

"You must understand that I have a rather unfavorable opinion of My Uncle."

Every time she utters this, I find myself believing it a little less, and I wonder what that says about the relationship her and I have. As if I'm half-expecting a conflicting piece of evidence to fall from the sky like a javelin and convince me otherwise – or at the very least – her to blurt out something about her relative that is quite honorable or nice.

Does this mean that I don't trust her as openly as I claim to?

So… perhaps I should try to take more of her words at face value, as my other alternative is evolving into a mistrustful person like Hubert. And I was informed yesterday that I "must stop sounding like Hubert" – and since Edelgard demanded of that me… I have to follow it, don't I? I defer to her, after all.

The thought then enters my mind about following that directive… indirectly, but that's probably going to get a poor result too, given how brilliant My House Leader is. She'd see right through it, I'm sure. I'll let her do the big thinking, for now. Then the irony sets in: I'm saying these things like I'm not going to be rolled off into a pit and set on fire for gassing peasants to death in Remire. I recall what the Church did to that Almyran General.

Still, I resolved to give Edelgard my trust, and I shouldn't falter from that… because I might not have much time left to show her how I want us to be open with one another.

"OK." I reply, thinking all the thoughts above while bringing the horse alongside the camels at the watering station.

Dismounting, I offer a hand to Edelgard – but she leaps off herself, mimicking my own movement. It's not exactly graceful, but… I'm not exactly graceful on a horse either, I guess. I certainly prefer to fight on foot, anyway.

"...Well done." I offer, but this compliment falls flat on the face of my Student, who wipes it away with a very intense-looking expression, as if I've failed to meet some assessment of hers in the past moment or so.

Testelgard, I'm tempted to call this one – but I can't decide at the moment if it's because she's "Testy" or "Testing" me. While she can obviously do both at the same time – and often does – I find myself writing about her so much that I want to arrange even the most minute details in a way that I can simply describe them in a word or two. Otherwise this diary is going to get too long, won't it? Is it already too long?

Or is that the point of a diary in the first place...?

Is there even a point?

In any event, Testelgard (Testing, Testy) squints ever so slightly and raises her right eyebrow, giving me the impression that I've run out of time.

"...My other question about its purpose remains unanswered."

Bringing a hand to my hair, I have to scratch my dirty, disheveled locks for a little while to approach an appropriate summation. I guess the red marble wasn't entirely illustrative, if she dislikes her Uncle enough not to give a shit about where his money comes from. Eventually, I pare down an explanation that sounds like:

"It's a protected place for merchants to rest and sell their goods." I note.

And that's more or less sufficient for her – at least for the moment – causing Testelgard to be replaced with Catelgard, who is much more relaxing to be around… even though that curiousness comes with its own inherent dangers.

"Would they not prefer peddling their wares in a city where more customers are present?" she inquires leadingly.

All of the merchants I've met on the Throat have ended up there purely due to their libertarianism. It certainly wasn't for the repeat customers, since most who served there had a habit of dying. I had no idea what that ideology even was until a Merchant started handing me pamphlets about it once – and told me that the Alliance nobles choosing the Riegans as Heirs to the Grand Duchy over Holst would result in "Taxation Without Representation".

Later, I showed the pamphlet to my father, who then asked me for my opinion. After noting that Goneril taxes paid our salaries, I received a very negative response from him. First, my father accused me of being a rat for tattling on the merchant. Then I was told "taxation is theft" – as if he wasn't accepting the redistribution of those taxes in lieu of loot and pillage.

Back then, I was not in the habit of challenging my father's opinions, so I accepted them as they were, but now I am willing to grant that the seventeen-year-old girl in front of me might have a fresh perspective that I'd be willing to toss back at him on occasion. She's certainly spent a long time rehearsing those opinions, at least. Maybe she'll tell me her opinion about taxes.

I find it strange to actually be looking forward to her opinion about taxes, though.

I hate politics, I think. Taxes are politics, right?

But maybe because they're Edelgard's view on politics, I find myself interested.

"Cities have taxes." I say, attempting to sound as intelligent as I can.

She's not impressed with this reply, and frowns.

"Of course they do, how else could a nation finance their army?" she spits.

Actually – never mind – this conversation isn't actually that interesting.

What I really, really, want is for Edelgard to tell me about important things like her goals, desires, dreams and all that kind of stuff so I can kill whoever is stopping her from achieving them. How the fuck can I teach her about taxes? I don't even pay them.

"...Best not to dwell on it." I reply, not wanting to say that looting and pillaging is also an option. One that I do not endorse or consider.

Which I suppose must sound borderline dishonest or even ironic from someone who just gassed a band of peasant levymen twelve hours ago. A band of peasant levymen who could've hurt or killed Edelgard – but, uh – the backbone of society nonetheless. I think. According to My Student, at least.

"Whenever you say that phrase you appear to lose all enthusiasm for discussion, My Teacher… And that leads me to believe that you are in fact dwelling on it."

Purple orbs bore into me expecting some sort of response that my mediocre mental faculties are just utterly unprepared to issue.

So… I start thinking: namely, what would Edelgard like in caravanserai? It's one big-open air market with an inn and resturants attached, after all. Maybe I could buy her something? Just not a chess set, as that would be a birthday gift, and I've already got Maya on the case for that… which makes me rather concerned about Raphael being the delivery-man for something so delicate. I'll probably need to talk to the Kirstens about that when I return.

Does Edelgard like to shop?

Women like to shop, right?

Edelgard is a woman, after all – I became very aware of that yesterday when I discovered that she does in fact have breasts.

"The bazaar might still be open." I say, as leadingly as I can manage.

That's a terrible segue, but if my gambit works…

"...Bazaar?"

The squinting stops and I see her immediately relax off her right foot, and indicate to me with raised eyebrows that she might like shopping. If I can just weave through that opening, and get my hands around her neck… figuratively of course(!) – because Edelgard is precious to me and needs to be surrounded in a security blanket of blood that I shed on her behalf, obviously…

"Open-air market." I reply, making a grand effort to drag my eyebrow up in an effort to entice. My voice or face really can't do much else.

…And it seems to work…(!)

"Well, if the market is indeed still open… I must insist that you go shopping with me, then."

I can taste victory at this moment.

"I don't need anything." comes my shrugging, coy reply.

She smirks at this, and I soak in the triumph.

"I suppose that's for the best, don't you think? Naturally, as her Professor, you would be expected to carry your House Leader's bags."

If that avoids an argument, you could weigh me down with slabs of red marble and march me across Fodlan, Edelgard.

"Is that a demand?"

"Of course it is, My Teacher…"

The gambit worked!

While I want nothing more to smirk myself at this moment, and just be such a visible idiot at having diverted her from some serious business conversation in which we'd argue and I'd struggle to see that smile that has become so essential for me to drag out of that face daily… it's probably for the best that I can't.

But… if there is a Goddess, it's still your fault.

Go fuck yourself.


Edelgard shopped.

Which is fine, I think. We're not in a rush now that our mission objective is complete, and I've yet to receive any new orders from Seteth or the Monastery yet. Additionally, I confirmed that the rest of the Eagles and the Deer were all accounted for by quickly peeking through the Inn's window. I was back in my waiting spot before Edelgard handed me her next bag, deftly dodging the enticements of a jewelry merchant.

The Eagles and Deer are all sprawled out in the inn lobby in varying stages of afternoon-napping. Even Hubert, the forever vigilant one had just about completely nodded off. He was in the irregular-head-bobbing phase, at least – and his eyes were closed. Does he accompany his Lady while shopping, I wonder?

Does Edelgard even shop that much?

From what I can gather while holding eleven bags of her recent purchases in my hands, she just got a bunch of junk. That said, a necessary caveat is that I'm not an expert in junk – primarily because I don't own enough of anything to be cluttered, or even have a firm understanding of what separates junk from not-junk… everything I own has a function, is what I'm trying to say.

But I do get the impression that My Student was just excited at the idea of shopping rather than having a particular motivation to purchase anything specific. And… I like it when I can watch her like this.

This was Edelgard without a plan, in effect.

And given her reactions when she stumbled across something that caught her attention from this merchant's stall, or that merchant's stall… she was definitely improvising.

And… while this might be extremely, extremely presumptuous of me… I find myself very proud of her improvisational ability, too – remembering back to the Great Tree Moon when she folded like a wet paper bag at every other coincidence and circumstance that seemed to foil the minutiae of her objectives. I should qualify, though, that I firmly believe – and damn if that's not the first firm belief I've ever had before… that she always had this ability within her.

Edelgard just needed a sociopath mercenary who was fumbling through his own life to figure out how to respond to her own stumbles at times, I'm sure. Seeing someone like me fall flat on their face as many times as I have over the past moon must have been instructive.

Given how she's been quite consistent about not telling me what her life goals are though… I get the impression that those haven't changed much at all, though… which means she might have taken the lesson about the difference between goals and objectives to heart.

If that is indeed the case – which I hope with every fibre of my heartless being that it is… that means that when she eventually takes leave of me, I might have the luxury of knowing that this relationship of ours wasn't as parasitic as I sometimes fear it is.

As she handed me the eleventh canvas tote bag of the rapidly waning afternoon, I took a peek inside in spite of being explicitly instructed not to. She purchased lipstick, which honestly seemed very strange considering that she informed during one of the teatimes last week that she never felt the need to wear makeup before. She mentioned that right before Claude put something into Hilda's asshole – and then My Student went ramrod straight and grew very quiet when Holst's sister started viscerally describing the sensation of whatever that large, warm object was that Claude inserted inside there.

Perhaps the lipstick was a gift. It's certainly not large enough to be what Hilda was describing, right? I believe she specifically described it as wide, as well. The lipstick container in the bag is quite narrow.

Dorothea wears lipstick. I distinctly recall that she had worn a pinker version during our foray into the Canyon – one that was quite different from the usual vermillion fare she put on in the Academy… although I find myself thinking that vermillion was much more to her taste. The songstress spent the night with Hilda, though – and that did look quite similar to Hilda's own choice in… whatever taste lipstick is supposed to signify, I guess. Maybe that's it. Or not.

I'm a man and should stop thinking of such things, I suppose.

It's a gift for Dorothea, I'm sure. And neither Dorothea or Edelgard plan to stick it up their butt, I think. I hope…? Why do I hope that? I shouldn't hope that, because they're both smart people and can do whatever they want. If they make a mistake, I'll protect them.

That sounds much more teacherly.

"My Teacher, I find it rather strange that you don't look all that bored..." quips my House Leader, handing bag number twelve to me with a guilty expression.

I almost look inside before I remember that she's standing right in front of me. Thankfully, Testelgard seems to be lost in the midst of one of her various analyses. And that's fine, because all she's doing is boring into an empty face and an even emptier mind. To her credit, this realization etches itself on her face rather quickly, leaving me the chance to ask her a question that sort of naturally follows.

"Does Hubert get bored?"

Perhaps it was unfair of me to seize the initiative like that – but it's a burning question of mine. I've gone to markets with my father before in various cities – Hrym, Derdriu, once even all the way up in Fhirdiad. Although I couldn't really be bothered to think about it at the time, I quite often saw men carrying bags for women, who often seemed enthusiastic about shopping in those places. Perhaps my observational skills were quite poor in those days… but I don't explicitly remember women snapping at their bag carriers for NOT looking bored before.

On the contrary, the men often looked very, very bored.

But, if Hubert doesn't get bored… I may have to start looking bored, because Edelgard expressed a desire for me not to look like Hubert – which I would argue that I don't already.

I'm much more toned than Hubert is, and Hubert's general scrawniness makes me think that he should spend less time plotting, and put more reps in at the Knights Hall Gym.

…Or maybe carrying her bags is his attempt at a workout?

Anyway, Hubert's Master replies:

"I… haven't done anything like this with Hubert since we were children, and… even back then, he always insisted on rushing me along."

What was growing up with Edelgard like, I wonder? Was she always this pushy? When she and Hubert first met, was she very cold with him at first and then…. Very demanding and then micromanaging? I doubt her servant would give me a straight answer… but maybe Dimitri would. They have the same uncle, after all – so maybe they argued at family dinners.

Families have dinners, right?

The Black Eagles feel like family now, so maybe I should have more dinners with them instead of eating alone while writing my diary.

"He worries about you." I note.

Edelgard frowns again, and I start to realize she seems to have some sort of fixation about mentioning Hubert when we're alone. It's kind of strange because Hubert – in a rare fit of exhaustion – is usually stalking us… or at least being forever vigilant about our alone-time.

"Even so, there's no cause for concern about something as trivial as shopping…" she asserts, rather guiltily.

The Woman who seems intent on wearing the world's weight on her shoulders then looks up at me with a very concerned look, as if she had been imposing or monopolizing my own time, like she's always hyper-concerned with me clarifying whenever she wants to talk with me.

There's nothing more in this moment that I'd like to do to spend time with you, My Student.

But I can't tell her something like that, right? She'll be very bothered if I do, I'm sure. Because I fail to offer a timely reply to that assertion of hers, though – I realize that the heir to an Empire probably is making the worst possible interpretation of my silence:

"...Or were you wanting to return to the Inn to debrief the Eagles?" she presses.

"They're all sleeping in the Inn's lobby."

When I say this, it looks as if she's torn between amusement and ponderousness.

"...Perhaps they were waiting for us."

Some very instinctual part of me wants to see that amusement predominate, so I shrug and offeR:

"They can wait longer."

"Yes, but can you? You were in quite the hurry to leave Remire."

To protect you, My Student. We're safe now, though. Shaking my head at her attempt to bait me into Hubert-ing her, I command her to:

"Take your time. That's an order."

She rolls those purple eyes… but not in a bad way. Placing two white gloves behind her back, she informs me:

"Anyway, I'm hardly indecisive about shopping… Truthfully, I create itineraries rather quickly – and as it happens, I'm mostly done already."

How is a normal person supposed to even reply to that, I wonder?

Think Byleth, Think – that's all that echoes in a very empty head of mine, with Sothis nowhere to be found.

…She – Edelgard, I mean – likes when I ask open-ended questions, right?

"Is that so?" I ask, momentarily blessed by this unmoved expression of mine not betraying the utter confusion that I'm totally lost in.

Two purple orbs sense weakness nonetheless, and squint.

"Is that surprising…?"

Now I'm a bit fraught because she replied to my question with a question.

That's never a good sign.

Maybe if I stop thinking about Edelgard and think about another Princess, like Petra, I'll be more calm. Feigning curiosity to the increasingly irritable Princess in front of me, I think about what a dedicated and ambitious and totally non-confrontational person Petra is, and how she really is deserving of more attention. I want to help her achieve whatever dreams she has, as well.

I don't think I've ever gotten into an argument with Petra.

She's also unfailingly considerate to me in every conversation we have.

I saved her life too – throwing my hand up and nearly bleeding to death when that assassin took a straight razor to her neck.

Petra also seemed very happy when I told her I would kill anyone and everyone that needed to be killed if she was ever kept as a hostage against her will. I doubt Edelgard would be happy if I said something like that, because she gets very picky when I say that I want to protect her.

Should I make Petra My House Leader and have her read all my mail?

Would Petra and I be a good husband and wife, I wonder?

Petra would be the husband, I guess – given the customs of Brigid that she explained on the camping trip. Edelgard said I'm very feminine in that letter to Cardinal Seteth, so perhaps I'd be a good wife for Petra in… five years or so?

Would Edelgard allow that?

Is that what I even want?

I guess the Adrestian wouldn't really be in the picture five years from now, anyway. And while the thought of that provokes terrible pain in my chest – it's just how life goes, isn't it?

"Maybe." I say, distracted by these thoughts.

In a strange way, I get the impression that the woman in front of me realizes that I'm thinking about another woman. Her weight shifts onto her right foot and she begins to lean in with an oppressive, totalitarian sort of scrutiny. It's hard to really hammer home because she's so short, though.

The next time she wants to really be imposing, I think I'll just approach her from behind, grab her under the armpits again, and lift her up really high so she can look down on the person she's arguing with. I could test that out next time she has to banter with Claude.

As I think these thoughts expressly for her benefit and hers alone – the little Emperor huffs and puffs and says:

"Hmph. I'd hardly know if you were, given how you always look so calm. Whatever surprised you so…?"

Me, detached?

Looking around, I wonder what could possibly stop this from evolving into a nothing argument. Approaching this logically, I suppose that she might want to shop some more. And there was a jewelry stall tucked into a rather secluded corner of the caravanserai – directly across from the Inn, and next to the tavern. The redheaded merchant there seemed particularly inviting, at least when I was peeping through the Inn's window to check up on the sleeping Eagles and Deer.

"You haven't visited the jeweler." I note with a point towards the stall.

At this, a white glove swings up and around from behind her back – shoots towards her lips and her weight shifts rearward so quickly that she nearly stumbles.

When she does those things on account of words that I say, I feel quite blessed.

But my inability to ever reciprocate a maneuver like that makes me feel quite cursed, as well.

"...You hadn't told me there was a jewelry merchant, My Teacher!" she yips.

Closing my eyes in guilt, I find myself wishing that I could prevail on Sothis to freeze time just for me to enjoy that face of hers for a moment longer. And then I realize how selfish that wish truly is, and resolve never to wish such a thing again – particularly to Sothis, who's trying her best, I think – and seems to get rather tired after stopping time to save people's lives, anyway.


Edelgard arrives at the jewelry merchant long before I do, strolling with long, confident gaits like she owns the place. I suppose that's not a far off estimate of what's going to be in her near future, though, isn't it?

…Or is she going to upturn the whole ruling system? I sometimes get the impression from her rather cold assessments of Ferdinand – and our chat last night – that such an option is one she's considering. How does that work when you're one of the most powerful people in that system, though?

All of this political thinking makes my own normal logical faculties rather cloudy and nonsensical until a sharp inhale cuts through the air.

"Hmmm…. Some of these are… quite rare, are they not?"

If only I was omnipotent and all-knowing and could answer such a question, My Student.

Returning into the view of the jewelry merchant in an effort to get a look at what caught Edelgard's eye, she realizes that I've returned shortly after.

"Ah! So you've come back with your wife, I see!"

At the sound of the word "wife", my House Leader's chin dips so far down into her neck I find myself fretting that she might give herself whiplash if she ever has to raise her head again. This must have really blindsided her, because after darting her eyes to me, and that back towards the assorted accessories that lay on a velvet case directly under her – she brings up a white glove to her lips, bites down on the fabric again – and then after releasing it from her front teeth seems to silently whisper:

"Don't blush."

And I feel proud of her, because she's trying to make the best of this suddenly socially compromising social interaction. She has no need to actually be embarrassed, though. It's obvious, isn't it? I'm far too feminine and low-status to be her husband, after all – so this merchant must be joking. Edelgard said that quite plainly to my father, and my father clearly agrees with her assessment – and apparently so would my mother, who I apparently resemble.

"Anything interesting?" I ask in an effort to divert her attention.

Her eyes scan the assortment of gems – but I notice them stopping on a particular one each time they ascend or descend a row. I'm guessing that's the one she actually wants. In an effort to avoid identifying that specific item, she says:

"I… cannot say that I'm very familiar with gemstones, particularly of a foreign variety like this. I see many of these are labeled in Ylissean script, are they not?"

Anna perks up at the mention of that faraway land across the seas.

"That was my last stop, in fact!" She notes, with a thumb pointed towards the rapidly encroaching twilight.

"...You truly traveled across the Great Western Ocean? So these are authentic…?"

"I had to get out of dodge – mostly because I stacked so much gold I caused a Bullion Famine! No one had any scratch left to buy my wares."

I've heard of that particular issue – Bullion Famines, that is. That particular sort of crisis was gripping Almyra, which used coinage instead of G-Notes. The Church issued its own paper currency and held its own central reserve of gold – presumably somewhere in Garegg Mach, probably – so that petty Nobles wouldn't hoard all of the precious metal coins and create starvation in the streets of their cities. That was my Father's assessment of things at least… and in addition to being a soldier, he was also a businessman. And a libertarian, I guess.

"Couldn't you just re-circulate gold back into the local economy as a form of stimulus?" I suggest.

The woman throws her hands up in a very sort of Claudian feigned retreat.

"Oh, never! Do I look like a charitable kinda gal, Professor?"

Fair enough – she doesn't.

"Not really." I grant.

I earn a wink from her, but I don't really understand what precisely I did that was wink-worthy there. Do some women like the opposite of being complimented?

Does this merchant like to be degraded is what I'm asking?

"Bingo – because I'm Anna – the master merchant! I've been to the Monastery before, y'know – great place to gouge prices. So many fat wallets, so little time!"

I try to place her based on some of my trips to the dry goods store, the bookstore, the tailor shop, and other such places – but I simply can't. Although maybe I was observed by her without me ever taking notice. That knowledge, even though it should be rather pedestrian, seems a bit unnerving… almost as if I'm losing my edge.

Much to my surprise, Anno notices something that I do not, saying:

"Huh – looks like something caught her eye!"

Her being My Student, of course. Much to my surprise, my own periphery detects that Edelgard has been mostly ignoring a rather political conversation about how to restart an economy in a crisis of minted capital. Instead, her eyes have been glued to a pair of purple earrings that match her irises. When she notices that I'm noticing, her neck whips around and she flutters her eyes and when she does that – in spite of me hating when other women do that – my knees feel like they're about to give out.

Am I feeling the side-effects of exhaustion, I wonder?

It's got to be exhaustion, right?

Why else would I feel like I want to collapse on this woman, right here, right now?

"It was n-nothing, My Teacher – I was merely browsing!" she yelps.

Bringing a hand to my chin, I rue on why she's lying. Considering that Edelgard is saying that something is nothing – it must be very, very important to her – because the two of us have spent so much damn time arguing about nothing that whatever this particular nothing must be – it's clearly something.

"The Amethyst earrings?" I ask, pointing at the nothing – which is actually something.

More specifically, a pair of earrings made from that semi-precious purple gemstone. The studs of the earrings themselves are made with what must be Plegian First Standard – a very fine silver whose alloy must be less than five percent in order to meet that stamp of quality. I know this because sometimes, Holst would send me on errands back to Derdriu of a "sensitive and classified nature" with the Leicestrian war chest.

One of the errands he sent me on was to acquire these Plegian spoons and forks from a black market merchant in the shadow of the great warehouses. For whatever reason, Holst always insisted on this type of silverware for his dinner table. Apparently his twelve female bodyguards were always busting them up for whatever reason. A side effect of Plegian Silver is that it's quite delicate.

Anyway, Edelgard seems to be prevaricating on them:

"...Is that what it's called…? It's not a particularly rare gemstone abroad, as I'm sure you know – but this stone is rather exceptional to Fodlan, I believe. It isn't found anywhere here, and Albinea happens to embargo its import due to a dispute with the Church."

Curious that she fixated on the stones. That was probably the cheapest part of the earring to source. Anna waves her hand and catches my attention. I tilt my head thoughtfully towards her.

"It must be her birthstone, Professor." says the merchant.

Before I can ever turn my neck back to assess Edelgard's reaction, she's already started snapping at the merchant:

"...I have absolutely no idea if it is or isn't…!"

When my eyes finally reach hers – much more beautiful than the Amethyst she's currently idly rubbing with her white-gloved thumb, I find myself really, really confused at what all this fuss about it, and now I wonder if I'm supposed to start fussing over here in response.

Am I even good at fussing over Edelgard?

But I guess that's to be expected, because My Student is more precious than some stone to me, and she's clearly fumbling around for some sort of explanation for why she's on some sort of emotional tightrope right now.

"...S-Such a thing would hardly be an appropriate piece of knowledge for someone studying at a war college. I haven't the slightest idea regarding something as wasteful as this…"

Shrugging at that response which made absolutely zero sense, I note that:

"They match your eyes." And I note this matter-of-factly, but without acknowledging that the purest silver and the most brilliant Amethyst in the world wouldn't hold my attention for more than a moment in the face of the irises that dart around so awkwardly before me.

"I-I suppose they might, but that does not make me desire it or anything like that…"

Oh, so she definitely desires it. Turning now to Anna, I ask:

"How much?"

To which I get a very enthusiastic nod.

"For you, Professor? 4,000Gs."

Maybe I should've made an offer first and negotiated from there. I really don't have a frame of reference, though. Would earrings cost more or less than a silverware set?

What's the supply and demand relationship like on those items, anyway? Speaking of demand, my House Leader comes just short of stomping her boot in the dirt as she says:

"That's exorbitant…! Do not let this shopkeeper grift you in such a way, My Teacher. You must haggle with her."

My skill-level in haggling is an F-, as I'm sure you know, My Student. Never a fan of negotiation, I simply turned to Anna and uttered:

"OK."

As I withdraw the sweaty envelope of G-notes from under my breastplate, I can see that Edelgard's lips have parted as if she was going to chastise me for not negotiating… or even buying the accessory in the first place, but… we won, and I'd like to celebrate our victory, so I attempt to finish the transaction as swiftly as I can.

And… while I suppose I could celebrate with her by just taking another booze-cruise to the local tavern, I feel like My Student deserves more than that… because she's brilliant, exceptional, and precious to me.

Unfortunately, I think Amethyst is just semi-precious instead of actually precious, but Edelgard clearly thinks it's exceptional. I think of her in the same manner, so it must be apropos. And that's going to have to be good enough, as this is the last of my money until I return to Garegg Mach – where I'm probably going to get fired or excommunicated or burned at the stake anyway, so I doubt I'll have the opportunity to do this again. Might as well make it count.

"Cha-ching! Hope she enjoys, Professor!" Anna says, as she hands me the earrings. What else am I supposed to do but hand them to Edelgard, though?

Why didn't Anna just hand them to Edelgard, then – considering that she knew I was buying them for her?

Women are confusing.

As I offer the earrings to my House Leader, I get exactly the reply I feared would happen:

"T-there was absolutely no need to make such a gesture…!"

Edelgard, take the earrings. Please. I literally have no idea what I'm supposed to do from here if you don't take them out of my hands right now.

"Let's celebrate our victory." I try.

A frown starts to cement itself on her brow and I curse my fate.

"W-we are supposed to just go to a tavern or restaurant for something like that, are we not?"

After she says this, a certain red-head who gaslit me into this mess starts snickering.

"...Is that how they say Thanks in Fodlan, Professor? Ha!"

Why is she asking me like I would be remotely familiar with how to function as a normal person in a social setting like that? Do I not look like a feminine sociopath son-of-a-knight who's unfit for marriage? My House Leader takes up the tack and decides to reply for me:

"Silence yourself! I am in my right mind to mention this to my Uncle, Lord Arundel. He'll send his mages to audit you."

Another snicker follows, joined by Anna bringing a hand to her lips. When's she's done, she exclaims – sarcastically, I think:

"Oooh, spooky!"

Sassing the Future Emperor gets what I would consider now to be a perfunctory response:

"Hmph. I shall see you run out of Adrestia when I ascend the throne if you continue to mock me… This is naked exploitation of the working class."

Are professors' members of the working class? Anna doesn't really give me an opportunity to consider this, and fires back with:

"You can always pay him back with your allowance, Mrs. Emperor."

What is Edelgard's allowance, I wonder? Looking at her, I get the impression that she's something of a saver. Which is a good thing, I guess. As she stacks Gs, I'll spend them on her. I'd never complain about a transaction like this… because she keeps extending my credit line on the ability to feel.

…And I get the impression that it's beginning to cost both of us a fair deal. In spite of Edelgard's fire-sale on blushing a moment ago… it would appear she's still in-the-Redelgard.

"...H-Hardly the point!" she snaps.

Could it softly be the point? Not that I'd ever accept her doing so – the earrings are a gift. And it might be the last one I give her as Her Teacher.

And I'm still holding them, desperately waiting for her to take them off my hands.

"Edelgard."

She turns to me, but doesn't give me an inch of breathing room. How am I supposed to do this? Should I command her to take the earrings out of my hands? Do I have that latitude? Do House Leaders accept commands to take and wear accessories?

She doesn't let me finish this train of thought, however – and instead tells me – while looking at the earrings like she really wants them:

"...I will ensure Hubert hunts down this grifter, brings her to justice, and sees to it that you are recompensed at market rate…"

So she wants the earrings, right? She's not asking me to return them, at least.

Shaking my head, I find myself lost in the… amethyst irises… of My Student that are currently darting from my own, back down to the earrings – and then back to my own again. I run through my list of appropriate replies and enticements... yet find nothing suitable for this moment. In lieu of rummaging through my pantry of canned responses, I try something fresh – and something that's been enticing me from the back rows of my mind for quite a while now:

"You deserve this." and this stops her next protest dead in its tracks.

Finally, she nods and takes them.

And then, she betrays a smile, ever so slight… but a smile nonetheless.

At that moment, I realize that any fires that Seteth decides to stick me in for that war crime in Remire would pale in comparison to the tortures being inflicted on my utterly empty torso.

"...Thank you for this, My Teacher… I… quite adore this gift." she states at just above a whisper.

Adorable. That's a rather good description for Edelgard, isn't it?

If Seteth and the Archbishop really want to twist the knife and prep me for the eternal flames, they'll just keep me right here – standing by Edelgard's side forever and ever.

My chest has never hurt more than it has right now.


"Welcome back, Teach – did ya eat yet?"

Asks Claude von Riegan with a wink and a yawn. He wore a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes, but that's how he always was.

Upon entering the Inn's lobby, Edelgard woke up Hubert with a blush and a shove – which caused the Master Manipulator to let out a totally indescribable grunt-moan as he woke up, as if held captive by an afternoon-nap-mare. His hands immediately shot down from behind his head to cover his loins after realizing that his Lady was staring at him. I wonder what provoked such a reaction from Hubert? He wasn't naked or anything.

Perhaps he was dreaming about himself being naked.

Although, that would be very strange – because before My Student roused him, he was softly moaning "Lady Edelgard, yes" from his sprawled out position on one of the inn's sofas.

In any event, this strange sequence of noises emitting from the Spymaster ended up waking the rest of the restive Deer and Eagle, but most were rather groggy and took a few moments to realize that their Chaperone had returned.

Claude, however, was straight out of the gate. Upon realizing that My Student and I had arrived, he thrust Hilda's head off his lap – nearly sending her off the loveseat in the process – and sauntered up to me, as if he had been spending the entirety of his afternoon slumber dreaming of ways to troll us and was very excited to put them to the test.

After he asked me about my dining schedule, Edelgard stuck up like a ramrod and got in between the two of us – sort of like what happens whenever I have a sincere and kindly discussion with one of my female students – but particularly Petra, now that I think of it. Is she protecting me from them, I wonder?

Why do I need to be protected from Petra, though? She's wonderful. I also notice that she's not in the lobby with the rest of the Eagles, which is rather curious.

"Actually, I'm taking My Teacher out to dinner tonight." my House Leader informs Claude.

He shakes his head at this.

"Damn– Guess I ruined date night, then."

The way Claude is describing this situation, I'm left to assume that there's no other way to get to dinner tonight outside of his privileged access to food.

"H-Hardly! It's merely to… celebrate our victory."

At the word "our", my student slides herself slightly closer to me. Is she looking for support, I wonder?

What should I say?

I probably shouldn't tell Claude that I think she's adorable right now, right?

Claude isn't even paying attention to me, though – in spite of him looking in my general direction. Instead, he's peering into the dozen bags I'm carrying. His emerald eyes focus like an Eagle's on the objects inside – and comparing an ignoble scalliwag like Claude to that most noble of animals is… uncomfortable, because I don't want to think of Claude when I think of Eagles. I want to think about my students. Is he hawkish instead?

What I'm trying to say is that Claude is the House Leader of the Deer, he can never be my student – because I would never trade him for Edelgard. Anyway, he asks:

"Since when do you wear lipstick to victory celebrations, Edel?"

Should I warn him not to stick lipstick up Hilda's butt?

"I-I'm entitled to dress however I wish…!" Edelgard snaps, and she is of course – and I'd protect her ability to dress however she wished at the cost of my life, I think. If that's what she actually wanted, at least.

How does Edelgard like to dress?

In Mufti, I mean – she can't wear red leggings in every ensemble, can she?

Maybe I'll know someday.

Claude then seems to notice that I'm staring at her red leggings and chuckles.

"Entitled is definitely the word I'd use, yeah. How many of those bags did Teach buy?"

My eyes rise up to Edelgard's, who also seems to be taking note that I was staring at her leggings. She also looks a little bit disarmed, like the "Entitled" comment from an equally entitled noble was sufficient to make her a little uncomfortable in her own… leggings. Or boots. Boots is better for that analogy, because maybe her stripping off her leggings would be a lewd thought – if I knew what lewd thoughts were.

My chest hurts.

Staring at Edelgard very blankly, I make a snap decision to encourage her. She needs to know that I'm always in her corner, and that if she needs help getting out of very uncomfortable leggings, I'll always be there to strip them off for her.

Clearing my throat, I utter:

"You've got this."

And My Student takes some resolve in that, which means that I can safely store that away and use it whenever she needs backup in an argument against His Deceitfulness.

"Hmph. Nothing that's in those bags, actually. And I must say that you seem rather entitled to the time of others."

This is the truth, of course – because the earrings are in a thin, rectangular velvet presentation box, and she's been clutching it in her right hand since she got in the door. Seeing that she's unflagged by his most recent prodding, he looks at me – as if he's found an indirect approach to Edelgard through emotionless, blank-staring, wordless, me.

He puts a hand on my shoulder and looks at me with what must be the most honest look he can summon. And, to his credit – it kind of works. If he told me ten statements with this face of his, I'd only believe nine of that ten were lies.

"I might have played a part in why we were able to ballista an entire battalion to death, ya know."

So the next nine statements of his face are going to be untruthful, then. Good to know. As I tilt my head at his statement, my House Leader then attempts to get in his face, but also my face, and I realize that in the confused interim, she's managed to grab a breath mint from the inn's front desk, and I realize right now that I just want to smell her minty breath forever and ever because it's hers.

"As it happens, I actually was talking about the victory of My Teacher and I in Remire. We wiped out an entire battalion without any need for fancy mechanisms like that."

I'd kill entire armies with my bare hands for you and do so eagerly.

"Yeah, because gas isn't fancy at all, right?" Claude interjects, saving me from inadvertently blurting that out in front of her and causing her to blush.

Shrugging, Claude realizes – and perhaps is a bit deflated when he does – that I'm not particularly eager to get into the gory details.

"Figure we should be getting the good word from Seteth pretty soon about that one, at least."

I suppose that's true, although I doubt any word I get from Seteth about anything will ever be what I would describe as good. In particular, I'm kind of expecting to be thrown into an oubliette for disobeying his orders so blatantly. But that was a consequence I had always considered, and was happy to invite anyway. My Eagles are here safe – and for that, I would drown myself in the fake morality of this entire damn continent… and that moral posturing would be a nice accompaniment to the blood they'd choke out as I strangle them to death.

With that in mind, I tell Claude:

"Everyone's safe. I owe you."

And I do, so I'll try my best to suppress any thoughts of killing him, for now.

"Mind if I call in that favor now and ask you to join the Deer for dinner, Teach? My treat, of course – shopping with the Princess must have been expensive. There's a Morfian joint on the other end of the market. Always wanted to try using chopsticks."

Is it so rare to eat Morfian food? It's not hard to find their noodle stalls peppered all across Derdriu's port district. Maybe Claude had some idyllic rustic upbringing like Edelgard must have had. It'd be a simple enough reason to explain why neither of them seem particularly experienced with street food.

Still, it's an enticing offer – particularly because Edelgard emptied my envelope.

"If you add the Eagles to the reservation." I say, taking his inch and trying to get a mile.

To my surprise, he relents and nods – but also shrugs – and then shakes his head, a combination that makes me think he's agreed to it, at least.

"Damn, Teach – something tells me that Edel doesn't have to hardball you like this."

Claudian is a more difficult language than Morfian, at least.

"Hardball?"

He cups his hands under his loins and jostles them a bit.

"Clearly you don't have to worry about that, I figure."

At this, I notice the appearance of Redelgard, who has been silently observing our conversation in the periphery – shifting her weight back and forth like a cat ready to pounce on a rat. But she's afraid of rats, so… a mouse? What else do cats hunt?

Not deer, anyway.

Anyway, Edelgard cautions me:

"Disgusting…! He is trying to imply something lewd, My Teacher."

Are the gonads a lewd organ? I thought they were just there as a way to give men a weak spot in battle. Going after my own was a tactic that female warriors tended to try, at least. Unfortunately for them, I have a very high pain tolerance. Over the past month, I've learned that my true weak spot is my chest – particularly when Edelgard is around.

"What time?" I ask Claude, who's clearly put some thought into this whole excursion.

Claude strokes his chin, looks down at the bags I'm still holding, and then to Edelgard – who squints and frowns – and then back to me.

"Hmmm… how's 8:30 or 9 work for you? Hildie and some of the other girls want to freshen up and dress up too with some of the junk they picked up from the stalls. I figure the bar should be open by nine, too, right?"

Nodding, I grant:

"Probably."

The Heir to the Alliance winks at me, and then sticks his thumb in the direction of My Student.

"Can you do me a favor and ask your House Leader for permission? I'm thinking she had plans for you two to punch your V-card tonight by candlelight after some cheese and wine."

I have no idea what any of that meant, but those words strike the Heir to an Empire so hard it'd probably flip the crown off her head if she had one. I rather like imagining Edelgard with a crown, I realize now – although I don't really have a reference for what an Edelgardian crown would look like.

"H-Hardly…!" she yells, attracting the attention of Hubert, who ascends from his still-embarrassed position on the nearby sofa.

Claude gives me an animated shrug.

"Straight from the horse's mouth! Edel always looked like the type who wants to get messed up real hard by some blank-eyed serial killer, anyway."

"Hmph! H-He's just trying to protect everyone. You clearly have no idea what it means to carry the burdens of another's life on your shoulders."

Thank you, My Student.

"You don't count as everyone, Edel. Think of your classmates for once! It must suck for them to be on the outside looking in on you two."

Is His Deceitfulness projecting here, I wonder? Still, this one seems to blindside her, and at this point – it's my responsibility, as her teacher – to intervene, isn't it?

So I step forward six paces and find myself height-mogging Claude, though not as much as Caspar last month, or Hubert from horseback yesterday – and look down at him with the blankest stare possible. He's already beginning to buckle under its weight after a few moments.

"Claude." I say, lifting my hand, and inching my open hand towards his neck. Just before my purlicue meets his Adam's apple, he utters:

"...Yeah, Teach?"

And that Adam's apple of his, leaping like a frog after every insult he levies towards Edelgard, now shudders uncomfortably against my palm. Drinking in his rapidly welling fear, I whisper:

"Continue, and you'll be on the outside looking in at life."

His jaw parts at this, and I smell Almyran all over him. He's not as ruddy as one, but damn if I don't feel an intense desire to watch those emerald eyes from his fade as I push him down and wrap my fingers right around those two blood vessels that pump the lifeblood in and out of that overactive fucking mind of his – how I'd love it, and I don't ever recall actually loving the idea of killing someone before…

But I realize not long after – that Edelgard would be so terribly angry at me if Claude died on her watch. It's her responsibility to bring the Deer back home in one piece as well – including this boy who I want to watch writhe and die so slowly on the ground right under my riding boots.

So I withdraw my hand.

And Claude exhales.

"Woah…"

Turning to Edelgard, I say:

"I defer to you, always."

There's no more obvious truth in the world, I figure – but it's clear that she needs to hear it, as she is looking at me with an expression of total shock. Eyebrows up, edges of her lips curled up, but a series of blinks that seem to transmit a conflicting notes of ambivalence and excitement. It's a face I committed a war crime for, after all. How could I not defend the person who possess it from the ruffian before me?

"...Maybe you are one of the bad guys, Teach." quoth the swarthy ruffian.

Looking over to the lobby, Edelgard notices the throng of students approaching us. Almost everyone in the Eagles – even Linhardt, is finally awake. The only sleeping bodies on the sofas belong to the Deer – with Marianne, Ignatz and Lysithea, all still sawing logs. None of the three look like the marching type – particularly the white-haired maven who will soon be my new student if I somehow maintain a job at the Monastery after all this.

"W-well, I suppose that we should observe the Eagles' usual ritual of dinner and drinks after a victory…" she notes.

Claude takes this opportunity to sidestep away from my student and I, and yells:

"Yo – Eagles, you're coming too!"

Our Songstress is the first to saunter over. She has a very enthused look on her face – just like the rest of my Eagles, and at that moment… I realize how happy I am to know that they've returned to my care safe and sound. Their smiles are worth protecting, and I know that doing so will protect Edelgard's smile as well.

And they all deserve to know that, I think.

That's what my empty chest is telling me, at least – because it feels quite warm and not painful at all.

"Oh gosh, did the Professor actually finesse dinner for us?!" asks Enbarr's most eligible.

Strolling over to her – I feel like a sort of stone-faced golem, but this does not stop me. There are words that need to be expressed right here, right now, in order to stop my torso from overheating. So I say:

"Dorothea, if dinner makes you happy, please get fat in my care. I will carry you if I need to."

Shortly after saying that, I wonder if something went very wrong with my delivery, though. The songstress suddenly brings her left hand to her lip, biting on her knuckle, and then her right hand falls to her hips, which she begins to poke and prod at with her pinky finger.

"Professor… do I look…?" she asks, trailingly.

I fucked this up, didn't I? My hands then – almost involuntarily – make for the top of her shoulders and grab them. Unlike Edelgard's, they're not padded. When I ever-so-slightly press down on them, I can feel two straps underneath – which must be that push-up bra battle implement that I've seen and heard about before. At this pressure, Dorothea becomes quite red, although not as red as Redelgard, who has appeared in my periphery, silently watching us with parted lips.

Bringing the songstress a touch closer to me, Dorothea's body seems to fall in towards mine quite gracefully, as if she was looking for this kind of gesture. But the surprise on her face tells me otherwise, and I realize now that Dorothea is very confusing to me. More confusing than any other woman I've met, because with Edelgard – I know how I would feel in this situation immediately. There would be warmth and pain, and the most wonderful and terrible sensations of both swirling around my chest like a cyclone.

With Dorothea – even this close to me – there is only the faintest sensation of warmth, and I'm again utterly confused as to why my chest doesn't hurt as well. What is wrong with me? Why can't I feel the same with Dorothea right here, right now, who doesn't seem very opposed at all to this gesture?

Have I failed Dorothea in the same way that I keep failing Edelgard?

In acknowledgement of this confusion – and her own – I clarify with the following words:

"I'll kill anyone who says you're not desirable."

Her eyes flutter at this, but not like My Student's, who has the most wonderful eye-flutter in the world. In fact, I find myself somewhat terrified of Dorothea's eye-flutter now, because in spite of the fact that I'm holding her, and that she fell into my elbows a bit, which support a frame that is much curvier and heavier than My Student's – (but not in a bad way) she asks words that suddenly overwhelm my defenses:

"...Are you saying that you find me desirable…?"

This leaves me speechless for a moment, and we both find each other staring into each other's eyes.

"...W-when you stare right through me like that, Professor, I feel kinda…"

I'm about to correct her and say "I think I can only really desire eye-flutters from Edelgard, but yours are worth desiring for everyone else in the whole world" – but still, that also doesn't sound right to say in this scenario, frankly…

Thankfully, Bernadetta de-escalates the scenario unfolding before us by yelping:

"Professor…!"

At this, I immediately break from the potential-embrace with Dorothea and she nearly topples over. Bringing my utterly blank gaze onto my shut-in sniper, Bernadetta recedes from its intensity… but not as fearfully as she usually does. Bernie was confident enough to shout out my title a moment ago, of course.

Eventually, she recovers:

"Um, T-Thanks – I'm – um… I'm really happy to see that you're safe!"

Feeling quite overcome, I robotically reach out a hand and place it on her head, proceeding to mess up her already messy hair with a headpat.

"Waaaah…?!" she complains, and I realize that I might be making a royal mess of these feelings that I'm trying to express. Perhaps I should refrain from doing this in the future, or at least test these things out with Edelgard first.

Starting to be overwhelmed by my own fraughtness, I'm still able to manage:

"Bernie… don't worry anymore."

She attempts to shake herself free from the head-pat, and then I realize that this might have been too forward.

"U-um, w-why were you…"

Powering through what I meant to tell her, I utter softly:

"...No one who wants to hurt you will survive."

At this, the Heir to House Varley stares and stares. And then, after settling down a touch, I'm left with the impression that I fucked up this interaction. Still, Bernie patronizes me with:

"Y-You keep saying that and for whatever reason, it sounds a little less terrifying each time…!"

"Hey, Professor… now that I see it… did Edie use you as her bag-man?" inquires the Songstress, who seems to be getting her land legs back after our exchange.

"My Teacher offered, actually! I told him that there was no need, of course, as I'm perfectly capable and strong enough to carry my own bags…"

"I asked." I confirm with a nod. That confirmation and nod, for whatever reason, restores a bit of resolve in My Student – and if small things like that can do so, then I'm very proud of her. Naturally, she can wield an axe around without much effort, so she doesn't need my assistance anyway.

…So then why did she have me carry the bags then, I wonder?

"I don't belieeeveee you at all, Professor… but OK!" Claude's girlfriend, who has appeared suddenly at his side, informs me with a wink.

That's fine, Hilda – I'm not sure I believe myself anymore.

Dorothea, who has since recovered from our moment, is next to grab my attention – primarily by walking back over to me and grabbing the handles of the bags in my hand.

"What did Edie get, let me see~!"

"D-Dorothea, I insist that you don't look inside!" shouts the obvious person who would shout such a statement.

I think I can can understand the concern behind My Student's squinting eyes and swaying stance, because the songstress's hand went straight for the bag with the lipstick cylinder inside. Perhaps sticking things up your butt is normal after all, and I shouldn't be concerned, however. I must grant this because I realize that Dorothea is quite normal, and Hilda is quite normal – even though Edelgard is exceptional. Obviously, I'm a sociopath who's unworthy of love and therefore an exception, if not particularly exceptional.

So with that in mind, I offer the entire set of bags to Enbarr's Most Eligible, and she responds with a very devilish smirk on her face.

My House Leader looks on in horror, however – and I wonder if I made a very grave mistake in doing so now. Following my shifting gaze, Dorothea then turns to Edelgard and notices exactly what I do.

"Relax, Edie – we're obviously going to help you…" she advises with a calming voice.

Edelgard does not get any calmer.

"We…?" inquires the Heir to an Empire with a great deal of emphatic intensity.

"Bernie and me, obviously! How else are you going to–"

"I scarcely need help with–!"

Ferdinand von Aegir then appears in a flash before my eyes. His orange eyes flickering into mine, he puts his hands on my shoulders in an identical manner to my exchange with Dorothea.

"Professor!"

Bringing him in for a bear hug, He greedily finishes the move for me, and tries rather unsuccessfully to lift me from the ground in the process.

"Everyone's safe. Good job, Ferd."

Releasing me from his grip, he steps back and then bows his head.

"Professor… I must ask a favor of you."

My reply is a few bewildered blinks – which after rising his head, he takes as a signal to press onward with his request:

"I would like you to suspend any appointment of me as House Leader for the next moon, if that so suits you. This command experience was very instructive, and I realize that I wish to study more of the theoretical principles behind leadership before applying it practically again – preferably under your guidance."

Something horrible must have occurred in my absence, and I find myself beset with inexpressible worry.

"What happened?" I ask with an enforced blankness that does nothing to betray those sentiments of mine.

Feeling a tap on my shoulder, I turn to the tapper – my sleepy sage, roused and ready.

"The pack horse threw him off the saddle after Ferdinand started driving it too hard with his spurs, Professor." Linhardt informs me through a yawn.

Lin looks well, if very tired – and I am glad about both of those things. I half-expected him to have gone back to sleep by now, and he's still here and very much awake, if I have to scale those along a more Linhardtian curve or metric.

"He fell right on top of Marianne! You should've heard the scream, Professor!" adds Caspar, who is also Casparing his way through life unfettered by injury or loss of innocence. And for that – for now – I'm quite content with.

Bringing a hand to my chin, I realize that I must have encountered a teachable moment.

"My father had a lesson on leadership." I note.

The Heir to House Aegir steps forward, his interest piqued.

"Professor, any tutoring, especially words from a knight-captain of the Church as noble as Jeralt Eisner, would warm my heart."

Hearing my father described in those highfalutin words was always strange and honestly, a bit unsettling – but they did not distract me from imparting this quip of his, one that he often told me at the beginning of my mercenary career as his adjutant.

"Follow and observe. I'll protect you with all my strength until you're ready."

In those days, he shielded me from taking up a sword and killing for as long he could, which I will endeavor to do with the Eagles until they are forced to truly take lives in order to preserve their own. In those days, I can't say I really understood his logic for doing so.

Now I do.

Ferdinand, to his great credit, seems to immediately understand my father's advice.

"Ah… so you are encouraging me to observe Edelgard's constant failings in order to never make them on my own. Sage advice, Professor!"

That's close enough to the point, right?

"Tell Edelgard that."

Bobbing his head up and down, my ginger gentleman asks:

"...And neglect to inform her that I plan on cataloging all of her errors?"

Shaking my head, I suggest something better:

"Tell her that she's brilliant."

This prompts some contemplation from the future diplomat – and after a bit, seemingly freshened by my father's perspective – approaches our very frosty-looking House Leader.

"Edelgard! I've come to return the leadership of the Black Eagles to you. From now on, I will obey your orders without question or complaint. The Professor wished to add that he considers you brilliant, but I believe that these words of encouragement are wasted on such a base woman as yourself."

Ferd extends his hand, and much to my surprise, My Student looks over to me.

"You've got this." I mouth with a nod.

"Naturally I will accept your transfer, Ferdinand." she says with a squint.

But she takes her hand and shakes it anyway, which is a victory that outdoes any clump of dead bodies that I'd accumulate in our wake. She's bringing them around.

Once that concludes, I turn to Hubert, who had been slithering his way behind me throughout my pep talk with the Red Lancer.

"Hm. Impossible to sneak up on as always. Fine counsel from your father, regardless. I'm rather curious to see how long that truce lasts."

The Marquis of Pickled Sausages looks as relieved as I am at the repair of relations between the two – although he doesn't seem to think it will last for very long. It's my goal, however, to see those two respect and support each other as long as they are able.

Does Hubert know that, I wonder?

Does Hubert not want that to happen?

"How are you holding up, Hubert?" I ask – unsure how to really voice the other two thoughts to the Master Manipulator.

To my surprise, he seems to take the question in a rather genuine way, which is a definite improvement from yesterday. Perhaps the key that will turn our hostile relationship around can only be used on Hubert after a nap. Particularly when he's mumbling Edelgard's name in a moan while sleeping. In any event, he updated his status with:

"...Far better now that Lady Edelgard has safely returned, of course – but there remains no cause for concern on my behalf, Professor. Don't try to capture my heart with one of your empty platitudes."

I would say those expressions of mine – however awkward they ended up coming out – were quite heartfelt indeed, but I don't have a heart. So maybe Hubert's right here, or more right than he realizes, anyway. Still he deserves to

"I won't see you come to–"

This provokes a yawn from the Heir to House Vestra, and a smirk follows.

"Did you not hear what I just said to you?"

I reply with a shrug. I did, of course – but everything Hubert says seems to have multiple meanings behind it, so maybe I missed one of those alternative reads. He seems to take my shrug as a cue to explain himself, so he continues with:

"I'd tell you to save that false sentiment for Lady Edelgard, but I suspect you've already given her the wrong idea. One that I'm in no rush to identify or correct, I should note. Thank you for aggravating the relationship by fawning on the other Eagles, Professor. Might I suggest making some advances towards Petra as well? Just to top it all off?"

Is he saying that Edelgard dislikes my fumbling attempts to be considerate to her classmates? That can't be true, can it?

Hubert must be fucking with me. Edelgard was so thoughtful and considerate to every woman in Fodlan that she declared me unfit for romance many times over. Clearly, she's right – and is right at her own expense, because everyone keeps mistaking the two of us as a couple. As I mulled over these thoughts, however – a pitter-patter of boot-steps on a staircase could be heard from behind me. Turning to see the person who those shoes belonged to, I immediately recognized a person who had been missing from proceedings up until this very moment: Petra.

"Professor, I was hearing your voice!"

How warm my chest feels knowing that she's safe and sound, and not being held hostage against her whim in some faraway place from me. The lack of hurt tells me that such a sensation is untrustworthy, however – so I attempt to distance myself from it in vain.

"I'm glad you're well, Petra."

"There is no need to be worrying! I was only wishing to be finding this boarding house's ice bucket!" she informs me.

Placing a hand on my head, I'm utterly confused at what she means.

"...Ice bucket?"

Closing the distance between us, Petra gets right into my face and scrutinizes me in an almost Edelgardian fashion.

"...I am finding it surprising that you have not seen it in the tents of Brigidian mercenaries…. No woman of Brigid would be having a bedroom without an ice bucket in their halls."

Looking into her face very deeply, I see a pair of very intense auburn eyes looking very confused. Something about those eyes, and the furrows on her brow, and the folding of skin above her face tattoo… they all make me feel very worried and concerned on her behalf, as if I've somehow missed something essential in the maintenance of her safety.

"Are you OK, Petra?" I ask – and I'd probably sound desperate, if I could. Unsure of what else to do, a hand drifts towards my dagger, and my eyes dart around to see if there is someone that I need to kill. What scenario would threaten this gentle soul so?

Petra tilts her head, confused at the question. Perhaps I made a faux pas by asking.

Could it be that time of the month, as Manuela suggested? Women seemed very testy about men asking what all that was about.

"She's clearly fine, My Teacher…" My Student pipes in from the background.

"Are you OK, Edelgard?" I ask – now very concerned about my House Leader as well.

Could she be experiencing this so-called time of the month as well? How can I protect her from experiencing such a thing, I wonder?

"Hmph. Don't ask such a thing after doing that to someone else…"

"Oooh, Princess Edelgard is getting jealous!" pipes in Hilda.

"Did you need an ice bucket as well?" I ask My Student.

Testelgard disappears in a flash and Redelgard reappears at this question. But it's not a blushing Redelgard as much as it's an angry Redelgard, which wounds me a bit – but is still very cute, so the pain and warmth just circulate for a time and create a bleeding sensation deep in my heartless peritoneum.

"Everyone has become intolerably foolish just now. Whyever can't you–!"

Just now? I thought I was always intolerably foolish…? Something stops this second statement dead in her tracks, however. I suspect that something is Petra clasping my hands together in hers, so I turn rather lazily to meet it, still rather concerned about the reaction from the Heir to Adrestia.

The Heir to Brigid's auburn eyes are boring into mine as well – I should note – but not in a scrutinizing or agitated way, which I suppose is a refreshing change… if a bit strange.

"Professor! It is nearly the night, so I wish be to taking you now!"

This statement brings the chatter happening behind us to stop.

"How can I help?" I ask, observing the uncomfortable silence for a few moments.

"There is living a Blacksmith from Brigid within these walls!"

That's good to know, I guess. It's rare to see tradesmen from Brigid appearing in Fodlan, however. Most of the Brigidans got their weapons delivered from the foundries of Caer Marthen, the port-city capital. This trip was about two-weeks by longboat to the far-flung docks of County Goneril, or three days sail to Hrym and twenty overland to the Throat. The currents of the Southern Sea prevented easy transit by ship to anywhere in Leicester. The whirlpools around the delta of the Myrddin didn't help much either.

So this was… impressive, for lack of a better word – and I feel compelled to express this to Petra, who also seems rather impressed… or excited, at least – given the rarity of such a circumstance. That said, it's the type of circumstance that can only exist in a caravanserai, so perhaps it was fate that brought us to this place.

"I'm impressed." Is what I say, and I am of course.

Petra nods, clearly in agreement.

"Yes, it is most impressing, is it not? I am wishing to be taking you there so that we may be giving each other our dirks tonight!"

That statement of hers completely took me aback – and I'd express it, if I could, in terms other than a blank stare, which is what I give her now. Brigidans are finicky about exchanging weapons – and the most prestigious among them is the dirk, their dagger-length broadsword.

From what I gathered serving alongside Brigidians, you can only do that sort of exchange once in your life, as it implies a relationship that can't be replicated ever again. Sons would compete with each other to get the honor of exchanging a dirk with one of their parents, if the mother and father hadn't already traded one with each other, of course.

Something tells me that I might not be deserving of such an honor.

An Edelgardian-sounding echo reverberates from behind me.

"Dirks…?"

Shaking my head and trying to ignore that sound and focus on the young woman in front of me, to quote Sothis, I attempt to steer her away from such a gesture:

"Isn't that a rite of clan?" I inquire.

I've certainly never seen a Brigidian exchange a dirk with someone from Fodlan before.

"Clan…?" comes the echo, again.

Petra takes a step closer and fishes around for a reaction in my face before continuing on. She apparently finds something she likes rather quickly, because she replies to my query with:

"You were saving my life in the Canyon, Professor. When we were returning, I began thinking about a way to be repaying my life-debt to you, so I wish to be making of an oath between us."

"Oath…?"

"You don't owe me anything."

I just took the death-blow in my hand. Petra stabbed the assassin in the leg with my dagger, and Caspar dematerialized her head with his gauntlets thereafter. Surely the Blue-Haired Brawler watching with a tilted head in the background is more deserving of this attention, isn't he?

The songstress adds fuel to the fire by holding up some sort of hair cream from the bag that makes Edelgard melt in place in embarrassment. Bernie wows at this. I'm just very, very, unsure about what's happening.

"While you go to the blacksmith, Edie can come with us. Sound good, Professor?"

I'm about to defer to Redelgard before Dorothea pipes in with:

"Oh, and Edie defers to me today."

My House Leader turns to Dorothea with a look of pure shock – but is being pushed up the stairs by the two girls without protest not a moment later. Hubert ascends the steps shortly after with a devilish smirk as well, leaving me very confused. I hope they stay safe.

I'm not really allowed to stew in that bewilderment, though – because Petra drags me by the hands out the front door shortly thereafter.

Before I leave, Claude adds:

"Don't be late, Teach!"


Author's Note:

First off, big props to Dr. Dragon, DragonMaster, Queenie, Winter (who has become First Reviewer of the Republic after my guillotining of PRT Reply King), Matix, Julian, and… Jesus for the most recent reviews. Jesus, your author is a good Catholic and acknowledges the supremacy of Rome, please read Byleth as Dante here. Naturally, I'm Virgil.

At the request of someone on Ao3, I'll be updating this fic more regulary over there as well - so if you prefer that format, I'll catch up on there tonight. Authors notes will remain here, though.

As far as Raphael is concerned, yes – I killed him. I did this for a few reasons, first is that I had a bit of a jarring experience while playing the game, which I originally did on Maddening (don't do this) – namely, my students were dying, but I could Divine Pulse them because of Sothis.

I did find it curious that even in spite of participating in missions that I presume are roughly as fatal as the canon White Clouds ones – Manuela and Hanneman weren't bringing anyone back home in body bags, not even the NPC academy kids that only exist to infodump you trivia at times. Claude mentions guarding a caravan in one explore comment – but in a continent teeming with bandits, that can't be entirely safe.

Now, I understand why this happens for gameplay reasons – if you came back to the monastery in-game and Dimitri told you that "oops Felix dead" in some off-screen battle, I'd be very mad, Queenie would be heartbroken about it, and Winter would be feeling very empty inside after losing one of their favorite grindcore/crust punk icons. It'd fuck up a core gameplay element, too.

But this is a fic, this is war, and senseless, inconvenient death happens. Everyone needs to lose their innocence at some point – and, big reveal here: I plan on killing one Eagle before this story is done.

Place your bets now and I will – I'm not kidding – send 100 DOGE to a crypto wallet of your choice if you are the first to guess and still reading at that point. Do not guess the obvious candidate, because you will lose.

We also have another Kirsten who is sitting at Garegg Mach waiting to give literally everyone hell – and she is Academy-Age, specializes in dark magic, Zoomer E-Girl Magic, and BDSM Magic. She is also NOT going to be happy when she figures out who Clowntits and Metodey (I did not specifically say he was dead, btw) are working for. Do not expect her to just let off El with a "no, I get it, you were planning on betraying TWSITD the whole time" reply.

Also, Crimson Flower is about challenging fate. Don't expect for El to take Linhardt's assessment in Chapter 61 lying down. She only lies down for Byleth, and she's still in charge when she does.

And maybe I have a very, very cursed Golden Deer fic in an outline phase, Mr. Chingao. Look forward to that in 2025 or whenever I get around to it. I have a F/SN rewrite where Shirou summons Rider instead of Saber planned in between that, though… and that's 2 million words now, so…

Anyway, paralogue season starts this month.

Petra, Lorenz, and Felix are up first - which means we're traveling to Brigid, Gloucester, and Fraldarius. You'll see the justification for this sequencing soon, and it involves Acheron - my favorite Mook.

We'll be averaging three paralogues per month. As I said, these will be smaller A-Team Style missions, and skippable narratively if you're not into my take on Lorenz's folks siding with Edelgard. He has a cool mom, though, so maybe read that if you like cool moms.