Professor Eisner,

I will be delaying Lysithea von Ordelia's transfer to your class until the 15th of this moon so that she can conclude formal lessons with Professor Manuela. Of particular concern is a certification exam scheduled for the 12th, and your field trip would conflict with that prior booking.

In the future, be aware that I will be assigning proctoring duties to you as well.

Next, allow me to commend your encouragement of the students to explore their intellectual passions. Hubert von Vestra's thesis paper evidencing the dexterity gained from underwater basket weaving is the most unique submission I've read from a student here at the Officers Academy. I had no idea that Brigidians practiced such an activity to sharpen their reflexes before battle, and this strikes me as a valuable art to explore.

I'm approving your field-trip proposal to educate the students in this, effective immediately – as Sir Vestra submitted your paperwork this morning. You may depart tomorrow, if you wish.

Needless to say, I am particularly interested in adding such courses to the curriculum here at Garreg Mach as an interdisciplinary elective. In addition, consider me most impressed that you are cultivating home economics into a strategic analysis of King Loog's final campaign against Adrestia. Please understand that I will not underestimate your commitment to the students' intellectual development ever again.

All that said, do not interpret this as a general endorsement of the rest of your extracurricular activities. I will still be monitoring your behavior closely, especially in light of your recent personal threat to murder a monastery administrator in cold blood. I will not forget such a statement from you now or ever.

Dutifully,

Seteth

PS: If you wouldn't mind, could I ask you to pick up a souvenir from this "Brigidian Traveling Circus" that Sir Vestra noted in his essay? My Sister has always had a passing interest in the cultural products of Fodlan and beyond. I will see that you are compensated accordingly.


As I lift my eyes from this letter, Bernadetta von Varley is standing in front of my classroom desk and holding a pillow in front of my face. It's a throw, and the surface of it appears to be from that most noble of all fabrics – Varley Silk – dyed in a purple that matches my shut-in-sniper's hair quite smartly. What really catches my eye, however, is the embroidery. Quite deftly, Bernie has encoded a message on that pillow, and it reads:

"LUV U MOMMY"

Wrapped around a heart symbol in a perfectly symmetrical semi-circle.

"I'm impressed." I say, and that's as true to me as the sun rising or the moon peeking out of the nighttime sky. The Heir to House Varley's artistic talent is something I want to cultivate in whatever way I can. She could certainly pursue that as an alternative to warfare… and I think she'd be quite content in doing so.

Bernadetta seems to take some comfort in my compliment, and that feels quite warm. Not leaving me enough time to rue on the absence pain that adjoins it, she asks me:

"Um… P-professor, do you think we could drop this off to my Mom?"

Nodding – I ask myself how I could deny such an earnest request, coming from the fearful face of my wide-eyed ward without an ounce of wanderlust.

"Of course, Bernie."

Sitting in a chair pulled alongside me is the Heir to Adrestia, who has been presiding rather princess-ly over preparations for our other mission – Petra's "paralogue" as she calls it – and generally snapping curt orders at Dorothea, Ferdinand, Caspar, and Linhardt as they make runs to the commissary and into to town to prepare for our multi-day effort.

As I agree, I feel a tug on my shirtsleeve.

Turning to the amethyst-irised woman to my left, I tilt my head and await her critique:

"My Teacher – something tells me that this might be more complex than Bernadetta is mentioning…"

Bernadetta, who has returned to the wooden folding chair in front of me, seems to melt into it at this observation – and I must credit my House Leader's observational skills… if not her tact.

"I-I'm sorry…! You're right Princess Edelgard… m-maybe this is a terrible idea… I'll just–"

"We're passing through Varley, aren't we?" I ask genuinely.

From what I can gather on the map laid out across my desk, the Arundel to Hrym highway should take us directly through Varley territory on our way to the Gronder riverbanks. We can get on the highway by simply descending the mountain pass towards Garegg Mach and cutting around towards Remire. From there, we could arrive at the landing point in two days – allowing us to room in Varley for the evening... after making the delivery, of course.

When it was all said and done, we'd likely arrive at Gronder at the same time as Caspar with the manure, and a day or two before the baggage train carrying the sulfur from the Vestra Marquisate. My father rather smartly arranged for a pony express to keep fresh pack horses for Hubert's team. Speaking of the future Marcher Lord of Pickled Sausages, he has returned from fingering through the nearby bookshelf, and attempts to mog me while I'm seated.

"Professor, you should know that Duke Varley protested his daughter's attendance here quite bitterly. It was only the intervention of Lord Arundel and the Archbishop that made him assent to her presence here."

Bernadetta shudders at this explanation – but does not protest either through body language or words. After a few moments, her grey eyes wildly dart from Hubert – to me – to Edelgard – then back to Hubert, and then back to mine. My guess is that she was waiting for one of us to jump down her throat… but Edelgard and Hubert have come a long way in humoring her. After an awkward clearing of her throat, she tells me:

"I-If you can believe it, I was basically kidnapped…. My mother ordered an attendant to stuff me in a bag while I was sleeping. By the time I figured out what was going on, I was already here. For a while, I was sure I was going to die. But here I am. Look at me...still breathing… for now…"

Why does my shut-in-sniper seem to obsess about death so much? She also isn't looking at me when just told that story… which makes me think that she might be tired. Reaching into my desk, I finger around for some sweets that I've been keeping as tactical diversions for my current and future white-haired mavens. Finding a grape flavored lollipop, I place inside a fist that she's reflexively clenched on the table. Her eyes go very wide when I do this, and shoot back up at me. This spurs me to reply with:

"Bernadetta, I'll strangle anyone who tries to block your airways."

Unfortunately, she looks at me like I said that I intended to strangle her instead.

"...Ah, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to get you down, talking like that about my past! Just forget everything I told you. There's no point in talking about myself anyway. Idiot! Oh, this is why everyone hates you, Bernie!

"...No one… hates you… Bernadetta…" explains my student with a full mouth – and I'm very proud of her for sounding so clear and in command.

Especially when she sounds like she must have packed her cheeks full to bursting with what must be one of the paper-wrapped saghert-and-cream cakes that are stored inside a glass jar inside that drawer of mine.

Turning to her, I ask:

"You found them?"

Those amethyst irises of hers go quite wide at this query – but I wonder why she seems so surprised? My Student must have known she was talking with her mouth full, right?

"...Th…"

I bring up a palm, indicating that she should take her time.

After chewing and swallowing, Edelgard informs me:

"...They're hardly as good as the freshly baked kind… but there is something about the Albinean Berry Preserves that they use for filling that is always such a treat…"

I assume she's contrasting the commisarry's dessert cakes with the dining hall version – or Bernadetta's, for that matter. Earlier this morning, I noticed that the Knights' Hall was carrying a number of jarred desserts made with graham-crackers and various fruit preserves that roughly approximated the fresh baked treats that were served at the Dining Hall as an after-dinner dessert. There's one person who I immediately thought of when I saw the ersatz Saghert-and-Cream.

"I'm glad you like them." I say… and to be honest, nothing has made me quite as glad today as knowing that she enjoys them. If only I could express that…

Edelgard, however – is sending a bit of a mixed message, as women often do lately… because while she seems happy, she also seems… agitated? My Student has gone ramrod straight in the back of her chair, at least – as if she's made some shocking discovery.

"...Might you have purchased these just for me…?" she asks leadingly.

"Obviously." I reply with a matter-of-fact edge. Who else would I be thinking about?

But maybe that was a bit harsh, as there's no way for her to know that she's always at the top of my mind, is there? It's not like she'd ever read this diary, at least.

I was mildly surprised that she hadn't discovered it the last time she was in my room, in fact…

Anyway, Redelgard appears shortly after I make that reply, and her eyes immediately dart down to the floor. I find it a bit strange that she's modest with this sort of thing… does she have some kind of complex about people being kind to her?

Perhaps I can help her get past it… but I'm not sure how to do that without reneging on my promise to be kind and gentle to her forever and ever… so I suppose I'll have to put that one on ice for now.

"…I have your gift as well, you know…" she says, still doggedly refusing to look up at me.

Shrugging at this bizarre reaction – I look back up at Hubert – who is glaring at me with burning hatred – and then, not wanting to grant him the unfair height-mog… back to Bernadetta, who is enjoying her lollipop. When she notices me noticing her, she yips:

"...Professor, this is so tasty I could die!"

Her obsession with dying is… worrisome, and I want to let her know that her death would always precede my own if I had any input into the matter:

"Bernie, I would die to protect you." I offer with a blank expression.

She nearly falls off her seat when I say this… and I find myself bedeviled at any attempt to make this poor girl feel comfortable in my presence. Why is that? What would she even want to hear, I wonder?

"What? N-no, you don't actually have to..!" she yells.

Shaking my head at this – I realize that there's no real option now but to double down:

"I want to." I add emphatically…

And I do, because I remember the comfort that seemed to seep into Edelgard's face when I expressed a desire to do so… and my chest begins to burn anew at this, heightening my nerves that are hidden behind this utterly unmoveable face of mine.

This earns another tug on my shirt. My House Leader has finished wolfing down the Saghert and Cream sandwich cake.

"...Must I explain that you are just terrifying her further…?" she asks – and rolls her eyes for good measure, which appear to have recovered from their bout of nervousness with me.

I'm always impressed at how her resolve seems to restore itself so quickly… but then I realize, of course… That Edelgard is brilliant… and where would I even be without her at my side right now? We've returned to staring at each other as I think this, by the way… and there's a bunch of crumbs on her upper lip that have captured my attention… and I find myself not wanting to escape from my prisoner-of-war status.

Hubert comes to what must be ostensibly my rescue by clearing his throat and noting:

"...All of this is getting a bit absurd... Professor, might I suggest that we should keep to the earlier timetable that I proposed to you regarding the three columns' arrival at Gronder? This diversion is unnecessary and runs the risk of getting political – which Lady Edelgard informs me that you've expressed some distaste for…"

If my distaste for politics is a relief to Hubert… that would imply that I'm acting too much like the Marquis of Pickled Sausages, right?

Shrugging at his assessment, I reply:

"I defer to Edelgard on everything political."

That's the correct answer, right?

Trusting Edelgard is the most important thing I can do… and the least Hubertian.

As if to confirm this, My Student squirms, brushing her arm against mine, and attracting my attention towards her. She's glaring up at Hubert, though – who is still glaring at me, I should note.

"Hmph. It's rather refreshing to know that someone as experienced and worldly as My Teacher actually trusts my judgment… I wonder why someone who can wield such authority would allow something like that…"

A Hubertian glare is directed at My Student from the Hubertian.

"...Perhaps because the Professor is an unhinged man-child whose naivete is clearly infect–"

Before Hubert can finish his thought, I feel another tug on my woolen turtleneck's arm. Craning my neck back to Edelgard, I find myself a bit confused at her expression. She's squinting with a frown, but I don't sense that either the squint of hers or the frown are directed towards me, in spite of her looking my way.

This must be another woman-ly mixed message that I'm starting to become hyper-aware of, for whatever reason.

"...Perhaps you could suggest that Hubert take notes about deference to my requests…" My Student opines.

Nodding, I turn back to a thoroughly frustrated-looking Heir to House Vestra. Perhaps if Hubert could be made to understand how much I appreciate Edelgard's intellect and have grown to rely on her insight, he would be more willing to work with us.

"Her plans are brilliant. We're collaborating." I confirm – and this only succeeds in sending a palm to his face, unfortunately.

Always seizing the initiative, Edelgard has already begun making a similar pitch to Bernie:

"Bernadetta… Did you know that My Teacher said that he thought my plans were quite brilliant and even invented a new adjective to describe them? If you trust in my vision, unlike Hubert, I firmly believe that the Black Eagles could soar–"

The object of My House Leader's monologue looks like she's going to faint at the sudden, focused scrutiny. Meanwhile, Hubert looks positively off-kilter as well… perhaps not expecting his Lady to turn on him so aggressively.

"-Lady Edelgard – if the Professor misled you into believing that he was harmed by my–"

The sheer sharpness of his intonation of my title proceeds to freak out the Heir to House Varley.

"...Hubert's right – I'm just ruining everything…! I'm sorry! Please don't look at me!" she yawps.

Bernie's lack of outward support for whatever totally non-specific, non-visionary endeavor Edelgard was pitching seems to have soured My House Leader on our shut-in-sniper rather quickly… which is a bit frustrating to see, honestly.

"Ugh… That's quite enough, Bernadetta…"

"The facts as they are – namely, that you're even entertaining this speaks volumes about your refusal to take your role as our educator seriously. Need I reiterate that your acquiescence to Bernadetta is risking the reputation of Adrestia's heir over a poorly stitched pillow?"

Hubert is a man – but his henpecking seems to exceed even Edelgard's at times… and since he's using that henpeck of me as ancillary vehicle to put-down Bernadetta's handicraft, I feel compelled to make a threat against his life which I'd gladly follow through on, in spite of his status as my student:

"Continue bullying Bernie, and I'll beat you to death." I warn him.

My sudden rise to meet his glowering downward stare leaves him a bit stunned in my wake – and I gather that my own reflexes – honed by five years of relentless, unceasing combat – are just a touch sharper than his, which means that I could probably follow through on that threat against this scrawny, wannabe-intriguer fuck anytime he insulted Bernadetta on my watch again.

What would Hubert say as I pushed out his life from his throat, I wonder?

Oh – I suspect he'd sing to me after some flowery loyalty oath to his liege behind us… because you just need to apply the pressure on the larynx in just the right way for a fellow like Hubert… perhaps convincing him that there was a way out of his death in exchange for some useful but noncompromising information he kept tucked away as leverage…

…And then what expression would he make when I stare down at him blankly, confirming through my eyes that the reply was unsatisfactory – and that I had always intended to kill him anyway, just like I killed those Almyrans… just like I killed Sothis, I think…

Anyway, this threat of mine prompts Edelgard to jump up in response before her servant can even get a word in edgewise.

"...Wait – My Teacher – Bernadetta and I were just teasing Hubert a bit…! I've know him since we were children, so–"

She says this as she sidesteps towards her labrys in the corner of the room, but she stops dead in her tracks when she notices that I notice her in my periphery. Hubert in turn, attempts and fails to make a move towards a nearby spellbook.

Still, it's a credit to them for having decent recovery skills.

"We're done." I say – not untruthfully – and back off from Hubert. Without much ado, I return to sitting in my seat. As I settle back in, my vision meets Bernadetta – who I was defending, I should note – and a look of terror overtakes her as my blank expression bores into her.

"-P-Professor…?!"

Shaking my head, I try to dispel any further concerns.

"Hubert's going to apologize." I inform my shut-in-sniper.

The Marquis of Pickled Sausages clears his throat after I make this comment. I turn to him, and he has returned to squinting at me through his sole visible eye.

"…I said nothing remotely offensive to anyone. In any event… It would seem you've skipped past the pleasantries today, Professor. Is this some sort of new path you're treading, or have you always been harboring bloodlust towards me?"

I can't help but agree with the assessment here… I probably did overreach a bit, even if freaking Hubert out is a rare treat. He's my student too, after all – and even though he's attempted to murder me before, I should've been the bigger man. I'm about eight months older than he is... and while we're also the same height, which means that while I cannot height-mog him… I am his Professor — therefore I can authority-mog him.

Still – Hubert has a point buried in that acerbic statement of his – and its truthfulness compels me to note:

"I said I'd kill Claude for bullying Edelgard, as well…"

Which just kind of sets the whole room off-kilter. Looking back up at the Heir to House Vestra – who, to his credit – appears to be the least off-kilter after hearing that remark, I continue:

"Sorry, Hubert. You're not Claude."

You're Not Claude is the highest order of compliment I can give to the Heir to House Vestra. Just after that apology, I feel a gentle pull on my sleeve. Turning to Edelgard, we lock eyes for a time, and eventually, she tells me:

"...I-I hardly need you to do anything like that at this moment…"

Just say the word, My Student, and I'll do it happily. As we all descend from the knife's edge after a few moments of contemplative silence, I notice Hubert make a step towards the Heir to House Varley. Looking at me, he says:

"...Well, I can grant that I overstepped a bit by insulting Ms. Varley's handiwork, as well."

What else can I do but nod? Bernie certainly doesn't deserve anyone's ire.

"Bernadetta, you have my sincere apologies." Hubert says with a bow towards my perennially-bothered bow-woman. Shaking her head vigorously at the apology, she replies:

"...If that was your real opinion…"

Adding another full bow, Hubert adds for good measure:

"It wasn't. The threading is remarkably professional, by my estimate. I suspect you've been mastering this craft for many years, haven't you?"

"Oh…! Yeah… since I was six years old, actually…!"

The Heir to an Empire collapses exhaustedly back into her seat, shaking her head.

"Well… I am rather glad that all of this tension de-escalated so quickly…"

My House Leader's comment earns a vigorous nod from my shut-in-sniper.

"M-me too, but… how can you be so protective of me, Professor…?"

Turning to Bernadetta, I tilt my head. Her… tungsten-colored eyes seem to drop like a heat shield in the face of the fire that is burning behind this blank face of mine, rising from my chest after singing my throat in an attempt to get my vocal chords to express something apart from detachment. Will I ever find a way to not provoke her?

Moreover, if I find that way… could I even realize this project before she takes leave of me, just like Edelgard?

Her next statement drags me out of this deeply discomfiting contemplation:

"I don't deserve it… Especially when I'm bothering you about something so… trivial…" she says, continuing to heap abuse on herself for reasons well past my ability to understand…

Shaking my head, I tell her:

"I promised Edelgard that I'd protect you. I meant it."

And I did – but when I say this, I can sense shifting in the seat next to me. In spite of this, my eyes stay firmly fixed on Bernadetta as she shifts her attention to My Student and inquires:

"O-oh… so you asked the Professor to look after me…?"

Turning back to the Heir to Adrestia, I see that Redelgard is back with a vengeance:

"...N-naturally, all the Eagles are in my care, of course… I'm your House Leader, after all. My Teacher is always looking out for my well-being as well… so we're rather like a flock… or rather a force of…"

My Student trails off before finishing the refinement of her image, and I feel like my initial escalation of her good-natured teasing must have interfered with her ability to hone her own literary talents properly. At this, I'm nearly overwhelmed by guilt welling up inside and blurt out to my shut-in sniper that:

"You can trust her, Bernie. She's brilliant and special."

And I would mean those words with all my heart, if I had a heart.

Redelgard squirms alongside me, nearly crushing my hand which has fallen to the side of my under her buttocks in one of her more aggressive and erratic movements. Her butt is quite firm, but also a bit bony… meaning that she might not be getting proper nutrition. At this, I resolve to redouble my efforts to find food that she likes.

"W-well, of course I-I…" she stammers, as if there's something holding her back from proclaiming that she'd want to share a path with me and Bernadetta as long as she was able. I wonder why that is…?

Bernie, in a sudden fit of welcome confidence, arrives to bail out her classmate:

"Ok – I will, Professor…!"

Building-up-Bernie is going to be one of my side-objectives alongside Building-Up-Edelgard this month, I think. They both deserve nothing less.

"You'll look out for Edelgard too, right?" I ask my shut-in-sniper.

I sense the Heir to Adrestia melting in her chair like the Heir to House Varley was not long ago – which means that the aforementioned query was a critical hit. Additionally, a yellow line goes up in my head… but I can see two little portraits of Bernadetta and Edelgard at the same time… meaning that perhaps they're happy with each other now.

And that makes me quite glad.

"D-Definitely…! A-and I've got your back too, Professor…!" she confirms.

Nodding, I conclude with:

"You're the best, Bernie."

And she is… so I should be saying things like that more often, shouldn't I?

Bernie's my student, after all.


Shortly after this supportive conversation between Bernadetta, Edelgard and I – Hubert excused himself momentarily to his room to fetch what he referred to as his "black-book". Edelgard informed me that Hubert keeps tabs on a number of Adrestian nobles in case any of them show disloyalty to the Empire, which I told her was an excellent idea.

She supplied this information to me in her usual patriotic-but-scrutinizing way – rather similarly to our conversation on the way to Remire. Considering that I really didn't have strong opinions on nobility one way or the other – I suppose it would be natural for those interested to keep a handbook on nobles, wouldn't it? So I grant that it's a:

"Good idea."

And leave it at that, realizing that I'd be treading into dangerous waters by attempting to expound any gut-feeling about nobility, or crests, or the church, or Adrestia… or any of this highfalutin stuff that her mind is always circling back to.

And to her credit, she accepts that affirmation without pressing on my two-word reply… which is a relief, as I realize that she's already eaten through all the Saghert-and-Cream cakes in the glass jar already.

When she notices me noticing, she brings a white glove to her face and tells me that she was:

"...Stress-eating…. I must say that you're to blame for this, as well..."

Before I can follow that window in her to life any further, however – Hubert returns with a large black moleskin notebook bound together with a series of Morfis pendant locks – a rather fine idea to incorporate in my workstation, lest Edelgard ever poke around my paperwork and discover this diary of mine.

After reviewing a few items some distance from myself, my student, and Bernie – he shuts the cover, locks the moleskin tight, and approaches us with the book under what I realize now is a rather sweaty armpit. Perhaps I did psyche him out a bit…

"...Professor, I suppose that if you insist on doing this inconsequential and dangerously political maneuver you will need to find an alternative delivery method for Bernadetta's… artpiece. The Duke of Varley's silk plantation is guarded by a number of hedge knights who act as plantation overseers, and I seriously doubt they'll allow you to waltz in and hand the gift to Duchess Varley in the dungeon, especially with Bernadetta present."

A slight relaxation of his yellow eye at the end of the monologue seems to give me the all-clear to encourage him onward by asking:

"You've got a plot?"

As I ask this, Petra Macneary wanders into the classroom and starts fishing around the bookshelves. I had asked her to find a Brigidian dictionary that I could reference in a pinch… but I suppose she might be having trouble finding one.

After another moment or two, Hubert answers my earlier question:

"I do… but I suppose in the spirit of repairing our mutual relations on Lady Edelgard's behalf… I should preface this concept of mine with a warning – it could potentially be fatal for you, Professor."

His Lady, who had been entertaining herself by flipping through the book on the Lordship of Gaspard's archers that I had grabbed from my father's office, immediately peeks up from the text with a squint.

"Then the plan is out of the question, Hubert…"

Is she still angry at him, I wonder?

Never a stranger to near-death experiences, I shrug and reply:

"I'm listening."

Edelgard makes no further protest at this and simply looks surprised. In light of that, the Heir to House Vestra retakes the initiative:

"The Duke of Varley happens to be an enthusiast in Brigidingo Fighting. He sets his slaves upon each other in prize matches to the death, usually for significant sums of money."

I suppose that's a noble thing to do, right? Plenty of nobles must have serfs or slaves so sending them to kill each other is…

Well, I guess I wouldn't do it myself because it just seems altogether too entitled to other people's lives… but that what nobles are, right? Ferdinand was talking about responsibilities of the Crested and all that.

That said, I can see why Edelgard would find this value system troublesome. She's generally anti-Crest, I think… and if Crests are behind all of this…

…Does My House Leader have a crest? Should I even ask?

There's probably some class roster that would tell me that, but I can't really be bothered to flip through it at the moment. I'll guess that she doesn't. The young woman who I'm speculating about appears to be doing some speculation herself, too:

"Brigidingo…? I assume it has something to do with Brigid, does it not? What is it, precisely…?"

"Hmm – perhaps it's best for a native to explain, Lady Edelgard. Petra?"

He summons the Crown Princess of the Archipelago with a snap of his fingers.

"I am coming, Hubert…!" she replies, and takes a standing space in betwixt myself and my Marquis of Pickled Sausages.

Would he snap his fingers at My House Leader…? Probably not, right?

"...Petra, what is the colloquial name for your national sport that involves two males engaging in bare-knuckle fisticuffs to the death for the honor of a female?"

The Brigidian processes Hubert's long-winded explanation in breakneck speed:

"Oh, that is being called Dornaig!" – and man, does that word ring a bell.

Leaning back in my seat, I utter:

"I've heard of that before."

Typically, if there was infidelity among Brigidians on the throat – they would solve it that way. But in my experience, "bare knuckle fisticuffs" – Hubert's appellation, was far too kind a word for that. Comparing the number of blood-heaving strangulations, fingers plunged in eye-sockets, and stones-smashed-against heads that I witnessed… Hubert was certainly making this fighting style sound much more gentlemanly than it was. Brigidingo – or Dornaig, was the no-holds barred martial method of a warrior on the battlefield, stripped down to his most primitive tools – the hands.

In a way, this fighting style mirrored my own approach to killing when my sword failed me. Hubert, noticing my retreat into memory, adds:

"Obviously, it would seem that you're familiar with the Brigidian term from your service alongside their mercenaries. That said, I suspect that it's not hard to see how that became -dingo over time among Fodlanese speakers."

Petra, who just seems generally enthused that three Fodlaners are taking such an intense interest in her customs, trades glances with each of us through those big, passionate, auburn eyes of hers – and the mood is rather contagious. Just as Hubert finishes this linguistic assessment, the Brigidian pipes up and asks:

"Are you considering learning the Dornaig, Hubert? It is how we do measuring of manliness in Brigid!"

This earns a frown and a shake of his head.

"Not I, Petra – the Professor would be doing so in order to make a delivery."

I get the impression that she finds the rationale rather confusing, but this does little to temper her happiness – and I realize now, thanks to my recent protection of Bernie's emotions – that Petra's happiness is something that I have an equal duty to look after as well. If Hubert tries to rain on her parade, I'm going to murder him right here like I murdered Sothis – and I think I'm going to swear that intent to the Goddess, too.

"That will be very exciting to watch, Professor! After you are winning that fight, you can be dedicating it to me, your clanswoman…!"

I keep forgetting that as of five days ago, I'm actually Byleth Macneary. Perhaps I could take on a third name like the residents of Faerghus do, and go by Byleth Eisner Macneary. Or I could just kill my father, and dispense with the Eisner name entirely, right? Is that how it works?

Anyway, as I consider this matter of monickers – the chair which seats My House Leader shifts ever-closer to mine.

"...For whose purpose are we doing this, might I ask?" asks the Heir to an Empire.

Hubert frowns at this, but explains dutifully:

"In spite of our Brigidian classmate's fit of nationalism, this would ostensibly be to entice the baser impulses of Duke Varley."

"...Entice…?" inquires the heir to Adrestia.

Cracking his neck, our master manipulator pauses before answering with:

"...Theoretically, if a fellow Adrestian noble was interested in having one of their bondsmen participating in one of these… questionably legal tournaments, that Lord would issue a challenge to Duke Varley and name a prize."

Everyone's eyes are squarely on our master manipulator, and he seems to chew the scenery a bit by taking the time to glare at each of us.

"If we wanted to focus on simply delivering the pillow, we could demand the ability to deliver that pillow to Bernadetta's mother in lieu of a cash reward. My intelligence network notes that Duke Varley scarcely backs down from a Brigidingo challenge – and spends most of his day watching these gladiatorial matches. It's gotten to the point where he even maintains a gentleman's club in the town so that freshly purchased slaves can immediately be thrown into the ring."

The Marquis of Pickled Sausages makes sense here, although I suspect I'm the only one who's really content with this analysis. Petra has gone quite silent by my side, Edelgard is shifting her weight around in the chair pulled up next to mine, and Bernie's eyes have dipped towards the floorboard. After soaking in the silence for a time, Edelgard is first to restore the conversation:

"Well… all of this sounds far too dangerous for a simple delivery, Hubert. Can we not simply box it up and allow me to present it to the Duchess? Her mother can simply open it that way."

Bernadetta raises her hand as if she's in a lesson right now, so I play along by nodding.

"...Mom is in the dungeon, Princess Edelgard… and my father would read all of her mail, anyway."

This new data seems to surprise My House Leader, who replies:

"...Well, I'm sure there must be some decent reason for the second part of your statement… but locking up a noblewoman of Adrestia is intolerable, certainly. We should look into arranging her release as well…"

And that sounds very Edelgardian: freeing innocent women from dungeons and all. In light of that, I reply:

"I'll challenge him."

Hubert raises his eyebrow and seems poised to reply to my confirmation before Petra jumps in front of him, blocking any view of him. Looking rather blankly into those auburn oceans behind the Brigidian's irises, I wonder why I feel so little pain and the absence of that newer, burning sensation when I do that. When no logical answers seem forthcoming – I curse not being born with a heart.

As usual, Petra's natural vim and vitality is undeterred by my tarpit of a face. With a growing smile, she tells me:

"I will be teaching you some techniques of Dornaig tonight, then, Professor. Perhaps you can be doing a rite of challenging against my Mother's clansmen, too…!"

Being a professional killer and all, I'd never decline an opportunity to sharpen my skills in unarmed combat. I'm not the most graceful fighter in gauntlets, either – so maybe brushing up on Brigidingo bare-knuckle brawling might help me train Caspar as well…

"Sure." I confirm, seeing no issue with Petra's offer.

Hubert sidesteps the affectionate display and returns to his mogging efforts by saying:

"Rather brave of you, Professor – but you'll need a sponsor for such an event. Someone with enough money to pay up if you lose."

Is Hubert volunteering himself? He answers this unspoken question by just shaking his head at me to confirm that he isn't – in spite of me not asking the question aloud.

That makes sense, though. He seems a bit miserly for non-Edelgard related purchases – and his end-goal of purchasing all the Bergamot trees in the world probably would require him to be rather frugal with his investments.

From my side, a fidget prefaces the following comment from My Student:

"I'm the obvious choice to be My Teacher's sponsor, of course."

Petra – who struck a thoughtful pose just before this and caught my attention last – then tilts her head at Edelgard's offer.

"Professor, as a Princess of Brigid I also can be volunteering for your–"

My quadriceps – not covered by my shin-greaves – is kicked by a small, pointed, boot, and this whips my neck around to meet the very obvious kicker.

"-As Crown Princess of Adrestia and his House Leader, the responsibility falls upon me…"

Why is Edelgard telling that to me and not Petra, then…? A pair of displeased amethyst irises warn me not to follow up with that query – so I do what I do best and stay silent.

This, as per usual – provokes a rather displeased expression from the Marquis of Pickled Sausages. Circling around my desk, he endeavors to inform the woman he serves:

"Lady Edelgard… need I inform you that discovery of your participation in an act such as this could lead to far more important goals of yours being compromised…"

After trading glances with a confused-looking Petra and a confused-looking Bernadetta, I return my attention to Edelgard. This is very frustration to me I realize now – because Hubert is talking about her goals like he knows them – and Edelgard is rather clearly indicating that she's not hiding these goals of hers to people she trusts, so… should I interpret that as her not trusting me?

"I'll take Petra, then." I say – a bit pissed off, although I obviously can't express that.

Somehow, though – my House Leader seems to have a window into my mood.

"...Might I ask why you're so unwilling?"

Am I being Princess-ed again?

"I don't want to compromise your goals."

This provokes her to shift in her seat very awkwardly, and a white glove fiddles with the. Two amethyst irises dart back and forth to the Marquis of Pickled Sausages, and then back to me.

"...Who told you that you were…?"

I raise an eyebrow. They were using those exact words thirty seconds ago. Clearly I'm compromising whatever goals she has just by existing, apparently.

"You're not getting in the way of anything at all, presently. Hubert is merely being cautious, and I appreciate that, but his concern in this case is unwarranted."

I'm starting to detect a pattern with Edelgard. When she says "at this moment" in regard to a secret she's keeping close… I can generally expect the truth at some point in the future – and as always, that's reassuring. When she trots out the term "presently", however – that seems to be a line that cannot be crossed.

And that's… invariably frustrating – to use her turn of phrase, because I want to know what her goals are. Knowing them and helping her achieve them is the only way I can repay the debt I owe her. Because of her, I have access to all of these difficult, complex… but also joyous feelings that take hold of me all of the time…

…Even the sensations that are strangling me now with a sanguine smirk, gloating at me about my inability to access something so basic from her that would give me the slightest bit of comfort.

In response to all that, I choke out:

"Presently."

And that earns a fidget from her.

I also notice that in the midst of our rather calm disagreement, Hubert has rounded another ninety degrees around the classroom table and is now standing behind myself and Edelgard – as if he intends to intervene from the rear if we come to blows. It's a strange suspicion on his part, though. There's nothing I'd like more than to be free of His Lady at the moment, because the constant pallor of distrust is a bit nauseating presently… and I suspect fighting her would make it so that I could never be free of the hold that she seems so fit to thrust upon me ever again. I doubt even her death would break it.

After taking a step forward, the Heir to House Vestra mediates with:

"...Presently, I see no issue in allowing Petra to sponsor the Professor. It's hardly worth–"

As Edelgard raises a hand to cut off her retainer, I resolve that I'm going to strangle to death the next person who uses that adverb.

"I'm the most capable fighter here, Hubert. If My Teacher's life is threatened, I am the only member of the Eagles who would be able to intervene decisively on his behalf."

Leaning back in my chair and letting out a very controlled exhale – I realize that the sudden motion has brought all four pairs of eyes squarely upon me… particularly the pair of purple ones. Turning my own to hers, I blankly tell them:

"If it's going to be you, I'll take my chances." Ó╭╮Ò ~Your El

If I'm being honest right now – which I have to be, given that this diary is a place in which I've required myself to be honest… I hadn't quite intended to say that, or at least not say it so harshly.

While I wouldn't have a particular issue with dying on Bernadetta's behalf, that was obviously not the objective in my participation in this… paralogue of a paralogue. I would be bothered if that happened with Edelgard present, however… because I'd know that the last person who saw me before I died was someone who held me in a state of constant distrust… And that's basically like having an enemy in front of you and behind you.

Given a choice in the matter… I'd prefer just having one foe at my front. But all that is very verbose, and very impossible for me to express – so I just said that I'd rather die than have Edelgard around me – which is only true in this one "fight to death in a foriegn martial art scenario" and not more generally, as I still want to protect her…

But perhaps this is a confirmation that all of these feelings are more of a curse than they are a blessing.

And to her credit – that statement of mine seems to wound her in… quite a raw way, which was unexpected. She suppresses that sudden spurt of emotion rather quickly, but unlike my face – which betrays nothing – her face betrayed a fair bit of shock. I'm rather proud of how quick she's able to bury those raised eyebrows and widened irises into a frown though… which gives me the impression that she's felt betrayal before.

In a strange way, I've learned more about her just now than I have in two months of very close contact and "collaboration" with her… and I suppose that would be strange, if words weren't a weapon like any other. She's certainly sharpening her blade and rehearsing a riposte behind an icy glare that seems rather practiced.

"...I suppose now you intend to blame me for what Hubert did to you on the night of the third?" she asserts in a kind of wild speculation, as if I was even thinking about that.

Although… Was she still thinking about that…?

I… think I get what she's doing. She wants me to blame her for something, but that feels like too easy an escape, doesn't it?

Nope – I'm not going to blame her for anything at all. She can stew in it.

The issue – to use a military analogy – is that she's attacking a fortified position without any siege equipment or engineers. Her thin, white eyebrows make for fine ladders – and those amethyst irises of hers are a fine forlorn hope – but a veteran campaigner like me or Holst knows that you need to back up that sally with the occasional ballista bolt. She… doesn't quite have one of those artillery pieces at the moment. If she did, she could probably get me to blame her for something that she didn't do.

But I'm not going to do that, as I feel rather safe in this citadel behind my impenetrable face.

So… what else can I do but stare blankly? She certainly doesn't deserve an answer presently.

Smartly, Hubert calls off the assault before it takes any serious casualties:

"...Cutting past these noxious stares – this unfinished plan of mine would also require that the Professor could pass muster as a Brigidian – which was a bit of an oversight in the concept."

Craning my neck towards him – I wait for him to continue, which he does:

"No offense meant by this – but you're a mite fair-skinned to be passing as a resident of that Archipelago, if I might be so blunt."

Cutting past Hubert calling someone or something else noxious without engaging in some self-reflection, I'm about to agree to the thrust of what he laid out, and just put the plan to rest… before Petra rides to the rescue, and interjects with:

"There are salt-skinned Brigidians in the Lowlands, Hubert. Many are living in my Mother's Clan. They were coming as refugees to Brigid many years ago from Fodlan."

Which solves that problem, given how I am at least a member of the Macnearies… although that's her father's clan… but whatever – would Duke Varley even be able to determine that difference?

Still, our plotter, ever a master of identifying problems, raises another:

"Be that as it may, the Professor also still lacks your traditional tattoos."

Again, the Heir to Brigid seems utterly unperturbed at this fact. Bringing a finger to her cheek, she taps the crescent under her eye.

"There is no need to be worrying – I can be helping with that…! We are often using woad as a temporary tattoo! At times, lowland clans will be lending others their men. Clanswomen will be painting temporary ones for them frequently."

Edelgard pipes up at her description:

"...Just their men?"

"In the Lowlands, the rite of inheritance is coming from the Mother, Princess Edelgard." comes Petra's reply.

"...Then My Teacher merely needs to be marked up temporarily, is that so?"

My Student's talking like she has some to claim to me at this point – and I think I'm going to have to demonstrate that's not the case if I'm to prove that I'm not actually Hubert von Vestra – who she doesn't want me to be. Now's probably not the right moment, though – as I'm in a sort of Hubertian mood right now.

"I am thinking that the woad should be leaving his skin well before the moon passes!"

"Hmph. Well, I suppose I can allow it…" From the corner of my eyes, I see her swinging her feet back and forth in the chair, as if this crushed some plan of hers.

This is getting rich.

"I will be getting the woad from the commissary now then. After that, I shall be doing some training with the professor in Donaig. We will be saving the Mother of Bernie!"

Finally, a sentiment I can get behind.

"Wow…! Thank you, Petra!" our Shut-In-Sniper yips.

"You are welcoming, Bernie!"

Bernie is, isn't she? But Petra is, as well – and I should be telling that to both of them more often.


While I sit in a chair with my face nearly pressed against the classroom's back-wall, Petra has spent the past hour painting a series of symbols on my bare back with her index finger and thumb dipped in woad. As she finishes the ornate tribal banner of the Macnearys – a trio of interlocking crescents – the mixture dries out and begins to clump past the point of usefulness, so she takes her leave back to the commissary to fetch some more.

And… I've never really had anyone touch my back with that sort of gentleness before… and find it rather nice. The first person – particularly the first woman – who I recall ever touching my back was really just clawing at it… and that was the Lady Myrmidon whose eyes I gouged out before taking her dagger as a trophy. It's at that moment that I realize that I've worn neither that dagger or Petra's dirk since my return, and… that lapse in judgment makes me a bit cagey – although I wouldn't even know how to express cagey-ness if I could.

Hubert also left sometime ago to prepare a bill of sale for the Vestra family's sulfur-powder. Naturally, I'm paying for it. Bernadetta, to her credit, has settled into a nearby desk quite nicely and is working on her next embroidery project, which is for me, of all people. She told me this shortly before embarking on it, and when she did… my chest felt rather warm.

Edelgard is also here, and I think I'm still kind of angry at her. My chest definitely burns when I think about her telling Hubert her goals, and not me – even though I've spent untold hours fretting about how reticent she seemed with them. How could she tell Hubert first – he doesn't even need to know them, does he? He's not teaching her, at least.

And… knowing that she's somewhere behind me staring makes me more than a bit uncomfortable. It's easier to think about the difficult parts of our relationship as Teacher and Student when she's not around… and I can clear my head.

Unfortunately, a good portion of my mind is preoccupied with an image of her nose bleeding profusely… And I distinctly recall that her crimson fluid began flowing shortly after I took my shirt off to subject myself to Petra's temporary-tattooing. In a way, it reminds me of when she put me in the maid costume as well, and… I wonder why that is…?

And I'm also wondering why I'm wondering about it. Lately, it's been maddening how often she's at the forefront of my cognizance… but that madness makes me wonder a bunch of things as well – which is honestly just getting overwhelming.

What remains of my logical thread here is interrupted by the timely arrival of Caspar von Bergliez and Linhardt von Hevring, who I paired up to fetch additional provisions from the dry goods store in town. With that excellent vision of his – Caspar is quick to catch sight of my indigo ink in the long shadows of the classroom.

"Awww yeah, Professor – nice tats! Did Edelgard do 'em?" he asks excitedly.

My House Leader answers Caspar before I can turn around to greet him:

"...Absolutely not, my matching tattoo sketches are far more representational than these…"

…Edelgard has sketches for matching tattoos?

Strangely, when she says stuff like that, she looks at me, too– as if the person who's apparently not ready for the "goals" discussion is somehow ready to get a matching fucking tattoo with her.

I bet if I asked Petra what her goals were right now, she'd tell me. But I suppose I should modify this to make more sense – if I had asked Petra what her goals were before she started inking me up with her clan symbols… I'm pretty sure the Brigidian would've told me without me needing to get all angry about it.

So, in light of all this – I simply stare at My Student blankly.

I'm hoping she goes away, because I find myself wanting to think about her without her being present… and I suppose that's a kind of a strange feeling to have, but I always seem to be having useful revelations about our fictitious efforts at collaboration whenever she's not around.

…And I want to wonder why that is, but her presence here is throttling my ability to reason anything out. In an effort to avoid acknowledging this… and to answer Caspar's question – I clarify:

"Petra's handiwork."

And just like clockwork, the Brawler of Bergliez recoils at the sound of his classmate's name.

That whole Caspar's dad killing Petra's dad situation is yet another piece of unresolved drama that I suspect I'll need to facilitate those two working through at some point… but how could I even do that?

Would it even be right for me to interfere?

"My Teacher… your chest has–"

Edelgard is looking dead-on at my scar, but I really don't want to have this conversation with her until I can get her to budge on the "goals" one. It's not so much of a "trust" issue – as I don't mind telling her that I don't have a heart… but I guess it's just one of reciprocation. I'd like to know what she wants to achieve in life before I tell her that I'm a member of the walking dead.

…So I just leave her hanging with a face as selfish as her attitude. Before she snaps at me, however – Linhardt curves around my backside and seems to have a revelation:

"Hm…! Those designs of Petra's rather remind me of a crest…"

I'd rather listen to Lin talk about crests than My House Leader talk about chests. In any event, my sleepy sage's comment prompts me to turn around and withdraw my bare chest from her view, hopefully putting the topic to bed there. Realizing that Linhardt is also interested in this crest stuff – I make an effort to engage him.

"Which Crest…?" I inquire – as if I know a damn thing about this topic.

Lin's cerulean eyes go glassy, and he leans against the wall rather tiredly.

"The pattern escapes me at the moment… perhaps after a nap…?"

Judging by all the food that Caspar and Lin brought with them back to the dormitory – about a week's worth, with requisite sweets that were subjected to the approval of a certain white-haired quartermaster-general… both of my younger Eagles deserve a rest. I don't have any other tasks for them to complete, at least.

"You can go back to the dorm, Lin. You did well." I offer.

Pushing himself off the wall with some effort, he circles back to his nearby desk.

"I can take a nap here, Professor – I've been keeping a neck-pillow inside my desk drawer, as you recommended."

That neck-pillow also appears to have been embroidered by Bernadetta – and that makes me very glad. Lin and Bernadetta should become best friends, I think – they complement each other well insofar as wanting to cloister themselves off from the world.

"I'm glad." I note, and for the first time today, I am.

Needless to say – even though I cannot emote – a certain someone seems intent on casting a rain shower over my secret reverie…

That certain someone happens to have white gloves that are on their hips, a bad habit of shifting their weight around on each leg whenever they're rehearsing a comment, and a penchant for sticking her nose up in the air when people do things that she dislikes.

That person is doing all of those things right now… and I'm just not having it.

"I don't think you should encourage that, My Teacher…" I'm told by that certain someone.

And so I utter without a moment's hesitation:

"I think you should fuck off." ( òó)

…Am I in a bad mood?

This retort of mine seems to really disarm her completely. At a moment like this, if say – Hubert wasn't back at his dorm trying to milk me dry for having the audacity to purchase his volcano's excrement, I'd fully expect him to take up the tack and try to defend her honor from a comment like that. But… like on the 20th of Great Tree Moon, this statement of mine just hits like a horse drawn-carriage.

And that's strange, I guess – given how I've seen the girl before me kill in cold blood before. Why would me telling her to leave me alone seem so earth-shattering?

"That… comment of yours was appalling…"

What else can I do but shrug?

"...Hmph…!"

I've never seen her nose turn up as high as it does now. It's cute – but also curious, because I feel like I should want to argue more… but I don't want to argue. I also find it strange that I'm even considering arguing with her, frankly. Since when do I argue with anyone…?

Eventually, Caspar wanders in between us with a shocked expression.

"Woah…! You two are sorta actin' like my folks right now…"

We both wait for him to continue, and he does:

"They'd fight like this, and then get all handsy, and then go to their bedroom afterwards, and they'd fight even louder…!"

I feel very sad that Caspar's parents had an argument at that time. Why did they become parents if they disagreed on something once…?

Turning to My House Leader to gauge her reaction, I note that Edelgard has replaced with Redelgard.

"That's–!" she starts…

But before she can finish that comment, my Red Lancer – like a knight in shining armor, arrives to suppress whatever rapidly building tension Caspar was threatening to ejaculate in that description of the domestic life of the Begliez family.

"Professor! I've returned from the glassblower with the fuses!" he yells at the top of his lungs, and I'm incredibly glad he's yelling… although the rationale for him needed to not use his inside voice is very unclear to me at the moment.

When he finishes stroll across the classroom, placing the fusebox on a nearby desk, my Brawler informs him:

"Yo Ferd, Edelgard and the Professor are arguing! You shoulda seen it!"

Ferdinand shakes his head at this revelation.

"How unfortunate! Naturally, Edelgard must be at fault."

"...Unbelievable…"

Everyone is staring at the Heir to an Empire as soon as she says this. To her credit... she doesn't wither in the spotlight, and it actually seems to make her more agitated. In light of that, she says:

"W-well, I have better things to do than endure you being a boor at the moment…! And to think I went through all the trouble to…"

I'm not even going to bother parsing what she means here.

"...Never mind…"

After Edelgard storms off, a rumble is heard emanating from Ferd's belly – which, unlike his yelling earlier, is actually loud enough to rouse Linhardt von Hevring. Ferdinand offers to treat me to dinner (all dinners in the dining hall are free, though…) – but I'm forced to decline his act of kindness. Petra informed me that the ink takes about two hours to set, and it's scarcely been one.


"Professor… I'm lovin' the view… but this is definitely NOT your look…!"

Dorothea Arnault has returned from the hemp merchant – far later than I expected. Perhaps it was due to the pairing – as I had sent her with Ferdinand on one of the more sensitive tasks that I needed done before setting off tomorrow – namely, the acquisition and assembly of around fifty glass-and-rope fuses from the monastery's glass-blower and hemp-merchant, respectively.

I had assumed that Ferdinand would handle the heavier rope and Dorothea the lighter glassware… but much to my surprise, Dorothea apparently struggled her way back to the classroom weighed down in rolls of cord while Ferdinand simply presented me the fusebox some time ago. In the meantime, Petra returned with additional woad, but was then interrupted by Bernadetta, who wanted a temporary tattoo as well.

Petra ran off to get more woad, extremely excited to share her national tradition with Bernie.

They're such good kids.

I guess I can't refer to Dorothea as a kid, though… given how she's around my age, I think… Her worldliness makes her seem older, anyway.

Does that maturity make her more like a mother? Or a wife?

NO, wrong Eagle, My Byleth…! ~Your El ( •̀ ω•́ )

Ferdinand is also quite mature as well – but it seems like they gotten my directive mixed up… or was something else at play…?

Anyway, I guess I have to answer Dorothea's insult. Stepping out of the shadows and towards her, I indicate:

"These are Brigidian symbols of some sort. Petra made them." I note, pointing out the other markings.

Dorothea's thin brown eyebrows shoot up, and her eyelids join them shortly after – and she looks quite surprised. I realize now that as of right now, she's not aware of the side-trip to Varley that Bernadetta proposed. I guess it's natural for her to take some surprise in seeing me shirtless inside the classroom.

"...Yikes, guess I just put my foot in my mouth and sounded kinda prejudiced, didn't I…?"

Since I'm wearing the tattoos, wouldn't that mean that I'm the prejudiced one? At the very least, wouldn't I be the one appropriating Brigidian culture, actually? Why is she mad at herself, then? Scratching my hair, I feel compelled to inform her:

"I'm not Brigidian."

This brings up a hand to her mouth in a smirk – and my eyes are drawn to her bracelets again.

"...Yeah, I kinda knew that going in, Professor…!" she says through a couple of nearly-silent laughs.

…Why is the Songstress sassing me?

"Petra's not here. It's fine" I inform her with a shrug.

If Petra was here, I might be compelled to make some vague threat to Dorothea to stop bullying the Crown Princess of Brigid, lest I be forced to beat her to death like Hubert. I'm glad Petra's not here, of course – as I really don't want to threaten to kill Dorothea, of course. My endgame is still to treat her to many exotic dinners in the future.

"...Still – that wasn't my intent – I mean, I was just trying to tease you a bit…" She replies with eyes that dart away from mine, and seem to inspect the empty classroom around us before rather uncomfortably returning back to me.

The Songstress's rationale for saying that makes sense, I suppose. Edelgard was apparently teasing Hubert a little while ago and ended up pushing a bit too far – particularly when she activated my protective instincts, and those caused me to threaten Hubert's life by manner of Brigidingo… without knowing what Brigidingo actually was at that moment.

Does that mean that I'm our Hubert of the Heart's Hubert…?

Does that mean Dorothea wants me to act like Hubert, then…?

Women are difficult. With Ferdinand, we'd just hug it out. Although… I guess hugging Marianne worked…? At least she was able to learn that Dorte liked her cooking.

As I lose myself in such thoughts, apparently my gaze simply stares right through the emerald irises of the Songstress – and that ever-blank face of mine seems to unsettle her terribly. After an Edelgardian squirm, she tells me:

"You're… kind of tough, you know…? Most people have weaknesses, but you just let everything roll off..."

No Dorothea, I'm just emotionally crippled. If my face functioned properly, I'd probably be a complete wreck right now.

Still – I suppose that's for the best, as it allows me to maintain an air of distance and connectedness which the Eagles can reply upon… and that's what they need, I think. If they need a pillar to buttress themselves against, I'm happy to be that pillar – specifically because I cannot express that happiness.

In attempt to clear the air between us, I ask:

"Is everything OK, Dorothea?"

"Oh yeah, Professor… I'm OK, but… can I ask a favor, now that I have you here?" she replies, and I get the impression that she's going to rely on me now, which makes my chest feel rather warm.

I want her to feel comfortable relying on me, of course.

So I nod.

"...Would you mind not pairing me up with Ferdinand for tasks like this…? He's a real bee." she says, with lyrical emphasis on the last word in that second sentence.

…A bee?

Bees are interesting bugs. According to my own understanding of aviation – mostly observed by watching vultures pick at corpses in the Almyran desert – the bee's body should be too large for its small wings to accommodate flight. Bees, of course – fly anyway, though – because bees seem not to care very much at all for what a human like me thinks.

But Ferdinand does certainly care about what I think, and how I feel, and taught me about the nature of comradeship and the joy of hugging. Ferdinand doesn't strike me as bee-like at all. In fact, the nobility of the man strikes me as rather… Eagle-ish, which is very apropos considering the class I teach, isn't it?

"...Bee?" I babble brusquely, begging for a better explanation.

Dorothea's hips sway at this question.

"Your favorite Songstress is allergic to their barbs, ya know..."

Additional objective added: murder all the bees in the whole wide world to protect Dorothea from having an allergic reaction to them.

"I had no idea..." I say, at a barely audible tone that must mask my shock. A thoughtful hand presses against my chin at this realization rather reflexively.

Dorothea gives me a look like she's won the upper hand in our conversation, though – and I suppose she has. It's rather inconsiderate of me not to know her allergies, isn't it?

"Well, now you can kiss it better when I get stung, right…?" she asks with a wink and a smile.

I suppose I could?

I had always assumed that kissing was an affectionate display – but I'm willing to grant that the times I've witnessed people sucking out desert-snake poison from arm and leg wounds might very well have been kissing instead. Naturally – if you're going to save a life like that… you must feel some affection towards that person, right? You're literally passing poison through your lips on their behalf.

"Kissing's therapeutic…?" I ask – looking for Dorothea to confirm this rather confusing logical thread.

She looks very surprised at this question, which makes me even more unsteady in my own footing.

"Oh.. you actually haven't, yet…?"

At this question, I just shake my head – not wanting to explain my total disregard for human life for the entirety of my existence, right up until the 20th of Great Tree Moon, 1180.

"...Not even with Edie?"

And… rather like clockwork, I'm able to have a clear-headed realization about Edelgard now that she's gone.

My first thought here is, rather naturally: My House Leader hasn't been poisoned yet – but then I realize that she actually has… Edelgard was vomiting from alcohol poisoning on St. Macuil's Day, and like the dead man I am… I did nothing except take her in my arms and hold her hair back.

If kissing could've prevented any additional discomfort on her part, I would've tried my best to kiss her everywhere and anywhere she wanted me to… even though I don't really know how to kiss someone therapeutically… or affectionately…

YES, correct Eagle, My Byleth. ~Your El (˶^ з^(〃‿〃✿)

"Hm…since you haven't any experience, perhaps the two of us could do some research…? Over tea and some interior design journals in my room, maybe…?"

Is that an interest of Dorothea's, I wonder? Interior design seems like a natural fit for her. When my father took the company to the estates of various nobles in order to negotiate contracts, I recall that their manors were often in constant states of upheaval. The nobles themselves often seemed very unsettled in their own homes, but the people who remained cool, collected, and thoroughly in charge of affairs were typically the interior designers.

I suppose that's rather akin to commanding an army, as well – but does Dorothea actually want to command armies? I get the impression she'd rather drink tea and read all day.

Obviously, she's at a war college – but… she was a Songstress before this, right…?

Unable to really reason that out further, If she wants to simulate a practical demonstration of an allergy-based medical emergency from a bee sting… we'll probably need to actually attract them to us.

"We should bring honey." I note after bringing a hand to my chin and pressing it thoughtfully into my dimple. Dorothea seems to find my contemplativeness amusing,

"Who knew you were that easy, Professor…? Maybe I can sneak in your schedule after our detour to Gronder? Sweet Apple Blend's great with honey, at least…"

It's at this moment that I realize that maybe I was a bit too gung-ho in scheduling the field-trip.

"Did you not want to come along? I don't want to force you."

She tilts her head at this question – and seems to relax a bit. She's been a bit on edge since I closed the distance between the two of us.

"You're not, Professor… and thank you for saying that…"

"I'll protect you." I say – and I will. Any of Petra's countrymen that try to lay a hand on Dorothea Arnault, my ward – are going to get their limbs blown off in the most horrific and painful fashion imaginable. It will make the other sort of fashion – the one with clothes, I mean – seem quite trivial indeed.

"... If you make promises you can't keep…" she warns – but then doesn't follow up on what the consequence for that would be, which is curious. I'm pretty sure she did that last time we shared a moment like this alone, as well…

"But… anyway… I'd definitely rather be knee-deep in manure than back here alone, I guess… Never good to spend too much time with your own thoughts, don't ya think…?!"

I added the exclamation point there to indicate her surprise – because after she asked that fraught and seemingly revealing I took her in my arms in a big, Ferdinandian, bare-chested bear-hug.

"Time's better spent with others." I say with a nod in agreement.

If my ward doesn't like being alone, I'll have her march through the smelliest shit in all of Fodlan to make sure she feels the warmth of camaraderie.

Dorothea is blushing almost as brightly as Edelgard after I say this, and it takes her a long time to recover from what must be the surprise of a dead-faced monster like me showing her affection.

"Hey, Professor… can I suggest something a bit more poetic?"

"I'm listening."

With a smirk, she supplies:

"How about… Time's better spent with Dorothea in her Dorm…?"

Dorothea looks at me very expectantly after she asks that question, as if she's existing at some sort of knife's edge where's she thrown herself out there in spite of fearing rejection. I wonder why that is?

"That sounds great." I say - and it does, I think. I should hang out with Dorothea more, and if she wants to hold hands... what's wrong with that?

I've always wanted to learn more about interior design, and the fact that Dorothea is sweating and red makes me wonder if cavernous, dark, empty spaces decorated with austere stone and wood accents cause people to grow… hot with another person who is trying to express Ferdinandian comradeship. Perhaps… as a way to bring my Ginger Gentleman and Slender Songstress together as pals… I could have them collaborate on decorating the classroom.

Tangentially, I don't think I've ever seen our Hubert of the Heart's eyes this large before. For whatever reason, she starts tracing a hand over and around my biceps.

"We could always continue our hand-holding session too, if you wanted– oh…"

"That scar…it's right over your…?"

One of Dorothea's long, delicate fingers pokes the raised, slash-like splotch of tissue on my exposed torso.

Would it be wrong to talk to Dorothea about the scar before Edelgard?

… █▬▬ ◟(`´ ◟ ) El

˚) Byleth

Before I can respond to that, though – Petra arrives with more woad.


Author's Note

Hope y'all are enjoying Moodyleth. With the good feelings come the bad ones – and might as well get Billy's arrested adolescent asshole phase out of the way early. Doodlegard will also appear less from now on – but she'll occasionally scribble in the pages whenever Jerkleth decides to enter stage left.

Also, since we're at Chapter 69, I would be remiss without paying homage to "Bee Movie".

DragonMaster: To your point about the inspiration for Byleth – yes, he is a Heinlein expy of a kind, but that comp only goes so far, I think. Heinlein MCs are generally much more curious about the outer world than Byleth is, insofar as he's already "traveled" it. My Byleth is more interested in traversing the inner worlds of others – because I've kind of made it clear that he really can't be bothered with the political dimension of El's dream. He just kills people and protects Beagles.

Honestly, I think a way more compelling pitch for Crimson Flower is for El not to sell her project to Byleth (why should they care in White Clouds?) but for El to indirectly sell her revolutionary project to the Eagles THROUGH Byleth as the interlocutor. They're going to be the ones who she needs to lean on in the five-year interim, anyway.

More broadly, I wanted to give El a slightly different conflict here insofar as:

"Hubert wants me to stay the course with TWISTD as frenemies."

"Byleth wants me to turn the tables on TWISTD and bring the Beagle Family along."

This forces her to contend with which "path" is her best way to reach the dawn she's looking for.

In a way, I'm taking the SS/CF route choice and putting it in El's hands, not Byleth's – because the Byleth here wouldn't really feel that conflicted.

That said – White Clouds is going to be her evaluating options. So far, TWISTD's big "advantage" to El is that:

-Their short-term political goals align in Nabatean killing.

-They invented war crimes.

-They have nukes.

To wit, we know that:

-Byleth doesn't have political goals, but he is kinda-sorta Nabatean.

-Byleth has committed war crimes on the people El wants to commit war crimes with.

-Byleth is going to get access to the Nuclear Whip-Sword next moon.

Additionally:

-She does not want a cute, storybook romance with Torturer-Uncle Thales.

-She does want a cute, storybook romance with Brooding Femboy Byleth.

That's also why I chose Billy to be the White Clouds narrator. This process has to be distant, arduous, and long for it to work well as a subtextual drama, I think. El is going to be narrating Crimson Flower to flip the table on this later.

To your point about mobilization timetables (lol) – I think this is sort of the devs using a medieval European window-dressing for what looks like Sengoku-Era Japan. If you read the Nintendo Dream interview with Kusakihara, he says that the scale of the world (not Fodlan, as is sometimes translated) is essentially 1-for-1 with Japan, and the various powers should be thought of like daimyo.

With that in mind, I scaled distances from place to place based on a superimposition of Kyushu, which looks rather similar to Fodlan in shape, and has logical population centers (Kagoshima, Fukuoka, Nagasaki) in rough approximations to Enbarr, Derdriu, and Fhirdiad respectively.

The rough population projection for Kyushu is about 5-8 million people during the 16th century – let's say we take the high number and allot 4 million for Adrestia, 2 million for Leicester, and 2 million for Faerghus. Mustering 10,000 fighting-age men AND women should not be an issue for any of those powers, especially when the continent is full of professional soldiers and mercenaries.

If we're talking about speed, then I'd submit to you that in March of 1560, the Imagawa declared war on their Oda Clan neighbors. In 2 months, Oda Nobunaga mustered 3500 troops (1/15th his population) and defeated a force ten times that size in June of that same year.

Byleth has been gone for two months.

Next month, there's going to be a battle.

As far as Almyra is concerned, you and PRT (reviews deleted) are jumping the gun again! I'm getting to why they're not Mongol-ing Fodlan, and it has to do with Khalid von Riegan and his paralogue that happens just after the Battle of Eagle and Lion.