For as long as I can remember, I've gained a certain clarity of mind when there are punches being thrown in my direction. It's as if my body reacts to the strikes on their own, leaving my mind free to focus on other matters. Up until today, however – I never really had an occasion to use that acuity, and was generally content to just bask in the emptiness of it all. Tonight is different, though – as now I have responsibilities and people to protect. So – with this newfound clarity, I'm thinking first about Edelgard, who I told to fuck off earlier this afternoon.

While that may read as a bit counter-intuitive – as fucking off implies that I wanted to not think about her… after more consideration… I don't think I meant that. But that's what I said, and… that doesn't make any sense, does it?

Telling lies is equal parts confusing and frustrating. Dishonesty isn't really my forte – in fact, I can't recall telling a single falsehood in my entire life until the 23rd of Great Tree Moon. That lie was to Dimitri and the Lions, who asked me to teach their class well before Edelgard implied her desire to have me as her teacher. Claude asked before My House Leader too, of course – not that I ever would've accepted – but I should confess to lying to the Deer's Leader, as well.

Does that make me any better than His Deceitfulness? Was that not also deceit?

Should I apologize to Edelgard?

That last supposition comes as Petra Macneary attempts to close the distance and take advantage of an opening to deliver an uppercut. She's been working towards that point for at least an hour or so, throwing a cacophony of cuts, hooks, and haymakers while observing my reactions to each strike behind those intense auburn irises of hers.

The Brigidian Heiress does not succeed in this latest attempt of hers, either – as I'm able to catch her strike with the palm of my hand and force it back down – but I'm proud of her, anyway. Petra almost got me – and I suspect that's because she's exceptionally quick-thinking and equally as fast on her feet. I noticed this with her sword-play as well – this precision and speed of hers… but it also lacks something, too. Raw power isn't the right word, of course – as the power is there in spades for someone as young as she is…

Mechanics, maybe?

If I could describe Petra's brawling style – it brings to mind the Brigidian swordplay taught to my ward by her grandfather. This to say that even though she's fighting with her hands, it's all footwork. The agility is there – but I would never mistake her strikes as particularly lethal in nature – even if she were fighting an actual enemy and not her professor. I suspect this is because she's pushing off her heel and losing quite a bit of energy behind each throw due to that awkward displacement. As this consideration crosses my mind, I catch a right hook in the palm of my hand that was delivered from that off-balance stance… clearly as a result of an awkward pivot as she tries to strike towards my flank. Petra staggers back a bit as this happens, clearly surprised that I was able to drive her back with so little reactionary force applied.

"Try with both feet on the ground." I suggest in between two whizzing haymakers. She recovers quickly, at least.

"It is my job to be doing the teaching, Professor!" the Brigidian shouts back at me.

I guess I could grant that… if I knew what she meant by that reply...

Unfortunately, I can't tell if that's an angry, sarcastic, enthusiastic, or exasperated exclamation of hers. I'd be able to make out Petra's reaction if there weren't fists with fingers dipped in indigo-toned woad blocking any sustained view of her. To her credit, though – the clenched hands driven towards my face are starting to carry more force behind them – enough where it actually takes some exertion on my part to push back against them following a block.

As I drive off strike after strike, my mind returns to the Adrestian Princess who I was so dismissive of earlier. There were probably better ways to express what I had wanted to mean when I told Edelgard to fuck off. I guess I was trying to express frustration, which is a rather new feeling for me… and I didn't have any better way to go about explaining it then. Hubert is not her Teacher – I am, so why let him have the goals conversation and not me? I'm the one responsible to be directing her towards those, am I not?

This possessiveness has an ulterior motive too, I think… which is to say that I desired her to feel comfortable talking about her own aspirations and goals… particularly with me, but perhaps with all of the other Eagles as well – given the fact that she's their house leader, too. A series of nagging questions arise at this moment as well:

If I was to apologize to My Student, would that apology even be meaningful?

Does Edelgard even like being apologized to?

Additionally:

Why is Edelgard always in a bad mood…? (ᓀ ‸ᓂ)

I can't consider these questions much past the queries themselves because I take a strike square in the jaw from the Heir to the Brigid. The force is surprising – and forces me to stagger back.

"Yes…! We have finally done the connecting, Professor!" she yells enthusiastically.

I can't see her reaction past those words, though, because my face has been turned by the punch's force towards our fight's two observers – Caspar von Bergliez and Dorothea Arnault. Both look utterly shocked, but Caspar's quick to recover, as is his way.

"Woah, Petra cleaned your clock, Professor!" he shouts, clenching his own fists excitedly.

Nodding at Caspar instead of Petra because the latter's hit was hard enough to seize up my lateral neck muscles, I reply:

"I'm impressed."

That nod and comment elicits a pop from just above my right shoulder, and I'm able to swing back my view to my… Clan Leader? I'm tatted up in the Brigid Way and wearing her dirk on my belt, at least. In any event, Petra's wearing a thoroughly satisfied expression – and I'm proud of that satisfaction – even if it did require some pain to elicit.

But I think I like that.

The Brigidian has also apparently been thinking, because she informs me in the usual participle:

"I am thinking it was because I am following your suggestion!"

I guess I'm glad my suggestion resulted in getting my clock cleaned, to use Caspar's turn of phrase. The only issue here is that while Petra is learning by doing, Caspar and Dorothea are also here and haven't seemed to learn much at all by watching. In fairness, they haven't really engaged with whatever lesson is being imparted here – apart from watching Petra and I trade blows. But that's a failure of mine, isn't it?

They're here, and should also be learning, right?

That's presumably why they're at a war college, I think.

Thankfully, that acknowledgement paves the way towards a solution.

"You've taught me a great deal." I say to Petra – and shuffle over towards the bench where Enbarr's Most Eligible and the Brawler of Bergliez are seated.

Sitting down between them, I rub my jaw for a time before finally saying to Petra:

"Teach Caspar next."

And that elicits a rather perturbed expression from our designated hitter in return – as if he was the one who got his clock cleaned.

"Uh – Professor, I, uh–!" he stammers.

Before I can really supply a mealy-mouthed rationale for why him learning the technique from Petra would be valuable, the Heir to an Archipelago jumps to my defense:

"Do as the Professor is saying, Caspar – I am wishing to be furthering my training!" she shouts with tightly clenched fists and squinting eyes…

And damn it all if those features don't remind me of a certain someone at the moment. But they're also distinctly… Petranian – so I suppose a comparison like that only goes so far, doesn't it?

"We've got some pretty intense princesses here, don't you think?" Dorothea asks with a smirk and elbow into my shoulder, as if reading my mind.

And I grant that with a nod – because it's true, isn't it? I've only met two princesses in my life anyway, so it would make sense that every princess in the entire world was this driven and task-oriented… right?

"Myself included, of course!" adds the Princess of the…Enbarr Alleyways…(?)

An attempt at teasing out what territory this commoner orphan would be ruling over happens to prompt another question to leave my lips:

"Why did you decide to come along, Dorothea?" I inquire haltingly.

While I guess that's a question that's specifically curious about why she attended this tutoring session in the Knights Hall in spite of the fact that she's a mage, I am starting to get really interested in the rationale of an opera prodigy attending a war college in the first place. If I were a gambler, I'd wager that Opera singers tend to have longer, more fulfilling lives than soldiers, who get into the habit of dying.

Dorothea recedes a bit from this query, though – and it makes me think that there's no simple answer to that question of mine… or at least, that there's no simple answer that that songstress is willing to provide. Clearing her throat delicately, she replies:

"...I felt kinda bad about what I said about the tattoo earlier, so I thought I'd… see what Brigid's all about, right?"

Which is an eminently reasonable and tolerant response to the circumstances, I suppose – if a bit confusing. Petra took no offense to her commentary earlier about the tattoos because she wasn't there. In reality, it's my fault for wearing them, even if I was ostensibly doing so on her behalf. In an attempt to absolve the Princess Arnault, I offer:

"There's more to Brigid than fighting, I think." I state, sans inhibition.

A coffee-colored eyebrow shoots up at this postulation, joined by the slight narrowing of two highly amused emerald irises. I must have said something stupid again. Leaning forward, she wags her long, thin index finger in my direction.

"That's… an unexpected comment coming from someone like you, isn't it?" Comes her natural follow-up.

By "someone like you" I imagine that the songstress means to imply that I'm some sort of barbaric war criminal mercenary or something like that. And given my actions at Remire – even if they were to preserve her safety – she'd be correct in identifying me to be "like that".

Me moralizing about the non-violent cultural offerings of Brigid must seem beyond strange. To wit, I'm only aware of two of them, and they mostly revolve around what's done after triumph in a violent battle. People will sit in the laps of loved ones during a meal, and the traditional fare for one of those victory feasts is Haggis. I suppose I could add the vine crowns as well that Petra described from the camping trip… but I suppose that would be more religious than cultural.

In effect, I'm full of shit.

With that in mind, what else can I reply with but:

"True."

Surprisingly, however – Dorothea seems to take offense at my own admission.

"...I was just kidding, Professor! Did Petra get you dizzy or something?"

"In a way." I offer distractedly.

That hesitance is confusing though – as within the privacy of my mind I'd be immediately willing to grant that thinking about Edelgard is what usually makes me dizzy and distracted to begin with. //

"...You're kinda cryptic in all the worst ways, ya know?" I'm informed by the Heir to House Opera.

It's a point I'm genuinely willing to capitulate on as well – given how I'm effectively betraying a tumult of feelings that are stirred with these one-word answers of mine. If I told Dorothea how conflicted I felt about My Student at times, would she understand? Would the Hubert of the Heart have some cutting insight?

These are all expressions I literally cannot bring myself to state in words, however – and so I can only riposte with a weak-willed:

"Sorry."

And the Songstress parries that errant thrust with a blow of her own:

"Apologizing might work with Edie, but not with me!"

Shaking my head at this and running a hand through my hair, I'm compelled to inform the Songstress that:

"It doesn't work with her." I clarify – and it shouldn't.

Moreover, I'd feel upset if it did, I think… or at least experience some sort of mood that mirrors the sensation that I have now – a sensation of quiet fury at my own incompetence and reticence. Dorothea seems to key in on my head sinking down a bit as I think these thoughts, and she's quick to retreat from her own strike:

"Oh… yeah, well Edie's just a bit high-strung… maybe just give her some space…"(ᓀ ‸ᓂ) -That must be your expression, too, My Byleth. She clearly doesn't understand US at all!

Any attempt at considering that suggestion of hers is interrupted by a massive Caspar-sized thud on the sand of the Knights' Hall training pit. By all accounts, the Brawler from Bergliez has gotten his clock cleaned. The Heiress to Brigid then offers a helping hand to the son of her father's killer, who simply stares at it.

More than a bit miffed, she barks:

"Caspar – you must be striking back – not just blocking like the Professor! It is you who is training in gauntlets!"

"Petra, I mean–!"

Dorothea, Petra, and I all wait for whatever Caspar actually meant – but this is vain, because he never actually finishes the thought. Eventually the Heir to Greater and Lesser Brigid simply grabs her peer's hand and yanks it up, bringing a less than willing blue-haired boy along with it. This prompts a chuckle from the songstress, who leans in and whispers:

"I think Caspar's got butterflies around her – wouldn't you agree?"

More of Dorothea's insectoid references. First Ferdinand's a bee, now the Bergliez is a butterfly. I wonder what bug she thinks I am? Craning my neck towards her ear, I whisper in return:

"Caspar's father killed Petra's father."

And this revelation has Dorothea going ramrod straight, clasping her hands together in shock and looking rather like a praying mantis.

"...Oh, Goddess, no…! I'm just making a mess of things today, aren't I?" She yips, attracting the attention of the two adolescents in the ring.

Realizing that I should probably try to walk us both back from the dangerous precipice this conversation is teetering on, I stare at her very intently and say:

"Please look out for them, Dorothea."

But this just seems to confuse her terribly, and her only offering to that request of mine is simply to utter:

"...Huh?"

"I rely on your insight." comes my reply – and I realize now that I increasingly, I do.

Dorothea, in spite of her seeming quick to judge at times, has an emotional and social intelligence that far outpaces mine, I think. While that's probably not a particularly unique quality among my current students – Dorothea is certainly the most capable of the group when it comes to reading a room and then transmitting those cues to me – oftentimes through humorous observations or quips.

Without that talent, I'd certainly be a bit more out of my element than I already am.

Still, she retreats from the responsibility I've just thrust upon her by riposting with:

"...I'm not as responsible as you think, Professor – I've got my own faults, too."

And this is where I get an idea – namely, to tell Dorothea just how important and essential she is to me. How else would I be able to navigate the fraught relationship I have with my House Leader without the Songstress constantly finding us amusing and then defusing the intensity between us?

Deeply cognizant of the debt I owe to her, I grab her left hand, which was preoccupied twirling a lock of her hair around her index finger, and clasp it in between mine. A look of surprise overtakes her, but I press forward, uttering:

"You're my Hubert of the Heart."

Unfortunately, I'm thinking that this didn't have the intended effect.

"Your WHAT…!" she exclaims, attracting the attention of the two combatants in the ring.

"Damn, Professor – did you seriously tell a joke?" Caspar inquires, shocked.

Are people supposed to react to jokes with expressions of abject terror? Have I been trying to joke incorrectly this entire time?

Shaking my head, I reply:

"I'm always serious."

And I am – I think.


Explaining what I meant by "Hubert of the Heart" to Dorothea occupied most of the walk back after the tutoring ended. Petra and Caspar split off immediately after the conclusion of the session – with the Brawler of Bergliez rather desperately trying to squirm his way out of the long walk back to the dormitories alongside the ersatz Brawler of Brigid. Under most circumstances, I would've pressed Caspar a bit further – but I got the distinct impression that he was at his limit.

Petra, however, seemed justifiably miffed that her sparring partner had been holding back, and resolved shortly after Caspar's quick exit to track him down. Knowing better to interrupt the huntress, I encouraged her to seek out her prey by noting that Gronder Meat Skewers were available this evening – and that last call at the dining hall was coming up.

This left me with Dorothea at my side with an inquisitive expression, so I got down to brass tacks in explaining how comparing her to Hubert was intended to be complimentary. For what it's worth, I think I was able to transmit my meaning to the Songstress, as after a few long stares and raised eyebrows, laughs followed.

As Dorothea settled down, her voluminous, wavy hair took up the tack and set about dancing about in the evening breeze.

"Honestly, though… that's still getting a Yikes from me, Professor…" she added at the end of our discussion.

Her longest, most voluminous giggle was emitted just as we cut through the quadrangle and emerged onto the Promenade just opposite my dormitory door. Much to my surprise – the Heir to Adrestia was waiting outside with a large gift box in both hands. It cut quite the complimentary image, the white wrapping of the box was also topped off with a large red bow on it.

Scrutinizing myself and the Songstress in her usual manner, Edelgard says as we approach:

"...Your face is quite swollen, My Teacher."

Reflexively reaching towards my jaw, I notice that it is indeed a bit sensitive to the touch. I had mostly forgotten about the dull, throbbing pain while attempting to explain to Dorothea the meaning behind my Hubert of the Heart appellation. Speaking of the Operatic Obfuscator – she thrusts her palms forward quite theatrically and yips:

"I had nothing to do with it, Edie!"

At this cue, I step forward and up the stairs towards the dormitory, closing the distance between myself and the Heir to an Empire.

"Well, I must say that it seems to be well-deserved after your treatment of everyone today..." adds the Always-Aggravated Adrestian.

By everyone, she just means Edelgard, right? With the exception of Hubert, who was bullying Bernie, I think I was rather considerate to everyone else over the past twenty-four hours or so … (ᓀ ‸ᓂ)

"I was thinking about you, then Petra hit me." I note.

At this admission, Redelgard appears and starts shifting about in her boots rather uncomfortably – with those amethyst irises of hers darting back and forth between myself and the other Eaglette present – who I can see enthusiastically cheering Edelgard on in the periphery.

"Y-you were…?" she manages with pursed lips that only open ever-so-slightly.

Before I can answer that question in any more detail, I notice My House Leader's neck immediately whip towards the not-so-innocent bystander among us. Bringing Dorothea into my own foreground, I notice that she's silently clapping her hands together – each palm just missing the other in an effort to not interrupt the moment.

After realizing that the two persons of interest have their irises squarely affixed on hers, she meekly offers:

"...I'll run into you two lovebirds tomorrow, OK…?" before taking her leave of us.

As Dorothea shuffles away snickering, I bring my gaze back on Edelgard – who glances in my direction and then turns her chin up, as if she just remembered that she was angry about something. I'm going to assume that she still wants to rake me over the coals regarding the "fuck off" incidient – so I pre-empt this by mentioning:

"I shouldn't have told you to fuck off." – and I shouldn't have – I'm Her Teacher, after all.

This earns a critical glare from her, however – and I'm assessed coldly by two white eyebrows that push down the rest of her face in a sort of dissatisfied quizzicality.

"...So… your intention was to apologize, then?" I'm asked – as if I even know.

Running a hand through my hair – I take note of the rhetorical trap before me and adjust the current course – replying with:

"You dislike apologies."

At this, Edelgard's weight shifts.

"Well, let us imagine for a moment that I don't… What would you do then?" she inquires.

Shrugging, I offer the obvious:

"You like presents."

But this only causes her omnipresent glare to narrow into a squint.

"...In lieu of my birthday, is that what you are intimating?"

I see what she's doing here, maybe. Is she trying to figure out what she's getting for her birthday? I suppose being curious about that is natural, right? At the very least, I must be unnatural for not caring about what she gets for my own birthday several months from now.

…Do I even want a gift from Edelgard?

"I already ordered your birthday gift." I reply – having already placed an order through the commissary for the chess set.

I suppose I should have expected that – but I was concerned… Before you arrived, I had already searched your room and only saw a bunch of books on your desk! ~Your El

Reflexively, the Princess of Adrestia shoves the large gift box she was clutching into my chest. She leans into the affair quite aggressively, and as usual, I'm taken aback by her strength. Does Edelgard have one of those crest things, I wonder? Is that why she's strong, like Marianne?

"I-I have yours as well, of course…!" she shouts at a surprisingly shrill decibel level.

This renders me quite confused, though - as I fear that she and I may share the same birthday. In attempt to muddle through her meaning, I note:

"My birthday is in the Horsebow Moon."

This only prompts an vigorous shake of her head, though:

"N-No, I mean your other gift, My Teacher…!" she clarifies.

The gift in your hands, My Student?

"The Bedsheets?" I try to clarify as I gently take the box from her grasp. The pressure from her fingers nearly poked holes into it. Curiously, after I accept the gift, her neck whips around up and behind her. I notice then that Hubert von Vestra is observing the two of us from his balcony. Turning back around, Edelgard asks:

"Hubert told you…?!"

Reaching my right arm out towards her padded shoulder, I apply pressure to it gently. Much to my surprise, Edelgard seems to melt a few inches when I do.

"Thank you, Edelgard. Please relax." I offer. In the corner of my eye, I notice Hubert warp out of view. This prompts me to withdraw my hand, but when I do - Angrygard reappears. Drilling those amethyst orbs into mine, she asks:

"Are you certain that you can even dress the sheets by yourself? One needs to sleep in it properly in order to truly appreciate its qualities."

…Is she seriously asking whether or not I can make my own bed…?

Unfortunately, before I can really follow-up on that somewhat absurd insinuation, a voice - not Hubert's, I should add - cuts through the night:

"Moth… Flame…"

And the intonation makes it clear enough before I turn to meet its owner. Staring at us from across the promenade, wrapped up in a camel-hair night-cloak is Professor Jeritza. My colleague stares at the two of us for a time without further acknowledgement, and in the awkward moments that follow, I notice that the cloak he's wearing is stained in dried blood.

"What? I had to... return some... painter's tape..."

Perhaps he needs to paint over blood on his walls or something. Did he strangle a Sothis in his mind too, I wonder?

I don't get a chance to ask, because Hubert intercepts both him and his Lady shortly thereafter.