Unmarriagable Girl
9th Day of the Horsebow Moon
Year of the Goddess 1185
Silver Snow
Gentle rain cut through what smoke remained of war, which had all but depleted from the Fódlan skies. The seemingly endless conflict came to an end months ago, but the war remained fresh in the minds of all of Fódlan's (now unified) inhabitants. Rain like this often signalled the onset of fall, a favorable month to Bernadetta, if only for the increase in readily available baked goods to pillage from the dining hall in the dead of night. Inclement weather of the approaching seasons proved tiresome during the long marches of war and hours forcibly tied to outdoor bow training. But that was past Bernie problems, present Bernie could once again enjoy the kindly pitter-patter on the stone slit windows of her room. Her sweet, sweet haven of isolation. Bernie-bear's den of hibernation and her escape from the chilling anxieties of social interaction.
Except, today was different. The rain didn't provide a delicate noise to read along to. Today's rain echoed a song of residual heartache, as though the Goddess herself were weeping for Bernadetta. Today was the day she made her permanent departure from her room. Hibernation was over for Bernie, and as the professor had always said, "You'll have to come out sometime." That sometime, regrettably, had come at last.
Bernadetta sat on the edge of her bed and sunk into the mattress considerably. When you spend enough time in your bed, it becomes hard to tell you apart from it as it slowly takes to your shape. In that way, Bernie had become one with her bed. She crammed as many items as she could into a brown burlap sack on loan to her from Petra. Her books, her many unfinished manuscripts, her sewing kit (neatly tucked into a bag of its own), all filled the sack until it looked ready to burst. She had a lot of unfinished manuscripts. War left little time for writing. Perhaps that's what Bernadetta looked forward to most about a post-war Fódlan.
Letting her belongings slouch to the floor, Bernadetta's chin collapsed into her hands, which in turn collapsed her elbows to her knees. She surveyed her emptied room, her forfeited stronghold of solitude. Part of her wanted to weep for her tragic loss, but another, brighter and newer side of her, wished to celebrate her departure. In a way, this empty room meant more to her like this; empty.
A few inches of condensation grew to droplets and broke free from the ceiling, dripping into a small bucket strategically placed underneath them. The bucket was half empty, or half full as the professor always put it. She liked to imagine it was his optimism, but really it was just his way of nagging her to empty it. Her room had leaked ever since returning to Garreg Mach Monastery after her 5 year absence. At first, the professor insisted she take up residence in an empty room, since there were unfortunately many of those during the war. Bernadetta, profusely refused his offer. Bernie's room belonged to Bernie.
The leak was never investigated. Perhaps due to Bernadetta's lack of initiative to repair the source, or perhaps nobody wanted to face the daunting truth. The room directly above her's was previously occupied by the late emperor, Edelgard von Hresvelg. Despite her insistence on spreading violence across Fódlan, there was always a tinge of guilt from everyone, even the Professor, to enter her old quarters.
"Oh Bernie-" she began, addressing herself. "Stay strong! There are other, less leaky rooms in your future." But no other room had the same squeak to the floorboards if you positioned the chair legs juuust right. No other room had that one brick on the wall, that one that looked like a smiley-face when you laid on your right side in bed. Bernie silently mourned all the pleasant one-sided conversations she had had with Smiley-brick in her days as a student here. She told him secrets she would take to the grave. Nobody in the world was a better listener than Smiley-brick.
Knock, knock, knock. Bernadetta let out a faint shriek that was more instinctual than voluntary at this point. Common courtesy would suggest one announce who's knocking, but the silence of the knocker was often more telling to her.
Snapping from her blissful reminiscence, Bernie cracked a grin that only two people often saw; the Professor, and Smiley-brick. "Come in!" she greeted the knocker in a thinly veiled sing-song tone. As she stood, she heard the doorknob fumble unsuccessfully and giggled. How silly, after all this time, that the Professor still thought she'd be so foolish as to leave her door unlocked! Bernadetta placed the final belonging in Petra's bag; a small, stuffed bear from the market at Garreg Mach. It had been modified with what looked like the end of a feather duster dyed purple on her head. Between the stuffy's decently-stitched arms was a haphazardly tied wooden block with the words 'Bernie Bear' burnt into it's surface. It had been a gift for her birthday given to her by her classmates. Caspar proudly declared that he had been the master woodworker who gave the gift it's final touches. He was so excited to show her that he even spelt her name correctly. Bernadetta chucked each time she saw it. It reminded her of simpler days in the Black Eagle house.
With her continued reminiscing, Bernie had nearly escaped from the sound of jangling keys outside her door. Her door was never thick enough. She heard all sorts of things she never wanted to hear. Sylvain and whichever girl-of-the-day he had on his arm sure loved to hang out in front of her dorm, for some reason. Being lost in thought, she had narrowly missed the considerate slow shutting of her door to her back. Bernadetta's ingrained fear of people gave her a jolt, an impulse to spin around and identify the invader of her holy sanctuary. But she didn't. She already knew who had entered. She had given him that very key many years ago.
Bernadetta listed forward to finish tying off the neck of her burlap sack as quickly as possible in hopes she could hurry and greet her invader with a hug. The Professor, never one to waste time, outsped her fumbling hands, and Bernadetta felt two ungloved hands glide across her waistline and lock around her. The Professor's warm body juxtaposed with his cold, damp garments pressed against her back and straightened her posture in a homely embrace. Bernie dropped the twine instantly in favor of placing her own hands cupped atop the Professor's on her belly.
"Hey you" she finally greeted, nestling her head comfortably against his shoulder.
"Hey yourself" the Professor responded, squeezing her a bit tighter along with his words before releasing her from his heavenly grasp. He continued. "Are you almost ready? I've never seen this room so tidy."
Bernadette finally spun to face him, throwing her arms to the side in jesting protest. "That's because there's nothing left in it! Your quarters were never known to be spotless either, ya know. Papers were always littered all over the place in there." She meant nothing by the quip aside from seeing the look on the Professor's face when she got all riled up about something minor. He was notoriously hard to read, with only the slightest change in expression to signify whatever emotions lurked beneath his puzzling exterior. Bernie had grown accustomed to reading him over the years, and getting under his skin had become a habit of hers to try and coax out bolder responses. He budged a little every so often, giving into wider smiles, deeper laughs, and furled brows.
The Professor, not one to neglect a rebuttal, crossed his arms and gave his trademark half-smile. "That's because I had to spend so much of my time evaluating you brats." His dry humor could've fallen as dissonance to the untrained ear, but Bernadetta recognized his coy brand of witticism anywhere. Bernie tittered and lifted her arms up over his shoulders, letting her hands nest in his pale-green hair. The color always reminded her of a specific plant she once saw in Brigid. Uncoincidentally, it was her favorite she had found on their excursion.
"Hey mister! I'll have you remember you're no older than us brats!"
The Professor hid his humorous disposition behind a lengthy exhale. "If you're not a brat, then how should I address you?"
Bernie, caught up in the moment of banter, stood up on her toes. Using her arms wrapped around his neck as leverage, she knocked her forehead against his. Even in the heat of their witty exchange, she felt a tinge of embarrassment in her words. "Your w-wife!"
Her eyes shot open as though a hail of arrows soared towards her battalion, years of war lived on in her, and her hardest fought battle was conversation. She let go of the Professor's neck and shrinked backwards onto her bed, distraught by her own social misgivings. Bernadetta spoke frantically through her cupped hands. "U-unless it's too early to say that! O-or you changed your mind! Ohh, Bernie! Of course he'd change his mind, you're such a mess!"
The Professor knelt in front of her bed, resting around eye-level in front of her while she had her outburst. He had spent a long time getting to know the ins and outs of spending time with Bernadetta, the eternal loner who had once beckoned the Goddess to allow her to spend her life in isolation. Knowing better than to interrupt her self-deprecation, the Professor waited for her to pause before caressing her leg with a soothing touch.
"Of course I haven't changed my mind." His words were authoritative in the best possible way, a reassuring mixture of affirmation and tranquility. Bernadetta often wondered how she had lived without his stubbornness. "You're no mess. I love you, Bernie." He always chose the shortest, most impactful words. People had trailed on and on, aimlessly praising Bernadetta in the past for her qualities that she saw unbefitting of such admiration. But with the Professor, he could say just a handful of words that could mean the world for her.
"I-I love you too, B-byleth." She had rarely spoken the Professor's name prior to their engagement, and was still practicing saying it in casual conversation. It was a name that flicked a certain fire from her tongue each time she said it. It sparked a warmth in her heart, like the first summer's night inviting fireflies to bask in it's moonbeams.
The Professor took hold of her hand, gripping it tightly for a moment before scattering a few desultory kisses along her knuckles. Bernadetta squirmed, half from the tickle they left, and half from sheepishness that manifested as redness in her cheeks. Just a few months ago, she was at war alongside the man. She had witnessed him dispatch their foes swiftly and without hesitation time and time again. The Professor was an impatient man at heart, preferring to be effective and precise in all of his methods. However, with Bernadetta, the Professor uncharacteristically lingered. His precision turned to careless dribble in her presence. Every role he filled relied on his meticulous nature; a teacher, a general, a leader. Despite the world idolizing his exemplariness, Bernadetta valued the Professor's imperfections. In solitude, with his wife in tow, the Professor was sloppy. Oh, was he sloppy.
Rising to his feet and extending his hand, the Professor helped Bernadetta off of her bed. Before stepping off, he offered one final, more tactically placed kiss on her forehead (or rather her bangs).
"Are you ready to gather the troops, commander?" he playfully inquired.
Bernie sighed. "A-Are you sure you want me there for this? What if I m-mess something up? Or what if it gets really quiet and I don't know what to say! O-or what if too many people-"
Her words were cut short by a split second of eye-contact with the Professor. His countenance had shifted to that of a more stern disciplinarian. Not that he'd ever punish Bernadetta for her social inadequacies, but sometimes a quick fix was just what Bernie needed to avoid unneeded worry.
"I need you there. This is as much your announcement as it is mine."
"You…" Bernadetta trailed off, dissecting the thought carefully. "You need me?"
Again with the half-smile, the Professor raised a mindless hand to his chin. "Of course I do. Have I convinced you to come?"
Blinking to wipe the pooling tears from her eyes, Bernadetta stomped her foot in a small flurried haze of appreciation. Nobody had ever made her feel as worthy as the Professor. "Ohhh, Professooor!"
The man in question laughed again, a sound that grew ever-frequent to Bernadetta but never lost it's impact. "Let's get going. You wouldn't be late to your own engagement."
"I probably would." Bernie chuckled, slinging her burlap sack over her shoulder. In her excitement, she had forgotten to say goodbye to her room altogether. Maybe the old Bernie would've been late, but with her husband beside her, Bernadetta could happily explore the world over. And that was a comfort her room could never offer.
Trekking to the Cardinal's room was always a more emotional burden than a physical one, but after braving the growing rain, Bernadetta flung open the twin doors to their dusty war-room and sighed a breath of relief. Tossing her bag in the corner, she slipped out of the Professor's coat. Noticing the evening's bitter chill, he had wordlessly draped it over her the second they departed. Bernadetta was no stranger to over-chivalrous nobles, but her Professor was born a commoner. Anything he did for her was genuine and from his heart. That thought warmed her more than his lengthy coat ever could. Bernie neatly folded the damp garment and placed it atop her strewn-out bag to dry.
Behind her trailed the Professor, chilled and glazed from head to toe in rainwater. By the time Bernie spotted him, the Professor was already drying his face off with a cloth napkin left on the extensive central oak table. She felt a tinge of guilt, having been in pristine and dry condition herself. He ran the cloth through his hair and shook his head like a wet dog, spraying the room with discarded water. Bernadetta laughed and wondered if the Professor had always acted this goofy before war council meetings. It was a sight to behold, him in this state. He reminded Bernie a lot of her Uncle's old hound, flapping his head so rapidly. This time alone with the Professor may have been the first time she had ever smiled in this room.
Slicking his hair back with the rag (now wetter than his hair itself), the Professor discarded it on the table where he found it and pulled a chair, placing it beside his own at the head. "Shouldn't take long for Caspar to spread the news, I think we're about to have company" stated the Professor. His words fell on nearly deaf ears as Bernie was still too busy gawking at his hair, which she quickly found herself picking through and styling. If only he'd hold still. Moments like this meant the world to the recluse. An unspoken shared intimacy, privacy that was fleeting in these days of kingdom-wide reformation. She had once wished for eternal isolation, but had she turned back the hands of time, an eternity of privacy with the Professor seemed far more salubrious.
Giving in, the Professor hung his head low to allow Bernadetta to access her canvas, flipping his hair until it fell perfectly. They stood adjacent to the doorway, where the sound of growing bootsteps reverberated the entire second floor. A distant scornful voice shouted "Cease your running in these halls! Goodness it's as though you've never grown since your days as a student!" Seteth's unmistakably sour face was almost projected through his voice, as was the teeth clenching acoustics of Caspar's in response.
"Sorry Seteth, can't talk! Meeting in the Cardinal's room!" Each word grew louder and Bernie decided she'd have to settle for imperfection. Her masterpiece would remain as unfinished as her manuscripts, but the Professor seemed to not mind, only offering a kindly nod in return. They took their seats next to one another at the head of the war room table, and only turned their heads to greet Caspar, who was loudly huffing ever closer to the door.
Finally throwing open the war council's doors, Caspar leapt inside, quickly surveying the room before announcing, seemingly to himself, "Aw yeah! I won! I told him I was faster!"
The Professor said nothing, emotion being just a bit more clouded on his face, but deep down Bernie could sense his amusement. She caught Caspar's attention and greeted him. "Hello Caspar. What did you win?"
"Oh HEY Bernadetta!" Caspar bellowed, rubbing the back of his neck with an arm contorted above his head. "How'd ya get here so quick? Oh wait! You must've been what was under the Professor's coat, huh!" Caspar had briefly run into the Professor outside, where he tactfully accepted the mission of collecting the former Garreg Mach students in the Cardinal's room. Judging by the water he shook off upon entering, he had been running around outdoors ever since. Addressing her question, Caspar grinned. "I won my bet with Linhardt! He tried to claim he could get here faster than me! Can you believe that!?"
Bernadetta laughed modestly, a few fingers daintily hiding her lips. "I don't think anyone here is faster than you, Caspar."
"You're damn right! Especially not that slowpoke! I caught him napping under an awning before he challenged me. There's just no fighting spirit left in that guy!" Caspar began unbuttoning his vest's top button while swaying proudly to his usual seat at the midsection of the table.
"He challenged you? To what?" Inquired Bernadetta.
Caspar haughtily laughed. "To a race, of course! And I beat him, just like I knew I would!"
The Professor locked eyes with Caspar and rocked his head side to side. "And where do you surmise Linhardt is now?" he asked in a rhetorical tone.
Caspar rebutted "Probably still napping under… that… awning." Realization kicked in with each word and his eyesight trailed off.
The Professor nodded along. "It's safe to say Linhardt won't be joining us."
Bernadetta had pieced together what happened and broke her gaze at Caspar. She could feel his embarrassment setting in, but had she been outside of his presence, she would've heartily laughed and tugged at the Professor's arm. Slowly following Caspar, who was now fiddling with a button that popped off his trousers, familiar faces joined the meeting one by one. Bernadetta grew tired of addressing every "wow, you're here early!" that came her way. Ferdinand von Aegir stepped in, avoiding the muddy shoe-prints Caspar had tracked inside. He was closely followed by Petra, who would sadly depart for Brigid in just a few days. Behind her came Dorothea, who was devastatingly chatty this evening. She distracted Bernie from noticing that Flayn and Seteth had also joined the gathering at a distance. When Dorothea found her seat next to Ferdie, Bernadetta thought selfishly that she may have a moment of repose to catch her breath.
Though the professor was engaged in conversation with the gathered troops, his hand wandered beneath the table, finding Bernie's and giving her something to nervously fidget with. She traced the outline of his fingers with her own, letting out a relieved sigh before hearing the most dreaded sound in all of Fódlan; "Uh, excuse me, Bernadetta?"
Bernie's head was on a swivel at this point, with everything seemingly unfocused. She turned her focus to the one who beckoned for her; Ignatz, who stood by her side with sketchbook and quill in hand. "Oh! Ignatz! Hello, I must've missed you coming in. Hehe…" Her laugh was a troubled one, feigning the strength to speak with so many people who were delighted to acknowledge that she was oddly front and center. In truth, she cared deeply about everyone in the room with her, just, maybe one at a time.
"No need for a-apologies, and hello to you too!" Ignatz fumbled with the notebook in his hands, nearly dropping his quill while shifting it between his fingers. He wanted something, and Bernie hoped she didn't have it.
Bernadetta tilted her head before asking, "Is there something wrong?"
"Oh! Nothing wrong, no" he was quick to reassure her. "It's only, I typically sit beside the Professor during council meetings to write a ledger of our discussions paired with his notes. I hope for a day where recounts of our historical lectures will fill shelves in every library in Fódlan!" Ignatz let his shoulders droop a bit and he aligned his glasses with a single finger. "O-oh, but I'm getting ahead of myself! May I, perhaps…" His words trailed off, noticing a distinct lack of acknowledgement in Bernadetta's countenance.
Quickly, she snapped back into reality, consuming all of Ignatz's words as one jumble. "O-oh!" she nervously said. "Well, um… I…" She couldn't hide her face from Ignatz any longer, and she couldn't stand the thought of sitting in the way of his literary dream. Bernie shuffled her feet as if to resign to his request.
"In the name of historical preservation, I relinquish my throne to you, great ledger!" Dramatization was a coping mechanism for uncomfortable situations, which, to Bernie, was most situations. Bernadetta rose mere inches out of her seat before her shoulder met with the capable hand of the Professor, who ushered her back down.
"Thank you, Ignatz, but there's no need for that today" the Professor politely affirmed. "If you'd like to take down a shorthand of our conversation though, feel free to take the seat closest to Bernadetta."
Ignatz returned a humble grin and thanked the Professor before taking his seat. After he was situated, Flayn skipped from beside her brother and pulled the chair closest to Ignatz. Eyes wide, Ignatz's ruby red cheeks nearly matched Ferdinand's gallant robes, who was situated opposite to Flayn. Seteth stared daggers into Ignatz's heart, and he felt real fear slither down his throat.
Meanwhile, Bernadetta had turned to the Professor, who's focus had also turned towards her in exchange. Bernadetta sighed what must've been her 30th of the night. "Thank you for bailing me out, Bylie" she whispered, a thrill to merely refer to him so casually in front of their friends, even if they were out of earshot.
The Professor must've agreed, since he nodded along to a quick glance at Ignatz. "Did you think I'd want to announce my marriage sitting next to Ignatz?"
Bernadetta chuckled. In retrospect, it seemed like such a silly notion, but her laughter wasn't born in humor. It was a steady, giddy laugh that accompanied the thought of truly marrying the Professor. In a way, there was a part of her that felt that was a silly notion as well. A fantasy, a dream. Any moment now Bernadetta would wake up in her dorm and the war would still be on, Lady Rhea would still be missing, and the Professor would seldom have time for old Bernie.
Her worrisome daydream was put to rest by something equally as troubling: more guests. First entered Ashe alongside a surprising guest, Shamir. Shamir attended the war council meetings sure, but a personal matter? Unlikely. Perhaps she had simply got caught up in her conversation with Ashe, seemingly about something archery related judging by the frivolous movements and reenactments by Ashe's hands. At least that was something Bernadetta felt comfortable discussing, despite having grown weary of war-time topics and combat discussions.
While unknowingly gawking at Shamir, who was the only person thus-far to enter the Cardinal's room with a weapon, Bernadetta was nearly flung through the room by a booming voice to her rear. "BER-NA-DET-TA! HAHA!" It was Alois, nobody else's laugh could quiet a room so effectively. Shockingly, despite the roar of the boorish knight, the Professor didn't even flinch, unlike Caspar, who had actually fallen back from leaning his seat. As Alois approached the couple, conversations began to resume in the Cardinal's room. The silence had given Seteth enough time to weasel his way between Flayn and Ignatz, who was pushed uncomfortably close to Bernie in the process.
"Hey Alois! Good to see you!" Bernadetta called, quite genuinely. Alois was an enigma to both Bernie and the Professor. At first glance, he is everything Bernie fears: loud, outgoing, male, the list carries on. However, there was something oddly comforting about Alois in particular that just made Bernie feel right at home with him around.
"Woah-ho I'm filled to the BRIM with gratitude to be surrounded by so many WONDERFUL companions!" Alois's eyes surveyed the room and stopped short of Seteth, who may disagree. "And YOU, my dear Bernadetta, I hardly recognized you out of your corner! Why whenever we speak in this room I always feel as though we're two walls!"
Bernie scratched her head, but felt the laughter already building in Alois's gut. "Two walls?" she haphazardly asked, bracing.
Alois retorted "Why yes! Meeting in the corner!"
Just as expected, she winced at his sheer volume, and a few indiscernible people groaned around him. Despite the general consensus of Alois' humor, Bernadetta found a genuine appreciation in his wit. Just another strange quality about Alois that found her so fond of the man. Throughout her interaction with the knight, the Professor remained suspiciously focused on an offhand conversation with Ferdinand of all people. Bernadetta could all but sense him mentally thanking her for distracting Alois from him.
It didn't take long before Alois had a whole other distraction on his hands, as Catherine, fists balled, entered the Cardinal's room. "Alois you damn jester! I finally found you!"
Alois nudged Bernie's shoulder and comedically forced a tugging motion on his imaginary collar. "This outta be good! Catherine! To what do I owe this pleasure!"
The two of them broke off into their own friendly squabble, allowing another breath of life to fill Bernadetta's frail lungs. She scanned the room, everyone was engaged in some form of conversation, save for Ignatz, who suffered from close proximity to Seteth. Everyone was occupied, nobody was paying Bernie any mind. Pure bliss. Times like these are when she'd sneak away from post-meeting conversations, but both parts of her, old and new, were eagerly awaiting the embarrassment that was about to unfold.
Silently, as though he were an ancient golem awakening from it's slumber, the Professor rose from his seat. As everyone noticed, one by one, they recognized the universal symbol for the start of their meetings. Bernadetta was in awe of him, the man who could silence a room by simply rising from his chair. How lucky of her to land a partner with such a uniquely beneficial talent.
The empty seats filled with bodies while the familiar sound of wood-on-wood screeching momentarily bounced around the room. By the time everyone was situated, only a few end seats remained. As all eyes trained on Bernadetta, she gazed longingly at her corner, yearning for it's unnoticed and shadowy embrace. No. She shook the thought from her mind. This was happening and she would be a part of it. She wanted to be a part of it.
Everyone took a seat except Seteth, who remained vigilantly beside Ignatz, like a gargoyle on a perch. Flayn, no stranger to her brother's protective nature, implored that he be seated.
"The goddess gifted me with two working legs, and so I shall stand upon them, my dear sister." Seteth fired back. Though his words were meant for Flayn, his eyes remained fixated on Ignatz, who started to resemble a tortoise with how far he was retracting into his collar.
"Good for you" shouted Alois. "I love to see good men taking a stance!"
Caspar's face slammed into the table and an array of arms flew into the air, as though dancing to the symphony of groans.
"Alright, settle down everyone-" the Professor began.
Bernadetta looked towards him, admiration filling her eyes. She steeled herself, mentally bracing for the night of conversations and explanations she'd have to provide once the news broke.
You can do it, Bernie! These are your friends and the Professor is your husband! You could take control of this whole meeting if you had to! Wait, does marrying a general make me a general? Or am I just a civilian now that the war is over?
Bernadetta's trail of thought hit an unexpected fork, and when she had shaken herself loose, she resumed focus on the Professor.
"Is everyone accounted for? Except Linhardt?" the Professor asked.
"Some of the knights are out on mission," Catherine explained. "The war never ends for them." Shamir made some dismissive remark, but it went unheard by most.
"Pfft, Linhardt…" Caspar mocked, not at all upset by being duped again.
Ignatz spoke up and Seteth hovered just a tad closer, undoubtedly close enough to provide him with shade. "U-uh, actually, has anyone seen Raphael?"
The Professor looked around before turning his attention to Caspar, who had once again begun leaning back in his chair. "Hey don't look at me! He said he was gonna grab some grub and head on up." He shrugged dismissively and nearly lost his balance.
Nodding with a wordless response, the Professor did something that caught Bernadetta's attention, but not without alerting the entire council first. "Bernadetta, would you prefer we wait for Raphael and Linhardt?"
Everyone was speechless, tilting their heads in confusion. Some, like Ashe, had just begun to question Bernadetta's central seat. Dorothea, ever the gossip, locked eyes fervently with Petra for just a moment, before casting them upon Bernie yet again. Only this time, Dorothea was fighting a smile.
Bernadetta wrestled with the words in her throat. "U-um… Well we know Linhardt isn't gonna make it."
"Pfft, you got THAT right!"
She continued, "I know Raphael would love to be here, but I'm sure he has a good reason. I think it would be best not to bother him."
The Professor's eyes examined Bernadetta as though they were alone, and had she not shaken herself from their spell, she might've made the mistake of forgetting all the eyes trained on herself. The Professor pinched his chin in thought momentarily before asking for her input yet again. "And Linhardt? Is it worth it to you to chase him down?" Offering to go the extra mile just to make sure she was happy, it was the most Byleth thing she could imagine. Nevertheless, Bernie shook her head.
"We'll let him rest." Byleth nodded in agreement and lowered his hand to the table, once again becoming the Professor. When Bernadetta's eyes returned to the crowd, it was as if they had all inched closer. Ferdinand must've been infected by Dorothea's grin, as he was now sporting a similar look of anticipation. Ashe was leaning across the table to ask a question of Petra, who seemed just as lost. Shamir was there in presence alone, but her mind seemed elsewhere entirely.
The Professor cleared his throat and knocked his fist on the table a few times, seemingly as an indication that he would press on. "Right, well it seems food and naps reign supreme tonight over the importance of our gathering." Bernadetta recognized a rare voice from the Professor's arsenal of nearly-identical moods: annoyance. He seemed genuinely saddened by Raphael and Linhardt's absence. It made her wish she had pressed harder for them to attend. The Professor gestured towards Seteth/Ignatz and continued on. "Actually, forgive my attitude, I'm spending too much time with Seteth."
The gathering erupted in comradery, some applauding, some laughing, but Seteth merely waved a hand and hid his smile from the group. Ignatz didn't dare move a muscle. Bernadetta loved being present for those little moments in between the big moments where she had to talk to people. Feeling like she was part of a family. A family she was about to become the… mother to? She hastily wiped that thought from her mind.
The Professor trailed on "As many of you know, this isn't a typical war council meeting. We aren't here to discuss battle strategy or artillery placement or what have you." The Professor glanced at Bernadetta again, as though refueling for the conversation ahead. "Call this… A personal gathering. Despite Catherine feeling a need to bring Thunderbrand into our chat." Another brief uproar followed. Catherine flexed and the crowd jokingly fawned over her. Shamir looked away, hoping nobody would spot the redness in her cheeks.
That was what bound the Professor to his pupils- he did not belong above them, but beside them. Earlier Bernadetta had reminded him that he's no older than the very people he instructs. It was felt by everyone as far back as the officer's academy. The Professor was only a Professor in name, he was a friend, a companion, and an ear to bend. He was a brother, a helper, a person. He was family.
"Do you think we'll ever be able to gather in this room again? All of us here?" The Professor looked introspectively and spoke from his heart, which was rare in a public setting, Bernadetta noted.
"In a week, Petra will return to Brigid to lead her people in what I can only assume will be Brigid's golden age." Caspar slapped Petra on the back and everyone cheered her on for a moment.
"I am having much gratitude for you all!" Petra cheered back.
"Linhardt, though he may already feel departed, will be leaving on an academic journey across Fódlan."
"Pfft! Good riddance!"
"Ferdinand will return to his territory, and I assume Ashe plans to as well?" The Professor gestured towards him.
"Well, actually Professor-" began Ashe. "As a two-time adopted son of Noble families, I actually haven't inherited any land. Though, I do believe I want to return to Faerghus, since there are many communities less fortunate than we are coming out of this war."
Ferdinand sat back, suddenly a little embarrassed to admit he would return and take up wine tasting at his family estate.
"Well said," remarked the Professor. "My point being, all of us have our own paths to follow, and that's truly the goal of being your teacher. All these years, all I wanted was to prepare you for your life's path. When you begin that calling, I stop being your professor or your general. But I will never stop being your friend."
Ashe, Alois and a few others became emotional, clearly weak-lipped, and Bernadetta was no exception. The Professor's words rang true for her as well. Slowly, he became less of "the Professor" and more of Byleth. She loved them both, but Byleth was her future, and the Professor was her cherished past.
Seteth cleared his throat as if to demand attention. "And, don't forget, you will always be their leader as the United Kingdom of Fódlan's new sovereign ruler!"
The loudest cheers of the night came for the Professor, and Bernadetta fought the urge to throw her arms around him right then and there. "Yes, there's Seteth, always reminding me of my responsibilities. But my sentiment still holds up. I will always make time for my friends."
It was Caspar who's voice broke above all others. "To hell with that, you're family to us, Professor! You're a brother to me!" He was oddly emotional, but the situation called for it.
The Professor was as emotional as he could possibly let onto. Bernadetta hadn't seen him cry since Jeralt's untimely passing, and she hoped she didn't have to revisit that sight. As if sensing her worries, he looked to her and smiled wider than she had ever seen before. He was ready to break the news. "Well, Caspar" he chuckled, much to the surprise of nearly everyone present. "Your family is growing."
All heads in the room tilted further, some slowly coming to accept Bernadetta's central seating had a purpose after all. Dorothea gasped just a little too loud and silently mouthed a word to Petra, whose blank expression read more than the songstress's lips. Bernie was always good at reading lips. It was part of having a persecution complex, after all. Knowing that the students to your left are snickering about you, or having to rely on sight when sitting too far in the back of the amphitheater for voices to carry. The word that silently parted Dorothea's lips was "pregnant". Bernadetta felt that lump in her throat rise again. Surely Dorothea wasn't suggesting that was the nature of the meeting or the Professor's speech. Then again, she pondered, he was a little too vague about his growing family.
After a silence that lasted just a little too long, Catherine roared to life. "Well, out with it, man! Don't leave us hanging!" The moment approached like a well cloaked hunter, ready to draw back it's bow and let it snap an arrow into Bernadetta's heart. She really was prey after all.
The Professor nodded but held his tongue. His gaze almost went unnoticed to Bernie, as the abject horror of being hunted by a conversation loomed ever closer. "Bernie, I won't make you, but would you like to do the honors?" She clung to that way out, knowing that the Professor would stick to his word and value her comfort above all else. He wouldn't make her speak, but the ravenous half of Bernadetta, the socially reckless and noncooperative prey in her heart answered.
"I will."
The Professor looked painfully surprised, a look Bernadetta had come to recognize as pride. For whatever reason, her eyes darted around the room and she found herself standing to address the table. As soon as she rose from her seat, she silently begged for the goddess to let her sit back down. Bernadetta cleared her throat and avoided eye contact with her friends. "Um… Hi."
"Good afternoon, Lady Bernadetta." said Ferdinand in a sickly jest. It helped ease the tension in her throat, but she wasn't absolutely positive that he wasn't mocking her. Of course he wasn't. Like everyone present, he cherished her as a friend and allowed her the time to gather herself before addressing the audience. It was routine for the war council to ensure they didn't intimidate Bernie when she so rarely graced them with her voice. Nevertheless, Bernadetta hoped the reason she stood was to make a hasty retreat easier should the need arise.
"Hi…" she repeated again. By now, everyone in the room had likely pieced together that something relating to Bernadetta and the Professor was transpiring, but nobody was ready to pull the trigger on what that thing was. "Um… wow this is hard," Bernie confessed, shifting to the side, then back again. "I suppose I'll just come right out and say it." The hunter drew his bow and slit an eye at Bernadetta, ready to release. Resigning to her fate, she sighed. With her head hung low, she noticed something peculiar out of the corner of her eye. Byleth, not the Professor, had a wider grin than ever before, and his eyes glistened and danced to the candlelight. He looked as Bernadetta surely did, on the verge of tears. It shocked her to her core, and as though he had flipped a lever in her brain, her tears held a new meaning. Not of fear, but of precious memories yet to exist. Memories of Byleth standing at her side forevermore.
Casting her gaze back towards her audience, her face shifting rapidly. Her friends all couldn't help but smile seeing her so motivated to speak, and as her lungs filled with the air that would deliver news of her engagement to Byleth-
SLAM! Double doors thought to be locked burst open to her rear, and half of the guests jumped from their seats to face an unexpected threat. War had really changed them. No such threat existed, save for another guest. Raphael greedfully clutched a roasted turkey-leg in each hand, one partially consumed. Before Bernadetta could even shriek, Raphael stole the spotlight and delivered news of a similar importance to himself.
"You guys! The dining hall is filled with food! There's some kind of feast being prepared down there!" Grease dripped from his maw as he took a churlish bite from his unbitten drumstick, as though to claim it as well. The Professor had turned to him astonished, as though Raphael's informality had spoiled his pithy moment of excitement. Seeing his discontent fueled Bernie's motivation to return to that moment, to have been just a little faster with her words.
Seteth finally left his post beside Ignatz, who intently loathed his friend's poor conduct. "Raphael! How many times must I persistently remind you that there is to be NO food in the Cardinal's room!" Seteth barked, taking commanding strides towards the much larger Raphael. Quickly the room fell into chaos, Caspar leapt forward to chastise Raphael as well, but Bernadetta suspected he only wanted some of the meat. For whatever reason, Catherine and Shamir were now engaging in a heated debate as well that went unnoticed until Alois stepped in between the pair and was hastily cast asunder.
Complete and utter chaos, the room was a battlefield. Bernadetta recalled lectures the Professor had once given about turning points in conflict. Decisive action, he called it. Sticking to your guns and dedicating your forces to one objective. Never faltering from achieving your set goal. Bernadetta took hold of Byleth's hand, turning his attention to her as her brow furled and her fists balled.
Amidst the tides of war and against all odds, Bernadetta shouted. "Byleth and I are getting married!"
Shellshock. The sound of Caspar's trouser button clinking to the floor bounced from wall to wall unaccompanied by any other noise. Some were in shock of the words, but others were shocked by her volume. All were in awe of Bernadetta's commanding presence, the Professor included, who locked his fingers in with hers. Nobody dared to break that silence. The floor was Bernadetta's and she would own it alone.
"Who's Byleth?" Raphael finally asked.
"The Professor, you dolt!" Caspar shouted, despite being in literal physical contact with Raphael. "Bernadetta and the Professor!"
Dorothea repeated, as if to harmonize the news. "The Professor and our sweet little Bernie! Whoever could have expected this!" She could have, and did. She predicted Bernadetta's crush as far back as the Red Wolf Moon in their academy days. She hadn't expected those feelings to be returned by the Professor however, the black hole of emotions himself. After Dorothea christened the news, the rest of the table erupted in their own congratulatory hollers.
"Incredible news! Just wonderful!"
"Bernadetta you sly animal!"
"Didn't know you had it in you, Professor!"
"This news gives me much surprise! I am having happiness for you both!"
"Congratulations to you both!"
Bernadetta was overcome with a strong, gut-wrenching feeling. It was an emotion foreign to her in any social setting before. No praises nor hostilities had ever given her this particular sense of overwhelming high. Joy. Pure joy to see her comrades and friends stand to applaud her love, and in a way, applaud her growth from the timid schoolgirl they once met to the competent young woman that stood before them today. Praise from her peers often left little effect on Bernadetta, save for the Professor's admonishment. But in this moment, Bernie deserved the applause. With the Professor in tow, she had made something of herself that nobody had expected. The commander her battalions never thought she could be. The conversationalist the Professor shaped her into. The artist that her friend's fueled her passion to become. The wife her father had so adamantly claimed she would never be. The unmarriageable girl had proven him wrong. So very, very wrong.