Unmarriagable Girl
9th Day of the Horsebow Moon
Year of the Goddess 1186
Silver Snow
Leaning into old habits can be a comforting way to tackle daunting transitions, but perhaps isolation was more of a necessity to Bernadetta. The thought of moving between one social environment to the next was as harrowing as watching the first hail of arrows split through the ashen sky. In all the time he had spent with Bernie, the Professor learned to distinguish between her healthy isolation and detrimental isolation. During the war, he made a habit of allowing Bernadetta time to reconvene with herself before forging onward into the fray. He was attentive like that, he knew the ins and outs of all his students and how best to support them. The Professor was the legs of the war room table.
As the Cardinal's room was cleared and the Professor ushered their friends towards the hall, each wanted a congratulatory hug. All save for Shamir, who seemingly vanished the moment the opportunity arose. Slowing the process of funneling them to the dining hall, the Professor assured each one of their invaluable allies that they'd be given a chance to speak freely to the newlyweds at their private feast, (now short two turkey legs).
Bernadetta waved from a distance, managing to dodge more intimate displays of affection from her comrades. Caspar was a harder target to dodge than most. As she had told him earlier, nobody was faster than him. Caspar practically chased her around the table while Bernadetta pretended not to dreadfully side-eye him. Shifting aimlessly about, she once again felt like prey. Eventually their game of cat-and-mouse came to an end when Bernadetta felt two iron-clad gauntlets wrap securely beneath her breasts. Caspar swung her off her feet and around in a circle or two or three. She couldn't tell, she was too distracted by her own shrieking to count.
"Put me down!" Bernie pleaded, unsuccessfully.
"You guys are gonna be untouchable!" Caspar replied, ignoring her desperate cries. "Aaah, you gotta let me teach your kids to fight! I'll be Uncle Caspar!"
"Kids!?" she yelped like a kicked puppy. Truthfully, Bernadetta was unsure what had knocked more wind out of her, Caspar's wrestling hold, or his wild jump to conclusions.
"That's enough, Caspar. Please put my wife down." The Professor had finished saying his goodbyes with the other guests and strode loosely towards the pair, a hint of protectiveness to his voice that Bernie was fond of. It sounded like her salvation, freeing her from the clutches of her affectionate assailant.
The gears in Caspar's head squeaked to life and he promptly dropped Bernadetta to her feet. Instinctively, she bounded off the floor and clung to the Professor's arm, dazed from her involuntary orbit around the knight. "Whoops, sorry Bernadetta. I guess I got a little carried away!" Somewhere, Alois was cheering.
Through slitted eyes, Bernadetta contemplated the appropriate scolding he deserved. Then, she delivered. "I thought I told you to never do that again, Caspar!" Caspar responded with a nervous grin and an exaggerated shrug.
"Must've slipped my mind!" He punctuated his apology with a chuckle.
"We appreciate your enthusiasm, Caspar" began the Professor. "But save that grapple for your opponents."
Now that the room had stopped spinning, Bernadetta repositioned her arms and circled the Professor's own. She stuck her tongue out at Caspar, selecting a more playful way to express her distaste. It helped to ease whatever tension existed between the two before Caspar jogged after his departed comrades.
"Thanks, you saved me again," Bernie rejoiced, burying her face in Byleth's sleeve.
He chuckled before giving his response. "Call it returning the favor for Ailell." During their ambush at the Valley of Torment, Bernadetta had cleanly shot the sword out of the backswing of an enemy commander. It was one of the Professor's closest calls during the war, and a moment he'd ingrain in his mind forever.
"It's okay, Professor" she let a 'Professor' slip through. Old habits die hard. "If I'm ever just dragging you down, you'd tell me, right?" Bernadetta's insecurities still took hold of her fairly often, but they were easier to squash when the Professor was around. "Ol' Bernie doesn't want to be a burden on you. Ohhh but I am, aren't I? Spare your breath, I'm not worth the air in your lungs!"
Byleth let his fingers search through her hair for refuge, before guiding her face back safely to his chest. No heartbeat. "Bernie isn't, and has never been, a burden on me," Byleth comforted her assuredly. Throughout all of her meltdowns, Byleth had never once lost his patience with her. "I have to rejoin the reception downstairs. Will you be alright on your own?" What an absurd question. Of course she would.
"Yeah," Bernie sniffled. "Thank you, Bylie."
"Take as much alone time as you need to recharge. Don't push yourself for my sake."
"I'll be down soon, I promise!"
The Professor never got tired of hearing that. Whenever Bernadetta committed to being somewhere, no matter how insurmountable it may seem, she always showed up. That's why she didn't often commit to anything. How ironic, she'd later think, that this whole celebration was dedicated to her committing to something. To the professor, to Byleth.
The Professor, with Bernie's blessing and a parting kiss, made off for the dining hall where their friends had gathered. Leaving Bernadetta to her own devices never concerned the Professor; I suppose that was one benefit of having such a reclusive wife. For a man tasked with reforming a divided nation under one banner, it was a comfort to know his partner was content with alone time.
Bernadetta had a customary ritual whenever company departed. She'd let out a deep "phew!", stretch her arms high above her head, as though to reach for the Goddess herself, and clench her eyes shut. When she slowly parted them alone, it was as though she had closed a book at the end of it's chapter, another battle won. The gallant heroine was victorious. Only, she never felt the role of protagonist in her life, only in her self-fulfilling fantasies. All of these steps were amiss when the Professor strode off into the sunset, coat flapping in the wind. She never felt the need to close that book.
Bernadetta's only company was her very gaze reflected in the sets of antique armor that adorned the Cardinal's room. She pulled out her chair, the one besides the Professor's. Relaxing her back, she was startled by the snap of her own unwound vertebrae. It sounded just a little too similar to Caspar's boots. As if channeling Caspar, she shifted her posture and leaned her wooden chair back, balancing on it's hind legs like a begging animal. With her arms folded behind her head, she rested her eyes, subjecting herself to the dim glow of the chandelier piercing her eyelids. Wobbling under her weight, she worried that she'd soon lose her balance. Electing to go the sturdier route, she sat back up in her now firmly planted chair.
Bernadetta, the reclusive former heir to House Varley, found herself in a unique situation that didn't quite register. She felt a sense of mild grief, as though she were magnetized to some distant place. Again, her halves were at war within her. Reclusive lifestyle was never an option, but a necessity for Bernie. Never presented with a better alternative, she resigned to her fate as a hermit long ago. So what was she feeling now? That deep rooted sensation that pulled her heart down through her ribs, feeding off that unseen magnetism.
Loneliness. For the first time in her life, Bernadetta truly felt the weight of being alone. Not her brand of needed alone time, the healthy recharge of her day-to-day. That magnetism drew her away from the resigned fate, and towards her chosen destiny. Her two halves, the eternal loner at war with the Queen of Fódlan.
"The Queen…" Bernadetta mumbled, basking in the consideration. "The Queen of Fódlan. I'm… I'm the Queen?" Of course this wasn't her initial realization, but rather another layer unpacked. Such a monument of change could take decades to come to terms with. Sweet little Bernadetta. Unassuming, shy, erratic Bernadetta. Artistic, accurate, archer Bernadetta. Queen Bernadetta von Varley of Fódlan. They all existed within each other, like layers to a cake, and binding them all together, was the Professor.
"Cake… I bet there's cake at my feast!" she wouldn't dwell on the notion of loneliness or the responsibilities she'd hold as the most important woman in the kingdom. Not now. There was cake to be had. "Oh no… cake at my feast… and Raphael got there first!" Bernadetta leapt to her feet. Alert and expeditious, she took off for the door. Seteth was at the feast too, right? Surely he wasn't prudent enough to skip the festivities. Who'd scold her for running in the halls? "Save a slice for me! Bernie's comin'!" she shouted, hoping the wind would carry her and her voice to the dining hall below.
"Queen or not, I will not have you dashing through my halls like some rabid cur!"
Bernadetta's first new policy as Queen would be removing THAT policy.
"Come now, Professor, I need details!" Dorothea pried, playfully tapping the cuff of his hemmed shirt. Gathering like flies to honey, everyone surrounded the man of the hour. In truth, in what hour was the Professor NOT turning heads?
"Such as?" he inquired, crossing his hands over the table, planting his elbows in a manner befitting a commoner, not a king.
"Oh where to begin!?" the songstress exclaimed.
"Why not the beginning?" Ferdinand suggested. The noble heir to House Aegir sat prim and proper beside Dorothea, a cloth napkin embroidered with his house crest occasionally dabbing his cheeks clean. The Professor recognized that cloth as the same he had used to dry his face earlier. He felt a tinge of guilt, but said nothing.
"Great idea, Ferdie," Dorothea exclaimed with a glee befitting a teenager at a sleepover. "Where exactly WAS the beginning, Professor? How could our sweet, naive little Bern become the object of fantasy for a man of your status?" Detecting the insensitivity of her words and the slight tilt of the Professor's head, Dorothea rephrased. "Oh! I mean no offense! Why, Bern has been like a little sister to me since arriving at the monastery years back. I simply mean to say, the two of you come from such…"
"Different strokes." Ignatz added, completing Dorothea's pause. She gave him an approving glance and pointed an attenuated finger towards him.
"Precisely, Iggy!"
"Iggy..?"
The Professor mulled over their gambit of a question, pondering his theories briefly before choosing how to respond. "Different strokes, perhaps. But from the same brush." Everything he said sounded so insightful to Dorothea. She hinged on every word, nodding along as though she expected the rhythm of his answer. "When I arrived at the monastery along with Jeralt," The Professor continued. "I hadn't properly socialized with anyone who wasn't a soldier. My only company growing up were Jeralt and his occasional mercenary companions."
"How unfortunate." Ferdinand added.
"No way!" Caspar hollered, butt down on the dining hall table and elevated above the rest. "That sounds like the life! I'd much rather grow up around a bunch of soldiers than all these nobles with their sticks up their-"
"That's quite enough, Caspar, let the Professor finish!" Dorothea insisted.
Nodding, the Professor did just that. "Where I'm arriving with this is that I had no idea how to speak to any of you at first. I was your instructor perhaps, but I lacked the skills to be your friend." Each recalling their first encounter with the professor, his former students nodded in reminiscent irony.
"I had thought you were a student here!" Ignatz jested. "How foolish a notion in retrospect."
"I came to Jeralt in the early days at the monastery and asked for his advice. I wanted to know how to connect with you all." The Professor looked downwards, as if focusing intently at the discarded bones on his plate. "I still remember the crinkle in his forehead when he crossed his arms, huffed and said 'Kid, when you're new to the battlefield, you never go after the biggest, toughest guy out there. You find someone your speed, someone on equal footing. You have to seek out someone on your level'."
"I see! How befitting that Captain Jeralt's advice would prove so beneficial. He was ever so lovely beneath his brash exterior." Flayn said, her words always like a chosen symphony.
The Professor agreed, nodding towards her before continuing his tale. "With that fresh in my mind, I kept my eyes peeled for someone who struggled with conversation like I did."
"That's our Bern! What an ideal candidate you found." Dorothea chidded, teasingly striking Ferdinand with a loose elbow.
A trademark nod was all the Professor gave. "I first met her in the Black Eagles classroom. She was scatterbrained and fearful. I felt guilty for even approaching, truth be told. I thought she might strike me out of fear." There were laughs all around, fond memories of their soon-to-be queen and her oddities. "I began to confide in Bernadetta as an equal, as someone who understood the struggles she faced with socializing. I suppose that's what got her to open up to me about her life, and that dastard father of hers."
Hearing the professor swear was a bit of an occurrence, despite the difficult nature of his work and the unimaginable stress, he kept quite a clean vocabulary. He mirrored his father that way, as in a complete reversal. Everyone was entranced by his tale. Another rarity was hearing the Professor recount a personal story. A luxury few afforded, especially during the arduous war that once consumed them.
"Stewart von Varley, the absolute dredge of the earth." Dorothea recoiled at his mention. "If given the opportunity I'd gladly introduce a blade to that creep's heart."
The Professor felt a stark kinship with that sentiment, but left that detail fester internally. His tale marched onwards. "I began as an awkward acquaintance. I'd go out of my way to greet her and try my best to make smalltalk. I knew she was afraid of strangers and so my first goal was to bridge that gap." Everyone nodded along intently. "Before long, she began seeking me out when she couldn't face her problems alone. Though I felt a connection like that with all of you, nobody grew along with me as much as Bernie."
"And this was back at the Officer's Academy?" Doreothea clarified. "My, my, Professor! Your affections were hiding right under our noses!"
"Well, affections formed later," the Professor corrected. "Love was foreign to me aside from the fatherly bond I felt with Jeralt. But romantic love was never something I had considered until we developed our relationship further."
Caspar, mouth stuffed with mutton, tried his best to pry further. "So were you two, like, sneaking around behind our backs? All that time she spent in her room, was that, ya know." Caspar puckered his lips and made some mocking attempt at exaggerated kissing.
Ignatz looked away. "Caspar… You really shouldn't ask such things."
"What! We're all thinking it!"
The Professor, feeling particularly vulnerable tonight, took a sip from his tankard and cocked back his shoulders, letting a sly grin sneak it's way onto his face. "Well, not to the degree which you seem to expect, Caspar. Unfortunately I'm not half the ladies man you claim to be."
Another eruption of laughter, primarily from Caspar, who kissed both his triceps and posed. "These are the only ladies I need!"
Dorothea steered the conversation back to the gossip. "But wait, if you claim it wasn't to the degree that Caspar insisted, that means there WAS some degree of…" She mimicked Caspar's faux kissing noises, to the delight of the knight, who scooted even closer across the table.
The Professor hit a fork in his story. He could take the route of brevity and gloss over the details of his unknowing courtship. Or, to the hopes of all present, he could divulge his secrets and let the truth be told. He knew Bernadetta wouldn't mind the yarn being spun, and it would save her the trouble of having to explain. So, the Professor, knowing that his time with his friends was finite, opted to tell the truth.
"Yes, there was some degree of…" he pondered following the same pattern of cartoonishly puckered lips, but that was a stretch for him. "-romantic gestures," he elected to call them.
Dorothea had a spark in her eyes, the likes of which the Professor had never seen. Delving into the personal affairs of others was a second language to the songstress. "Oh? Do tell! What were these-" she formed quotations with her fingers, "-romantic gestures? And when exactly did they begin?"
Dodging her first question, the Professor sternly answered the latter. "After the incident at Remire village."
"I see," Ferdinand modestly announced. "That was a turning point in your relationship with your students as well. You began displaying yourself with much less brevity."
Flayn nodded, remembering the horror in the Professor's eyes on that night, and the ferociousness with which he faced Solon.
"Yes," the Professor said. "After Remire, I truly began to question a lot of decisions in my life. Or rather, the lack of decisions. I felt like I was a cart pushed down a hill by someone long ago. Like my only option was to roll towards something definite. I began to fear what would happen when that cart reached the bottom of the hill." Everyone present understood the feeling described. The Professor uncharacteristically blew a puff of air through his nose along with a humorous thought. "I was so afraid of reaching that plateau, I often joked about running away. Leaving Garreg Mach and all of you behind."
A few of the present faces looked towards the sky, as if searching their memories. Ignatz was the only one to recall a specific instance of the Professor making such a joke.
"I made one such joke over tea with Bernadetta," he continued. He was so caught up in his memories that he nearly forgot to finish the tale. "We were having tea in her room. I'd bring in my personal set so that she could feel more comfortable. I suggested I may disappear from Garreg Mach one day. Bernie had this wide, beautiful smile. Everyone else met that joke with such grim faces, but perhaps few of you could tell I was even joking. Not Bernadetta. I'll never forget what she said to me-"
"Wherever you go, I'll follow you. And by the Goddess PLEASE let it be somewhere quiet."
Absorbed wholeheartedly in the Professor's story, the former Black Eagles had entirely neglected the fact that Bernadetta had joined them, standing behind the Professor with her hands folded. She meekly waved to her friends, her face aglow with the same reflected smile that her husband had so recently described. Craning his neck to welcome her, the Professor mirrored her elated countenance. At least, as much as was custom for the Professor.
"So glad you could make it, Lady Bernadetta." Byleth warmly decreed, making room for her at the table while Caspar wordlessly fetched her a seat. She had already retrieved her slice of cake. Caspar teasingly bowed for her and beckoned her to the throne beside her king. Bernadetta slapped his shoulder with an equal gusto and accepted his invitation, sitting beside the Professor and, once again, Ignatz.
"It's truly delightful to again make your acquaintance, Bernadetta," Ferdinand implored. "How long has it been since we have shared a meal?"
Dorothea was itching to return to the lovers' tale, shifting in her seat in a feeble attempt to draw attention. She eventually caved, reaching a hand across the table towards Bernadetta, eager for her input. "It really is special to sit across from you, Bern. The Professor here was just recounting his courting of you."
Bernie struggled to speak through a mound of cake. "I may have overheard."
"How long were you eavesdropping?" The Professor inquired.
Bernadetta swallowed her cake and tapped the fork to her chin. "The first thing I heard was Caspar doing the kissy thing, so I figured you told them about my birthday."
"Birthday? Bern, do go on." Dorothea was getting somewhere juicy, her heart was racing.
"Actually," the Professor noted. "I was getting to that."
"O-oh…" Bernadetta's confidence wavered, looking like she had opened a pen of monsters. "D-did you not want to bring that up? Oh no, I-I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me! Birthday? I don't even have a birthday! I was just-"
As Byleth lovingly cupped his hand over her's, Dorothea reached her own across the table. To her surprise, Bernie took hold of both offered hands.
Dorothea smiled reassuringly. "Bern it's alright! The Professor was going to get to that part, you don't need to worry." The reassurance helped, and the Professor tilted his head down towards her.
"Truly. I was."
"O-okay! Sorry, I just get all jumpy on this subject!" Bernadetta forgot about her cake and Raphael was on the prowl, staring at it from across the dining hall. "I never know what to share."
"Then why not recount it yourself, Bernadetta?" suggested Ignatz. The Professor agreed, allowing Bernadetta to take the spotlight if she desired. Unlikely as it may be, she felt comfortable enough in present company to do so.
"Um, well, that whole conversation about leaving the academy actually happened on my birthday."
"Just a few weeks after Remire." The Professor was never one to forget a birthday.
"Yeah, not long after the tragedy." Bernadetta solemnly shook her head, mentally recanting the horrified look on the Professor's face that fateful day. "We were having tea in my room. N-not for any deceptive reasons! I just valued privacy! Especially on a day where people actively sought me out!" Dorothea nodded as if to usher along the story. "Well, anyway. I, um. Said that thing about going anywhere with the Pr- with Byleth." She giggled. "I think he took that as a challenge."
"Or I took it too far," the Professor interjected.
"Oh, I don't think so! Afterall, that was when we, um." Bernie casted a glance at Dorothea who looked just a tad too enthralled. "Why don't you continue, Byli- Byleth?"
The Professor could tell Bernadetta was beginning to shy away from the spotlight, no thanks to Dorothea and her prying eyes. Though the focus was primarily on the songstress, everyone was truly enthralled at the rare insight into their friends' personal lives. He continued in her stead. "I was a bit more vulnerable than I had been before, and I was just beginning to unearth my true feelings for Bernadetta." He squeezed his wife's pitifully small hand. "I pushed the joke a bit further. I asked if I were to run away and take up a tradesman's life, if she would intend to follow there, giving up her inheritance of House Varley. And to my surprise, she acutely answered-"
"In a heartbeat!" Bernadetta answered, in real time.
"Ha! YOU picking up a trade? What a laugh, Professor!" Caspar called out after his shockingly long silence.
Ignoring Caspar's teasing, the Professor continued. "I was shocked. I felt terrible for providing that opportunity in jest when Bernie answered so adamantly. I could never abandon my students like that, no matter how vulnerable I felt. I think I was too stunned to reply, and my pause led to a…" He pondered polite words for Bernadetta's meltdowns.
"Meltdown." Bernie said, pulling the trigger on the Professor's wish to remain polite. "I fell to the floor. Ya know, I was so embarrassed. Dealing with emotions I hardly understood was difficult, especially when the only person I was comfortable speaking to about my problems was…"
"-Was the very man your feelings were about!" Dorothea happily concluded.
"Right! You get it, Dorothea. You're always so knowledgeable about these sorts of things. I bet you never have a shortage of people to confide in."
Dorothea smiled, still holding onto Bernie's hand across the table. "Oh this isn't about me, dear. I MUST know what happened next!"
"W-well. I crumpled to my knees and begged the Pr-, Byleth, to forget what he had heard, that I hadn't meant it, but he was too smart for young Bernie's lies."
"I got out of my seat and sat on my knees on the floor as well. In a way, I didn't want to be above her. I wanted her to see me at eye level as an equal," the Professor added, stretching his wrist below the table. Dorothea felt as though she were watching the scene unfold with both respective parties telling their halves of the story. "After she had gotten it out of her system, I took both of her hands in my own, and just smiled. I used to be a man of fewer words."
"That," Bernie said, addressing Byleth instead of their audience. "That was the first time I had seen you smile like that. I was so stunned that I forgot to keep crying."
The Professor shook his head in a pleasant memory. "In retrospect, I don't know what came over me."
Ferdinand spoke up for the first time in awhile, a newly refilled glass of wine swirled between his fingers. "Please, Professor, for Dorothea's sake, meet this story with your trademark brevity." The intensity died down around the table as everyone chuckled. The Professor took Ferdinand's advice and skipped ahead a few moments.
"We kissed." The Professor was still a tad uncomfortable with speaking about intimacy amongst friends, as was Bernadetta, who's violet cheeks screamed of humiliation.
Dorothea threw her hands up in excitement, grabbing for a sip of Ferdinand's wine. "Hold on there, Professor! Who kissed who?!"
Bernadetta gulped, then parted her lips in a meek embarrassment. "Um. B-Byleth kissed me. A-at first." The Professor nodded along, recanting the events in his own head as they unfolded.
"Whoo! Get it, Professor!" Caspar whooped.
"My, how forward of you, Professor!" Dorothea recalled having the Professor in her quarters, where she had once attempted to charm and tempt him towards intimacy. His blank expression during that day now spoke volumes to the effect Bernadetta has had on him. "To think this was all happening right under our noses!"
"Yes, that is how it happened," the Professor reaffirmed. "Again, I was too forward and childish with my feelings."
"N-not at all, actually!" It was Bernadetta who reassured Byleth this time around. "I mean, I, um." She fiddled with her necklace using the hand Dorothea had freed. "It did go a little past just that one kiss."
To witness the Professor blush was an honor that the present company had never experienced until that very moment. Dorothea continued with her poking and prodding until Ferdinand had to quiet her with more wine. Caspar was two pints in. Two pints of what? He didn't know.
Finally, Bernadetta's more outgoing half answered for her. "Byleth kissed me and then pulled away. H-he looked at me like he was surprised by it. I mean, I was too. B-but, with him, for just that moment, I could feel a layer of my shyness melt away." The modern Professor was intrigued to hear what Bernie had to say about the encounter, and listened with similar fervor as their comrades. "I, maaay have gone a liiittle overboard." Nobody present could picture it, not even the Professor who remembered it so vividly. Meek little Bernadetta going after something she wanted. Nevertheless, she swallowed her hesitance and continued with her tale.
"Byleth fell off his knees and onto his butt when he pulled back. It was, um. Kinda cute to see him fumble around. I was used to him being so… not THAT." Bernadetta coughed to clear her throat, then delivered the final blow to Dorothea's anxious, gossip-fueled heart. "L-like I said. I kinda felt like my shyness melted away. It felt like, OH! It felt like when you're being targeted by a thunder spell. That staticy, charged feeling you get in your feet? I. Um. I just watched him for a moment try to gather himself, but before I could let him, I... " She struggled to modestly express her memory, eventually deciding to tell it like it was. "I kissed him, b-but not like the first time. I, um… I knocked him on his back on accident." It was no accident, but any attempt to save herself from embarrassment was futile here. She was in too deep.
"No! You!? How ravenous!" Dorothea was simply enthralled. She could not imagine a universe in which this story had truly happened, and yet it was a fact only the Professor and Bernadetta had known. The songstress was just barely feeling the effects of her wine when she poured another glass. She expected more from the story, even if she dug it out herself. "And you kissed him there? On the floor? Our professor, the strong, silent, brutish mercenary?"
"You sound surprised, Dorothea," the Professor spoke for the first time in awhile.
"Well I just struggle to imagine my sweet little Bernadetta climbing you like a stud is all!"
"I-It wasn't like THAT!" Bernadetta said sheepishly, like a liar.
"Well if you can't be convinced, then I suppose our story will remain fictional in your eyes," the Professor remarked before downing what was left in his tankard. The man held his liquor remarkably well. He truly was the son of Jeralt.
"No, no! I believe you! I just struggle to picture it, is all!" The conversation had been lost on Flayn, who wandered when the topic became a tad too intimate for her liking. Ignatz had been all but forgotten by the group, but still had listened intently, mouthing his astonishment along the way. Caspar was piss drunk but hung onto every word of the Professor and Bernadetta's story. Ferdinand was an intent listener, but he held his doubts. Despite them, he cleared the wine from his throat and addressed Bernadetta directly.
"I had never considered the personal toll that the Professor's disappearance must've had on you, Bernadetta. Please, accept my sincerest apologies. Had I known, I would've been more present in the days that followed."
Bernie's attention was thrown by this, forcing herself not to think about those years apart from Byleth. "Um. Could we, actually, not talk about that. It's just a sore subject." She was inconsolable in the years preceding the Professor's reemergence and never wished to revisit those memories.
Ferdinand understandably shook his head. "Then you have my condolences here as well."
Trailing late into the night, the Professor and Bernadetta took turns imparting the story of their shared history on their friends who chose to listen. Eventually, Ignatz retired to bed, but Caspar, Ferdinand, and Dorothea remained. Their story was, of course, true. Shortly after their first intimate encounter, the Professor and Bernadetta would fail to communicate their true admiration for one another. Being enamored with their first love, the pair would confusedly navigate their feelings from a distance before reconvening at the Goddess Tower on the night of the ball. The days that followed left little time for romance, with the untimely death of Byleth's father, Jeralt. Though Bernadetta provided necessary emotional support during that time, the Professor's grief-stricken isolation put a damper on their relationship. Every week that followed, Bernadetta would leave a bouquet of hand-picked flowers on Jeralt's grave. Though she had never spoken to the man, she mourned the loss of her beloved's revered father.
It was Bernadetta's arrow that pierced the shoulder and resolve of Kronya, the foul woman who had slaughtered Jeralt in cold blood. Bernadetta who fired volley after volley at the Flame Emperor, who she had unknowingly planted flowers with the day before. Bernadetta who abandoned her post at the Battle of Garreg Mach upon watching the ground beneath Byleth crumble, sending him to his presumed grave. Bernadetta who isolated herself in grief in her father's stable for years before joining up with her former classmates. Bernadetta who, upon reuniting with her Professor, sobbed in his arms night after night, mourning the days gone by where her love had been wasted, but not grown cold.
The five friends gathered in the dining hall had embarked on hours of memories and rode a wave of emotions that accentuated the ups and downs of Byleth and Bernadetta's complicated history. Caspar had just finished his third drink, (and spilled his second). Bernadetta had begun to nod off on the Professor's shoulder with the time reaching early morning hours. Byleth absent-mindedly scratched her head while he finished chatting with Dorothea and Ferdinand, who had thoroughly enjoyed the Professor's rare openness.
Bernie was jostled awake by Caspar's abnormally loud hiccuping that predated his final, and most thoroughly concocted question yet. Bernadetta rubbed the sleep from her eyes and yawned, awaking to a Caspar that was far drunker than the last, and far closer than desired.
"I just got one thing left to ask, Byleth" Caspar slurred, having gotten more accustomed to using the Professor's name with each new tankard. Bernadetta sat herself up, rejoining the conversation if for this one, paramount inquiry. "How's Bernie in bed?"
That woke her up.
"You little creep!" She slapped him less teasingly than before, but it couldn't hide her blooming violet cheeks.
"Ow!" Caspar exclaimed. Bernie had one hell of an arm. "What did I say!?"
Another slap, and with it, her husband's eternal admiration.
Ferdinand was tasked with escorting Caspar to his bunk, and he took up his orders with a fervent honor as though the war raged on. Dorothea tagged along with him so that he could safely accompany her to her quarters as well, (though they curiously both emerged from the same room in the morning). As for the Professor, he carried Bernadetta's listless body back to her old dorm. The two were planning to take up residence together in the Archbishop's previous room at the top of Garreg Mach Monastery, but the thought of carrying his wife up 4 flights of stairs detoured Byleth towards Bernie's familiar domain of solitude.
"Bernie," Byleth whispered as if to simultaneously soothe and jostle her awake. "Can you stand? I have to unlock the door."
"Mmph" she wordlessly replied. Cradled in his arms, she took hold of his collar and balled her fist, the fabric fluidly caressing the grooves between her lethargic fingers. Byleth took notice of his feeble attempt to coax his wife awake, having effectively lulled her further asleep. Too sympathetic to Bernadetta's drowsy charm to forcefully wake her, the Professor opted to abandon his hushed melodical voice. He lifted Bernie's back upright from the bridal carry she had been resting at, shifting her chest towards his. Byleth hoped she'd cling to his neck like a bear climbs a honey tree, and to that effect, his tactical thinking prevailed. Bernie almost never slept soundly without coiling her body around something, like a snake constricting the life from an ill-fated rat. When presented with her husband's neck, somnolent Bernie clung around him, allowing him to support her weight with a single hand under her butt.
Fumbling with his keyring, the Professor tried one after another, raising his chance at success with each failed selection. By the time his endeavor proved useful, comatose Bernadetta was humming a long, sour note in the Professor's ear. She was an incredibly heavy sleeper for how often she fumbled during the night. Rarely waking in the same position she fell asleep, Bernadetta's drowsy cuddles were often required to cement her in one place. Had Edelgard been on the ground floor, she would've woken every night to the crashing of Bernadetta rolling out of bed. Maybe she would've overslept and missed her own coronation. Bernadetta could've saved Fódlan before it was lost.
Guiding his queen safely to rest, Byleth made no sudden movements. After Bernadetta was harmoniously tucked in, her old bed immediately reformed to her shape as if she had never left. Byleth cracked a smile, hardly discerning between Bernie and the comforters. The dorm beds were never meant to support two people, they were built that way on purpose. Nevertheless, the Professor knew it was possible to squeeze Bernadetta between himself and the wall. She was less likely to hurt herself falling out of bed that way. Liberating her shoulder from his loving caress, the Professor eased up from the mattress, hardly able to see where he had been.
"You're not gonna stay..?" Astoundingly, Bernadetta woke.
The Professor shook his head but Bernadetta couldn't bear witness in the dark, unlit quarters. "I am, dear. I was just locking the door."
"Good," she mumbled, shifting unseen under her covers. "Bernie'd be too lonely without you."
With a familiar latch, the retired dorm was locked. Byleth was silent momentarily, removing the armored midsection of his outerwear. As Bernadetta's eyes adjusted, the only thing visible in the night's chilled embrace was her husband's viridescent hair. "Lonely? You?" he inquired. Though his words were phrased in a manner befitting mockery, the Professor had genuine curiosity in his voice.
"Mhmm," she replied, trying her best to roll out of the Bernie-shaped pit in the center of her bed. "I get lonely too, ya know."
"I didn't know. I've never heard you mention it before," he said, slipping one of his unstrapped boots onto the floor. Undressing was a lot simpler now that the Professor wasn't regularly sporting plated accessories head-to-toe.
"Of course I do," Bernadetta replied, slipping further into consciousness as she struggled to find a comfortable position to lay in. "How do you think I felt when you went missing?"
Byleth halted before undressing further, even the air he inhaled remained stiff in his lungs. Though he knew he wasn't to blame, his careless actions when Garreg Mach fell had caused his ill-fated partner tremendous grief. Whenever the topic came up, in truth, he felt more unease than Bernadetta. Recognizing this, she quickly apologized.
"S-sorry. I don't mean to make you feel bad about it. I know it wasn't your fault. A-and besides! You're here now and so am I! That should be all that matters, right?" Bernie was really stepping out of her shell when it came to providing comfort lately. She had grown tremendously. Byleth shifted, continuing to remove his accessories. What she said was true, and he clung to her words more possessively than he ever let on.
When the Professor grew mute, it was never in disregard to someone or a topic, it was because he had little to offer in ways of continuing the dialogue. Just another peculiar trait picked up from his life as a mercenary. Snapping the final clasp of his trousers, Byleth let them fall to the floor where he stood. Another peculiarity was his tendency to be rather disorganized in the trivialities of life. He could poke fun at Bernie's clutter all he wanted, but he'd still leave pair after pair of rumpled pants at his bedside.
The Professor fumbled searching for the covers, but eventually peeled them back and nestled into bed, lying on his right side perpendicular to his wife. He draped an arm loosely over her and dug a trench beneath her pillow for his other. When all was situated, he pulled her intricate frame snug against his own warmth, receiving a shocking chill on his chest from her exposed upper-back. Bernie was always cold, and therefore Bernie was always bundled (when she could help it). In truth, she blamed her petite build, but beneath all of his attire's complexities, the Professor himself wasn't terribly large either. Nevertheless, he barred the touch of her glacial skin until the warmth was distributed amongst them both.
"Tonight went very well," Byleth said matter-of-factly. At first, Bernie missed his words, silently fixated and mentally squirming over the Professor's sturdy hand pressed firmly against her chest. Bernie was glad for the absence of light in the room. Though his intentions were innocent, her face was wide-eyed and scarlet.
"O-oh? Um. Y-yeah! I had fun!"
Sensing the unease in her voice, the Professor asked "Are you sure? You sound tense."
"W-who, me? N-no I'm fine, I swear!" Bernie haphazardly reassured. "Just. Um. D-don't move. Okay?"
Byleth pondered her meaning momentarily before his cheeks warmed in embarrassment, blissfully unaware of what he had done until that moment. Still, who was he to question the queen's orders? "Of course, your highness."
That certainly didn't help matters, and Bernadetta's mental squirming manifested to infect her corporeal form as well. To distract and compose herself, Bernadetta asked "What'll you do first as king?"
Though an opportunity for wordplay presented itself, it was not the Professor's brand of humor. Instead, he took no time to ponder the question, having prepared his answer long ago. "Exile your father."
Unsurprisingly, that made her outright giddy. What more could Bernadetta ask for in a partner than what she had right now? The Professor was not one to speak his affections into the world, but elected to let them slowly drip into a vast puddle, like the wetted tips of your fingers in a rainstorm. He could move mountains with the simplest words, and as king, Bernadetta knew he would do just that. But the realities of office duty were a distant thought for Bernie, who could still hardly keep her euphoric body still. With each passing second, it grew more and more difficult for her to fight the urge to turn around and display affections of her own. When Byleth's sturdy hand took to kneading her delicate physique, she could no longer resist.
Goddess help me, I DON'T know what I'm doing!
But in truth, neither did Byleth. As his stories would suggest, The Professor had grown at a similar rate to Bernadetta. Together, the pair embarked on voyages of self-discovery time and time again. Returning to Caspar's insensitive and booze-fueled question from earlier that night, truly, there was no answer yet. Byleth did not know, but Bernadetta- sweet, innocent little Bernadetta, wanted to find out.
She trusted this secret would remain between her two safest confidants. Her husband, and Smiley-brick.