Unmarriageable Girl

23rd Day of the Horsebow Moon

Year of the Goddess 1186

Silver Snow

On clear nights like these, Bernadetta's head often tilted skywards, admiring the privilege of the stars sprinkled throughout the heavens. Scholars, preachers, all who sought knowledge of the empyrean deities held their conjectures, their theories. "They are other worlds," say the scholars, their noses wasted on acclivity. "It is the light of the Goddess," say men of faith, forlorn to sanitize the universe to their structured beliefs. True knowledge seekers claim a more factual gospel: an inexplicable truth. Reverently, man's limitations may never reveal the radiant verity of the heavenly lights.

Bernadetta, sweet, innocent Bernadetta admired the stars through the lens of her own doctrine. Incandescently, a star's radiance was born of it's freedom. Free of strife, of suffering, of calamity. Free of war, of death, of hunger. Resting atop Fódlan, heavenly lights gleamed through ignorance of life's horrors. Bernadetta longed to know the warmth of a star; to know freedom from pain.

Frogs croaked below, huddled in mass towards the oasis' edge. Each one sang a different key, harmonizing their disorganized symphony to the beat of a firefly's wings. Nostalgic sounds, a reminiscent orchestra of Varley nights sang for Bernadetta's return home. Moonlight creaked in nonchalantly, a welcomed guest to the dusty omitted space. Removed from the minds of her parents, Bernadetta's childhood room sat untouched for six years. Cobwebs littered the ceiling and a peculiar dampness groaned the wood underfoot.

Why does this always happen when you're away, Bernie? Every room of yours always leaks!

Lost in thought, Bernie considered that perhaps all rooms leaked, that her's were never the exception. Contrast to the thought, perhaps her havens of solitude wept for her as she did for them when apart. A codependency that the war would see severed, and Byleth would see buried.

With each footstep, the wooden floor ached, as though groaning in pain from the day's hardship. War had reached her doors, a bastion of Northern Adrestia that remained rather unscathed prior to Bernadetta's homecoming. Approaching the slatted brick windows, Bernie creaked open the wooden flap to allow the cool night's breeze to fondle the stagnant interior air. The stars caught her gaze brighter in Varley than anywhere in the world, she imagined. Bernadetta pondered their celestial might. If heaven was housed among the stars, was her father residing within them?

No. The heavens were a serene place, a marvelous garden of bliss that her father did not deserve. Though having watched the life drain from his eyes, Bernie still couldn't fathom that his iron grip had loosened. She could not afford grief nor guilt for snatching his life away. She could not feel anything. Regardless, as Queen Bernadetta longingly scrutinized the celestial night, her room had never felt more like a cage.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK. As it had stagnated for six years, the Professor's knocking pattern was instantly recognizable. A blip in her heart dictated she smile, but her countenance ran as cold as the stone ledge under her fingers. Byleth parted the door, uncharacteristically leaning on the frame.

"Thought I might find you here," he flatly offered. Limping towards his wife, Byleth exhaled sharply on every other step.

Bernadetta spun on her heels and skipped towards him, providing a sense of stability for the injured king. "Careful! You should be resting with the healers, Professor." Endearingly, Byleth never disliked her referring to him by his former title. There was an unspoken intimacy he had shared with Bernadetta when he was exclusively 'the Professor'.

"I thought I'd go for a walk. See where you grew up now that it's safe to do so." Byleth rested his arm around Bernadetta, who used both of hers to hold her husband straight.

"Not much to it anymore," Bernie offered, leading Byleth to the edge of her former bed. "Things have changed a lot since I was here." After assuring his comfort, Bernie strangely did not join him, but returned to her station by the window.

Moonlight caressed her face, a warm glow that accentuated her perfect skin. Byleth had come face-to-face with the Goddess Sothis, but never had he privileged upon someone so immaculate. Having bequeathed the securities of her armor, Bernadetta was adorned by a simple fitted lavender top that scarcely draped itself over her equable shoulders. A new ornate bow had replaced the previous, resting between the tips of her ears and rivaling her undercut hair in length. By her regal allure alone, it was hard for one to relate her to the dauntless Bear of Varley that roared to life that morning.

Bernadetta's beauty was not exclusive to her physique, but thrived within her strength, her veiled indomitability. Growth had come for all of Byleth's comrades, but none so overtly as Bernadetta von Varley. From panicky recluse to valiant sovereign, nobody could have predicted Bernie's rapid ascension less than herself. Potential always resided within the young girl, buried beneath years of adversity and abuse. Byleth was blind to the stars, as nothing shone more radiantly than the woman before him.

"I'd recognize that face anywhere," Byleth stated. "Something's troubling you."

Bernie sighed jocosely. "Always seeing right through me, aren't you?" Bernadetta's face remained rather stoic, but still she offered a jovial warmth.

Byleth wished to cradle her, to intertwine his body with hers, to provide an unwavering comfort, but he remained seated knowing Bernie would usher him back due to his injuries. "Understandably. It's an understatement to say a lot happened today. I'm glad you found a moment to rest up here alone."

Bernadetta giggled. "Well I'm not alone anymore, am I?"

Caught off guard, Byleth nearly offered to leave, but the allure of Bernie's eyes kept him seated. Clearing his throat, the king asked "I won't pry, but… If you need to talk at all-"

"About him?" Bernie inquired. She too, could see through Byleth. The king had been paralized moments before Count Varley met his demise at his daughter's hands. He had not witnessed his gruesome death or the denial of satisfaction he faced, killed before he could utter more filth.

"If you'd like," Byleth vaguely offered. "There's a lot you might be feeling right now. I just want to make sure you have the support you need to navigate all of this."

"Feeling?" Bernie puzzled, almost innocently as though the concept were foreign. "Truthfully, Byleth… I thought I'd be sad."

The Professor nodded, though he could not relate. "Sad?"

"Yeah," Bernadetta whimpered, leering once again at the stars as though yearning for solidarity. "He was my father. I always heard stories from people about losing their father. Even our friends like Raphael or Flayn." Byleth bit his tongue. "Everyone talked about their loss so personally. A-Almost like a torn sleeve. They could sew it back, but the tear was never the same."

Byleth's eyes trailed to the floor, a tidal wave of familiarity resonated from her words. Jeralt was lost to the world five years ago, but it lived fresh in Byleth's memory. Baring his emotions, Byleth selflessly escaped the sound of Jeralt's final pained words. Bernadetta caught wind of her husband's woe and sputtered.

"I-I'm sorry, I f-forgot it's a sore subject! W-We can talk about something else if you'd like, o-or nothing, um! Ugh Bernie, how selfish can you get…"

"No, not at all. Jeralt and your father aren't comparable. It's selfish of me to indulge in my own grieving at a time when you're vulnerable to your own." Byleth reassured the queen to something she had not expressed, puzzling her.

"Grief…" she pondered. "No. Not grief. I'm not sad." Her delicate fingers rested on the slit stone windowsill. "To tell you the truth, after the adrenaline wore off and the sadness never came, I thought I'd be happy."

This, Byleth understood. Villainous, wicked, a plague that wrought Bernadetta throughout her years, Count Varley was an epidemic of the most heinous variety. Varley's death would bring about the emancipation of countless souls previously lost to his depravity.

"That relief," Bernie began. "It never came either. I know he's gone, but the things he did all still happened. Killing the man couldn't undo his damage." Bernadetta shut her eyes, severing her ties to the stars. "I didn't kill him out of anger or revenge. What he did to me is done. I didn't see my father. I just saw another bad guy." Her expression soured and her head hung low, grip on the windowsill tightening. "I saw the people he was still hurting, like that young boy from the village. I saw myself in him. Truth be told, when we first got here, I was scared that all these people were going to get hurt just for my selfish family problems. I didn't think it would be worth it." She paused, reflecting on the day's seemingly antiquated unrest. "B-But… When I realized he was still hurting people… It didn't matter if it was too late to save me; I could still save them." In solitude, a tear danced across her lunar kissed cheek. "My father died a long time ago. Today I killed his ghost."

Speechless, Byleth could offer no condolence that would benefit the obtunded queen. Her words were composed like an opera, studied and robust. Clearly, Bernadetta's strengths far surpassed even Byleth's own understanding. All the king was left with was a vigorous admiration that consumed him. Distracted by his own esteem, Byleth was surprised when he felt a weight added to the lofty bed. Wooden slats creaked beneath the pair, crying in elderly distress.

Bernie carefully slid a hand towards Byleth's knee, leaning her head on his shoulder, her scalp snugly against his cheek. "You know, maybe I am a little sad, but it's not about my father," she confided.

Byleth offered a small kiss on the crown of her head before wrapping an arm around his exhausted wife. "Why's that?" he asked.

"Well," Bernie began. "Remember when we first met?"

"All too well," Byleth chuckled. How rarely he used to do that, to the point where the sound of his laugh was so alien to even his closest confidants. "You were terrified of me."

"Hey!" Bernadetta teased. "Don't take it so personally! I was terrified of everyone," to elevate her reassurance, she tilted her chin and sharply kissed Byleth's cheek. "I meant more specifically how I was after missions."

"I wouldn't recall," Byleth pondered. "You were always so isolated afterwards.

"R-Right. That's what I mean." Thinking back, Bernie cringed. "I did that because I would cry for days about what I had done… K-Killing people, even if they deserved it… I never thought I'd get used to it. All I wanted was to go home and hide away in my room. After the Red Canyon I was inconsolable. I even felt uneasy when we passed through on the way here."

Byleth solemnly nodded. He felt responsible, having roped her into battle time and time again. He motioned for her to continue.

"And then, as time went on, I started crying less and less. I thought I was getting stronger, b-but," Bernadetta stuttered. "I was actually just getting used to killing…"

Byleth, again, offered a pensive nod to acknowledge his attention. "I know the feeling all too well."

"Realizing how numb I was," Bernadetta explained. "After the war started and I hid in the stable, I cried more about the people I killed than ever before. I felt like a monster."

Byleth's embrace grew tighter and warmer, offering a physical condolence through solidarity.

"But eventually, those tears stopped too. Then years passed and the war was unavoidable. I joined up with Caspar and we met up with everyone from Garreg Mach. I was such a wreck from living in that stable for so long. Dorothea gave me a makeover, did you ever know that?"

Byleth smiled at the tangent, distracting the pair from the grim conversation. "No, but it makes sense."

"Mhmm!" She retorted. "She made me feel really good about myself, the best I felt in years!" Realizing she had departed her course, Bernadetta shook her head free of distractions. "O-Oh! Sorry, lost track of my own thoughts!" She giggled nervously and rubbed her face on her husband's sturdy shoulder. "W-When we joined the war, I got even colder towards killing. It wasn't something I was learning anymore, it was something I was mastering. I never cried again over the people I had to kill. Even Edelgard or Lorenz." Remorseful, the former soldier mentally recounted the trials and tribulations of those months at war.

Bernadetta continued. "Today, I thought that would change. I thought that killing my father might mean something more than any old bad guy." Screeching to a halt, she paused for a considerable amount of time before returning to her thoughts. "I was wrong. I didn't feel a thing for him or Dilan. I just felt numb. I guess," Bernadetta shut her eyes, her lashes painting up against the Professor's tender cheek. "I guess I miss the days when killing was something worth crying over."

Byleth understood what it felt like to be robbed of a placid life. Having been born into the mercenary lifestyle alongside Jeralt, Byleth had never known a life free from death. Death was an inevitability for all, but for some, it was a constant. "I'm sorry, Bernadetta."

"O-Oh..? For, um. For what?"

"I'm sorry you've had to give up your innocence to a world that doesn't deserve it." Byleth had pulled away from their embrace, resting a hand on the smooth skin of his wife's thigh, and another on the swell of her back. Her countenance had contorted ever so slightly, the solemness substituted for a muddled interest.

"W-Well," Bernadetta started, resting her hand atop Byleth's. "We can make a world where people don't have to lose their innocence like we did, r-right? I mean, we ARE in charge after all." Selfless and sanguine, the radiant bask returned to the young queen's eyes. Resigning her own troubles, Bernadetta turned her focus to the innocence and comfort of the world.

Stroking his ring on her finger, Byleth smiled. "That's exactly what I thought you'd say."

Bernie returned her husband's modest grin before enveloping his lips with a dire kiss. Destiny held the couple in their lip-locked embrace whilst the cheers of their new world took shape. Villagers of the town formerly known as Stewart's Moat celebrated the timely death of their tyrant master. Arts would return to the streets again, and the snakes of Varley Manor would be driven back into the shrubbery. Varley County would be the first blessed by Fódlan's new sovereign rulers, but it was far from the last.

Wistfully parting their lips from one another, the royal pair were crudely startled by an unwelcome presence in the doorway.

"Ugh, good grief," exhaled Shamir. "Thought you could sneak off to swap spit with your wife instead of resting your wounds? Unbelievable."

"They're fine, Shamir." Byleth groaned.

"Oh good, then maybe you'd like to help me pack up supplies for our trip back, Your Majesty." Shamir had always held contempt for Rhea, believing she was not deserving of the extensive praise and doting from people like Catherine, (Or perhaps she was jealous). But now that Byleth was king, she did not hold her tongue so fervently. Byleth appreciated her brunt attitude, and would comply with her more often than not.

Addressing Bernadetta, he patted her leg and affirmed, "You'll be alright?"

Bernie nodded, her apprehensive grin revealing the ends of her top teeth. "Mhmm! I'll be down soon. Just need a bit to relax."

Byleth smiled, planting a buoyant kiss on her head as he stumbled to his feet. Shamir helped the Professor walk, practically dragging him along like an apprehensive pet. "Sorry, Your Majesty," Shamir said, craning her neck to face Bernadetta, for whom her respect was in higher regards. "You can have him back when I'm done with him."

Bernie laughed, though Shamir was coarse and blunt, she was fearless and sly. "Don't worry! Just make sure he gets some rest!"

Shamir returned this request from the hallway with a snort. "Ha!" she began. "No way, I'm putting this guy to work."

That got another chuckle from the queen, who knew Shamir would oblige. Shifting towards the headboard of her childhood bed, Bernadetta basked in a view she never expected to return to so blissfully. Moonbeams danced radiantly through her den, filling Bernie with a cool comfort that would keep her at the edge of sleep while she rested her eyes.

You did it, Bernie. You really did it. Everyone is happier today than they were yesterday, even Bylie despite getting stabbed. Ouch. I'm glad that magic practice came in handy after all. Truth be told, I wasn't so sure I could pull it off!

You incessant child, have you ever once refrained from self-doubt?

W-What..?

Oh? My words have finally reached your ears, have they?

Bernadetta shot up and instinctively reached for the knife typically adorning her thigh. Grasping at the air, she hastily examined the room for the source of her worry: a voice unlike any other. Thin and airy, the voice carried a lofty significance that was, in a word, sublime.

"W-who's there!?" Bernadetta commanded through the dark room. "Eeeek! S-Show yourself!"

"At times so ferocious, yet so fearful! You are quite the conundrum."

Bernadetta hopped to her feet and darted for the door, throwing her head in every direction, there was no plausible source, nowhere for someone to hide. Barricading herself in her room, Bernadetta dove to check for the phantom beneath her bed to no avail. "O-Ohhh Bernie, it finally happened! You've finally lost your mind! U-Unless you're a g-g-ghooost..?!"

"Hah! You think me a mere spectre?! While I suppose there is accuracy in that statement, I-"

"Waugh!" Bernadetta shrieked, undoubtedly alerting anyone else in the west wing of Varley Manor. "I-I knew it! P-Please don't kill me!"

"Oh you are insufferable! Would you please listen instead of simply hearing! I am no ghost!"

Bernadetta was halfway scrambled under the bed when the reassurance came. "T-Then why won't you show yourself..? Who are you!?" The queen pleaded seemingly with thin air, but amongst the deafening blows of Bernadetta's heart, the shrill, dignified voice offered one final explanation.

"You may know me by many names. You may call me,``The Beginning."