Unmarriageable Girl

21st Day of the Wyvern Moon
Year of the Goddess 1186
Silver Snow

Glorious in a word, dusty and rank in two, the Holy Tomb was covertly nestled beneath the bustle of Garreg Mach Monastery. Slumbering for eternity, the Goddess Sothis is said to have been laid to rest within the sumptuous walls of the secluded mausoleum. Her Divinity would be joined over a millennium later by her daughter, Seiros. No longer bearing the scars of war, the Holy Tomb was painstakingly restored by Rhea before her capture one moon later. This restoration would be the final loving act Saint Seiros would undertake for the comfort of her dormant mother.

Frigid green light swirled and danced through the stale vault's air, almost as if ethereal trees stretched their limbs. No draft was possible this far underground, yet there was an unmistakable bite in the air that gnawed at Bernadetta's exposed ankles. Winter had fallen across Fódlan and a courteous blanket of snow laminated the monastery grounds above. Without the burdensome responsibility of her old training regimen, the new queen found a palpable fondness for the silver-lined gleam of Fódlan's snow.

Native to the arid region of House Varley, Bernadetta was unacquainted with glacial weather until her arrival at Garreg Mach. Today, it proved a challenge for Bernie to capture the wintry likeness in her portraits, many of which stacked high in the corner of her shared royal quarters. Her fondness of snow did not extend to the numbing polar temperatures, and Bernie often found herself, as she always had, bundled.

Within the Holy Tomb, that same chilled breath had somehow seeped through the subterranean cathedral, despite the chamber being inaccessible to even the craftiest vermin. Lifted en route to the heavenly surface, a stone-carved throne rested without residence. Sothis had occupied a vision of this cathedra within Byleth's mind. Though his previous visit atop the platform had been brisk, the cresting throne was homely and familiar. This description could not be reciprocated by Bernadetta, who fidgetted and chafed abreast the distended arms of the Goddess's throne.

"Well," began Seteth, a peculiar gleam in his eye. "Do you feel anything? Perhaps if you'd… settle yourself."

Bernadetta avoided his snowy gaze. Grabbing hold of each stone arm, she twisted her back; a voluminous pop extended from her spine to fill the silent void of the Holy Tomb. Bernie sighed, involuntarily letting out a groan in exhalation. "Nope," she replied defeatedly. "Nothing."

Seteth's maw was agape, perhaps inhaling the exuded disrespect to process it in his lungs. "Do not utilize the millenary Goddess's throne as a means to stretch your back!"

Stunned by his reprimanding, an "Eek!" squeaked through Bernadetta before profusely apologizing. "I-I'm sorry! It's just that, well, um. We've been here for hours and this chair is really stiff."

Seteth sighed, shaking his head and placing his chin between his fingers. "I don't understand, we have performed the ceremony just as Rhea had. As I feared, perhaps I am simply an ineffective spiritual leader."

Upon his ascension to kingship, Byleth had decided to relieve the central church from political acts of Fódlan. Relinquishing his duties as archbishop to Seteth, Byleth stuck to his more familiar prowess for diplomacy while Seteth attained leadership of the Church of Seiros and religious affairs within Fódlan. Adopting a position of tolerance, Seteth would bring about the implementation of religious diplomats from neighboring regions to assure the unified Fódlan government adhered and welcomed all beliefs. Hesitation was quelled for much of Fódlan when the church relinquished control. Much of the moons following the death of Count Varley would see to enacting this transfer of power.

"Preposterous, brother!" Flayn exclaimed. Flayn sat cross-legged at the foot of the throne, much of her time spent in meditation. She hoped to hear the wisdom of the Goddess for herself. "As you may recall, Lady Rhea's redaction of this ceremony too ended without fruition. You mustn't cast blame on yourself."

Byleth rounded out attendance, limiting the space to the four dignitaries. He sat beside Flayn, accruing a film of dirt that caked into his lavish white cloak. Seteth was the only one among them who stood, towering over the backs of the two and often pacing, his mind whizzing between thoughts. Byleth craned his neck to put Seteth in view.

"I heard nothing when I sat on the throne either," Byleth stated. "I had low expectations for repeating this with Bernadetta."

Bernie held her hands in her lap, casting a gloomy downward gaze. "Sorry everyone… I really thought it was gonna work, but I guess I'm just not cut out for all this goddess stuff."

Byleth gifted a look of affirmation to his wife, who admittedly bore the guilt of the failed experiment. Before the king could offer any words, Flayn pushed herself upwards, taking hold of Bernadetta's hands and beaming with glee. "Lady Bernadetta, it is to no fault of yours that we have not communed with the Goddess." Flayn and Bernadetta had struck up an unlikely and magnanimous friendship with one another. To escape courtly duties, Bernie would often accompany Flayn to a pond outside the market district of Garreg Mach village. There, the pair would frequently enjoy a reticent evening, one fishing and the other painting. These outings solidified Flayn as a source of geniality during the tumultuous first months of Bernadetta's tenure as queen.

Smiling in return, Bernadetta nodded before sneezing a noseful of sealed tomb dust. Seteth prodded further with questions he had repeated countless times. "Your Majesty, you are certain you heard the voice of the Goddess at your former estate?"

"Yes, Seteth," Bernie begrudgingly replied, resting her cheek to her hand and elbow on the throne.

"What is it about that specific time in which the Goddess chose to make her presence known to you?" Seteth questioned, trailing off his gaze from Bernadetta and pacing again.

"She seemed just confused by it as I was," Bernie offered. "She mentioned that I could finally hear her voice like she'd been trying to talk to me for a while."

Byleth nodded, rising to his feet as Flayn had. "It was a stressful day for you. That might have opened some mental link with her."

Seteth's brow furled as he explored options aloud. "Perhaps we need to induce a similar level of stress to Her Majesty and then-"

Byleth shot a disapproving glare at Seteth, followed in suit by Flayn. Bernadetta appeared to fear for her life atop her carved throne.

"Apologies," Seteth flatly offered. "I am simply at a loss. Even the most basic of questions remain unanswered, such as how the Goddess was able to communicate with Her Majesty in the first place."

"A wise man once said, 'There is no shame in the unknown, brother," Flayn kindly retorted. "There is only the thrill of discovery!"

Seteth calmed upon hearing his own adage repeated from his dear sister. With this proverbial lull, the Archbishop's mind kicked back to work, seemingly uncovering an angle previously irrelevant. "Wait, Your Majesty," he exclaimed, again not making any distinction as to who his words targeted.

"Yes?"

"Hmm?" the royal couple replied, both following with a slight chuckle.

Springing to life, Seteth approached Byleth, his rapidly motioning hands detailing his words. "You once said that the Sword of the Creator draws power from the Goddess through use of it's unique combat art. I believe it was dubbed Ruptured Heaven, yes?"

"Correct," Byleth affirmed, beginning to follow Seteth's thought process.

"Was this combat art utilized in your battle with Count Varley's defenders?"

Byleth thought for a moment, then answered. "Yes."

That familiar gleam returned to Seteth's eyes, which grew with the anticipation of a new path to tread. "Could this chain of events have triggered the Goddess's interaction with Her Majesty? Could, in theory, her dormant soul have awoken from use of this power?"

Bernadetta had been silent for awhile, but began to piece together the theory as Seteth explained it. Perhaps there was truth to it. The pair had not encountered combat since the Horsebow Moon, a timeline that coincided with Sothis's prolonged silence. "But wait," Bernie interjected. "If Byleth's power woke up the Goddess, that still doesn't explain how she was able to talk to me. Byleth said her voice was lost when their souls merged."

"Perhaps we could ask Her Divinity herself," Seteth excitedly replied, turning again towards Byleth. "Your Majesty, would you don your sword and perform Ruptured Heaven?"

Byleth had already drawn his relic, which once again flared to life in the king's restrictive grip. "This is the last attempt today, Seteth. After this, we have to give Bernie some rest."

Bernie nervously kicked her feet back and forth as they hung from the throne, excited to finally go home. As Byleth's Sword of the Creator dismantled, shards of it's heavenly blade began to resemble vertebrae, undulating in a whiplike flurry. His eyes glowed a similar haze to that of the Holy Tomb, and his weapon cut through the open air like an injured wyvern's spiral. Flayn watched intently and Seteth's countenance bore a dogmatic grin, confident in his theory. Bernadetta had witnessed her husband's power dozens of times, but his sheer might never ceased to enthrall her.

Byleth shouted in effort, the glare on his sword growing before dissipating as it's vertebrae returned to their resting blade. Finishing his display over the Holy Tomb, Byleth gripped the sword's hilt with both hands and held the relic center to his face, as though praying with it. Finally, it dropped to his side and he turned to face his admiring peers.

Soon, all eyes fixated on Bernadetta, who would never grow used to the pressure of several transfixed gazes.

"Well," Seteth eagerly asked. "What are you feeling?"

"Tired…" Bernadetta responded. Inching about on the throne, she was doing her best to apply less pressure to her butt, flattened by stone. Someone yawned, unseen by Bernie as she fidgeted. Maybe she wasn't the only one who was tired.

"What a rude awakening" Yawn. "I do hope it was worth it."

"GaaAAAHH!" Bernadetta shrieked. It was unmistakably her, the voice which addressed her months ago in her former bedroom. "S-She's here! It's working!"

"Oh? You have gathered an audience? I should blush if I had the face to do so."

Seteth nearly darted towards Bernadetta, causing her to flinch and hide her face. "What is she saying, oh please, translate her divine speech word for word! I must know!"

"Hmmph! I am not a mere spectacle to be gawked at! Oh I should have choice words to offer this-"

"S-She's happy to see you," Bernie lied.

"Oh! You are worse than your husband!"

Seteth and Flayn both dropped to their knees in prayer, closing their eyes and cupping their hands. Byleth was left standing. There was something odd to him about worshipping a friend. "It's good to see you again, Sothis," Byleth said. "I've missed your nagging." To address the goddess in such a way caused disdain for Seteth, who nearly struck the king out of temper. This was the nature of Byleth's relationship with Sothis. Her unwitting prison warden, the man with whom she would be bound to regardless of her wishes. The least the pair could do was retain a healthy banter.

"This man, ha! The nerve of him to say such a thing when I have gone nowhere. Though, truthfully I have missed our dialogues."

Bernadetta did her best to repeat the Goddess's words verbatim. "U-uh, she said she hasn't gone anywhere. Oh! A-and also the nerve of you!" The queen mouthed a "sorry!" before returning her attention to the inner dialogue. Byleth cracked a smile in reunion with his friend.

Seteth's words flowed together in excitement. "Almighty Goddess, thou who delivered life unto our bountiful land and brought forth the heavens to-"

"Would you get on with it?" Yawn. "My time is limited!"

"Would you get on with it?" Bernadetta repeated. Seteth's leer shot daggers towards her. Jumping, Bernie recoiled yet again. "Aaah! Her words, not mine! Don't kill meee!"

"Why must I be imprisoned with THIS bunch?"

Seteth cut to the chase, clearing his throat. "How has your voice returned to us through Lady Bernadetta?"

The queen sat in silence for a moment, as did all present. Eventually, she delivered the Goddess's paraphrased answer. "Oh! That makes sense! I didn't realize it was so literal!"

"Bernadetta!" snapped Seteth.

"Eek! S-Sorry! She says her soul is joined with Byleth's, right? W-Well, when we got married, our souls were also joined, meaning some of Sothis exists within me as well."

"Remarkable…" Seteth uttered in perplexity. "Truly I had no knowledge of the literal nature of the rite of marriage. I had assumed the joining of souls was figurative language alone. My apologies, Your Divinity."

"Sothis will do."

"Sothis will do."

Again, Seteth looked appalled before realizing that the words were only repeated. Bowing his head, he obeyed the Goddess's wish. "My apologies, Sothis." Such brevity in regards to the Goddess was not befitting of Seteth's nature, and he squirmed in his impractical pointy shoes..

"Yes, it appears the three of our souls are now intertwined. As I had fused with your husband, my voice was lost. My consciousness, however, persevered. I've spent much of my time asleep, aware that my voice would not reach your husband's ears. As I am not fused with you, it appears you are able to bear witness to my voice yet again."

"T-That makes sense!" Bernadetta once again relayed the information to the best of her ability, the three accompanying her nodded in understanding.

"Bernadetta. That is your name, correct? I will never grow accustomed to the sound of human names."

"Y-yes."

"Bernadetta. I have a request I must impart on you and your husband alike."

Nodding, Bernadetta listened intently. Byleth looked on and wondered if he had looked so lost in daydream when communicating with Sothis in the past. What an airhead he must've been taken for.

"For years now I have resided within Byleth, placed there at birth through means of a crest stone by my miserly daughter. Though I have been conscious, I have not been given freedom or choice or a will of my own. I am your goddess in name alone. My consciousness resides here, but often I wish to exist beyond this metaphysical realm."

Bernadetta halted Sothis's speech to reiterate her words to the trio of intent listeners. Then instructed the Goddess to continue.

"Bernadetta, I ask of you, find a way to give life to me. Search for a means to separate my soul into a body of my own. I wish to partake in this world, not reign above it as a prisoner. I have no means of being the Goddess I once was. I wish only to be a person, a human. I wish to dance and sing and lead a life of my own. Please, search for a way to gift me with humanity."

Stunned, Bernie processed the request for a moment through the sound of Sothis's growing yawns. Finally, she imparted the news on her friends. "S-Sothis… She wants to become human."

"What..?" Finally, Seteth was truly aghast. "T-That is preposterous, I… She…"

Byleth placed a hand on the Archbishop's shoulder, halting his panic. "She isn't the spiritual Goddess of Fódlan, Seteth. The Sothis that exists within me is a shard of the former Goddess. I understand her request. She wants to be free. I always knew that." Byleth looked again towards Bernie, who had always retained a heavenly feature in his eyes.

"Good. I am glad I am understood." Yaaawn. "I grow tired again… Bernadetta, know that I exist within you both now. Until I am freed, I-" Yawn. "You will never be truly alone."

Sweat. Terror. Damnation of the highest order. Bernadetta pondered this for no more than half a second before the horrors of this truth unraveled. NEVER be alone? NEVER? If she was not convinced before, she was dedicated to the cause now. "I-I think we should help her! Right?! I-It's the right thing to do, after all! Please?"

All were in agreement, all except Seteth, who mourned his idealized Goddess, his ancestor who shaped Fódlan and answered the prayers of her people.

"Brother," Flayn addressed, recognizing his disquietude. "You will assist Her Divinity, will you not?"

"I… I feel it is unwise to demote such a divine being to that of a mere mortal. My stomach aches imagining it…" Seteth was not convinced, he would not be easily swayed.

"I-I'm not calling him THAT!" Bernadetta shouted, addressing an unheard insult.

"Brother," Flayn suggested. "Should we assist the Goddess in her aspiration, would you not fulfill Lady Rhea's ambition of walking amongst Her Divinity? Silence befell Seteth and his eyes turned downwards in contemplation.

Byleth stepped forward. "I will do what you request of me, Sothis."

"As will I!" Flayn added.

"Thank you all, it is not without humbleness that I ask this of you… and I will try to be… ever present more often to… oh dear, I am fading fast…"

Bernie spoke with haste, "She says thank you, a-and she's falling back asleep!"

Seteth hurriedly added to the compliance, "Your Divinity, forgive me, I shall also offer my assistance!"

Bernadetta waited, but no reply came. "I, um. I think she's gone… I… I'm also feeling kind of…"

Byleth sprung towards the throne, recognizing the fatigue in his wife's eyes. Just as she slumped forward, Byleth arrived with open arms, hugging her closely as she faded from consciousness. Flayn and Seteth stood, concerned for the queen's safety.

"She's okay, just sleeping." Byleth assured. He wrapped an arm around her legs and lifted her, arching his back to support his wife's cradled body.

"So begins this monumental task," Flayn said, repeating the words of the Goddess throughout her.

Byleth turned to the pair, Bernadetta already drooling on his shoulder. "Any ideas where to start?" Flayn shook her head with a frown, hoping to fuel her memory with time. Seteth, on the other hand, had avoided eye contact thus far, indicating that he was again in contemplation. All suspicions would be confirmed when he finally spoke.

"There is little research beyond what the church has provided regarding the nature of souls in Fódlan. However, such a place with knowledge beyond ours may yet exist." Seteth was oddly reprehensible, as though his assistance in this matter brought him shame. "Such knowledge may exist in Almyra. The religious landscape of Almyra involves the worship of multiple deities. One such high deity, To'ur, is known as the God of Souls. Unfortunately, my knowledge of the subject ends here."

"Almyra," Byleth repeated. Bernadetta kicked in her sleep, jangling the small round plates on the king's cloak.

Flayn giggled, gesturing with an open hand towards the pair. "It would seem Lady Bernadetta is already dreaming of our impending quest."

20th Day of the Red Wolf Moon
Year of the Goddess 1186
Silver Snow

Amnemonic as ever, Bernadetta's mind seemingly ground to a halt before every extended departure. Though her life had stagnated as she had yearned for, Bernie found herself growing unusually disinterested with her surroundings at Garreg Mach. There were only so many landscapes to paint and manuscripts to write before greener pastures were a welcome sight to behold. Complacency would be the recluse's harshest casualty from the war. Travel was second nature to her at this point, and Bernie failed miserably at being the hermit she always dreamt of. Besides, who'd want to be queen when they could be a shut-in?

Still, as she had promised high atop the Goddess Tower many moons ago, Bernadetta would follow her husband anywhere, so long as he'd have her. Luckily (or perhaps unfortunately) for the young queen, her king would never skip an opportunity to indulge in her presence. Now, the pair were bound for the eastern country of Almyra to seek answers for Sothis's plea.

A month had passed since the pair had last communicated with the goddess dwelling within their conjoined souls. During that allotment, Byleth became entrenched in his work, securing favor with Fódlan's land-owning nobility and commoners alike. Though there was much work to be done earning the people's trust, Byleth was beginning to reconcile Fódlan's faith in leadership. With this lofty schedule forbidding the king from personal ventures, Bernadetta would handle the Goddess's request. Dispatching Garreg Mach's Almyran diplomat along with Cyril, Bernie had awaited their return with bated breath.

Almyra, as Bernie would come to know, was undergoing a political revolution of it's own. Fódlan's war and subsequent restructuring was echoed in sentiment through Almyra's leadership. A new, progressively lenient king was set to take the stage in the east, and Byleth had a chance to build relations early. With this news came personal interests as well. Almyra's forthcoming king agreed to meet with Fódlan's royal couple to discuss their culture along with the two countries' relationship. This proved an opportunity to gather intel for Sothis. Two birds with one bureaucratic stone.

When panicked, Bernadetta's strength would miraculously undergo a transmundane elevation. Saving her in battle countless times, this strength was now most often applied to the royal couple's burdensome bedroom doors. Bernadetta couldn't reach the tops of the doors if she tried, which she had, many times. But now, with added anxiety, the doors were flung aside as if crafted from parchment.

"Bylie," Bernadetta called exasperatedly. "Have you seen Hedgehog?" Unceremoniously, Bernie had elected to name her new signature bow after her favorite animal. Truthfully, there were several, far stranger animals that burrowed their way into Bernie's heart, but hedgehogs had always captivated her as far back as she could remember. Striking and regal, Hedgehog was a bow unlike the mass-produced any-bows found littered across Fódlan, (an unhealthy number of which were produced in Varley's mills). Crafted from the menial silver bow that stole away her father's life, Hedgehog had been given a gaudy facelift as it were. Most prominently of which was the addition of decorative spined "quills" atop the sniper's weapon.

Bernadetta requested the unique modifications after unearthing a desire to have a "thing" of her own. King Byleth had the Sword of the Creator, an awe-inspiring ancient relic that embodied the power of it's wielder. And now, Queen Bernadetta von Varley would take up arms of a similar characteristic manner: Hedgehog. Self-admittedly, the name needed work, but Byleth thought it was cute, so it stuck.

Striking the Sword of the Creator with a mysterious ore, the king unwound in his quarters, tending to his relic in a way Rhea had demonstrated. Byleth smiled, his eyes fixated on his dutiful upkeep. "Which one?" He'd answer his wife's inquiry with his own. "Your bow or your stuffy?"

"Hey! You know which one I mean! Wait..." Bernie paused, mentally accounting for her stuffy's whereabouts; it was the first thing she packed. "Y-Yeah just the bow!" Pulling him from his maintenance, Bernadetta yanked on her husband's shoulder to demand his undivided attention. Of course, she would have it.

"Didn't you leave it at the armory to be fitted for new strings?" Byleth was much more protective of his signature weapon than his wife, and understandably so. After Miklan, the Professor was hesitant to let anyone wield his relic for even the briefest of moments. Besides the associated risk, it was an irrevocable extension of himself now. With news of his victories spreading throughout Fódlan, the Sword of the Creator became synonymous with the young king.

"Oh, why didn't I think of THAT," Bernie sarcastically chided. "Of course I went there first, but they said I picked it up last night. Unless I was sleepwalking, I know I didn't!" Casting her gaze to the floor, the young queen tapped her foot to her elevated heartbeat. "W-What if it was stolen! I never even got to use it outside of practice! So much for having a "thing" of my own…"

Byleth's grin did not meet his eyes, lost in thought as he clung to his queen's wrist. "I'm sure it will turn up. Have you brought your belongings to the convoy?" Bernie nodded, still fixated on her misplaced validation. "In the meantime, could you do something for your beloved and dashing young husband?" Capturing her heart, Byleth's ego drew a cutesy giggle from the queen. Self-praise did not suit Byleth's modesty, so he drew inspiration from Ferdinand's noble reflections as a means of lightening Bernie's spirits, right down to von Aegir's speech pattern and tone.

"Of course, my dear professor!" Bernie mocked in return. How she had longed for the casual banter of their married life with each passing moon at the Officer's Academy.

Lifting her hand to plant a facetiously ordained kiss upon it, Byleth beckoned on his wife's assistance. Drawing the dagger from his loose-fitted waistband, Byleth took hold of the blade, presenting the hilt to Bernadetta. "Bring it to the grindstones to be sharpened? I know it's last minute, but I've been a bit distracted."

Bernadetta complied, taking hold of the dagger and slipping it into her own barren scabbard. "What, that fancy stone won't do the trick?" In jest, she motioned an upturned hand towards the ore Byleth had used to tend to his relic. In turn, he chuckled.

"This 'fancy stone' would melt that dagger," he snickered.

"Be safe with it," Bernie replied, leaning down for a kiss. After meeting her lips, Byleth pulled away and nodded towards the dagger he had handed over.

"Be safe with that," he teased. "I'm not sure if you noticed, but it's a little pointy around the end."

"Well then, mister," Bernadetta lectured, striding towards their bedroom doors. "Why would I need to get it sharpened?"

Ignoring the rhetoric, Byleth warmly assured "I'll be down shortly, will you be ready to set out? With Hedgehog or without?"

Halfway into the hall, Bernie craned her neck. Only her face and hand were visible as she answered. "Mhmm, I'll hold onto your dagger for you at the convoy." Seemingly pleased, Byleth returned to work on the Sword of the Creator. Bernadetta skipped through their lonely 3rd floor hall, steadying out to a humble stride when entering the public 2nd floor space. Her armor, that of a modified bow knight, didn't cumbersomely clank with each step as a knight's plating, but rather glided up and over it's neighboring steel with a more dignified grace. Violet and flowing, her half-skirt fluttered as she bounced through the reception hall, haphazardly waving to eager faces hoping for a chat with the elusive queen.

For a winter's morning, there was a sunny disposition about Garreg Mach. Frigid winds swept through the hair of monks and servants alike, frosting the brick walls of the monastery with a dusty chill. Approaching the knight's hall, Bernadetta was treated to the harsh reverberance of clashing steel. Sparring within the hay-lined chamber, Bernie discerned the unmistakable gravelly shouts of Caspar's scuffling.

"Oh no… If I go in now, Caspar will want to talk to me… I-I definitely don't want that right now… M-Maybe if I just wait..! Maybe I can catch someone on their way in who can take this knife off my hands!" Bernie's tactical avoidance manifested in her very muffled speech. During which, she failed to notice the encroaching scowl to her rear.

"Ahem, Your Majesty."

"Wahh! P-Please don't hurt me! I'm innocent!"

Seteth's scowl only loosened for irksome dissonance. "For Heaven's sake, Lady Bernadetta."

"O-Oh," Bernie retracted. "I'm, um. I'm sorry, Seteth, it's just that you're… real scary sometimes."

Shaking this evaluation from his mind, Seteth whipped his arm around, revealing the source of his grievance. "I believe this young man owes you an apology." Turning his attention to the young boy whose seized arm fell numb under Seteth's clenching grasp, he urged. "Go on, young man. Ask for your queen's forgiveness." Such authority unnerved Bernadetta, who felt that it was unbecoming of her attitude to hold such a domineering image as queen. The boy remained silent. In Seteth's other hand, a peculiar shape wobbled in the chilly Oghman wind: Hedgehog.

"Sven..?" Bernadetta apprehensively questioned. The young Varley native, ashamed, could not face the queen's fictional wrath. "What's going on, Sven. What's Seteth talking about?"

"I caught young Sven wielding a peculiar weapon on his way to the training quarters, care to wager a guess where he found it?" Raising a hand, Seteth offered Bernadetta her signature bow. Taking hold of her 'relic', Bernie glanced it over in a hurried inspection. Finding no discrepancies, Bernadetta turned her attention back to the bashful young detainee.

"Sven, is that true?" Snapping at the bowstring, Bernie was more relieved to have her personalized weapon back in hand.

"I just wanted to try it out…" Sven defensively explained.

"No excuses, child!" Seteth berated. "Apologize at once!"

Bernadetta felt the disquietude in Sven's sputtering voice, halting his atonement with an affable brush of the boy's wrinkled sleeve. "It's alright, Seteth. You can let him go." Beckoning for the young boy's ease, Bernadetta cast a smile to bring his eyes level with her own. Addressing Sven, Bernie would pat him on the shoulder and reassure him. "It's alright. I understand, bud."

Sven's reverence for the queen was no covert admiration. Without reluctance, the boy had proclaimed upon his arrival at Garreg Mach that Bernadetta was his hero, an angelic savior whom he swore to protect. Though flattered, Bernie had no idea how to cope with such high praises. She simply did what was right by sparing the boy. Deeply rooted, she understood the idolization; not a lot of people in Varley were used to mercy.

Somewhat bowing, Sven clutched a fist to his heart upon Seteth's apprehensive release. "T-Thank you, Lady Bernadetta! I promise I'll do right by you!"

Seteth scoffed dismissively.

Grinning, utilizing the unique opportunity as Byleth had always taught, Bernie drew her husband's dagger. "Well, you can start by taking this to be sharpened for me."

Snatching it from her hand, Sven dutifully adhered to his hero's request. "Of course, Lady Bernadetta! Right away, Lady Bernadetta!" The teen's voice quivered and shook. Fueled by a vigor to assist the queen and a partial desire to flee Seteth's potential scolding, Sven darted into the knight's hall dagger in hand.

Bernie shrieked, "D-Don't run with a knife! Ohh he's gone…"

Seteth disapprovingly furled his brow, pinching the ridge of his nose and profoundly sighing to attract Bernadetta's limited attention. "You are far too lenient with that boy. Orphan or not, he must learn proper discipline if he wishes to serve the monastery." Crossing his arms, his face read less of anger and more of concern, as was typical of Seteth behind people's backs.

"Maybe give him a chance," Bernie began. "I can't imagine what he's been through."

"The boy looks up to you a great deal, Your Majesty," Seteth confirmed. "I fear he may emulate obsession through blind loyalty." Reflecting on Rhea, the archbishop's voice lowered to a somber tune. "I have seen it once before, it is a path which leads to selfish devotion."

"Brother!" Breaking Seteth's contemplative monologue, Flayn approached the pair, a tome neatly tucked to her belly. "I wish to speak with you regarding His Majesty's journey." Bernadetta was beginning to feel that familiar pull of a thousand hands yanking her about the monastery grounds. An ache built in her heart, a yearning for the silence of her room. Regardless, Flayn was a comforting presence that perfectly balanced the tension of Seteth's. "Will you not reconsider?" Flayn inquired of her brother.

"Absolutely not! My decision on the matter is final!"

Bernadetta felt no need for her attendance in this matter, and stealthily used the pair's bickering to sneak away. Flayn promptly crumpled Bernie's desire for social exodus. "Oh! Your Majesty, it would please me greatly if you'd lend participation in this plea of mine."

Seteth's eyes darted towards Bernadetta, giving a visual scolding of "don't you dare". This forced the lump in the queen's throat to swell, adding difficulty to her breathing. Nevertheless, Flayn had supported her through countless royal tribulations, and Bernadetta felt inclined to return such loyalty.

"W-What's on your mind, Flayn..?" She hesitantly asked, hiding Seteth's leer from her mind.

"I wish to accompany you and His Majesty on your outing, would that be an appropriate request?" Flayn's wholesome suggestion was fondly received by the queen, who truly enjoyed Flayn's company when isolation wasn't an option.

"Of course!" She'd reply. "I'd love for you to join us."

"If I may interrupt, Your Majesty," Seteth interrupted, not waiting for an answer. "Flayn has a loyalty to the church, and thus can not join your expedition."

"That is a mere fabrication, brother!" Flayn shot back. "To what capacity would I better serve the Goddess than by tending to her very request?" Seteth's mouth gaped, formulating a restrictive rebuttal. "Furthermore, have I not participated in countless battles which you have bore witness to, dear Brother? Need I remind you that I have matured beyond the child you take me for? I am no stranger to adversity, but this expedition is truly one of diplomacy, there is no cause for worry."

"Flayn…" Seteth's utterance gave pause to the trio. Bernadetta had witnessed a fire alight beneath Flayn, and though uncomfortable, she enjoyed witnessing her dear friend's stubbornness. "Though it is true that you have performed exceptionally in battle, I was present through those hostilities. I could keep a watchful eye over you."

Flayn disregarded Seteth's rebuttal, glancing momentarily towards the queen, who had no input in the matter. "That may be true of the Adrestian War, but I need not remind you that conflict has become a fundamental aspect to my life, long before our recent disputes came to be. If you shall not reconsider, then I will seek order from His Majesty directly. Even you can not overturn His Majesty's decrees, dear Brother."

Bernadetta took in Flayn's words, deciphering their meaning without triumph. Flayn had always spoken with such a strange fervency. Bernie had surmised that there was far more to the girl than she was made aware of. Still, the unspoken truth would remain shrouded despite the queen's curiosity. By the time Bernie rejoined the discussion, Flayn had vanished, leaving her brother aghast in her wake.

Quelling the disgruntled archbishop, Bernadetta would apprehensively pat his fluttering tabard. "Try not to worry, Seteth. Flayn will be safe with us. I'll make sure of it."

Sighing, Seteth relinquished his embargo. "I suppose I have no choice in the matter, but do ensure her utmost safety. Should any harm come to her, it would be catastrophic for the church, as well as myself."

"I understand," Bernie insisted, striking a confident pose. "I won't let you down!" Using this assurance as a latchkey to freedom, Bernie edged backwards, slinging Hedgehog over her shoulder.

"Just one more thing, Lady Bernadetta," Seteth requested, shattering the young queen's solitary ambitions.

Her dreams crushed, Bernie turned once more, her countenance unable to hide her desolation. "Hmm?"

"Do try and keep yourself safe as well," Seteth's eyes were lidded as he bowed his head. "I shall be praying for the safety of my sister as well as my dear friend."

Bernadetta's ghastly frown perked in astonishment. "F-Friends..? We're friends..?"

"But of course. I have grown to be quite fond of your presence around the Monastery. You have grown quite immeasurably from your days as a student." Seteth's brow unfurled, his sincerity apparent.

Moved by Seteth's atypical humanity, Bernadetta's inclination was to question his motives. However, that was old hermit Bernadetta. Queen Bernadetta von Varley would meet the archbishop's amity with a more dignified return: a modest hug. "You know, Seteth," she began, pulling herself from his uptight embrace. "I used to think you were just grouchy and strict and overbearing and-"

"Move on."

"R-right, sorry!" Bernie chuckled, anxiously running her fingers through the two elongated strands of lavender hair at the crest of her neck. "I-I'm just trying to say that even if you are a little harsh sometimes, you've always seen the best in me. I feel like everyone else was so shocked when it was announced I would take the throne. I know everyone was worried that I'd just run and hide the whole time, but you seemed so…" Pausing, Bernadetta searched for the correct word. "Confident." The young queen's face, cheery as a rose, produced a blooming smile. "It's like what I said when I illustrated your fable! You have almost a… saintly guidance."

If ever there was a moment Seteth fought to bellow with laughter, it was when compared to himself. Stomping the humorous irony out of Bernadetta's words, Seteth would return the queen's flowery disposition with a bouquet of his own. "Well, you are truly a gifted illustrator. I believe that one's art gleams a peculiar quality from the artist in question. Your work, along with your mannerisms and what little I knew of you, ascertained that you were someone impugned by doubt. You had been underestimated quite severely, and I understood what lied beneath your doubt-burdened exterior would be a woman of limitless potential." A smirk, unbefitting the archbishop, grew in the cornerstones of his mouth. "As you had detected elements of Saint Cichol within me, I had ascertained the makings of a prodigious and limitless soul."

Pools of flustered tears spread from Bernadetta's eyes to her cheeks. Compliments and flattery typically read as disingenuous to the queen. That Seteth, a man of seemingly limitless wisdom, could hold her in such high esteem was befuddling to Bernadetta, who sputtered a bit before attempting to bury her face in another hug. With a single backpedal, Seteth's attempt to dodge the embrace failed, as he acquiesced, returning the familial affection.

"Your Majesty, you must steel yourself to such praise! There is to be much of it in the days ahead."

Sniffling, Bernadetta whimpered into his chest. "I-It's just… You have a very fatherly attitude and, well… I-I've never had someone like that be so nice to me. It's a shame you don't have any children of your own." Here, she discreetly wiped her nose on the collar of Seteth's tunic. "You'd be a really great father."

As though returning the blow, Bernadetta's words trampled the archbishop like a proverbial horse. With decades to steel himself, Flayn's visage still threw his heart. "Well. I suppose as a father, I'd still have much growing to do." Now tucking the young queen under his paternal gaze, his words gave chase to nothing, unlike the frequent combative nature of his dialect. "Please, do your best to watch over Flayn. I must learn to accept that she is no mere child."

"You can count on me! Just like always!" Bernadetta affirmed, balling her fist in self-assurance.

"Yes. Just as always," Seteth assured. "May the Goddess protect you. And may you always be shepherded by the saintly guidance of Saint Cichol."