Unmarriageable Girl
23rd Day of the Red Wolf Moon
Year of the Goddess 1186
Silver Snow
Moonlight hung crisply over a sea of withering flowers, guiding the flow of their discarded petals through the freshly arrived winter air. Vacant of the familiar citrus aroma that dawned the valley, the nightly howl of pleasured winds carried a strange smell of dewed melon. As seasons shifted, the warm autumnal leaves lined dirt paths, etching their way through the sparsely wooded meadows.
Uncommonly trodden in this season, the arterials remained newly packed with clumps of crusted mud and a frosting of snow. In the absence of life, the trees echoed and shook with the encouragement of bellowing wind. Bottlenecking into a forested acreage, the dirt road shimmied through dancing trees that seemingly celebrated their newfound isolation.
Slashing the sequestered image, Bernadetta floundered towards the parted forest gate. The howling night breeze superficially halted the foliages' sway in anticipation of her approach. The sound of metal against metal quickly lost itself in the barren entangled branches, emanating from her accompanying convoy. Without haste, she drew closer to parting with the meadows behind their unhurried stride.
As if arriving at an unseen apex of shivering trees, Bernadetta spun to face the path which her convoy had traversed. She lifted her shoulders and huffed, not in exasperation, but rather in self-gratification. "Almost there, Bernie," she said to nobody in particular. "That's enough walking for now, don'tcha think?"
Sharp clanking of armor and a modest gallop reminded the forest of the follies of civilization. Bernadetta lifted her arms and with her fingers, formed a makeshift frame to observe the dimly-lit terrain. Bernie searched for the perfect angle to capture the world's majesty in a fictional portrait. "I gotta remember this view when we get back home! I'm getting tired of painting the same landscapes from Garreg Mach."
"It sure is beautiful, aye Your Majesty!"
"WAUGH!" Bernadetta shrieked, thrown from her mental solitude. Her shrill cries would startle a nearby horse, whinnying and nearly bucking the soldier who had addressed her. "O-Ohh, I'm so sorry! D-Don't sneak up on me like that!"
Disoriented, the knight straighted his helmet and cleared his throat. "My apologies, Your Majesty! I just returned from scouting ahead. We're about 10 minutes from arriving at House Goneril." Stretching his neck, he'd add. "There's some kind of party being thrown by the lady of the estate."
"Oh no... " Bernie would shiver, not from the frigid breeze of winter's exhalation, but from the impending battle ahead. More socializing. What a ghastly welcome. "I, I mean oh! L-Lovely! I'll be sure to let the Prof- uh. I'll let Byleth know." Verbally disorganized, Bernie began rehearsing all sorts of royal formalities that Flayn had coached her on.
Three days had passed since their departure from Garreg Mach. On their first stop, the Great Bridge of Myrddin housed the Queen's caravan, taking bunk in the Seiros occupied fort. Last night, they had found refuge among a modest village, concealing the true identities of Bernadetta and His Majesty.
Talk swirled around the inn of a northern village that had found legend for it's heroic protector: The Blade-Breaker II. Byleth nearly blew his cover inquiring the patrons about the hero and their origin. They knew little, but His Majesty quickly ascertained her identity. Truly, there were only two living descendants of the original Blade-Breaker. One by blood, and one by honorable obsession. Flattered by the news, Byleth returned to his wife bolstering a delicate grin. "Leonie's doing well for herself."
On their third night, Bernadetta had sent messengers to inform Holst von Goneril, general of the Almyran front and sovereign duke of House Goneril, that they'd be taking residence in his home. Receiving their reply, Bernadetta curiously noted that her request had not been returned by Holst, but by his little sister, Hilda. Holst had been residing within the concave walls of Fódlan's Locket while fending off Almyran bandits who hoped to strike at a weakened Fódlan. This left Hilda and her newly taken spouse to reside over House Goneril. Curiously, her messenger omitted the identity of Hilda's partner.
Reaching her husband's carriage, Bernie matched it's speed and knocked on the chipped wooden door. "Permission to come aboard, Your Majesty!"
"Permission granted, Lady Bernadetta," called Byleth from the vessel's interior. Climbing aboard, she was greeted by Flayn, who had won her freedom to join their expedition. Following suit, Byleth would ask, "How was your walk? Stretch your legs well enough?"
"Mhmm!" retorted the queen, who shifted her signature bow from her shoulder. "O-Oh except, um. House Goneril wants to welcome us with a party."
"Oh, how frivolous!" Exclaimed a gleeful Flayn. "I do so cherish my memory of the academy's Grand Ball! Even accounting for my brother's meddling, it made for a prodigious evening!" Turning her attention towards Bernadetta, Flayn sought her input. "Do you think there will be dancing, Lady Bernadetta?"
"O-Oh I hope not…" she bemoaned.
"If I recall," Byleth pondered. "You hid away in the Goddess Tower the whole night of the ball."
"Hey!" Bernadetta countered. "It's not like I was alone the whole time!" Truthfully, she would've been, if not for the Professor.
"Were you perhaps drawn to the Goddess Tower by the legend, Lady Bernadetta?" Flayn asked, tilting her head with an invasive smile.
"N-No! Sheesh, can't a girl just get some alone time every now and then?"
Flayn and Byleth exchanged a hesitant glance with one another, both electing to remain quiet on the queen's rhetoric.
Flayn instead, turned attention to Byleth, who reflected fondly on the night he had spent in that tower with his now-wife. "Your Majesty, I seem to remember you being quite the sought-after dance partner. Even I considered requesting a dance of you!" Bernadetta was not prone to jealousy, and though she clung to her husband dearly, she was never intimidated by remarks or reflections of his past encounters.
Byleth chuckled, a comfort afforded to his present company. "You know, despite the leagues of people who had requested a dance, I only did have one partner that night."
Bernadetta smiled, hoping the Professor would recant a tale of their prolonged isolation atop the Goddess Tower. Romantically, the setting was the backdrop for many of Bernie's pleasant memories alongside her husband.
"Claude."
"Oh." Bernadetta disappointingly huffed.
Byleth stroked his chin, searching for a recollection of the encounter. "Yes, despite everyone's insistence, Claude was the only one gutsy enough to simply take my hand and lead me to the dance floor. I hardly had a choice in the matter."
Masked by low light, Flayn hid her rosy cheeks. "Yes, Claude had often beguiled his classmates and faculty alike. Ever the inquisitive one, would you not agree, Lady Bernadetta?"
"Who, me?" Bernie rejoined. "Hmm. I can't say I ever felt particularly charmed by Claude." Stroking her own chin, a habitual indicator gleaned from her husband, Bernadetta would then ask. "Claude was the spiky one, right? W-With the hair, I mean. The one who became Duke?" Always forgetful, Bernie was unfortunately challenged by faces and names alike.
"A+, Lady Bernadetta," the Professor cockingly rewarded. "I was hesitant, and I'm embarrassed to admit it, but Claude's charm overcame me that night." Chuckling, he then added, "Quite a lot of rumors to dispel after that ball."
Bernadetta laughed, the thought of her Professor falling for Duke Riegan was just preposterous enough to invoke a wistful cynicism. "Makes you wonder how nobody ever caught onto us, huh Bylie?"
Flayn was respectfully enamored with the couple's sweet hearted banter. "Oh, it was suspected amongst our classmates," Flayn pestered. "How shall I put this… Nobody caught the Professor's enchanted gaze quite like Lady Bernadetta."
"Oh." Bernie would once again reply, sealing her embarrassment behind her husband's cloaked shoulder.
"Idle gossip, Lady Bernadetta! I implore you not think more of it!"
"Of course," Byleth began. "It was correct. Nobody had the grasp on my mind that you had, dear. Well," he reconsidered. "Perhaps aside from Claude on rare occasion."
"Oh! That's it, mister!" Bernie squealed. Flayn hid her laughter behind a dainty hand.
Arrival was near, the faint glow of House Goneril's lanterns illuminated the distant gaps in the uneven plateau. Bernadetta would use the captivating sight to change the subject away from her husband's teasing. "Hilda," she pondered. "I don't think I remember her much. She was Claude's friend, right?"
"Correct," Byleth answered.
"Huh. I wonder if her mystery husband could be…" Bernadetta halted, connecting her thoughts before continuing.
Interrupting, Byleth would quell her search. "Doubtful. Duke Riegan went missing during the Battle of Gronder Field. It's doubtful that his reemergence as Hilda's spouse would go unnoticed within the former alliance."
"I hope he's alright. And not, um. Dead," Bernie contemplated. Unlikely as that may be, Byleth held the same sentiment.
On approach, Bernadetta noted that Chateau Goneril sat unevenly across a jostled set of flatlands, each stacked at varying heights and giving the manor a uniquely diverse foundation. Undoubtedly grander in size to Varley Manor, the facade of Chateau Goneril was styled through an unfamiliar brand of eastern architecture. Most notably was the manor's insistent reliance on bevelled white pillars. Adorning the entryway, obelisks adorned with Leicester Alliance banners lifted the chateau's angular roof. Bernie marvelled at the stylistic edifice, stepping out of her concealed carriage subsequent to Flayn.
Awaiting their royal advent, Hilda von Goneril stood atop the outdoor lobby's stairway. Behind her, Bernie noted the bustle of servants scrambling to attend their welcoming affair. Her convoy had arrived amongst a sea of visiting carriages. This was no small event. Gulping down her anxieties, she took a deep breath as Byleth hopped to the pavement behind her. Bernadetta projected her agitation in many telltale signs. She'd unknowingly tap her feet, fiddle with her fingers, bite at her lips, and sigh with each exhalation. Those closest to the queen recognized her anxious quirks, and would accommodate for her timidity.
Flayn would take Bernadetta's hand and squeeze, her face gleaming with convincing rapture. Byleth's comforting hands found refuge from behind his wife's shoulders, as if wrapping her heart in a silk blanket. Fixing Bernie's lingering strands of uneven hair as he circled her, Byleth would guide his wife's forehead to a kiss before offering his escort. Guards encircled the trio, sheathing their weapons as to draw no ire from Goneril's personnel.
With one final sigh, Bernadetta bounced to life, squeezing Flayn's hand in return before dropping it and approaching the gaudy staircase arm-in-arm with her Professor. Though Hilda stood alone like a bubbly statue, several muscular men, each built like a rhino, watched over her safety from the pillars' shade. Frightening Bernadetta with their leering, she could never shake the dread associated with burly severe men.
Clad in her signature rouge, the lady of House Goneril had taken a more formal uniformity. Hilda extended her arms at an odd angle, welcoming the trio with a figmental embrace. "Hii, Professor! Oh it's been SO long!" Turning her vivacity towards the ladies, she'd feign a gasp and wear a tremendous grin. "Oh my goodness, and Flayn as well! Oh you haven't aged a day since Garreg Mach! You HAVE to let me in on your beauty regimen."
Flayn giggled. "Hereditary, I'm afraid. I am pleased to once again make your acquaintance, Hilda."
"I hope we haven't been too much of a bother on you or your house," Byleth added with a monotonous timbre.
"Oh don't be ridiculous, Professor!" Hilda cheerfully reassured. "You may be a king now, but you haven't changed a bit either. And, is that..?" Bernadetta masked her face abaft her husband's cloaked shoulders. "Bernadetta? It IS you!"
"Oh no," the queen whimpered against the fabric of her husband's gown. "U-Um, hi Hilda."
Hilda sprung to a curtsy, a formal greeting befitting dignified respect for her unfamiliar former colleague. Though studying concurrently at the Officer's Academy, Hilda's only memories of Bernadetta were gleaned through rare moments when the recluse was exposed to the open world. Under the tutelage of separate professors, Hilda's interactions with Bernie, if any, were minor and in passing. Truthfully, she knew her in name only, and would not have recognized her if not for the forewarning of the queen's identity.
"Wow, Bernadetta," Hilda admired. "Next to these two, you've changed so much! I always knew you'd be so cute if you ever put effort into your appearance."
Unsure if she should be insulted or flattered, Bernadetta feigned nervous laughter. "You really didn't have to throw such a big party just for us. Like. REALLY didn't have to." Guards began to take formation, preparing to usher the four inside.
Hilda returned with a shallow giggle of her own. "Oh you royals are all so egotistical! This party isn't for you guys." Autonomously, the quartet fell into motion, passing through the vestibule of Chateau Goneril. "It's Mari's birthday!"
"Marianne von Edmund, of course," Byleth stated without missing a beat. The man's capacity for trivial knowledge was astounding. Without any need for reminder, Byleth was acutely aware of the former student's birthday. Bernadetta assumed he had probably recognized the date since waking up that morning. No matter how menial, the Professor remembered everything he learned about everyone. "But why wouldn't she celebrate with her family back in her own territory?"
Genuine laughter flew from Hilda, who held no reservations on self proclamation. "Good one, Professor. Didn't you hear? I AM her family. Marianne and I are married!" Hilda wagged a finger at the couple, a motion which severed Bernie's courage and was entirely missed by Byleth. "We wanted to invite you to the wedding, what with you being some of the only people left from Garreg Mach," she paused, shaking invasive words from her lungs. "But we figured you'd have too much king stuff to worry about."
As Flayn and Byleth offered their congratulations, Bernadetta's habitual lust for seclusion created a distinct void between her and her companions. Hilda was a stranger to the recluse, and strangers afforded no affability from Bernadetta. Darting her eyes from corner to corner, Bernie sought any exit possible. Failing to capture her crucial isolation, Bernie huffed in anticipated hysteria while her party was escorted into the grand ballroom. Repeating the same steps in their new environment, Bernadetta would look to every wall for a door inconspicuous enough to hide behind. Eyeing a single wooden panel a considerable distance from the dance floor, the weight on the queen's heart was lifted ever so slightly.
Aha! Gotcha! You look nice and isolated. Get ready, door, the second these guards leave, Bernies comin'!
Absorbed in her fuss, Bernadetta was awoken from her social haze by word of Byleth. "Bernie," the king flatly stated. "You're licking your lips and making eyes at that door. Should I be jealous, or are you feeling overwhelmed?"
Sighing, Bernadetta reluctantly offered confirmation. "Yes… T-To the second one! I'm just feeling overwhelmed. There's a whole lot of people here and I don't really know Hilda all that well. Plus it's been a long day on the road and I think I might be sleepy."
"Might be," Byleth inquired. "You're unsure?"
"Well it's hard to tell when I'm so antsy!" Bernadetta regrettably met the eyes of onlookers, who's hustled dialogue swayed Bernie to believe they were all discussing her. Picking her apart, feeding her to the verbal wolves. Beasts in noble clothing. "I-I gotta lie down, I gotta-"
Abating her panic, Byleth smiled, cupping her head to his chest. No heartbeat, but the warmth of her husband soothed Bernadetta's aching lungs. Refreshingly, Byleth offered, "I'll speak with Hilda and find our bedroom. I'll let her know you aren't feeling well."
Sniffling, Bernadetta let a tear absorb directly from her face into Byleth's charcoal tunic. "Thank you, Bylie. I-I love you."
"I love you too, Bernie-Bear," Byleth chimed, squeezing her firmly before departing to track Hilda's house staff.
Patient and dutiful, Byleth's understanding disposition never left Bernie dry-eyed. Adjusting to life as queen would not come easily to the recluse, but as she upheld her promise to Byleth, to follow him everywhere, he upheld his own. To care for, provide comfort for, and always accommodate for the needs of his anomalous partner. Fódlan came second only to Bernie-Bear.
Mundane and harmless, Bernadetta sought patterns in the wooden ceiling. Lying on her back in Lady Goneril's guest suite, the young queen would trace the swirls and knots of thick-cut oak. Timing her breath along to her following of the rhythmic creases, her shoulders unwound, relaxing a tension in her neck. Rotating her head, Bernie caught a glimpse of movement near the room's barren armoire.
"Huh?" Bernadetta rolled onto her knees, squinting towards the dimly lit corner. Before long, movement shifted beneath the night's blanketed canvas. Insignificant in size, Bernie surmised it was an insect. Unfamiliar with Goneril's entomology, an interest struck the peculiar queen as she hobbled to her feet to get a better look. Carefully, as not to startle it, Bernie hunted her unseen prey.
"Oh! Look at you!" Amusingly, Bernadetta discovered a grasshopper with an idiosyncratic pattern. "Don't move, I have to grab my sketchbook! Seriously, don't move, buddy!" Scrambling to her bag, Bernadetta rummaged past her stuffed animals and leather-bound notebooks. Faint music and clinking glass echoed through the hall, reverberating the door with each volley of laughter or percussion instrument. The festivities were muted from Bernadetta's mind, as she took hold of her sketchbook and fought through her unorganized belongings for a simple pencil. Cocking her head back every few seconds, Bernadetta checked if her insect friend was patiently awaiting her return like she asked.
"Aha! Gotcha," she announced, yanking a pencil from the bottom of her pouch. "Alright, finally Bernie's got something new to catalogue!" Skipping, the queen returned just as she had promised. Kneeling, Bernie scanned the corner for the bug. "Where'd you go, little guy?"
"Really? There's a party mere paces from you, and you're playing with bugs?"
"WAHH!" Flinging her sketchbook and tumbling, Bernie crawled on her butt until hitting her back against the bed frame. "D-Did you just talk!?"
"This again. How tiresome."
"Wait…" Bernie pondered her mental rolodex, searching for the familiarity in the voice. "Sothis?"
"Of course. Would you mistake me for an insect?"
Bernadetta sputtered, hugging her knees. "N-No! I, um. I haven't heard from you since the Holy Tomb. I figured you'd stay asleep."
"As you are searching for answers on my behalf, the least I can do is make an effort to wake up every now and then. Though… It is quite the challenge."
"Now there's something we both understand," Bernadetta chuckled. Never would she have imagined bonding with the Goddess in such a personal manner. "We're arriving in Almyra tomorrow, we might have better answers for you if you came back then."
"In truth, it was not your quest which awoke me. It was music."
Bernie tapped a finger to her chin, looking up as if addressing the heavens. "Music? Oh! The party! You must be hearing that through Bylie- um, Byleth."
"Yes, how unfortunate that you've elected not to attend. Your husband has vehemently declined every opportunity to dance. It pains me to watch him squander the opportunity."
Chuckling, Bernie would offer "That's Byli- Byleth, um-"
"Please, save yourself the embarrassment of hiding your pet names. I'm ever-present, remember? They are not foreign to me."
Bernie gulped, fidgeting in place and burying her scarlet face in her knees. "R-Right… How present IS ever-present exactly..?"
"Regretfully constant."
"I… I see…"
"Perhaps I may chastise you on that topic later."
"P-Please don't," she ashamedly whined.
"Bernadetta, why isolate so assuredly from every gathering? Is your father not dead? What threat is posed?"
Peeking over her knees, Bernie's eyes shook. "I… I just prefer a bit of quiet every now and then, is that so hard to understand?"
"So defensive! I do enjoy watching you come to life. Perhaps that is a quality I have gleaned from your husband. I was closely involved with his courting of you, you know."
"Oh?" Bernie had never truly considered Sothis's influence over the Professor before his change. "I guess you were there for all that too, huh… Oh it just keeps getting worse…"
"Honestly, that man would have been hopeless without me! Do you think he was so spontaneous as to kiss you unprompted for the first time? I had never felt more fear from him before! Ha, how he shook!"
"At the academy… You told him to do that..?" Bernie again addressed the ceiling, unsure where to place her pale lavender eyes.
"I did. Truly, his relationship with you became quite a… How should I put this… A pet project of mine! It's ever so dull living within another's consciousness. One has to find their own ways of keeping busy. And so, I meddled quite extensively. I have known you for quite some time, Bernadetta, but you have only just met me."
"T-Thanks, that's not creepy at all," she sarcastically whimpered.
"My point," yawn. "My point is this: I misinterpreted you during your days as a student. I believed your social fears were irrational, extreme. Now, as I have become a part of you, I understand their source. Your father's death did not bring about the freedom you had hoped for, am I correct?"
Unexpectedly, the severity of her topic huddled Bernie's body. Searching for her response, Sothis's patience wavered.
Yaaawn. "He is gone from this world, but his actions weigh heavily. You are free of the man, but his impact yet remains."
"I-If I try to be someone I'm not, I'll spend my life chasing something I'll never have." Insightfully, Bernie stammered, gulping her own words like bitter root. "I'm shy, I'm anxious, and I'm okay with that. Becoming okay with that took years, especially while the Pro- while Byleth was gone."
"It is not your timidity that ails you." Yawn. "It is the pain that comes with your memories, the genuine fear that lies in socializing. Shyness may be without problem, but the ache in your heart is not fair. You deserve," yaaawn. "You deserve better. Bernadetta. As I seek an earthly life, so too should you seek a burial for your father's lingering abuse. Seize the moments he would deny of you. Continue to prove to him, even in death, that you are free. That you are strong. And above all, that you are worthy of the love of others."
Stunned, the young queen settled in restless silence. Unable or unwilling to speak, she didn't fully know. By the time her voice returned, Sothis was already gone.
"I'm… worthy of love." The words tasted foul in her mouth, as though they didn't belong. Repeating Sothis's affirmations, an acquired sweetness accompanied their taste. "Seize the moments he would deny me… I wonder what she meant by that."
Rounded, clothed tables spotted the ballroom in a shape reminiscent of a flower's petals. Most were occupied with dignified nobility, exerting proper restraint and tableside manners. With furled brows, each attendant would assess their recondite guest, sparsely recognized as their new king. Byleth sat at the nectered center of the ballroom flower along with the garish host and honoree, Marianne, who blushed from start to finish at the attention she aimlessly received. A bustling dance floor adorned the remainder of the courtly ballroom, as it's name would suggest.
"Honestly, I just wanted to make her smile!" Hilda proclaimed, downing her final bastion of wine. "When I got to the Officer's Academy, Marianne always stood out to me from how gloomy she looked. If she kept that up, her eyes would sag forever! I couldn't let that happen to such a gorgeous face. So I guess it all started because I wanted to cheer her up. When Marianne smiled, it was infectious! As it got more common to see a grin on her face, I just wanted to be around her as much as possible!"
"Hilda…" Marianne whimpered.
"Well," Byleth began, setting aside a glass of his own. "You certainly got your way. Congratulations again, Marianne. It warms my heart to see you so content." Swaying in-sync, a wave of gaudy dancers flowed to an airy tune. Whimsically, they rocked and swung in jubilation, alluring Byleth's gaze.
"You have my thanks, Your Majesty," Marianne bowed her head. "Each day I pray to the goddess to offer my gratitude. In truth, I've found much to be thankful for these days."
Byleth smiled in his own unfamiliar way, a countenance near unreadable to present company. "I regret not getting to know you better at the Officer's Academy."
"O-Oh?" Marianne stammered. Her vocal blunder was reminiscent of his own wife's. "I'm… I'm not sure you would've enjoyed being around me very much." Hushed, Marianne's harpsichordal speech was nearly lost to the present merriment. "I had a tendency to push people away, especially those I cared deeply for."
"Well you did a terrible job with me!" Hilda screeched, forcing down another gulp of replenished white wine. "I wouldn't let you get away so easily, Mari! You were just too cute for that." Hilda disjointedly pinched her wife's scarlet cheeks. Marianne winced, but fumbled her laughter, charmed by the gesture.
"Say, Professor," Hilda halted, switching gears in an instant. "You'll meet my big brother tomorrow at Fódlan's Locket, won't you?"
"That is the plan," Byleth returned.
"Oh you'll love big brother!" Hilda assured, pouring yet another glass. "He can be a bit rowdy, and certainly overprotective, but he can light up a room like you've never seen! Even that stuffy old fort is more lively with my big brother around."
Marianne nodded in agreement whilst declining Hilda's silent offer of wine. "Yes. Sir Holst was a very intimidating presence, but I'm thankful that he welcomed me into his family so adamantly."
"Are you kidding?!" Hilda exclaimed. "You're his favorite now! He's always going on about 'Oh sis, make sure you take care of that wife of yours! Hey sis, don't let me catch you mistreating Marianne!' Honestly," she drank, interrupting her impression. "It's so tiring, but I know he means well."
Marianne shrouded a delicate smile with a bow of her head, nearly yanked out of her seat by Hilda's tenacious embrace. Byleth took in every word, but his stare would suggest otherwise, fixed on the elegant motion of synchronized frolic adjacent to their tables.
"Go join them if you're so interested," Hilda proposed. "Nobody in their right mind would turn down a dance with you, Professor!" Irresponsible with her strength, Hilda playfully socked Byleth's arm.
"As embarrassing as it may be," he retorted, massaging his arm where Hilda had struck. "I don't know how to dance."
"WHAT!?" Hilda cried, aghast at the notion. "The King of Fódlan doesn't even know how to dance? Now I've seen it all!" Exasperated, Hilda chugged her remaining glass. "Though, that does add up, you being raised with that band of paupers."
"Mercenaries," he corrected.
"Sure, that! Professor, you MUST learn to dance! If not, how will you ever truly fit in with us snobby noble brats? Oh! I could show you a few moves! I'm an excellent dancer, everyone is always reminding me how graceful I look!"
"Hilda…" Marianne whispered, tugging at her intoxicated wife's sleeve. "Perhaps you should save that for another night. You remember last time, don't you?"
"Oh lighten up," Hilda assured. "That tavern had no right setting a fire pit so close to their dance floor."
Marianne shook her head, sighing. "There was no dance floor…"
Suddenly, a fourth voice cut through the trio's conversation. "I could teach him."
All three spun, but Byleth's stoic visage had evaporated before his eyes met with Bernadetta's. "You have got to stop sneaking up on conversations like that, Bernie," Byleth jested, opening an arm to welcome his reclusive wife.
"Bernadetta! Welcome back to the party! Are you feeling alright?" Hilda questioned, running her fingers absentmindedly along Marianne's listless hand.
"Hi, Hilda, Marianne," Bernadetta warmly smiled to both women, who returned the cheerful gleam. "I am, thanks for asking. I actually came out at a perfect time."
"Why's that?" Lady Goneril inquired, reaching for the wine bottle Marianne had confiscated.
"I actually wanted to ask Byleth for a dance." Strikingly, Bernadetta's confidence astonished her husband and hosts alike. It was unlike the queen to be so direct in the presence of strangers. Byleth amicably beamed, folding an arm around his wife's attenuated waist.
"Well, as I'm sure you heard, I actually don't know how to dance. You may be surprised to learn that there was little need for a waltzing mercenary, so Jeralt never taught me."
Bernadetta silently cheered herself on, striking a sanguine pose and beckoning her husband to his feet. "Come on, then! I'll teach you!" Silently engaged in their banter, Marianne and Hilda watched sweetly as Byleth took his wife's hand and rose from his seat.
"You know how to dance?" he asked, surprised that it had never come up between the pair.
"Yes, of course I do. A grim reminder of my sad reality as the daughter of nobility. Of course, it's been years and, um." Bernadetta trailed off, her words softening and fumbling. "I've never danced with anyone but my instructor as a girl. It's been a long time."
"So teach me, Lady Varley," Byleth teased, wrapping Bernie's shoulder with an arm in usherance towards the dance floor. "Ladies, if you'll excuse us, it was wonderful catching up," he called, losing his voice to the climax of a rigorous tune.
"Don't get too crazy, kids!" Hilda chided, humorously slapping at Marianne's hand. "Leave some room for the Goddess!"
Pushing between crowded guests, Byleth protected his wife from a slew of grimaces and serving trays. "Excuse me, coming through, pardon us," Bernadetta shallowly offered. Though fleeting, her confidence greatly moved Byleth, who failed to imagine what shaped her sudden fearlessness.
"What's gotten into you, Bernie? Are you sure you're feeling alright? You seem different," expressed her concerned husband.
"Honestly," Bernadetta began as she set foot on the dance floor. "I'm terrified. But I'm not letting it get to me. As far as I'm concerned, you and I are the only people in this room."
Sentimentally, her words rang like a windchime, but Byleth could sense the gnawing discomfort that hid underneath. Exhausted nobles funneled out from the dance floor as Bernie and her husband arrived, making ample room for the pair.
"Perfect, we have just enough room for Bernie's School of Dance, hehe!" Smugly, Bernadetta turned to face her partner. "Okay, lesson one- Hey… Where's everyone going..?" Funnel turned to riptide as the sea of gleeful dancers retreated to their tables one by one until the royal couple remained the only occupants remaining. A quick glance at the band would reveal their set had ended. The members relaxed, patting each other on the back and exchanging dialogues.
"Looks like the fun is over," Byleth stated, apprehensively turning attention to his dismayed wife. "I suppose class has been delayed, professor Bernie?" The king apologized with a squeeze of his wife's hand.
"D-Damn it," Bernie huffed. Swearing was uncommon for the queen if not reserved for private moments. "W-Well we don't need music! I learned without it! I-I can show you how to Waltz! It's mostly just counting a rhythm anyway."
Byleth was unconvinced. "Are… Are you sure? Here? I don't want to make you uncomfortable with all these strangers." Laying out the situation, Byleth would tilt his head in earnest.
Bernadetta shook herself from disdain, offering her hand to her partner as though to a silent tune. "I'm fine, really. As long as I have you by my side, I can do anything, remember?"
Byleth acquiesced, closing his eyes in a gratified smile. "Then let the lesson begin, my dear." He took her hand, allowing her to shape the couple's stuffy pose. Reaching up to meet with his taller posture, Bernadetta would awkwardly shift until arriving in a comfortable position to lead.
"Alright! Let the lesson begin!"
Engaging in their conventional snobbery, the party guests began straightening their coats and re-equipping their accessories after their dancing had ceased. One by one, a pair of eyes would furl towards the peculiar couple. It was unknown to all present who took center stage.
"Drunken fools?"
"Who are these specimens?"
"Should somebody inform our deaf companions that the music has ended?"
Remarks from the crowd fell flat to Bernadetta, who's soft-spoken instruction guided her husband's first apprehensive steps with affirming delight. "A Waltz is always composed in three-fourths time," she'd explain, swaying aimlessly with her king. "That means even without music you can count out the rhythm. Try it! Go, one two three, one two three, one two three." Instructing her former Professor felt oddly satisfying, but Bernadetta had surmised there were a lot of subjects she trumped him in.
"I think I'm getting it," he'd repeat. "One two three, and then we step on the one?"
"Excellent, my darling pupil! Such a quick learner," Bernie giggled, straightening the pair and halting their sway. Clearing her throat, she fixed her gaze to Byleth's, refusing to acknowledge the gawking nobility that surrounded them. Flayn, Hilda and Marianne stood on the cusp of the gaudy sea of onlookers, confusedly prying alongside them.
"They mean to dance in silence? Ha!"
"I can not shake the familiarity in their faces, as though I've seen this couple before. But where?"
"Wait a moment… Could those two be..?"
Bernadetta's eyes glazed over in a loving haze, blind to all but her husband. "Are you ready to try it? I'll lead, just follow my steps. It'll be left, then right, got it?"
"Understood," Byleth confirmed, admittedly a tad uneasy with the surrounding company. Before he could dwell further on this thought, he was pulled to the sway of their Waltz.
"Mm-hm-hm, mm-hm-hm," Bernadetta hummed their rhythm, peering up as her husband quickly overcame his stammering feet. "Good! You're getting it! Mm-hm-hm, mm-hm-hm." As the pair swayed, gossip spread throughout the room, news of the pair's identity shared through cupped hands and unbecoming whispers.
"The King!? Nay, this fellow is but a boy!"
"They are far too casual to be royalty! And yet…"
"Assuredly it is them! Those who jest have made a mockery of His and Her royal Majesty!"
Persuading their movements, Bernadetta's gentle hum became more songly with each passing step. Shutting her eyes and locking away her mind, she could indulge in this moment for eternity. With Byleth, she would become unwavering, mentally indomitable. Bernie would seize the moments her father would adamantly forbid. Bernie would love and unequivocally be loved, vigorously.
Locked away, Bernadetta's anxieties pounded away at her to no avail. "Now," she instructed with a grin. "We'll do an 8 point turn. It's not as scary as it sounds, just follow my lead." As the couple took to their circuit, word of their identity reached members of the band, who fumbled back on stage over instruments and patrons alike. Byleth turned his head with the commotion, but Bernadetta squeezed his outstretched hand. "Eyes on me, mister."
"Of course, Your Majesty," he returned. A quieted hush swept through the room as the band returned to their station. Counting the rhythm of their movements, members of the band readied their instruments before joining Bernadetta's hummed tempo. Serenading the ballroom, an intimate song creaked to life for the queen and her husband alone.
"O-Oh, did they start playing just for us?" Bernie asked, finally breaking from her husband's spellbound ogling.
"One last song for us, I suppose," Byleth returned.
"D-Don't say it like that, Bylie." Shivering, the moment caught Bernadetta's metaphorical sleeve in the door. Catching up to reality, she sputtered a bit before shaking her mind clear. "I-I, um. I just don't like the sound of that. Our song will never end, r-right Professor?"
Byleth smiled earnestly, pulling his hand from his wife's gentle hip. "So long as I'm alive, Bernadetta, our hearts will never grow silent." Mindlessly, the king followed Bernie's intrepid guidance, caressing her flush cheek with an unwavering love. His heart stood ever still, but without it's cadence, Byleth's chest beat to the rhythm of his lover's.
Bernadetta's pale amethyst eyes dazzled with a watery ebb. For tonight, she cared not what others saw in her. She did not fret over her words or every minute action. She did not feel the peculiar knot that rose in her throat. Bernie felt nothing but the overwhelming passion she held for her Professor, for her husband. Leaping into his arms, Bernadetta broke free of their rhythm and smashed her face against Byleth's. Locking her arms around his neck, she yanked the king to her height, kissing him with a fervent dedication felt throughout the room.
After what was perceived as an eternity, the couple's lips were parted. Standing on her tippy-toes, Bernie clanked her forehead against her husband's, whose circlet unforeseeably dug at her skin. "Heh," she giggled. "I bet Claude didn't finish your dance like that!"
"Really?" Byleth teased through faded breath. "On dear Marianne's birthday?"