Dimitri stood in the hall just outside the infirmary. Manuela had ordered the door remain closed, but it had been hours now without word. His palms itched with the burning desire to kick the door down and demand an update. The calming presence of Dedue at his side soothed those desires, but still he agonized over each passing minute of silence.
He blamed himself for not being there. It was a foolish self-recrimination, he knew that. The others had told him time and time again. The professor had ordered his position on the western side of the engagement. Following those orders had put him out of position. And they had nearly lost both the professor and Bernadetta because he had not been there.
To be fair, no one could have expected that. The monster's arrival had been an uncontrollable element on the battlefield. Even the professor had not seen it coming. Sometimes even the most well-made plans fell apart, and it was not a matter of personal failing. A lesson the professor had already impressed upon them several times in the month he had been teaching.
First rule of the battlefield – If it can go wrong, it will go wrong
It did not matter that no one else had been hurt. The bandits had been swept up and eliminated like clockwork. The only real danger had come when the last batch had rushed Felix as one, but Felix held his own until reinforcements put the bandits down for good. Insofar as their task was, they had completed it with excellence and efficiency.
Then it had all fallen apart.
By the time he reached the anvil force, Professor Eisner and Bernadetta were long gone. The horrified report from Sylvain had nearly torn his heart from his chest. Abandoning the prisoners, the goods, and the site, he had taken all but Ingrid and Sylvain and tried to rush off after them. It took all of them, even Dedue, to hold him back. Their insistence that it was more prudent to seek reinforcements before chasing off after a monster eventually battle through his crippling panic. They had not been prepared or equipped for a monster hunt. Chasing off without a plan would only have resulted in more losses. To that end, they sent Ingrid back to the village to find the incoming soldiers, and Sylvain and Felix hurried the bandit survivors after her. There had been no hostages, and the remaining students fretted over the camp while they waited for support.
Thank Lady Rhea that she had sent Sir Catherine along with the soldiers. The veteran Knight took in their report with hardly a pause. Leaving half the soldiers to handle the bandits and scour the camp, she deployed the rest alongside the weary students and marched down the riverside, following the trail of blood and disturbance until they found the monster scrabbling at a hollow on the riverbank. Something had its attention, and their fears were confirmed when the familiar crackling explosion of a fire spell set the beast howling. Stuck with its head in the hollow, it made an easy, but deadly target, and the group swarmed it. Under Catherine's deft orders, they surrounded the beast and bled it, scoring dozens of wounds until it grew weak and she finished it off with a blow from Thunderbrand that caved in its skull.
That was not the end of it, of course. The hollow stank of blood and burnt flesh and gore. They found Bernadetta sobbing over the professor's body, his form so torn and bloodied they all feared he was dead. It took all of Mercedes' healing powers to stabilize him, and the trip back to the village was a somber and fearful one. Bernadetta was inconsolable and staggered along after the professor's stretcher despite the numerous bruises and wounds she bore.
Instead of arriving back late in the day with a triumphant tale of valor, the convoy returned to Garreg Mach in the dead of night, their horses panting and heaving from the speed with which they rushed Professor Eisner back to proper medical facilities. Thank the gods that Professor Manuela had decided to stay in the night and was entirely sober when they nearly shattered her door with their frantic pounding.
The sun was coming up now, and still they had no word about the professor. Dimitri's bones ached. His head hurt awfully, and he knew that he needed sleep. They all needed sleep. The kind-hearted Mercedes was the only one allowed in the infirmary, as her healing powers were critical in keeping the professor alive. He really should have died. Catherine had let it slip that his wounds would have killed an ordinary man thrice over. It had been intended to encourage them, Dimitri was sure. But to him, it felt like a nail driven into the professor's coffin.
"Tea?"
A weary Catherine sat on the waiting bench, her head propped up on an armored gauntlet. Like Dimitri, she had been too preoccupied to switch out of her armor. A bad sign for the professor. If she had gone to change, that meant she had confidence in good news, or even no news. By choosing to wait, it revealed her own morbid expectations.
That had not stopped her from taking a hasty trip down to the dining hall and rustling up a plate of bread and cold meats, and a pot of tea. His stomach growled as he thought about the last time he had eaten. It felt wrong to indulge when his professor lay dying in the other room.
"I'll pass," he said grimly, shaking his head.
"You should eat," Dedue lectured. His faithful friend had poured himself a generous cup and was sipping at the liquid like a sailor nursed his mug. Despite his outward calm, Dedue had not let his eyes rove from the door in some time. They were all nervous, all worried. The others had gone off to try and catch some sleep after Dimitri ordered them away. The irony of it was not lost on him. But he was the future king of Faerghus. It was his duty to be the leader, to shoulder the responsibility of waiting for word. If that word proved poor…
No, he refused to allow that line of thinking, even as it crept in the shadows of his thoughts. Their professor was strong. He would survive. He had to survive.
"Did I mention how deep he put his sword in that thing," the Knight of Seiros asked, nearly mumbling into her own cup. She was talking for the sake of filling the silence. She had mentioned it, several times in fact. Though he was sure the lady knight was much less invested in the professor's health than they were, she still showed great empathy for the man. Or perhaps for his students. There had been an uneasy tension between the two from the start. It could be explained by how different they were from each other. One a noble-born knight, a servant of the church. The other a common-blood mercenary who fought for survival and coin. It was a clash of ideals. That they were both terrific fighters made the tension more glaring.
Eventually the door did open. Dimitri had to restrain himself from leaping into the narrow crack that appeared, and instead forced himself to remain still as Mercedes peered out, her expression haggard and exhausted.
"I am so sorry to impose, but can someone bring us food and tea?"
He stared at her pale arms, exposed because she had rolled her sleeves up past her elbows. Though they had been washed multiple times, streaks of blood and redness still coated her fair skin. Her eyes were red as well.
"With your permission, Lord?" Dedue bowed and hurried off. Catherine rose swiftly, brushing crumbs from her armor, and handed over the platter of what was left of the meal she had pilfered from the pantry.
"Take this for now, if it helps," the knight offered. "How is he?"
Mercedes closed her eyes for a moment, visibly relaxing as the aroma of the tea filled her nostrils. "He is…"
"Mercedes!"
Manuela's urgent cry made the girl flinch, and she hastily closed the door. Left without an answer, Dimitri growled and turned on his heel. He hated this. Hated not knowing. Hated being so helpless.
"You should get some sleep," Catherine told him, eyeing him with an infuriating calmness.
"Not while-"
"Professor Eisner is not going to heal any better because you are standing outside. It is morning already. You have classes in a few hours. Get some rest, for heaven's sake. I know the lot of you are going to be distracted, but you are here to learn."
"But he was badly wounded."
"Professor Eisner is a grown… he knew what he was doing. You cannot blame yourself. For the love of Seiros, go!" She sighed and leaned her head against the wall. "I am probably going to get roped into teaching your class while he's recovering, and the last thing I need is the leader of the house refusing to set an example for the others. I promise, if I hear something, you will be the first to know. First student, at least."
The steady glare she gave him, reproachful but not condescending, told Dimitri that he could stand here and argue with her. She was right, though. He did need sleep. And as much as it ate at him, it was doing no good to wait when it was clear they were not going to get answers soon. It galled him to admit it, but she was right. He nodded weakly and gave one last look at the door.
"Make sure to let me know if there is anything we can do."
"Hey," her mouth curved in a confident grin. One that did not quite reach her eyes. "Talk like that and you've already lost. He'll be fine. Just needs to sleep it off."
They both knew it was a lie. Neither had the courage to admit it.
-v- Byleth -v-His eyes opened slowly, and he was struck immediately by how painful the light was.
Serves you right, Sothis grumbled. About time you woke up. You really don't like to listen, do you?
Every bone in his torso complained. Every muscle in his arms ached. His body felt like it had tumbled down a ravine, and the simple act of breathing was a strain. Like someone had dropped a pile of bricks on his chest. Existence was pain, and he was not fond of the sensation. Still, pain meant he was alive. And the stonework ceiling overhead meant they had brought him back to Garregh Mach.
The pair of enchanting breasts that hovered just beside his head, covered by a silken nightgown that left little to the imagination, confirmed he was in the tender care of Manuela Casagranda. Now that almost made the pain worth it.
"You're awake, then?" The songstress' face peered down at him, half-hidden by her obstructing mounds. Dark rings lined her eyes, and she had an exhausted slackness in her voice. "Good. I…" she yawned loudly, "Ay-yi, it's about time you woke up. Had a good nap?"
Could be better, he thought dourly, struggling to remember the full sequence of events that had led to this point. The wolf-monster by the river. Tending to the mangled Bernadetta. The wolf's face just inches from his own. Steaming breath washing over his limbs.
"Now, now, don't try and speak. Manuela's got you." She put two fingers to his lips and gently pried his mouth open. A few drops of lukewarm tea dripped into his parched mouth. "You gave us quite a scare, Byleth."
"He's awake?"
A scuffling sound arose from somewhere else in the room. Mercedes appeared on the other side of the bed, her expression equally exhausted, though none-the-worse to look at. The peach-blonde student smiled tiredly. Stretching out a hand, she carefully placed it on his forehead. Her palm felt cool to the touch, and he had to admit he enjoyed the attention.
"His fever has vanished," Mercedes observed, eyeing Manuela with that peculiar all-encompassing smile of hers.
"I told you it would. You did a most excellent job, Mercedes." Manuela graced the student with her own brilliant smile. "He should be fine now. Go back to your room and sleep, girl. You need it as much as he does. I will send for you if I need you.
"Yes, of course Professor." Mercedes squeezed Byleth's hand once before retreating from view.
Manuela stared after the girl for a moment before turning back to Byleth. A small, knowing grin formed on the songstress's lips. "You're a fighter, that much is certain. I wasn't expecting you to return to the land of the living anytime soon."
He wanted to speak, but his throat was dry as paper. A muted grunt clawed its way past his tongue.
"Oops, don't try to talk yet. You still have a ways to go before you are fully recovered." As if to prevent an answer, she produced a teacup and held it to his lips. "Drink slowly, Byleth."
The tea was cold, and his mouth was so blasted of senses that he hardly tasted it. Gulping weakly, he let the trickling liquid coat his mouth and gradually ease the dry soreness. His struggling made the other professor laugh softly, and Manuela deftly pulled the teacup back when he started to choke.
"Easy, easy. There you are. Take your time. You have all the time in the world." Her soft hand brushed against his face. "You are mostly healed, but you lost a lot of blood. That will take some time to recover."
"Bern…" his voice gave out after only a single syllable. He had never felt so weak in his life.
"She's fine. Went back to her own room to rest. You kept her safe."
"The… others?"
"Everyone came back safe. You did a great job."
"Good." He licked his dry lips and closed his eyes. "How long?"
"They brought you in last night. I'd wager they are still serving breakfast. Not long at all, really. To be honest, I thought we wouldn't' see you so much as blink for a few days."
He offered a noncommittal grunt. Testing his arms, he flexed his fingers and grazed against the naked skin of his thighs. Skin? They must have stripped him to access his wounds. His confusion must have read on his face because Manuela tittered and cast a sneaky glance downwards.
"Ah, about that. Your clothes are a total loss, though your armor might be salvageable. Hope you don't mind. We were saving your life, after all. And you have nothing to be ashamed of. Most men would sacrifice a hand to be so… well-equipped, as you are."
A gentle hand pressed lightly down on said equipment, eliciting a groan from the battered young professor. He felt a stirring deep in his gut as she softly stroked her hand back and forth across the sheet.
"I bet you were popular with the ladies in your mercenary days. And so young, too." She grinned devilishly but pulled her hand back and tucked her arms under her substantial chest. His frustrated sigh only encouraged Manuela. "Ah, to be so young again. You wake up from a near death experience and within minutes your body is raring for action. But you have to rest. Doctor's order. Perhaps tonight we can get you some solid food."
Silencing his protests, she brought the teacup back to his mouth. Once his mouth was wet again, she propped his head up on another pillow and spoon-fed him soup. Ordinarily he would be been humiliated to be treated as an invalid. In the caring hands of such a gorgeous and attentive woman… he allowed it. After all, there were few things more soothing than a soft touch and a generous bosom. She never remarked on how his gaze kept slipping down her body, though her smug grin told him she was more than aware of his wandering eyes. Neither said a word about it, and when she finished she wiped his chin with a kerchief and told him to rest
The sitting position let him see the state of the room. One of the washbins had been filled with bloody towels and cloth. Three tables had medical gear scattered about, with pliers and scalpels and suture kits floating in alcoholic solutions for sterilization. He felt the stitches holding his wounds together. The uncomfortable tightness on his back, warned him against doing anything strenuous. Even rolling his shoulders would likely tear open his back
After surveying the extent of the operation to save his life, he let his thoughts drift to the other survivor.
He wondered what Bernadetta liked. The girl spent so much time in her room, practically no one knew anything about her. After a harrowing encounter such as this, she likely would appreciate some form of comfort. Her nerves were no doubt rattled, and a fragile thing like her could easily be broken by the incident. A token of appreciation, or confirmation of her worth. That is what children responded to.
After all, they were all children.
And it was his job to raise them.
-v- Catherine -v-She had not remembered her own class being this quiet. Her class had been rambunctious, raucous. Always telling jokes or playing games. Students like her goofing off or imagining swordplay while the studious ones applied their noses to the grindstone. Their professors had hated them, and her classmates had hated the professors back. She did miss the easy days, when her only worries were passing her certifications and avoiding too much trouble. It took her back to be in the classroom now for something other than a tactics and theory lecture.
Still, the Blue Lions classroom had all the energy of a mortuary. Students sat in silence and stared at their textbooks, or wrote on paper with scratchy quills. She had to hand it to the young mercenary; Byleth Eisner had everything down to a 't.' Lecture plans, student learning goals, time fillers. She supposed she should feel pride that he had her name posted alongside several students, with notes detailing suggested pairings for training or extra tutelage. Just as she felt a chuff of irritation that his notes on the hastily written personnel file described her as a thick-headed zealot.
Whether she should have taken the opportunity to dig through his files or not, she did not care. Catherine had been completely honest with the man from the beginning. She did not trust him enough to appreciate Lady Rhea's faith in him. He was an anomaly, and she was not the only one who held reservations about his arrival. Seteth had confirmed as much without speaking it aloud. A lot of people were nervous about the mysterious Byleth Eisner.
For one, she did not understand how and why he had already established such a detailed portfolio of people. He had pages upon pages of notes and observations. The other professors would be keen to know his thoughts on them, but where was the fun in spoiling that suspense? No, she was more interested in his thoughts on the students. When she first entered the classroom she had been ready to browbeat the students into quiet, to lord her temporary power into an iron fist and enjoy being on the other side of the desk. But no, they meekly accepted their duties as she handed them out without a fuss. It had taken the wind out of her sails, to be sure, and after assigning lessons she retreated to the professor's desk, where her curiosity got the better of her and she began sorting through his papers.
Dedue – quiet type. killer eyes. loyalty to Dimitri. anchor defensive lines.
Hilda – Professional con. Manuela owes me a drink.
Sylvain – trouble. good intentions. Virgin?
Ingrid – good student. idealist. former fiancé - research? she and Sy. by end of year.
And so on. All more or less spot on with the assessments she had made, though he had greater insight due to his constant presence with the class. The prediction of Sylvain and Ingrid made her grin. That one was obvious to everyone but the students, apparently. There was no reason that Ingrid would be so determined to clean up his messes. The one that really gave her pause was added at the bottom of the pile. He had more than just his own students here, of course. Nearly all of the major players, or the 'elite' classes.
Bernadetta – abuse. special care.
Her lip curled in a half-formed snarl at the words, even as her brows knitted with fury. Abuse. She had wondered about that one. Bernadetta was the same age as the others, but she behaved like one much younger. Her skittish nature could be mistaken for extreme shyness, however. Did Byleth know something that she did not? The thought of it sickened her. She would have to keep a closer eye on the girl, both in combat and out. Maybe she should talk to Hanneman about it, too? He was the Black Eagle professor, after all.
No, that was not her place. The professors were tasked with the welfare of the students. She was a knight. The classroom was not her domain, nor should it be.
Her eyes drifted over to the empty seat in the classroom. Bernadetta had opted to not come into class after being released from the infirmary. No one could blame her. She had taken a hell of a beating. Getting anything coherent out of the traumatized girl had been a chore, but from what it sounded like, Byleth had used three vulneraries to keep her alive. Catherine knew what sort of damage a body could take that would require that much healing. It would likely be a few days before she felt like coming out. With the new information she had regarding the girl, it might be even longer.
Damn it, she cursed.
"Professor?"
Catherine glanced up, and found the entire class watching her. A grimace worked its way free; had she said that aloud? Good thing no adults were here, or she wouldn't hear the end of it. A fine example for the students, she was not.
"Nothing. I just… forgot to bring oil to clean my sword. I was expecting you all to be bouncing off the walls and thought I'd have my hands full. Byl- Professor Eisner keeps you all on a short leash, doesn't he?"
Some of the students exchanged pained glances. Dimitri's dour expression grew darker, but he spoke for the class. The dark rings under his eyes bore testament to how little sleep he had gotten, if any.
"We're all worried for him. His wounds were monstrous."
Yeesh, way to kill the mood, she thought, this time keeping her mouth firmly closed. The classes' resident medical specialist, Mercedes, was sleeping on her homework, her cheek smudged with wet ink. That kid was tougher than a box of nails to have stayed up through the night assisting Manuela. She was something of a wonder with white magic, according to the professors, and her healing arts were on par with royal mages. Even with her helping, the fight to keep Byleth alive had not been an easy one.
"He'll be fine," Catherine promised them all. "You should be worrying less about him and more about having to suffer through me for a few days."
She had hoped it would cause some laughter, or at least crack a few smiles. The depressing cloud over the classroom failed to part, and she frowned at the uncertain silence that followed her joke. Resigning herself to a very boring afternoon, she sighed loudly and went back to perusing Byleth's notes. He had everything planned out a week in advance. When had he the time to get this planned out? She marveled at the studious way he had thrown himself into his role. He had blocked out his entire schedule, even going so far as to mark which meals he would share with students, or pre-dawn activities such as fishing, hunting…
In fact, he only had one block of time not marked on the entire week, outside of sleeping hours. She regarded the vacuum curiously. Wednesday suppertime. She made a mental note of the time. Her suspicions about the professor would be well-rewarded by seeing what he was up to in his most private moments. Was it rude? Maybe. Definitely. But she wanted to know what he was up to, and had resolved to discover all there was to know about the man whom Lady Rhea placed such trust in.
A shadow passed over the open doors at the back of the room. This time of year the weather was so pleasant it was a shame to close them. It could be distracting, admittedly, if noisy persons were mucking about, but the monastery was often quiet this time of the day, and all but visitors knew better than to cause a ruckus when class was in session. In fact, it was rare to see anyone out and about on the yard at this time. But when she glanced up to inspect the intruder, she cursed again at how utterly unprepared she was.
"Seiros' mercy," she breathed, nearly upending her chair as she pushed to her feet. The disturbance drew every eye in the room, for a moment, before the students all turned to see what had caused it.
Byleth Eisner stood in the doorway, his torso swathed in bandages. He had gotten a replacement pair of black pants from somewhere, and his well-abused cloak hung over his shoulders, but there was no hiding the fact that nearly his entire chest was buried in wrapping. He should not have been standing, much less walking about. How had he made it this far? And why was he here?
"Byl- Professor Eisner! What are you doing out of the infirmary?" She hurried around the desk, aiming to catch the man before he set foot in the room. If Manuela heard her patient had escaped, she would be furious. And Catherine was not keen on receiving a tirade from the opera singer. The woman had a vocabulary that left even the battle-hardened Knight of Seiros wincing.
Mutters of astonishment filtered among the students. Most appeared flabbergasted by his arrival, and with good reason. The man had been on death's door not even twelve hours ago. There was no way he had recovered so quickly. It was not human.
"I had lesson plans," Byleth answered, his grim voice surlier and harsher than usual. No surprise there. He spoke like he had a fistful of broken glass in his throat.
"Yeah, I found them." Catherine stopped an arm's length away, facing down the grim specter. This close, looking so haggard and damaged, Catherine could not deny that Byleth Eisner was intimidating. It was a sensation that she had not felt in… a long time. Her skin prickled as his cold eyes inspected her face, scrutinizing her words. They were the eyes of a monster, she realized. An inhuman monster that should not be standing after the damage he had suffered. "Passed them out and made sure everyone is covered. I may not be a professor, but I can handle these kids for a couple days. Everything's fine here."
"Hm…" He exhaled slowly, letting his attention shift first to her left, then her right. Counting the students, examining their desks. The man's singular drive would have been inspiring had she not found it insane. "Bernadetta?"
"She's taking the day off to recover."
"Hm…" Something that might have grunt clawed its way free. "Her lesson plan?"
"On the desk."
The professor lurched forwards, as if the motion of walking required a kickstart. Catherine eased out of his way, more out of surprise than intent. Following the shambling figure to his desk, she frantically considered what to say, what to do. The students were all watching with wide, disbelieving eyes. Like a literal myth had arisen from the very stones. He reached the desk and put his weight against it, leaning into the furniture to support his weakened limbs. One hand eased out from under his cloak and fumbled about the desk until he found Bernadetta's packet.
"What are you doing?"
"Delivering her lesson plan," Byleth muttered. He brushed past her again and stalked back out of the classroom. "Hilda, at least pretend to read your study material."
With that scathing jab, the battered professor left. Catherine remained in the middle of the room, gazing at the empty portal with a perplexed grimace. Was she supposed to go tell Manuela? He looked awful. The determination burning in his eyes made her hesitate. There was almost a manic intensity in his gaze. If he had that much of a desire to live, to be working and moving, who was she to say otherwise?
She was the person trying to run this class, she reminded herself with a scowl. Already the muttering was turning the classroom into a hive of bees. Hilda protesting her innocence to no one that was listening, Dimitri and Dedue speculating on how the professor was standing. Ingrid merely staring at the doorway, her face slack with astonishment. It was almost comical that Mercedes had slept through his arrival and was just now waking up to find out that she had missed the professor's miraculous appearance.
Miraculous?
Her eyes trailed back to the desk. Smears of blood marked where his fingers had touched paper and wood. The man was still badly hurt. She could accept that he was standing and walking with apparent difficulty. But he was by no means healed or even close. Was it pride, then? Setting an example for his students? She had learned, clearly, that he devoted himself wholly to his tasks. Was he pushing himself to such an extreme to convince the students he was some invincible demigod? The thought struck her as blasphemous, but she could not deny the reverent tones fluttering about the students as they clamored over his unexpected appearance.
Had it been intentional, the young professor had just cemented himself as a legend in the eyes of his students. She was unsure if he had that much guile. But damn if it was not effective.
-v- Byleth -v-
His fist fell heavily on the door, much heavier than he intended. It could not be helped. The single, dolorous rap was not followed by another. Sagging against the doorframe, he let out a quiet, grunting breath, and glanced back to see if there were any observers about. There were not. Students were in class, servants were about their duties. The yard in front of the second-level student dorms was empty. He appreciated that. It would not do for students to see him so weak.
Just walking to his desk and back had nearly set him crumpling in pain. It was everywhere, the red-haze of agony as his savaged muscles and sinew continued their accelerated healing. Miraculous white magic, for there was no denying the practical and unnatural nature of such magic, had skipped weeks of recovery, but there was only so much that magic could do. It could not restore the excessive blood loss. Without precious blood carrying nutrients through his body, the rest of his healing would be a slow and painful process.
Which did not matter at the moment. The silence beyond the door mattered.
Pressing his forehead against the door, Byleth took a few measured breaths and eased himself back to an upright position. Sweat dripped down his forehead, stinging in his eyes. His left arm hung mostly limp at his side, weighed down by the light folder of papers. Raising his other arm took more strain than it was worth. He settled for knocking on the door, his knuckles smacking against the sturdy frame at waist-height.
"Bernadetta," he called out. She might have been sleeping; she probably was. Just like he should have been. As much as she was a recluse, she did take her studies seriously. There was no reason she would not study while recuperating, and having work could relieve any lingering stress and fear from her mind. The idle mind lies vulnerable to horrors. Jeralt had taught him that.
"Bern… Bernadetta's not here," a squeaking voice chirped from inside the door.
"Yes you are," he grunted. The door began to shake, and Byleth reluctantly leaned against the frame again to steady himself as the world tilted. After a few seconds, it steadied. He really needed to lie down.
"N… no… it isn't me," she insisted. "I mean… Bernie isn't in here. I'm sorry, Professor Eisner! I'm really sorry! Please go away."
"You need your week's lesson plans," he insisted. The words set him looking down to the folder. His numb fingers had slipped, and the folder hung dangerously out of his grip. Catching the folder before it could fall, he clutched it in both hands. "That's all I am here for."
"Lesson plans? You mean you aren't here to… why should I believe you? This is a trick, right? You came here to have your revenge, didn't you?"
"Reve- Bernadetta, I am your professor. All I am here for is to give you your lesson plan."
"Th… that sounds like a trick."
He closed his eyes and cursed silently. This was not what he needed right now. His legs were hurting, his whole body was hurting. She just needed to open the dam-
Vertigo surged up from his gut, striking him to mightily he staggered. Even though he was leaning into the doorframe, he still nearly toppled over as his whole body cried out in a demand to lie down. Slinking down to a knee, he caught himself with a bone-jarring impact on his wrists and twisted. The end result was him cracking his head against the stone frame, and his vision going black for an uncomfortable moment as his senses scattered in a hundred directions.
"Professor? Professor!"
Her voice was muffled behind the door. He could taste the panic on her lips as she sounded closer.
"Just took a seat," he lied.
"It sounded like you fell. I'll… are you hurt?"
"No."
Her papers lay scattered around his feet. Reaching over stiffly, he fumbled for them and stuffed them back into the envelope. The doors of the student's rooms were solid, heavy pieces, and they fit snugly into their frames. There was even a tiny lip around the edge to seal it off from someone trying to wedge a crowbar or slip papers through the gaps. Clever, and frustrating to his purpose.
"If you don't mind," he told her, "I think I'll sit here for a minute."
"You're hurt, aren't you? You hurt yourself again because of me. This is my fault. It's always my fault. I'm sor-"
"Bernadetta." He silenced her with his authoritative tone. "Relax. I am just sitting down."
Her side of the conversation remained silent for some time. He appreciated the quiet; it gave him time to concentrate on the screeching jolts of fury lancing up his arms, and the dull throb in the back of his skull. He met those aches, greeted them as old friends, and buried them in an avalanche of stubbornness. After he handed off her papers he could take a long rest in his own room.
"Are you still there, Bernadetta?"
"…yes."
He imagined her sitting against the door on the other side, her back against it, knees tucked up to her chin.
"You should rest. Return to the class when you feel recovered."
"I don't… I don't think I should go back to the classroom, Professor."
"Why not?"
"I got you hurt. Really badly hurt. And I'm not even from your house. The others will hate me for that. I'm just the outsider who got you hurt. They don't like me to begin with. Now they will hate me, and-"
"That is ridiculous," he scoffed, unable to contain his thoughts. "They are just as worried for you as they would be for anybody."
"No! I could see it in their eyes! They'll be out to get me now. For hurting you."
"You didn't hurt me, Bernadetta."
"But you were hurt because of me. That's just what I expected would happen. Someone else gets hurt because I can't do my job. Because I am a failure. I fail-"
"Bernadetta." He grimaced and felt his wrists, slowly massaging the pain. "That is just nonsense. You did not fail me. I was not hurt because of you. The failure was mine. I led you into a battle that we were not prepared for. The… thing, that was outside of expectations. No one could hold you responsible for anything that happened."
"I don't… I don't want to go back to class." Her voice was broken by sniffles and what he imagined to be tears.
"You don't have to yet."
"No, I don't want to go back to class at all," she insisted.
"Bernadetta, you are a student here."
"I don't want to be a student!" Her voice broke, and the sniffling changed into sobs. "I don't want to go out and fight! I don't want to kill people! I don't want to be put in a room full of strangers! I just want to be left alone!"
She was crying on the other side of the door. Byleth had seen it before. He recognized and understood why she felt that way. Taking another person's life was not an easy thing to do, for other people. That was one of the strange things about himself that Jeralt did not like to talk about. There were few things that made Jeralt uneasy, Byleth had learned. And he was the source of most of them. The thought that his own father disliked his child so much might have been crushing to another person. Byleth had never truly understood what he was supposed to feel in that situation. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel when he killed someone, or why he was-
Bernadetta. He relocated his thoughts to the present.
"I want to go home," she cried. "I just want to sit in my room and be left alone."
After a few minutes of crying, she grew silent again. He stared at the stone arch of the doorframe, wondering what she was doing inside her room.
"Are… are you still there, Professor?"
"I am," he told her.
"I'm sorry. It's… it's not very ladylike of me to… I shouldn't have said any of that. Gah, way to go, Bernie."
"You were brought here against your will," he stated. "I can understand desiring to leave. But you cannot. That is just the way it is. You can wish to go home and hide away from the world, or you can make the most of this opportunity. The students want to be your friends, Bernadetta. No one here hates you."
"Hubert does," she muttered.
"Can I tell you a secret?"
"Huh?"
"Hubert's an ass," Byleth informed her. "And his face looks like he sucked a dozen lemons dry."
The young woman on the other side of the door giggled softly, stopping only when a loud hiccup interrupted her. "That's… lemons… that's hilarious, Professor."
"Don't tell anyone I said that. It can be our secret."
"I won't tell a soul," she promised.
"Good." He glanced down at the folder of papers. "As I said, I have your lesson plan with me. If you do not feel comfortable opening the door right now, I can leave them just outside. Rest well, Bernadetta. It would be good to see you in class again, but you are allowed to take your time."
Byleth tucked his feet in and rolled onto his side, straining with the effort of holding his weight on his arms as he prepared to stand. He had not felt this weak in… a long time. It was a mercy that the yard remained empty.
"Professor."
Her timid voice gave him pause. Sensing the apprehension in his student's tone, Byleth sat back down and caught his breath.
"Yes?"
"If it's okay… can you stay there for a little while? I, uh, could you sit with me?"
"I can do that," he agreed.
Separated by the door, the pair sat in contemplative silence. The morning passed them by. Here and there a lone student rushed into view, scurrying into their room to change into training clothes, or accomplish a quick chore between class breaks. Once or twice he thought he saw someone peering at him from a distant spot, likely the vigilant Seteth or perhaps one of the monks. It remained peaceful, and he appreciated that peace for the time it gave him to rest his weary body. Not as comfortable as a bed, of course, but he had far worse experiences than this.
At midday the yard filled with students returning to their rooms and going about their chores or hurrying to the dining hall. More than a few cast curious looks at him as he sat outside Bernadetta's door, but none approached. It was not their business.
Edelgard stopped by, her thoughts hidden behind a pensive stare as she inspected Bernadetta's door. After a few seconds of silence she glanced down at Byleth, eyeing him with the appraisal of a noble inspecting their servant. He returned her gaze, and read something in those eyes of hers that set his teeth on edge. She held him responsible. That was obvious. He did not care to deny her unspoken accusation. Nor did he disregard the solemn nod she offered in acknowledgement of him keeping watch over her classmate. Departing as soundlessly as she had approached, the elegant future Empress vanished in the direction of the training grounds. Her dark shadow Hubert met her at the steps that led to the third level, his hawkish glare unmistakable.
Then the afternoon arrived, with the sun lowering slowly from its peak, casting the yard in first a warm yellow light, then fading to a soft orange as it felt beyond the distant horizon. The cooling stones felt good against his hands. More students returned to their rooms, either to grab supplies for their evening activities or retire in the solitude of their rooms. Again, no one approached, and those that showed interest kept a wide berth, content to merely stare.
It was evening when she spoke again. In all those hours, he had not heard her rise or move. They had shared the tranquil silence together.
"Professor?"
"Yes, Bernadetta."
He heard the pause in her thoughts, her surprise that he had remained.
"You actually stayed?"
"You asked me to," he replied. A flicker of a memory surfaced in his thoughts. Jeralt had always said that a good joke could break an awkward silence. Had he a more imaginative mind, he would have had a pun handy. That had never been his strong suit. Nor had it been Jeralt's, to be honest. His jokes often induced more cringe from his listeners than laughs.
"Th… thank you, professor. I feel much better now."
He eased himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the door to steady himself. "Make sure you eat something, Bernadetta. You must be hungry."
"I'll go out in a little bit, once it's quiet."
"See that you do. Your body needs food to heal. And," he set her folder down against the frame. "Your lesson plan is still here. You don't need to turn anything in until the end of the week, so do not worry about deadlines."
Turning stiffly from the door, he limped in the direction of the third-level steps. He needed real sleep. And meat. His stomach growled at the thought, and his mouth grew wet with saliva as just the thought of tearing into a leg of lamb tickled his fancy. Changing course for the dining hall, Byleth slunk off into the deepening shadows of the monastery.
Lamb sounded amazing.