TO PREVAIL.

“Not at all,” she speaks lightly despite the squeeze to her heart. The notion that she could mind is ridiculous, for any chance to share these steps is no less than a gift. “I’d be delighted.”

Her bouquet is set down beside Edelgard’s and she, too, lifts her arms up with a small smile. “Oh, yes, gladly,” she replies to that sweet request with genuine pleasure and chuckles before echoing, “Of course.”

A sharper dance suits her, needless to say, as does its well-refined poise. Having seen the steps performed besides, it is no great task to keep up with Adrestia’s heir even if she lacks the polish of experience... And it is enjoyable, too.

Edelgard keeps her bouquet on the table and eyes it with a tracing finger against the stems of her flowers. With how full it is, she's expected to serve Adrestia well. And she will. "Adrestia's twin-headed eagle has long since served as a symbol of the empire. Our house is named 'Black Eagles' with traditional Imperial armor in mind, though that is no secret." A chuckle escapes her lips; forced, but sincere. How quickly distant escapades become a far-away thought. She knows then, and she knew now— She will never leave this land.

She won't, but there sits much too unknown about this world. Professor Ayra is someone who can answer some of it for her. She eagerly awaits dancing a new piece with a person who knows it well.

"tch!" even with less of a bite nowadays, there remained a false tongue too sweet to give up. "you are always..." what was the word for it, really? utterly cooperative? how diminutive it made him feel sometimes, how formidable. (she made him feel taller just by standing next to her!) she was somehow or another in better form, in better shape, in better heart. "yes, a shame!" her lack of candor always felt like a trap, two hinges jarring a secret door closed. no invitation. she laughed and he did not, and the sky came falling down.

"between you and I—" an arm, two arms, joined by hands that bridged them both. she leaned to whisper, he leaned to lead. "when have they not been watching, Edelgard?"

he crossed one leg behind as he glided them forward, sinking them pre-emptively so they could both straighten their posture with a knife-like precision. and so arrived their spines, straight towards the moon. the candlelight made good on its promises to her—it was always like the light loved her first. dancing off her gemstone earrings and pearls, the flames swelled in devotion to her. yes, that was right, it was always like the light loved her first.

"do not worry. you are still our class leader, and I, your rival. there is no honor in mishandling our public images."

one, two, three—turn.

with their hands clasped, he effortlessly cast them in a half-circle, leaning to lend her room to take shape. her bounding skirts, the roses, her tulle drapes, her everything. and still, she is just Edelgard to him.

Music draws into an escalation, guiding Edelgard's shadow to light as she hits the ceiling's ornate lighting with her tilted head. Her outstretched arms rest at a higher level than Ferdinand's, yet the steps she takes are quiet and deliberate.

"We've changed much since childhood." We, because it is ignorant to conclude only one. We, because she can see it in him, too. Were they not in the middle of a waltz, she'd have the thought of scolding with sharper reprimand. Instead, what passes her lips is something reflective. It is a melancholic thought— How close these perils have sat for all these moons. How this ballroom illuminates their every steps while concealing even more shadows. "When I was younger and learning these movements, the palace felt so large."

But just as one could see everything beneath them, so too could all below see above. 

And, Sigurd noted as they seated themselves, there was the issue of their backs being open. He glanced about the box as he made himself comfortable, grinning as though admiring the architecture, the lighting, the curtains and the plush of the seats, before he leaned in to Edelgard's side to murmur, "We have quite the view of the wings, don't we? I count thirteen who...based on their movements, surely they must be the performers, and another half dozen stagehands." 

A pause, meaningful. "And one other." 

Her head dipped once: "An astute observation. I believe it would be wisest if we both took to looking over different sides of the stage. If you have no preference, I will seek the right." However much she could, anyways. She would be perfectly content ignoring the entire show in front of her if it meant becoming that much closer to what they were here to achieve. She trusted Sigurd would do the same.

A taller man emerged from the left wing wearing a black tailcoat and pants with gold buttons and a red brooch pinned at the center. Once the moment lights moved to shine on him, the audience claimed tailored silence. The drapes began to fold.

now, he can see those years for what they were clearly: an embryo, the beginning of resolves that grew inside him like an anchoring seed, shouting against everything he saw around him, a maelstrom that would be dismissed again and again, refused to be listened to. they were the flagstones of a ruined structure that'd be felled and left to embitter and darken before they would shine. and today now stands the product of it, something he supposes he could be proud of. for he might not be all that everyone had thought he would be, but he was something he'd always wanted to be. when he fought, he could do so without scoffing at the ideals that powered his arm ; and when he killed. . .

. . . no. a passionless scoff turns his lips ; a rustle of silent wind disturbs the fur of his collar trim, once white and pristine like snow, now ragged like a lone wolf's mane. he'd never killed for anything more glorious than the fight. he might be delusional in some ways, but he'd stop short of deceiving himself that there had ever been more to the reason he swung his sword or did so now.

perhaps the empire had just become a means to an end. a cause that wasn't his father's, that some part of him might have believed in a long time ago. he can't remember anymore. now, he was also their means to an end. one he'd accepted, turning his eyes to the next battlefield until his death.

"you're back." footsteps' crunch on gravel and rock announce the arrival of a traveling party to this ruin of an outcrop tucked into the oghma mountainside, out of the way of most caravan paths and high enough to provide a good vantage point on the road that wound below. "edelgard. or should i say ' emperor '."

the leader of the empire's assault looks younger than he last remembers, but it's not as though they see each other often. she's only here to give him his next assignment——and it better not be to continue wasting his time here while the war raged elsewhere, dulling his sword and his senses.

Where her feet once stood with a murky shadow now collapsed into one of atrocity. These mountains are a veil and she is their revealer; the one to uncover the church's secrets hidden even deep within these inconspicuous places. In lieu of a Spring Festival's endeavor is a crown not yet on her head. It is a request. She has spent many moons planning, wishing and awaiting. She can tell what this is meant to be.

Why, then, is she to witness this now? Why here? It can only mean one thing. Oh, how she will crush it much like the pebbles she kicks out of her way. What fools that depraved church is. Astonishment sits in the form of lips ajar and pupils wider than normal. 'Emperor', Felix had said. She cannot hide the surprise at seeing him here, not standing under Dimitri's command nor the Kingdom's banner, but someone else entirely— Her. Have the tides of battle worn on him, too? Looking at him makes her think so.

She'd be as ignorant as the church and their vile attempts if she pretends to walk away and ignore. A laughable thought. Where cold air once bounced off her skin kindly now sends a visible shiver.

Edelgard crosses her arms over her chest and retains a stature of confidence despite her body language thinking to do otherwise. When she peers him up and down, she comes to assume that time and conflict have blanketed him. Her fingers tighten into small fists, until they don't. If this really is a chosen path for him, it is not in her being to lament when the beginning she yearns to carve is one nobody else will.

Hearing even rumours of an artifact from her home was one thing. Hearing that this artifact was one that could show someone their own self from another world brought concern. Thrasir knew the kinds of heroes brought from other worlds to hers. She had summoned some of them. Used them to try conquer Askr. Used them to help claim souls for Hel.

Some of them were like her. Monsters. Weapons. Beings of nothing but destruction. Your family would be disappointed in you comparing yourself to them again. They didn't belong in Fódlan. Thrasir didn't think others should know their own realities in other worlds either... So the lich was tracking leads, trying to find this orb that was apparently in the Monastery. If she could find it... maybe she could close it's connection. Who knows how many orbs there are like it here though? After all, hadn't Kiran been swimming in Summoning Orbs?

It seemed that she wasn't the first person to find it though. Curses. Not minding how her cloak did little to hide her undead form, she quickly made her way over, but paused when she realised who...

'Do you think it's true? That you really can see another version of yourself?'

'It's got to be! Have you heard? It's from Zenith, too.'

How absurd. If she had been forced to perceive herself as a destructive entity once before, it wouldn't be too peculiar if they did it again. To what benefit does this serve? If this was from Zenith, why bring it here?

"Indeed. I understand well what sorts of people frequent the opera often," she begins to say as she takes the seat next to her professor. The audience is filled with nobles. They all hold themselves with the same, well-tended aura. With how close the two of them are to the stage, every performer is bound to end up in their line of sight. "With that, I should be able to identify any peculiarities. Knowing how high in demand these performances are, we will undoubtedly find something amiss."

One leg remains crossed over the other, swiveling her upper torso to peer at the seats behind them. The lighting remains bright to accommodate the number of people pouring in through every door; idle conversation behind the two lends nothing but loud chatter about today's performance and arguments about miscellaneous affairs. None of those trivial conversations make any difference for their goal.

Her first thought is to look at the upper balcony. When she does, a single hand takes hold of the plush, velvet seat. "— I do notice one strange occurrence..," she whispers to Professor Nel. "Do you see those seats there? The two on the end of the balcony." Two men dressed improperly for an opera sit with black bags in their laps, keeping to themselves.

It wasn't merely one empty reservoir; it was two. 

All of their initial questions leading up to this point magnified intensely, but there was one conclusion that Raven could come to, at the end of it all: famines weren't natural occurrences. 

They were manmade. 

"We'll find it," he heard a voice say, and it took him a moment after the family had left before he realized that it was himself. Raven's brow pinched, watching them leave, the mother continuing to try to wrangle her children, and he felt a twinge in his chest. 

Kneeling, he flicked a pebble into the center of the reservoir, and he frowned at it as it clattered down - no flicker of light, no sound of metal. There had to be evidence of human interference, but what it was, he couldn't ascertain entirely. 

"What are we missing?" It wasn't to anyone in particular, but it came out as a bitten exhalation; he ill-liked this lack of information, being kept in the dark, doubtless any more than the villagers themselves. 

Raven stood and remained silent for a moment before he turned back to the princess. 

Those words of conviction (of promise) were not conveyed by her own lips. Perhaps they should have been. 'We'll find it', she heard. There was no uncertainty; no hesitation. That was the assurance this land needed. It brought the neutrality of her eyes into a semblance of surprise and welcoming.

A hand sauntered to her chin. "Considering what we've seen, this is no coincidence. What if we look at it from another perspective?" From the corner of her vision, the family duo faded behind them. The boy seemed to be whispering words to his mom. He managed to smile, in the end.

"I know," Maria agrees softly, voice dipping into her breath. "I've been looking for the place that might need me most... There's rooms and rooms of them." Small wonder that they had to put out a request for help.

It won't do to look dispirited, though; with so many ailing, it's that much more important to rise above her worry, for it often sparks like wildfire. Instead she points the head of her staff at everything the Eagles' leader has gathered, smiling warmly.

"I'd welcome your company," Edelgard says graciously. Her right shoulder flicks up to adjust the towel and prevent it from falling to the ground. "Hm.. It's wisest to check the decks as a starting point. If we assume those in more dire straits were tended to first, that leaves plenty of others left elsewhere." Even so, she wouldn't find herself surprised to see a straggler or two who had been denied its entry. If they could find those people, that would make their journey all the more worthwhile.

Instead of staying in the room they now stand in, the princess teeters towards its arch and points to the stern of the ship. The voices of other aids and crew members bubbles the space; one mumbles about a man with an injured leg and another complains about having to stay on the ship at all.

Raven’s fingers twitched, inching toward the knife beside his bowl.

The Duke’s spoon dipped swiftly beneath the surface of the soup in Edelgard’s bowl, and he lifted the spoon to his lips, taking a delicate sip of its contents. After a dainty ah of satisfication, he made his way along the table to Raven’s seat.

The same motions repeated as though in slow motion, though the shadow of the Duke’s hand felt as though it might have inched too close to his neck, disparate from its owner, as the Duke sipped from Raven’s own bowl.

The footsteps away, and back to his own seat, echoed with distinct clicks of his bootheels on the stone floor.

“As you can see,” the Duke said, seating himself with a flourish of tailcoats, “It is of no danger to you. I suppose there is no accounting for taste, but I must insist -”

"Yes. Of course. Thank you for your generosity," she replied after a lull of silence. Despite her reservations, the steam from the soup creeped against her cheeks and sought an invitation. With the Duke so carefully watching the two of them, she knew what she must do next. The Imperial heir picked up the spoon at the side of her bowl and stirred it into the soup.

When she brought herself to taste it, she swallowed with a quiet thump. "That was delectable. I lament not being able to duplicate it for myself," she lied. A smile of pleasantries sat upon her face, turning to her companion with eyes that said otherwise. "You have my apologies," she finished without the usual cadence of true remorse. Two, three more spoonful's, until she ushered the bowl away from her person.

There's much less pressure here, but she's confident she still manages to catch all the main points of the little demonstration. Her eyes follow the axe into the bush and she even claps politely for the show. "Wowie, what a throw, Professor! Guess you really do know your stuff after all."

It's a little disappointing without the satisfying thwunk of a weapon striking a target or training dummy, but she'll take when she can get. "Here, lemme try." Might as well get the whole point of this exercise over with.

Yunaka steps up to bat, taking her place next to Edelgard. Her feet slide into place easily enough; not too different from her usual stance when she throws a knife. It's the arms that are trouble, positioned differently and needing both of them. Yunaka hefts the axe up over her head and gives her arms a few experimental stretches before, without much fanfare, throwing the axe towards the bush.

"You did well," she commends. "I could tell you listened to what I said." With a purposeful pause, she crosses her arms in front of her chest and straightens out her posture. "Thank you for that. There is room for improvement, of course. Next time, steady your arms differently." Taking a step away from Yunaka, Edelgard inches herself into the center of the courtyard and hoists her weaponless arms upwards in presentation.

She says her words in earnest— In a want for improvement, because she knows it is there. Yunaka makes for an axe student Edelgard hopes to parry against as the moon's draw on. "You were close to your target, but a single straightening of your upper body would have completed it perfectly."

“oh! i'd love to garden together,” she's quick to agree. if any one thing had been put on display for the world tonight, it was that bernadetta von varley had two left feet and two green thumbs. for edelgard she had showed even more, a glance behind the curtain for lilac eyes alone. (lilac, again. it all returns to lilac.)

“i'd really love... a-all of that, actually...” she trails off, another faraway hint in her voice. a story of the road to something better, the divergence of paths uncertain but hearts as one above all else. could it ever rise from the pages? it is here, in this classroom with edelgard, that bernadetta feels the closest thing to believing. and if she should someday be right there when edelgard stands on that throne...

or even before then. perhaps bernadetta will also find some cord to draw back and see, too.

“i should be thanking you, though. for asking. i haven't really talked to anybody about this, so...” a hermit, unused to a world outside of themself. it's easy to bottle the feelings alone. she nearly finds herself confessing that sometimes it gets lonelier than she realizes—but recognizing that comes with the daunting revelation that she's been spoiled by company. like edelgard's, now.

“i feel a little better. it's hard for me to stop living in fear, but i know that i just have to keep trying.”  she mumbles, sheepishness shifting her weight between her heels. “and, um... i still can't promise i'll be a good student, or say it's what i want to do with my life, but i can at least promise not to let my personal problems with others make anything hard for you. i'll figure it out. e-even if i'm not around as much...”

she will sort it out. she must. bernadetta's eyes blink wider, and her hands almost swing edelgard's in their anticipation. “i-i'll start writing to you right now, actually! i already have another friend here who i like sending letters to.” this, she's better at. she's preferred the pen for as long as she can remember. “that way you'll know i'm okay, even if you can't find me, and i can also practice talking to hubert because there's no way he isn't finding these first and judging me."

Rumors truly should be squashed. She will do it herself, even if the rising moon falls into a burning sun. If the flower that is Edelgard is crimson and tall, the adjacent one of Bernadetta is warmer and welcoming. Perhaps one day, the princess's own petals will open with tenderness.

Edelgard will not deny her desire to see her more in attendance with the rest of the Black Eagles, but she vastly wants to know she is safe and keeping in contact. They are students with much to learn, but they are also people. To dwell on the past is to leave no room for the future. That, she is not. The errors of the princess's past are only that and nothing more— A stone to be seen and walked over. A rock to be squandered, kicked aside by her heel. Someone told her that, once. She believes it true.

She could already imagine flickers of light in the corner of her darkened bedroom, hand pressed against the side of her face as the quill teeters rapidly in her hand in a desire of response. "I've no doubt Hubert holds similar sentiments as I."

Edelgard gives Bernadetta's hand a gentle tug, poising herself proper as she signals to the entrance of their classroom. "As for my vows, I won't keep you here any longer. Busy as this evening is, there's plenty of upsides to be had. Go find some for yourself and make them your own. When you do, write them down for me."

when she finally recovers, she removes the hand she’d used to smother her giggles and stands before the other with the largest grin she's worn tonight. "oh, edie. you're just the sweetest, you know? what would i do without you?"

she loops her arm through edelgard's, looking as pleased as can be. "he'd be so indignant, wouldn't he? hearing you say that." dorothea laughs again, but not before puffing out her own chest and allowing her voice to drop in equal imitation. "edelgard! have my exploits as the noblest of nobles not proven my worth? edelgard, i confess! i have half a mind to challenge you to a duel should you insist on intervening more than you have---!"

when she's had her fill of teasing, dorothea lets out a happy hum. "anyway, whenever that day comes, edie, i'll be the luckiest girl alive to know all there is about the mighty edelgard von hresvelg. i already love the bits of her that i've seen so far."

There is not a girl, but an emperor; a person and not a tool, too. With her free hand, she adjusts the pearl necklace nestled near the reds of her dress. "You're very kind, Dorothea. I've said that plenty of times before, but I speak nothing I don't mean. Though, I doubt that needs reiterating. That is why I hope to extend with you the same." When her fingers fall, they brush against the cool evening air.

It is selfish of her to enjoy this time with a friend when the shadows behind her turn frosted, but it is not so wrong when the stars glimmer against Edelgard's earrings. There are still secrets she stores behind the intensity of lilacs; comets behind the darkened depths of the sky. Yet, all the same, there is a friend at her side and a moon in reach. "I won't let your belief in me go to waste. I am the lucky one for that alone. Thank you." Had they never met, this monastery— this continent— would feel that much more frigid.

"When I do find what I seek, it will be all the better knowing I had you at my side to help me achieve it."

but softer colors bleed into the cold around her.

don't you think? asks lady edelgard, enveloping her friend in a gentleness unique to her. and bernadetta tries. at last year's ball she recalls being met with the same idea—that persecution had no right staking her heart and there was no more she could have done. that she had been raised on a slew of vile lies about herself.

but falsehood cannot quit her so easily when ten years of it outnumber the two and counting that might have started to shed truth on her life. among the ghosts that haunt her, there is one that terrorizes her before sleep: that if she had been kidnapped just to find herself bound for garreg mach monastery, there was nothing to say she wouldn’t find herself twice snatched, stuffed in another carriage just to wake up bound for life at the highest bidder’s house. and if the noblest person she thought she had ever come to know would not respect her decisions, how would the world? the world—...

the world i will lead, edelgard's voice suddenly resurfaces, punctuating this direction of thought before it can keep spiraling. blearily, she blinks away more tears. a world. not an empire? vaguely, something restless stirs in bernadetta's mind. matters she knows are far beyond her understanding, and would gladly remain so if the future emperor would truly permit the future countess varley to withdraw from the royal court. she cannot put a name to this feeling yet, but for some reason, it is not so unwelcome.

edelgard's hand is not so unwelcome.

sniffling, bernadetta gradually lets both of hers fall limp. what can she say? the best thing, she had figured, would be to persevere. to survive long enough so that the scales gradually tipped—the years of lies no longer outnumbering what could be far kinder. it included the furtive kindness that dignified the visage of her princess the same way resolve did. forced smile or otherwise, edelgard is better at kindness than she may believe.

“u-uh...”  an arm rubs at her eyes. “i'm so sorry. ugh, i'm such a mess... b-but, i...” after that, bernadetta breathes. in, out. feet on the floorboards. then she allows her hands to reach out and feebly meet edelgard's one. it is warm after all.

“...it'd be nice,”  she agrees, voice soft. almost faraway.  “if i could stop thinking it was my fault. if people like dorothea, who work harder than everyone, could find what they wanted... marry who they wanted... while people like bernie didn't have to get married at all.”  her grasp on edelgard's hand unintentionally squeezes with a slow intake of breath.  “i-it'd be nice... to just leave with my plants, and go look for new ones. i could just go somewhere quiet and keep writing my stupid stories. maybe people would even read them.”

She hopes that her friend's words will match her own when she stands atop that throne and makes the greatest declaration one could ever imagine— When Edelgard hears the words of yesterday become today. The stream will be a flood. Who, she dares to ask, is ready for the storm?

If this dream Edelgard gets to walk a life with dream Bernadetta as her friend and ally, she can picture no greater reward. The more she learns of her, the further she feels this true. She does not tear her sights away from her. "Even if our paths diverged, I would happily declare you as my friend. Write me letters. Send me your stories, too. I'd like to read them. We could even garden together, if you'd like. How does that sound?" The awkward smile she wears feels that much closer to a real person.

As the two remain close, she does not pull away. Not this time. The princess keeps her chin lifted and moves her free hand to graze the cold air. How many people have walked in these rooms with disillusionment and ignorance? How many will force marriage in the hearts of those who need a path less walked? How many secrets have these walls heard? ".. I'm almost jealous of these dream versions of ourselves," she says with a light squeeze. "—Perhaps not today, or even tomorrow.. But if it does happen, we'd only be that much greater. I think that would make for a very compelling story."

The weird taste of the syrup is starting to grow on him, all things considered.

It's hardly as inviting or familiar as the taste of fresh fruit — Already a luxury on the vast steppes of Sacae, where the soil is often too poor to accommodate the lush orchards he saw in parts of the west — But the chill of the ice makes it at least a little more palatable.

A drink of ice and syrup is hardly filling, but it does read as extravagant to Sin's senses, which he supposes makes its presence here logical. Life on the plains is often harsh, and the ability to fight for food when it's needed is ingrained in its people. In that regard, one could say that the settled peoples to Sacae's west have it easier.

But what's the alternative to living the way they always have? Perhaps the soul of the land would be lost, if the tribes were to settle it.

In any case, Sin is shaken from his contemplating when he notices a woman next to him, also partaking in the ice concoction. She radiates an aura of power and authority, even surrounded by the grandeur of the ball around them. It's utterly captivating — Oh, and also, she's eating it out of a bowl, not drinking it out of a glass. That's probably the more important thing here, and it makes him feel a little shy.

Her head tilts the tiniest bit. "If you've never had it this way before, I'd be remiss not to recommend it. The flavor is more pronounced this way, as is the cooling sensation." The bowl glistens with melted water sparkling at its sides— It pours in small circuits from top to bottom.

but lady edelgard tugs at the cord before she can. edelgard asks for permission before forgiveness, because somehow she saw bernadetta and chose to call her friend, too. all of the black eagles did. it is no longer uncertain that she has found her wings with them, with edelgard at the helm.

yet when she thinks too much about him, who she had called their anchor, who she had called the spirit of their entire class, who she could never envision this classroom without—now, instead of nest, she only returns to old ghosts of seasons past. when she recalls his kindness, his spirit, his noblesse oblige, his heart so large and loud that it might burst from his ribs, it all turns around just to make hers bleed again. her gaze falls.

“w-well, uh…”  bernadetta hesitates. it is no fault of lady edelgard’s. no—edelgard, who asks her first, who catches her, who leads her with purpose—edelgard has earned her place in bernadetta’s heart.

it’s just that despite everything, he still has one there, too.

“d-do i have to?”  she mumbles, shrinking again.  “it’s just… i might be avoiding him, but i don’t want to make him seem awful or anything.”  but lady edelgard mentions rumors again. rumors. she thinks of all of the rapport she had presumed to share with those who did take stock in them, and bernadetta hears another creak in her ears that doesn’t come from the floorboards. for a moment, her body freezes on instinct. on unspoken command.

“i mean, we were just kids. it’s not like he knew. b-but he…”  gloved hands wring in front of her.  “…that’s just it. he didn’t know. i never even met him. but he thought i was a creepy shut-in who made little dolls to curse people, cried to his parents about it, a-and father was just so furious that when he tried to drag me out of my room, i—”  without realizing, each new piece she affords edelgard gives way to another, all while her voice unravels and loses more and more of what little dignity she has left in front of her imperial princess.

she held her own during their waltz, but something fractures in front of edelgard anyway, teasing at the wretch behind the recluse. the monster in her tower that terrified all the little boys. a decade’s worth of lament that finally comes to collect. and bernadetta does not realize she has begun weeping until it is too late, until her breath is catching and stuttering for air between each cry.

"Bernadetta," she says with as much volume as her usual cadence. "Bernadetta. Listen to me," she repeats again with softer colors. In a world so bitter— so unassuming— Edelgard extends it out once more. How can she not? If there is one thing she has learned throughout the moons, it is that reaching out to others is a sentiment never forgotten. The lack thereof is what makes this land so cruel. Anger fuels her soul with every word and thought she strings together the further she listens. Stray white locks stick to the sides of her face. With one hand resting on her knees, the other remains extended. Her hands hope to be warm.

"Do you remember what I said before? I meant it." She remains still. "Your decisions will be honored. I won't make you marry anyone you don't want to."

The classroom looks larger from this angle. "Marriage is not your duty." Keeping her hand forward, Edelgard focuses solely on Bernadetta. Void of eye contact, she speaks as if it is there. Her voice rises in fractions. "You know.. What if we had no need for that? — If our next Dukes and Counts were not bound by surrendering your own happiness, but instead led by people who rose and fell by their own merits." She forces a smile. "Then, your duty becomes the path you want it to be."