A Constant Work in Progress

“Must you always be so crass?” Lorenz huffs loudly.

“Hey, I was just doing what they asked.” Leonie says, turning her face to his. “Besides, you were too! You certainly rose to the occasion.”

His face twists up in a scowl.

“If I didn’t know you so well, I’d think that you actually liked it.”

He huffs annoyedly as Leonie laughs, her deep chuckle filling his room as she twists in the sheets and presses a kiss to his lips. the tension melts away as his hands find her hips, a moan building in his throat.

“Ah, ah, aah Hildaaa—”

She breaks the kiss and gives him a look. He stares up dazed at her, catching his breath. Leonie flicks her eyes to the wall, the sound of the bed scraping against the floor.

Her kiss dulls his senses. All he wants is to kiss her again, but as he pushes himself up to close the distance between the two of them, Leonie rests a hand on his chest. Her eyes slowly drag to the wall that separates his and Claude’s rooms.

“Now’s your chance, Lor.” She says. “Payback.”

He narrows his eyes. “I will not sink to Claude’s level, nor Hilda’s.”

“You’re no fun.” Leonie grumbles.

Resting his hands on her hips, he pushes her over into the bed. Leonie lets out an eep, hitting the mattress as he looms over her. Her eyes widen briefly before he kisses her neck, his breath warm against her skin as he moves lower, lower, lower.

“Lor?” She breathes and he pauses over her stomach.

“As I said, dearest, I will not sink to Claude or Hilda’s level. Instead, I will rise above it.” His touch runs down her scarred side, making her shudder slightly. His hand slips between her thighs, parting them for Lorenz to settle between them. She lets out a whine. “Or, more accurately, your voice will rise above theirs, if I have my way, which I fully intend to.”

If Lorenz has learnt anything in his life, it is duty over devotion. A duty to others over everything else. He learned it from his father, who instilled it in him when he was just a boy. And as the heir apparent of Gloucester territory, he felt it was his duty to devote himself, body and soul, to his people…

Even when they were… less than pleasing.

The ballroom of Camellia Manor spreads out before him and he is the most eligible bachelor in all of Derdriu. No gentleman is as pleasing as he, no landowner as rich as him and no hand is more sought for than his own.

He feels a hand upon his shoulder. He tilts his head and sees his father before him, a thin smile on his face and a pleased glint in his eye. “All eyes are upon you, son.”

“Indeed they are, Father.” Lorenz murmured. “It is nothing. I feel no pressure.”

“Good. Very good.” He leans closer. “I saw you dancing with Lady Capulet’s daughter. Quite fetching.”

“You thought so? She was merely passable to me.”

“Oh?”

“Indeed, she smiles too much. Too giggly.”

“Our Prissy is giggly and yet you adore her.” Erwin says pointedly.

“Indeed, because she is my baby sister and she makes me laugh. Lady Capulet’s daughter just giggled at everything I said. I hardly spoke a word.” Lorenz cruelly murmured, “Stupid girl. And she think I would lower myself to that station.”

Erwin smirks and pats his son’s shoulder genially. “You need not lower yourself… or settle for a bride.” He says. “Though, I would prefer to see you settled soon. Set a good example for the commonfolk.”

“Why?” He asks with concern. The song finishes and the dancers erupt in applause. Lorenz leans closer to his father. “Is the birth rate declining?”

“Nothing you need to worry yourself with, my son.” says Erwin. “It is always good to have… an example set.”

“Indeed.” Lorenz murmurs with concern.

The line to dance with the illustrious Lorenz Hellman Gloucester once again forms. He smiles, beginning to select the very pretty pink-haired lady who just so happened to drop her handkerchief at the right time. As he steps down to ask her, Lorenz feels his father’s hand on his arm.

“Her.” He says genially and points to a haggard looking woman in the line. She must be over sixty years old, clad in the shades of black and grey for mourning perhaps? Lorenz gives no sway. “She has shown interest in you all evening.”

Lorenz scoffs and turns away towards the lady who beckons him.

“Son.” Says Erwin in a determined voice. “It is what is right.”

Lorenz, with his overflowing sense of noble pride, rolls his eyes and paints on the best smile that he can manage.

He strides, with all the confidence due to a young man like him, over to this haggard old woman, and bows before her, asking for the next dance.

Of course it is a waltz. She is a fine dancer, but when she smiles she flashes him a mouthful of crooked teeth, and her dress is ill-fitting for her bony frame. Her manners are fine, but her face is not, and Lorenz is unable to forgive that.

As the waltz ends, and the room erupts in applause, Lorenz quickly bows, thanks her for the dance, eager to turn away.

“My lord, perhaps you could spare another dance… you are so light on your feet…” She asks pleadingly.

Lorenz smiles falsely and says, “I would, but I regret that I cannot. I must not monopolize your time, for it is too valuable, my lady.”

“If I offered you this?” Asks the woman, pulling a beautiful red rose from the coil of her messy dark hair. “It is an enchanted rose.”

“I fear I cannot at this time.” Lorenz replies. “But we shall meet again, I’m sure.”

She blushes and smiles, offering her hand to him. Lorenz cringes, but kisses it nonetheless, and when he turns away, wipes his lips upon his handkerchief.

Lorenz pays little mind to it or to her, instead back to the pink-haired lady, who is now conversing with a knight. Lorenz huffs and frowns, murmuring unkind words about the woman who wasted his time.

“Very good, son.” Erwin praises genially. “You did the right thing.”

“Yes… The right thing.”

***

Lorenz sees her in town and turns the other way. He was on his way to see a pretty young lady in town, eager to wined and dined and perhaps taken back to his noble bed… But all plans are thrown off when he sees the haggard old woman approach him.

Despite her rickety frame, she is swift on her feet and Lorenz is too much a gentleman to run away. Instead, he turns back and greets her curtly… But remembers that he doesn’t know her name.

“Hello again, my… dear.”

The woman swoons and smiles. “Good day my lord.” She smiles. “What a perfect coincidence! I did not expect to see you. I had expected with your wealth that you would have your carriage carry you across town.”

“It is important to stretch one’s legs.”

“Are you due anywhere?”

“Yes.” Lorenz lies.

“Where?”

“Norland street.” He lies. “And I fear I am very overdue—”

She speaks over him, “So am I! Perhaps you would escort me, sir?” Not waiting for an answer, she threads her arm through his and says, “You are so kind.”

Lorenz whimpers under his breath, but leads her nonetheless. He takes her to her destination, listening as she chatters on and speaks, but doesn’t offer any conversation of his own. As he turns to leave, she asks again,

“Will you take it now?” She asks.

His brow furrows as she produces the rose. It looks wilted and worn, as if she kept it from the night of the ball. He shakes his head and says, “I fear it is past its prime.”

“It is enchanted.” She promises him. “Truly! With a little care, it will thrive again.”

“I doubt it.” Lorenz replies before bowing. “Goodbye.”

***

The woman finds him again and again, just when he’s hoping to be alone. And when she approaches, on the night he’s to have dinner with a very beautiful opera star, Lorenz lets loose on her.

“Are you blind?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You continue to tail me in hopes of… whatever it is, and yet you do not comprehend that I am not interested in you!” He barks.

They’re standing outside Camellia Manor, under the cover of night. She is wearing the ugly ill-fitting gown from the night of the ball and he is dressed in his finest waistcoat.

“Why do I need that pitiful thing when I could buy an entire garden of them?” He demands. He looks at the rose briefly, taking it from her hands. The petals fall away as he tosses it to the gravel path.

The woman stares at him for a long, the surprised look melts away. Her features slowly begin to grow sharper and her eyes more… engaged.

“I only came to give you another chance.”

“‘Chance’?” Lorenz laughs.

“Indeed.” She warns. Everything begins happening so fast. “To prove the beauty in your heart to me.”

“I assure you, there is beauty in my heart, but I wear it more proudly on the outside.” He tells her, beginning raising his lips to the air and whistling to the carriage driver.

The woman swipes up the rose and presses it to the lapel of his fine coat. “True beauty is found within, Lorenz.” She warns him. When he glances at her again, she looks younger, fine of face—

No. Quite. Beautiful. He blinks twice and touches the rose upon his chest. She’s a witch. A witch!

When he looks down, hair is springing from his ivory glove. Her hands clench around his arms as she walks him to the fountain, and he babbles on and on about how he might be wrong.

“I give you five years,” says the woman. “Learn what it means to love, for I see no true kindness in your heart and the spell will be broken.”

“What spell?” He feels his clothes begin to give against him. Stitches snap and fabric tears. His boots pinch his toes.

The witch doesn’t let him look down, just directs his gaze ahead to the fountain. “See for yourself.”

Lorenz leans over into the water. Staring back him is not the handsome young man of nineteen, but a monster, with a dark grey coat. Tufts of fur prop up her and there and he looks beast-like. Protruding from above his brows are a pair of antlers.

“What did you do?” He roars at her. His voice is sharper, more beastly. “What did you do to me?!”

The witch simply smiles and says, “I transformed you into your true form.” She says. “A cruel-hearted monster.”

Lorenz falls to his knees before the fountain, staring at his reflection as it continues to morph.

The witch gets up and begins to walk away. Lorenz quickly gets up, going after her, his limbs unused to being bipedal.

He grabs her by the shoulders. “Change me back. Please! You must! I cannot live like this!”

“I suggest you learn to.”

“Wait, wait, come back!” He calls.

But the witch disappears on the wind, leaving Lorenz behind.

***

Erwin and Camellia learn of his… condition soon after the curse.

Their gregarious, outgoing son becomes a hermit, insisting he is ill but refusing a doctor, even his sisters to nurse him. Through the door, his voice is more gravelly, rougher and it is easy to hide inside, but it soon no longer becomes an option.

When he does show himself, his mother faints, his middle sister Marguerite screams and little Priscilla asks if he’s wearing a mask. Lorenz tells all, his abhorrent actions, the curse, the time limit. It should be simple—his family loves him…

Or so he thought.

Camellia cannot bear to look at Lorenz, Marguerite fills her social agenda so that she is not home, giggly Priscilla keeps her distance. Even Erwin, his beloved father, is at an arm’s length whenever Lorenz is near. Whenever he looks up at his towering, beastly son, there’s a twinge in his eyes, despite his even tone, his smile, his assurance that he is working closely with mage and medic alike.

But soon, people begin to wonder what happened to the sociable, open Lorenz Gloucester. Articles are printed in the paper wondering about his whereabouts, rumours pass through their high society about misadventures and scandal. It is all a little too much for high standing, noble, proud Gloucesters to bear.

So Camellia and Erwin, loving parents they are, do exactly what they ought: they say Lorenz died in a freak hunting accident. A stray arrow to the heart, like some fairytale, and that he will be dearly missed. They wear black, go out in public to accept the pity and sympathy of everyone and leave their son behind.

“This is for your own good, Lorenz.”

Lorenz stares blankly ahead. “I know Father.”

His voice doesn’t sound like his own. It hasn’t for awhile. He hates it. No matter how hard he tries to make it softer, brighter, or continues to come out gravelly and… well, beast-like.

The look in his father’s eyes and his posture only worsens the feeling in Lorenz’s gut. His mother and sisters are in the front hall, ready to go to the archduke’s for a sympathy dinner, to fake tears and be comforted while Lorenz is left behind.

“We will figure out a more permanent solution later, I promise you.” Erwin says, resting a hand on his son’s shoulder awkwardly. His hand trembles with the touch and Lorenz, after a month of this lie, wishes that he would just stop.

“Yes.” Lorenz says hollowly.

Erwin ties his cravat again, gazing in the mirror at his beautiful self and his horrifying son. “Time heals all wounds. We just need a little time.”

Time. Lorenz bemoans. Time is something I do not have.

Erwin attempts to clap Lorenz on the shoulder, but stops short. “Have a good night son.” He begins out of their dressing room, towards the door and is half way out when Lorenz calls out:

“I love you, Papa.”

It’s tiny and pitiful. Lorenz hasn’t told his father he loves him in years, and the addition of papa makes him he feel like a little boy again.

Erwin simply looks back, with a strained look on his face and says, “I love you too, Lorenz.”

The first time Bernadetta spots Leonie out by the little fishing lake is after Jeralt dies. 

She sits on the edge of the dock, with her naked toes just grazing the surface to barely kiss the water. 

Bernadetta originally snuck out of her room to snag some cake from the mess hall. But as she was creeping along the path, humming to herself, she heard a sniffle, then a sigh and saw Leonie seated there at the dock. 

Bernadetta doesn’t talk to her, just observes her from her perfect little hiding spot outside Petra’s room. The shadows shield her enough from Leonie’s view. It’s been raining for the last few days so the air is very humid and there’s little relief; but the sky has opened up and there’s only wispy remnants of storm colours. 

Bernadetta has never seen the stars shine so brightly. Varley is an arid region, but the skies are mostly covered by smoke from the factories that produce their weapons. Swords and scriptures, that’s what her people are known for. 

She wants to open her mouth to ask if Leonie’s okay, because Bernadetta concerned and Leonie is Leonie. She’s like a hornet, strong, fast, zippy. Once, when she was sitting in on a lancing lecture to pass a horse backing riding exam—mandatory as she skipped so many of her assigned shifts in the stables—Leonie got hit several times by Dimitri of all people and did nothing more than stagger back and yell at him “again”. She even went as far as to taunt him, asking “is that all you got?”

Something inside Bernadetta—probably her anxiety—tells her that this is treacherous. 

Maybe Leonie doesn’t want visitors? Maybe she came out here for peace and air? 

Before she knows it, she’s calling out her name softly. “Leonie? Are you… um… okay?”

There’s a distinctly snotty sound and then Leonie vehemently insisting she’s alright, she’s okay in a salty, tear-streaked voice that insists she’s not okay. 

Bernadetta stands in the dark night and says, “I don’t… um… know what you’re going through but uh… M-Maybe cake would help?”

“Cake?” 

Bernadetta feels stupid. “Ye-Yeah. Cake always makes me feel a little better. And watching the stars.”

Leonie pauses. 

“I-I was just going to go watch some. B-But maybe we could. Um. Watch the stars together?”

“That sounds good.” Leonie’s voice is small. 

Bernadetta hurries and gets two slabs of cake—eating a bit of hers on the walk back—some stale cookies and thermos of tea to bring back to Leonie. She settles in beside her, but not to close and pushes the cake and cookies closer to her. Leonie finds it in her to laugh, and says “You can come closer, Bernadetta, I’m just crying, not sick.”

Bernadetta sheepishly slides closer along the dock. Panic rises inside her but it feels different this time. She fights back and tells it that it will not best her. “A-Are you okay?” Then admonishes herself. “S-Stupid Bernie, of course you’re not okay…”

“No, don’t worry.” Leonie runs a hand over her face, pushing back her bangs. “I’m just missing Jeralt. Captain… Captain Jeralt.”

“Oh.”

“He was sorta like a dad to me.” Leonie confesses softly, then mutters, “but I guess you figured that out already.”

“Sorta, yeah.”

There’s a silence between the two of them for a moment before Bernadetta squeezes her eyes shut tight and says, “I called Alois ‘Dad’ by accident.”

Leonie’s brow furrows and she sputters out a little choked laugh that’s obviously half-forced, half-genuine. “Do I wanna know?”

“Um… my father… He isn’t good to me.” She’s careful with her words, for she thinks that they’ll get back to him somehow. “Alois reminded me of my uncle, Francois. I always felt comfortable around him… I called him father a few times.”

Leonie looks at her like she understands what Bernadetta means. Her hand clasps over Bernadetta’s and for once—and at the perfect time—Bernadetta doesn’t flinch. “My old man wasn’t good to me either. Jeralt was.”

“We’re lucky to have them… Aren’t we?” Bernadetta asks. 

Leonie’s voice cracks again. “Yeah. We are.”

“Stars are pretty tonight.” Bernadetta says. 

Leonie nods. “Yeah. They are.” 

—

Leonie is dragging Bernadetta back to her horse. Well, not dragging, but leading her back with her hand in Bernadetta’s. It’s late at night, after lights out. Leonie insists that she’s found the perfect spot to stargaze and when Leonie is right, she is right. 

Bernadetta is shy and nervous and demure and ladylike. When Leonie told her of the plan during the lecture on tactics during battle, Bernadetta’s eyes sparkled in wonder and she murmured in curiosity if it was the same spot that Caspar took her to. She brought a little fabric knot of snacks—stolen hard cheese and bread—and her sketchbook with some thick charcoals. 

“W-Would you let me draw you?” Bernadetta asks nervously. Leonie can’t help but think she looks pretty with that crimson blush and wide eyes. In the back of her mind, she wishes that Bernadetta was a little braver, not for Leonie but for herself. 

“I’ve never had someone draw me.” Leonie muses. “So yeah, of course.”

The horse is tied up beneath a tree and Leonie half expects to be posed like an elegant lady—in the back of her mind, she wishes that Bernadetta does that, fluffing up her messy hair, lacing her hands in her lap, tilting her chin up while murmuring ‘now look at me’. But her hair is short and her face is round and her clothes are mismatched compared to Bernadetta’s pretty eyelet nightgown and the little sweater over top of it. 

Bernadetta is on her feet and pulls her up, she’s much stronger than Leonie expected. She drags Leonie next to the horse and then instructs her to braid its mane. “Or whatever you do around them. Just act natural.” Bernadetta insists. Her voice is giddy. “Like you’re just in the stables.” 

Leonie does so, but it’s hard to act natural when Bernadetta’s big eyes are focused on her. But they’re not focused on her per se; they’re focused on a spot next to her, in a space that isn’t hers. Does that make sense?

In a half hour, Bernadetta has a sketch and is showing Leonie it as they eat stolen cheese and bread and gaze at the stars. “I-It’s not even my best work.” Bernadetta says. “It looks quite bad really. Oh goddess you hate it—”

Leonie rests a hand on Bernadetta’s shoulder. “No, Bernadetta. I love it.”

Bernadetta’s face goes red and she hides her face in her hands in embarrassment. She murmurs something unintelligible, and when Leonie asks her again, Bernadetta practically yells, “I’ll come to Sauin and paint you proper someday!” 

That makes Leonie smile for real, perhaps for the first time since Jeralt died. 

—

Bernadetta isn’t a gambler, but when she does play cards, she’s a shark. Her mind is hardwired for mathematics, for chance and probability. It’s probably why she’s so good at judging when to run and hide and when it play it safe. 

Leonie however, likes to gamble only when she knows she’ll win. And while she and Bernadetta are friends, one of them is rich and the other is very poor. Leonie looks like she’s got the upper hand, a cute little smirk and sharp glimpse of the eye, and Bernadetta pulls out a 15-ten, launching her ahead of Leonie and into the final peg. 

Leonie sighs and hands slides the little gold marks to Bernadetta. “You’re too good at this.” She sighs. “Crib isn’t my game.”

“Don’t say that.” Bernadetta insists, taking the change and rattling it in her hand. “I th-think I have enough to get us some tea.”

“We can have tea back under the gazebo. The professor won’t mind sharing some leaves, and I’m sure if you ask Lorenz for a teapot he’ll lend it. He’s got like twenty or something. Probably.”

Bernadetta pouts and shakes her head. “I won! I want to treat you.”

“Isn’t that a waste of money?”

“Shouldn’t you hush and let me treat you?”

Leonie can’t fight the logic in that and shuts up. But before they can get down to the tea shop down below in town, Bernadetta’s anxiety spikes. “I don’t think I can do it.” She mumbles and grabs Leonie’s hand for support. 

Both girls blush hard. Bernadetta feels a little stronger when Leonie squeezes it back and tells her that it’s okay, that they can to another time. But Bernadetta is adamant. She wants to give Leonie something. They pass a flower seller and Bernadetta, overcome with energy and courage actually asks the seller for a bouquet of sunflowers. Her words come out in one breath, in sentences that linger along and make Leonie wonder why she’s never like this around her. Bernadetta comes running back with an armful of stalky blooming sunflowers that reflect their golden-yellow light back onto her pallid face.

She thrusts them at Leonie and says, “H-Here! For you!”

Leonie’s never had flowers given to her before. Back home in Sauin when Saint Cethleann day hit—which was typically recognized as a day to celebrate forms of love—people would always exchange flowers. Leonie never got a single one, aside from her mother but that doesn’t really count.

Leonie blushes hard and takes them from Bernadetta, murmuring a barely audible, “thank you.” Bernadetta must not notice her blush, for she turned away quickly. It’s a huge stack and Leonie plucks one, a small one that was plucked before it had fully bloomed so the petals are still small and holds it out to Bernadetta.

“But they’re for you.” She protests.

“And I’m giving you one.”

Bernadetta vehemently refuses, all the way up to the monastery. That night, when Leonie’s doing a final walk before bed, she takes the small sunflower and leaves it out in front of Bernadetta’s door.

The next morning, when Leonie’s the first one up and doing her morning stretches, she walks past Bernadetta’s door and smiles when she sees the sunflower gone.

—

Bernadetta is hiding behind a table of hors d’oeuvres at the ball. She hasn’t danced yet, refuses everyone until Leonie comes over and takes her hand and pulls her to the floor. Bernadetta was never a great dancer, always too jumpy and quick, which is why she’s probably a great archer. Leonie’s always been light on her feet but uncoordinated when it comes to dancing. 

So instead of the floor, where they’ll surely bump into people and piss them off, Leonie takes Bernadetta outside where they spin in the grass and collapse in the blades laughing and dizzy. 

And then, as Bernadetta’s about to get up, Leonie leans in and kisses her. 

It’s a short burst of a first kiss that makes both girls burn bright red and their hearts pound so loudly that they can hear it in their ears. 

All Leonie can think of is “Oh goddess, oh fuck I’m so stupid, oh goddess,” in a repetitive loop. 

Meanwhile, Bernadetta is staring off into space like she’s zoning out, her mind awash with “Well, everything makes sense now.”

Leonie’s mouth opens to apologize, to sputter out apologies like what Bernadetta would do; but as she begins to speak, the words die against Bernadetta’s lips as she kisses her again and again. 

—

“The stars are prettier in Sauin.” Leonie says. 

Bernadetta can’t help but believe her. They’re probably so much prettier against the open fields and bright skies. Wildflowers in the vale. The skies in Varley are shit in comparison, always covered up and smoky. 

“I want to see them one day.” Bernadetta tells her.

Leonie presses a kiss against her temple. “I’ll show you. Promise, Bern.”

Bernadetta curls into her chest, her arms snaking around Leonie’s waist tightly. Leonie laughs and it reverberates through Bernadetta’s entire body. She feels warm, she feels at home. 

“I’ll hold you to it, Sunflower.”

—

Leonie developed a taste for alcohol young. From fine brandy to shitty moonshine, she isn’t picky. But she honestly prefers it in her mouth instead of washing it over open wounds. 

She’s had a stash of gin—not her favourite but it does the trick pretty quick—that’s just right to clean broken skin and wounds. She keeps it stashed in her boot, probably negating its purpose. 

The arrow is lodged in Bernadetta’s thigh and she’s been unconscious for a while. She slumped over into Leonie and her grip went limp about twenty miles away from Varley Manor. Edelgard had ordered them to retreat if things looked bad, and things really started looking bad. Leonie had a feeling that the monastery would be either taken by the church and kingdom or overrun with wounded so she ran. It was the bravest thing she could do. 

Leonie grabbed Bernadetta by the waist and hauled her up onto her horse, ignoring her yelp and her cries that Petra was left behind, that Petra was going to die and leave her siblings behind, that she needs to help Petra—

Leonie had grabbed Bernadetta’s hands and told her, in a low tone, a warning tone, a tone that she hated, “We can’t help Petra if we die.” 

That sobered Bernadetta up. “I’ll guide Bennet. You focus on protecting Petra.” Leonie ordered.

Bernadetta nodded, her eyes glistening with tears. The two became a cohesive unit—Leonie guiding the horse, Bernadetta nocking arrows and protecting Petra from a distance as best as she could. Leonie circled around the town of Garreg Mach, fully intending to get back up to where Petra was so that Bernadetta could take Bennet and speed off to safety and Leonie could jump off and help Petra, who was surrounded.

Just as they were rounding the battlefield, another archer came outta nowhere. They missed Leonie but hit Bernadetta with a shrieking cry that made Leonie’s ears pop and Bernadetta drops her bow and cuss loudly.

Instincts drove Leonie to get the fuck off the field. Healers were scarce and her own vulnerary stash was near-depleted from a particularly nasty hit from Alois, who had nearly taken out Bernadetta. Leonie had seen it coming, saw the panic and fear in Bernadetta’s eyes, and remembered that one time, down at the lake, where Bernadetta recalled how similar he was to her uncle. 

So Leonie had jumped in, Leonie had taken the hit and then knocked the shit out of Alois, ignoring the fact that he had a wife and child at home, ignoring the connection he had with Bernadetta, ignoring the fact that he had mentored her in axe-throwing when she first got to the academy.

Ignoring that he too had lost Jeralt.

Leonie snapped the reins and directed Bennet—who had been startled by Bernadetta’s high-pitched scream—away from the field.

“Okay Bernie, okay,” Leonie’s voice was uneasy, and she was trying her best to make it calm. Bennet got scared and in between soothing Bernadetta and the horse, Leonie was stretched thin. “Talk about something. Tell me anything, come on, Bernie!”

Bernadetta was half-sobbing, half-screaming and began spilling the entire story of a five-part saga about a hunter and a princess, a Cinderella story of sorts. Leonie took the reins in one hand and searched for the vulnerary that she tucked into her pockets and fished it out. She handed it back to Bernadetta who chugged the rest of it and cringed.

When Leonie realizes that the gin is in her pocket.—Leonie kept her talking by asking about the book she’s writing. Each time her voice got too faint, Leonie would shift the reins into one hand and clutch Bernadetta’s arm hard and ask, more like yelling over the hoofbeats, “okay Bern, what happens next? What happens next?” 

When Bernadetta doesn’t answer, Leonie panics. Leonie isn’t used to panicking. Her mind goes through the motions of control, of what’s right, what’s logical. 

We need to stop. 

She pulls hard on the reins and the horse halts, whinnying in protest. Leonie hops down from the horse and Bernadetta almost falls. 

Leonie braces Bernadetta and helps her down as best she can. In a panic, Leonie undoes the cloak around her waist and bunches it up to make a shitty little cushion. She tucks it under Bernadetta’s hips. Elevation. Elevation is key. 

She searches for a pulse, her breath. She’s breathing but shallow, and her pulse is weak. 

Leonie stumbles over cusses. The vulnerary only did so much, and it wasn’t enough. First aid, she needs first aid. But pulling the arrow out makes a breeding ground for infection. And pulling out the arrow is not a good idea for the extra blood loss. 

Now, she’s wishing she paid more attention to Lorenz in between his patronizing comments and remarks as he tried to teach her white magic. Leonie was almost hopeless. Guy was a jerk most of the time but he knew what he was talking out.

All she has is here and now. Stop the bleeding. She orders herself. She has to stop the bleeding before Bernadetta’s weak pulse goes flat and she stops breathing. 

Leonie grabs the cloak and bunches it around the arrowhead. Bernadetta’s body flinches instinctively and Leonie feels uncomfortable hope. Don’t get ahead of yourself Pinelli. She warns. 

The professor would know what to do. She keeps thinking that Byleth would tell her what to do. But Professor Byleth is back on the front lines with Edelgard.

She dodges those thoughts as deftly as she can and searches the packs for alcohol. Leonie developed a taste for alcohol pretty young. Bernadetta did too, though she can’t hold her booze.

Leonie waterfalls it into her mouth and bitter, intense juniper and florals run over her tongue to take the edge off, breathes a sigh and steadies herself. 

“I’m sorry Bern.” She says before dousing her thigh in gin. Before the alcohol washes over her broken skin, Leonie is murmuring white magic spells, tripping over the words  and half-crying because she can’t lose Bernadetta. She can’t. Bernadetta has to live because Leonie’s lost too much already—

Bernadetta shocks awake and stares at Leonie, eyes dazed and unable to hold Leonie as her focus. Leonie doesn’t care. Instead she’s sobbing and clutching onto Bernadetta and praising the all stars in the sky that the stupid spell worked. 

—

Bernadetta tries to slow her thundering heart but she can’t. Camping sounded more fun on the first night, but after a week, her back is aching and she’s struggling to find a comfortable way to stretch out without kicking Leonie. 

The idea, at first, was to try and get to Varley where they could hide out. Bernadetta remembers a few empty houses that they could wait out in for a few days until the monastery is recovered and they can contact the professor.

But after a few days, Bernadetta sends a message by express to the professor asking for instructions and gets nothing back. And worse, every time she tries to remember the way home to Varley it gets foggier. She’s blocked part of it out, the pathways and vale that’s cloaked in thick, jet-black pines. It would be easier if she could just fucking remember.

She begins to get worried when Leonie gets frustrated with her inability to remember. Leonie will ask questions over and over, trying to figure out a solution, but each time Bernadetta cries out that she doesn’t know or can’t remember, Leonie’s patience burns away. 

At least they’re going back into imperial territory. Most of the noble houses bound together and are in agreement to fight against the church and Kingdom, but there’s still dissenters and Bernadetta is constantly on the edge of a panic attack. 

Their plan becomes treacherous and after a week of camping with stolen blankets and in dirty clothes, Bernadetta is done.

“I can’t remember the way home.” She says into Leonie’s back.

Leonie stirs a little. Her voice is distant. “You can’t?”

”No.”

“Seriously?”

“I can’t, I’m sorry, Leonie, I can’t.”

“Can you remember the path you took up to the monastery.”

“No.” Bernadetta’s voice gets shaky. “I… I was pretty much shoved in a bag and carried there, I remember nothing. I’m sorry Leonie, I’m sorry.”

Leonie sighs and sits up. Bernadetta stares at her frame, lit by the stars. Her freckles melt into her skin and disappear; shame, for they were Bernadetta’s favourite part of her, they looked like a tiny sky painted across her cheeks and down her neck. 

“Then you have to go back to Edelgard.”

Bernadetta sits up. “M-Me? What about you?”

Leonie is cold and quiet. “I can’t go back.” Her voice is defeated. “Claude needs me.”

“You’re deserting? She’ll kill you.“ Bernadetta says desperately. Her hand finds Leonie’s and holds it tight. “Leo, I can’t—I-I-I won’t… Don’t…”

Leonie’s arm comes around her shoulder for a moment and she feels her lips brush her hair. “I’ll run with you. I’ll run! W-We can figure something else out! We can go to the kingdom.”

“They know you’re with Edelgard.” Leonie warns. “The second someone sees you, or recognizes you, you’re done.”

“But I don’t… I can’t. I can’t be away from you, Leonie.” Bernadetta holds her gaze. The words jumble in her throat, thicken her tongue and take forever to come out but Leonie is patient. “You make me strong.”

Leonie just stares and holds her hand, her calloused thumb running over the back of Bernadetta’s palm. She’s quiet, gentle and attentive as Bernadetta attempts to regain herself and fails horribly. Bernadetta wants to collapse into Leonie’s arms and sob and yell that it’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fucking fair.

“We’ll make it someday.” Leonie promises her. “We’ll just wait and see, okay?  I know this isn’t the end, I know it, Bern.”

Bernadetta feels her world come crashing down on her, but Leonie’s holding it up like she always does. She’s always so cool under pressure, nothing ever gets to her and it’s one of the reasons why Bernadetta is so intrigued by her. 

“We’ll head back to the monastery tomorrow.” Leonie decides. “How’s your leg?”

“Fine. I’ll survive.”

It still hurts a lot, and Bernadetta’s moving slower than she should but the important thing is that she’s alive. She would’ve been dead without Leonie. Soon enough, Leonie won’t be there to make sure she doesn’t get hurt.

“They’ll take care of it better, I’m sure they have the supplies.”

Tears prick at Bernadetta’s eyes. Her arms slither around Leonie’s waist. She hugs Leonie tight, trying to remember how she’s all strength, all hard edges and sinewy muscle. Every since really taking archery seriously, Bernadetta’s slowly become like that, but village life and planting and sowing and hunting since she was a kid has sculpted Leonie into that mould.

Bernadetta focuses on the feeling of Leonie’s body against hers, her steady breathing, the rhythmic gentle thud of her heart. Bernadetta focuses on that for a long, long time until Leonie melts into sleep—she’s always been a better camper than Bernadetta—then slowly extracts herself from around Leonie.

She gets up, empties her pockets of her change, they were playing an anxious game of cribbage, trying to pass the time before the attack on the monastery, and leaves her entire coin purse of cribbage winnings by Leonie’s head, writing in the dirt, You win, Sunflower.

She says goodbye to Bennet, leaves all the rations they collected and her cloak because Leonie will surely need it and leaves the campground without looking back.

—

In five years, Bernadetta throws herself on Edelgard’s mercy; Leonie does the same with Claude. Naturally, as both are skilled fighters, they’re accepted back into the fold. 

Edelgard keeps a close eye on Bernadetta to make sure she doesn’t run and hide. Claude makes sure that Lorenz, who has employed Leonie as a mercenary out of the knowledge of his father, keeps tabs on her.

Bernadetta doesn’t dare send a letter to Leonie, though she writes many and addresses them to the hearth in her room. Leonie doesn’t either, because she goes where the money goes.

But soon enough, five years lapse and the war goes full tilt.

—

Leonie is thrown from her horse. Bennet, the dumb bastard, rears up when Raphael lets out a roar to gas himself up. The battle’s barely started and she’s already half-concussed. The one fucking battle, that is the most important and she’s already messed up.

Leonie forces herself up into the saddle and follows Claude’s orders. She and Raphael are on the front line, their job is to cut a path through so that their reinforcements—mages—can sneak in and set fire to the field.

It all goes to plan, Leonie cuts down allies and enemies alike, their faces and bodies bleeding together like paint.

There, across the field she sees Bernadetta at the ballista. She looks different. Stronger, more mature, there’s a fire in her eyes that Leonie never saw before and she keeps murmuring, that can’t be Bernadetta, that can’t be her. It can’t be.

Then it occurs to Leonie that she’s on the bridge they’re going to set fire to.

Bernadetta, who left her in the ruins of a ravaged town. Bernadetta, who she thought would have died long ago. Bernadetta, who she would never have imagined in a thousand years to be here, on the front line at the Battle of Gronder Field.

Before she realizes it, Leonie is barrelling towards Bernadetta, screaming her name like it’s the only words she knows. She’s breathless, her lungs burning like hell as she pushes poor Bennet, faster, faster, faster.

She feels an arrow graze her shoulder. From the corner of her eye, Leonie sees crimson seep through her shirt sleeve and she cusses. Bernadetta nocks another one and screams at her to stop or she’ll shoot again. There’s a wild look in her eyes, a dangerous look, a look that says, “we have unfinished business”.

Leonie feels a lurch of anxiety and stops short of dismounting Bennet.

There’s a tense moment of eye contact as Leonie drinks in how Bernadetta has changed. Her hair is different, like she’s finally gotten used to using a hair brush, and she’s taller, much taller, almost as tall as Leonie herself. And she looks mature in a bad way, in a way that gives her dark circles beneath her eyes and quaking hands. She doesn’t look like the Bernadetta that she kissed, the Bernadetta that she shared secrets with, the Bernadetta that she loved and still loves.

She must have gone back to her father. Leonie shivers as she thinks it.

There’s the din of swords and shields. Leonie almost drops her lance. Bennet grows anxious with all the fighting.

“They’re gonna light this on fire.” Leonie tells her against the deafening sound. “If not them, us. You have to move.”

Bernadetta stares at her. “You said they’d protect me.”

“I was wrong!” Leonie cries out desparately. “I was so fucking wrong! I should have protected you. But you should have stayed! All you had to do was stay!”

Bernadetta’s eyes flicker behind her. She keeps the bowstring pulled tight as Leonie gets off Bennet and then lets it fly into Leonie’s shoulder. It lands hard and Bernadetta drops her bow, immediately realizing what she’s done.

She’s swearing, half screaming the words and then a cacophony of Oh goddess, oh Goddess, but all Leonie can think about is that she’s missed that anxious little voice and then realizes, “Oh fuck. You shot me.”

Bernadetta is stumbling over apologies before taking action. Like years before, but now in reverse, Bernadetta hauls Leonie on the back of Bennet and snaps the reins hard. She yells at Leonie to tell her about Sauin Village, about her home, about her travels, and Leonie, while feeling the blood ooze from her shoulder and the cloud of adrenaline fade from her mind, can talk only of the stars back in Sauin as they desert Gronder Field and their armies.

—

Bernadetta, Eternal Loner Leonie, Blade Breaker II

After fleeing Gronder, Bernadetta and Leonie were said to be spotted on the run for many, many years, though no official documents or records state this. Folk songs and rumours suggest that they became some sort of heroes to everyday folk, and The Ballad of the Bear and the Hornet, can be found in many children’s books. 

Reports exist that an older woman with a fair amount of battle scars could be spotted inside taverns and pubs with many a great story to tell. These fun nights would follow promptly with a woman who only referred to herself as Bear, coming in to pay her wife’s tab and give her apologies.