#fe manuela

Chapter 1: Autumn

Year 1174:

It was his birthday. But after heavy rains removed any possibility of horseback riding, Ferdinand was too disappointed to properly celebrate it.

Many eyes followed him and his father, Duke Ludwig von Aegir, as they walked through the opera house, heads held high. Some nobles congratulated Ferdinand on reaching his twelfth birthday before reminding Ludwig of a matter they wished to pursue later.

Finally they reached their box, and an usher closed a thick curtain behind them. Ferdinand found himself grateful for the privacy.

“Father?”

His father turned to him. “Yes, my boy?”

“Would you consider permitting me to participate in some of your discussions?”

Ludwig’s eyebrow raised. “Do you not expect to enjoy this opera?”

Ferdinand frowned. “The Divine Songstress is no longer part of the Mittelfrank Opera Company.”

“Ah… she was your favorite. But is this not an opera she assisted in composing?”

Ferdinand nodded. “Yes, but it is her performing I will miss the most. She always looked and sounded so regal, like a princess.”

His father rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You should think of this show as Manuela Casagranda leaving her mark. This story is one she wanted to tell, and these selected performers are a part of her legacy.”

Ferdinand sighed. “You are as right as ever, Father.”

“I suppose… I could let you in on one discussion. This man will visit our box during intermission. It will be good to have you start learning how to tend to our Duchy.”

It was not his idea of a perfect arrangement, but it was enough for Ferdinand to be placated. “Thank you, Father.”

Musicians in the orchestra pit began tuning their instruments, ending their conversation. Usually this cacophony excited Ferdinand. Now he tried not to think of it as a funeral procession.

A few moments of silence, then the overture began, a grand piece that frequently included leitmotifs of melodies the songsters and songstresses would perform. Ferdinand heard his father’s first guest appear behind them. Finally, the stage curtains drew, and alone on the stage stood a young woman no older than Ferdinand.

He had seen the girl before.

She performed in choruses of several operas before this. Ferdinand could not recall when she first appeared, but he started noting her appearances after one particular show. She, cast as a servant, escorted a pony on stage for Manuela, who portrayed a princess determined to escape her strict father’s home and ride after her one true love. The girl appeared nervous then, but Ferdinand could not tell whether it was due to stage fright or caution around large animals.

Based on her current appearance, he would guess she had feared the animal.

The girl opened her mouth to sing. And the most enchanting, haunting voice filled the theater.

She sang a mournful aria with no lyrics, and the sound resembled that of a woman weeping. Ferdinand watched as she starred as a newly orphaned young noblewoman who made the heart-wrenching choice to marry a rich, fearsome stranger from another kingdom in order to retain her noble status and avoid a beggar’s life. He watched as the couple’s interactions after the marriage ceremony were limited to meals together, and the girl wondered if she was relieved or disappointed. He watched as she befriended a gardener on the castle’s grounds, a light-hearted tenor. The unfolding tale entranced him.

The next thing he knew, the curtains closed for intermission.

“They call her the Mysterious Songstress,” a voice huffed behind Ferdinand. “That means she is either an orphan or an illegitimate child.”

“She does perform well for one so young, you have to grant her that,” Ludwig replied to his guest, then he turned to his son. “Come, Ferdinand.”

Eager, Ferdinand placed himself beside his father. He listened as the two men discussed Aegir investments in their land’s vineyards and their trade. He even piped in with a minor suggestion his father gently accepted.

The conversation was nearly finished when the orchestra played once more and the curtains parted again. Ferdinand excused himself to return to the front of the box to watch the remainder of the opera.

The story played out rather predictably. The fearsome stranger softened for his bride. The girl found herself torn between falling in love with her husband or her gardener friend. The husband suspected his wife of cheating. The drama peaked when the gardener revealed himself to be a spy from the girl’s homeland intending to assassinate her husband. When the girl finally chose her husband over her friend, the gardener plotted to use her to kill them both. Love won. Her husband killed the gardener with a spade and rescued his wife. Then they lived happily ever after.

When presented with two choices, the lady always chose the nobleman; it was how these stories worked.

More notable than the story was the way the girl smiled. Particularly at the finale in the arms of her husband, then again as the actress bowed with the rest of the cast during curtain call. She seemed so happy to be there!

Ferdinand wanted nothing more than to buy a bouquet of roses, present them to her, and introduce himself. His father planned otherwise, however. He always had urgent business after operas. Still, as they returned to their carriage, Ferdinand listened to the attendees talk about her, and managed to discover her name: Dorothea Arnault.

Chapter 2: Winter

Year 1180:

Out of breath, Ferdinand made it to Garreg Mach’s cathedral. Tending to the horses and their stables took longer than he expected, much to his dismay.

Professor Manuela— yes, his princess— walked in front of a makeshift stage. No curtains hid the simple set consisting of a few potted plants. She welcomed the small handful of knights, students, and traders to a humble reenactment of The War of the Eagle and Lion. A fitting show, considering the mock battle planned for next month.

Professor Manuela opened the show, explaining how Dorothea adapted it from a Faerghan production with only orchestral music and incorporated tunes from other war operas for the songs. Ferdinand was so relieved he arrived on time he barely caught the details.

Once finished, Professor Manuela took her place in an alcove hiding the performers and began directing them. Children, mostly orphans, from six to fourteen took their places on the stage, some more hesitantly than others. They wore no costumes but their usual shabby attire. Some carried sticks as prop swords.

Four in leading roles sang a merry tune, bouncing ideas back and forth with each other. This discussion eventually raised an idea: a desire to govern their own lands. And thus war began.

Ferdinand was impressed with how apolitical the story made such a political matter. Many Adrestian nobles wished their “pale offshoots” would return to their fold, and no Faerghan nor Leicester civilian would agree. Considering all three were represented at the Officers Academy, the Church of Seiros hosting a politically charged show may have caused resentment, or worse, war. Dorothea, who wrote the script, steered the story away from it with great finesse and tact.

Some plot points were hard to follow. The youngest kids were easily distracted and easily distracting, which fit right in with reenacted battles. Others developed stage fright. Dorothea sang a duet alongside one such singer, quieter so the child could still be heard, but clear enough for Ferdinand to hear her lovely voice from the back of the cathedral.

Finally, the story came to a close, and the children lined up to join hands and bow together, the togetherness failing spectacularly. The few dozen people who attended clapped politely. A small handful of children ran up to their families. One girl leapt into the arms of a boisterous knight who lauded her talent. A few older orphans walked up to Lady Rhea and expressed gratitude for the care she extended.

Dorothea and Professor Manuela began disassembling the set by returning potted plants to other areas of the cathedral. Ferdinand walked up to Professor Manuela as she reached for another plant.

“Where shall I take this one?”

“Oh, Ferdinand, you’re too kind!” Manuela pointed behind him. “Over there by the advice box, if you please? Thank you.”

“Of course!”

He took the plant over to where she indicated. Dorothea was already near and had abruptly turned away.

“Dorothea?” he called.

She stopped in her tracks, paused, then faced him. “Hello, Ferdie.”

Ferdinand reached in his satchel. To his relief, the humble bouquet of roses he hurriedly gathered after his stable duties remained in good shape. He extended the bundle to Dorothea.

“You put on a great show. I cannot imagine it is easy to direct so many young children for a performance. You are an inspiring leader on the stage as well as in battle. Happy birthday, Dorothea.”

Hesitantly, Dorothea accepted the flowers. She waited, as if expecting him to revoke his gift, then finally thanked him.

She left before Ferdinand could say anything else.

Unsure of what else to do, Ferdinand adjusted the plant, rotating the pot so it showed its most flattering side. When he finally turned back, he watched as Dorothea took each flower in his bouquet one by one, inspecting each stem for thorns (she found only one he missed). She offered one to each of her performers, and emptied her hands of flowers before the cathedral emptied of spectators. Then she left.

What led her to reject her gift? To distrust him? Why did she hate him? And how could he possibly earn her good graces if she continued to refuse his kindness?

His likeness to a bee was the only clue she offered for her dislike. Honeybees were hardworking, but they inherited their home and responsibilities. Did other pollinators envy bees for their way of life? Did Dorothea resent him for similar reasons? But butterflies are just as important as bees!

Maybe next time he should grow flowers for her, the butterfly, without assistance. Work for the seeds, tend to the soil, all by himself? But what if the flowers refused to bloom, or he acquired the wrong seeds? Plant identification is not one of his stronger skills.

Perhaps he could bake? He was already adept at preparing tea. He could produce the treats for a tea time he would host for her.

That just might work.

Chapter 3: Spring

Year 1186:

“This way, young friends!”

Ferdinand ushered a cast of a dozen or so children behind a tall pile of rubble. Despite the effort put into diminishing the debris for the last few months, it still proved quite formidable.

“And stay off the rubble,” he warned. “We do not want anyone tripping or getting hurt.”

The children nodded and hushed each other as Manuela and Dorothea walked to the front of the stage, this time so bare not even potted plants adorned it. Again, they directed a humble performance for those at Garreg Mach, but instead of a war reenactment during peacetime, they would be doing a folk tale retelling during wartime.

They began the tale of the creation of the calendar year and the symbols for each month. A boy wielding a shield heralded the new year and represented the first month, the Guardian Moon. Next, a girl dressed as a pegasus represented the snow and chill of the Pegasus Moon. Third, a child carried an empty white plate, loosely representing separations and choices made on one’s personal journey during the Lone Moon. One of the oldest orphan boys carried branches, appearing as a tall tree to symbolize the current month, the Great Tree Moon. He represented new growth and the Imperial calendar’s new year, the one all of Fódlan had been following for the last few hundred years regardless of its current relations with Adrestia.

And so they continued on until the final month, the Ethereal Moon, represented by a child giggling under a white sheet. So much for symbolic peace, but at least the commencement of winter was well understood.

The entire cast and audience laughed joyously while the children swarmed to bow. Immediately after, they scattered. To Ferdinand’s pleasant surprise, a few orphans ran back to him.

“How did we do, mister?” one asked.

“Wonderfully, young ones! I believe there is great cause to celebrate.” He pulled from his satchel a fresh bundle of roses, and inspected a flower’s stem for any thorns he may have missed. Once content, he extended it to a young girl dressed in a rainbow, representing the Verdant Rain Moon. “In Enbarr, we express love for a performance by giving flowers to those who performed.”

The girl’s eyes widened, and she beamed. “Wow! Thank you!”

“Hey, what about me?” one boy grumbled. Other children noticed and began protesting as well.

Ferdinand chuckled. “You were each magnificent as well.”

One by one, Ferdinand inspected each stem and bestowed a rose to each child. His careful counting of each participant paid off. Exactly three roses remained: one for Professor Manuela, one for Dorothea, and an extra in case one of his other roses were ruined.

Professor Manuela was delighted with her gift. But Dorothea’s response surprised him even more.

“Ferdie, I was beginning to feel left out,” she teased, accepting the remaining blooms with a dazzling smile of which he could never grow weary. “Thank you for thinking of the young ones.”

How could he not? He spent the last few rehearsals reminding them of their cues to enter the stage. They were a delight!

“Of course.” He smiled.

Dorothea clutched something in her hands. “I have something for you, too.”

“You… you do?”

Promptly, she placed a pouch of tea leaves in his hand. “I am counting on you to return this after the next battle. It’s a day early, but it seems there won’t be any time to celebrate before we depart.” He furrowed his brow, unsure of her meaning.

“Happy birthday, Ferdie.” She rose on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Be sure to make it through the next battle so we can celebrate properly, okay?”

Ferdinand could only nod as she left. Remembering the tea leaves she gifted him pulled him out of his stupor, though slowly. He placed the pouch in his pocket, and smiled upon recognizing the scent of a Southern Fruit Blend. He likely grinned like a fool the entire way back to his dorm room and as he retired to bed.

Since reconciling with Dorothea, he could finally find peace in the state of their relationship. He did not dare undo their progress by dying in the next battle.

Chapter 4: Summer

Year 1192:

Ferdinand made a point to be the first to offer a standing ovation.

It did not matter that Dorothea only took on supporting roles these days. She would look up as the curtain closed, and smile when she spotted him in their usual box. That smile alone was worth his expressive applause.

The duchess was among the Mittelfrank Opera Company’s most prominent supporters. Though all but retired, she was permitted to return with scripts for new shows and the occasional supporting role. And as duke, her duke, naturally Ferdinand was one of their most generous sponsors.

He reunited with his wife in the main foyer where audience members could meet their stars and offer compliments and gifts. Discreetly Ferdinand slipped into the queue, letting anyone who lined up behind him go ahead, until finally he was the last one to see her.

He took her hands in his. “You were as magnificent as ever, my love!”

Dorothea shook her head, smiling. “Thank you, Ferdie. Shall we head home?”

He offered his arm, and she accepted it warmly, comfortably leaning into his side. 

They listened to spectators as they walked through the crowded foyer and into the cool evening air. Gone were the days when Dorothea was the primary subject of their chatter, and even more past were the days their chatter mattered to her.

Ferdinand motioned their driver to remain with the horses, and he instead pulled the carriage door open.

“My lady,” he said with an exaggerated bow.

Dorothea grinned as she took his hand and ascended into their carriage. Softly, she gasped. A great variety of flowers filled the rear-facing seat, most prominently roses.

“In my defense,” said Ferdinand as he climbed in beside her, “not all of these are mine. Happy birthday, Dorothea.”

“They’re… they’re lovely, darling.” A hand flew up to her mouth. “Forgive me, but shall we leave the windows open on the way home? The smell is too much at the moment.”

Ferdinand obliged her, a little disappointed. “Are you feeling unwell?”

Dorothea nodded weakly. “They look so pretty. I was hoping I would not feel ill tonight.”

“Do you need tea with honey when we get home?”

“This isn’t something tea will fix.” Dorothea smiled. “I was hoping to save the news for tomorrow, but I suppose today must be the day.”

Ferdinand watched as Dorothea rested a hand against her belly. Immediately he grinned. “Another one?”

“Yes, darling. This one should arrive at the dawn of the new year.”

“Dearest, this is wonderful!” He embraced her as well as he could in a moving carriage and kissed her forehead. “I cannot help but wonder… will this one be a percussionist like our first, or a vocalist like the second?”

They laughed together, and Dorothea comfortably nestled into his side.