Chapter Text
All day long, the heiress had been curled up in bed with a book. Not once had she stepped out of her room and not once had she intended to, but as the sunlight began to fade and evening turned to night, she cursed herself for how idle she’d been nonetheless. To have spent the entire day motionless, letting the hours tick by as she did nothing but read… The heiress knew what she’d done was lazy and wrong, not only for a supposed noble, but for a person in general.
Frustrated with herself, the heiress slammed the book shut and threw it to the opposite end of the room where it struck the wall with a heavy thump. Immediately, she realised her mistake; The room on the opposite side of that wall belonged to the songstress, Dorothea, who’d long had to suffer the heiress’s presence over their months together in the Officers Academy. There was no question about it, the sound of the book slamming into the wall must have interrupted some sort of important task or maybe even startled Dorothea awake, and now it was only a matter of time before she took revenge on the heiress, whatever horrible form that might take.
All the heiress could do was pull her blanket over her head like a child cowering in fear of the darkness as she awaited the inevitable. Her room and the monastery outside both were deathly quiet, the room growing darker and darker as the sun set over the horizon. As the minutes dragged ever onward, dread and despair dug in their claws as they dragged her heart down into hopelessness.
What could Dorothea be planning? Would she simply berate her, or was it something more extreme? Maybe, the heiress realised, she might have gone to file some sort of complaint that would lead to the heiress’s well-deserved expulsion. Even worse, could she be plotting some sort of assassination as retribution? Maybe she’d gone to get Hubert to do the deed? This was it, this was the night that the heiress would meet her fate, she just knew it. This was the end and it was all her fault!
As the heiress laid still in her bed, quivering and choking back sobs of terror, she heard the worst of her fears realised as a set of footsteps approached her door. In spite of herself, the heiress whispered a frantic prayer that it might just be someone who happened to be passing by, but all of what little hope she’d managed to muster was dashed when the footsteps ended with the sound of knocking on wood.
The heiress froze, her blood running cold as frigid snow. Perhaps, she reasoned, if she was lucky, she could simply refuse to respond and pretend she was simply asleep. Maybe then this whole thing would blow over and she could just pretend it never happened in the morning. She was never lazy, she had never gotten mad at herself, she never threw the book, she’d never disturbed Dorothea, none of it ever happened, that’s what she’d make herself believe… but fate had other plans.
Again, the person at the other side of the door knocked, doubtlessly either Dorothea or Hubert getting ready to make their move. The heiress reasoned there was no point hiding; Perhaps they’d grant her a swift, painless death if she answered the door willingly, but her body remained motionless nonetheless. Terror had her in its grip, and it wasn’t letting go. All the heiress could hope to do was wait and see what would befall her.
One more time, the heiress’s visitor knocked, but this time, rather than wait for a response, they decided to speak. It was a voice that had never crossed the heiress’s mind as one to expect. “Bernadetta, are you in there?” The professor, Byleth, asked. Her voice was neutral and dull, just as it always was. It didn’t sound happy, it didn’t sound concerned… but it also didn’t sound angry.
Something about the sheer neutrality in Byleth’s voice warmed the heiress’s vocal cords enough so that she could speak despite her frozen body. “I-I am!” She sputtered in a pathetic, meek tone. “Is something the matter? I-I’m sorry! I’ll fix it, I promise! Wh-what did I do?”
“I didn’t see you at dinner today,” Professor Byleth replied, her tone unwaveringly flat, “nor did I see you at breakfast or lunch for that matter.”
“O-oh, uhm…” A shaking sigh wormed its way out of the heiress’s lungs. “I just… I guess I just wasn’t feeling hungry today, I… I apologise.” It sounded a bit outrageous out loud, but it was no lie. Focused on reading all day, the heiress’s surroundings, even her own body had seemed to fade away as she immersed herself in fantasy, so much so that hunger had never occurred to her. Thinking about it now, though, her stomach began to growl.
“You need to eat to keep your strength up, that’s something every mercenary knows,” Professor Byleth stated matter-of-factly. “You shouldn’t skip meals. You never know when you might have to go a long time without one. Is there any reason you’re avoiding eating?”
The heiress couldn’t help but let a single dry laugh escape from her lips, but she hid it under her breath. After all, it wasn’t the food that she was avoiding. “I-I understand, I’m not avoiding food I just wasn’t hungry… I’ll come to breakfast tomorrow, I promise!” Like many before it, this was a vow the heiress made in spite of knowing how many she’d made just like it, and how many of those she’d failed to keep, but it was one she made nonetheless. After all, what other choice did she have?
“Thank you. It’s important that you remain healthy and prepared, Bernadetta. I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow, and class as well, I hope.” The professor’s voice trailed off slightly. The flawless neutrality of her tone faltered, and she began to sound almost unsure of herself. “I brought you something from the cafeteria. I will not be making this a habit, but…” She hesitated. “I don’t want you to go hungry.”
Naturally, the heiress’s first instinct was to push away the needless expression of generosity, but as her stomach grumbled once more, she could not help herself but pull herself out of her bed. With cautious footsteps she made her way toward the doors and carefully removed the chair she’d wedged underneath their handles. Sheepishly, she poked her head out of her room, part of her somehow managing to find the time to dread what exactly Professor Byleth might have brought from the cafeteria.
“Is that…” The heiress blinked, confounded by what she was seeing, “... a piece of cake?”
Professor Byleth pushed the platter into the heiress’s hands, looking a bit perplexed herself. “I had opted for something heartier, since mercenaries always eat meat when possible, but Dorothea had insisted that what you needed was food for your spirit. I’m not sure what she meant, I don’t know how a dessert is supposed to help, but she was insistent.”
At the mention of Dorothea’s name, the heiress’s heart plummeted back into her stomach, almost dragging the platter out of her hands on its descent. “W-wait… Dorothea said I should have this…?” Was it poisoned? It had to be poisoned, right? She probably deserved it if it was poisoned. Scratch that, she definitely deserved it. There was no doubt about it, it was—
Professor Byleth nodded firmly. “If you’d like to thank her, she’s probably still helping clean up the cafeteria. It’s important to build rapport with…” she paused for a moment, cutting herself off. “I think she would appreciate it.”
“O-oh…” The heiress lowered her head. If Dorothea had indeed been in the cafeteria since dinner and was still helping clean up, then that would mean… “Uhm, I’ll say th-thanks next time I see her.”
“Okay. I’ll leave you be, I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow, Bernadetta.”
“Yeah! For… for sure!” The heiress forced a smile and withdrew into her room, closing the door and sliding the chair back into its proper place.
For just a moment, the heiress held her breath, only letting it go when she heard the sound of Byleth’s footsteps marching away, leaving her truly alone. Once confident she wouldn’t need to talk to anyone anymore, she took a seat at her reading desk and set down the cake.
Under the light of her reading lamp, the heiress greedily scarfed down the only food she’d had all day. The cake was as delicious as it had looked, the sweetness of the dish lifting her spirits out of reach of the mud they had sunk into before. It seemed to the heiress that Dorothea was right, that was just the thing she needed, and it really was kind of her to think about that…
It seemed outrageous now, the idea that Dorothea would want to berate her, poison her, assassinate her, all of the awful things the heiress had convinced herself of just minutes before. The heiress buried her face in her hands, mumbling silent apologies into her palms. She wondered what it said about her that she couldn’t trust someone she cared about, someone that evidently cared for her, to not want her dead. It was certainly nothing good.
Wiping a few stray tears from her eyes, the heiress, Bernadetta von Varley, made a vow to herself, one she intended to keep. She would show up to breakfast, she would brave the crowds of terrifying people and all the loud noises of the cafeteria, and she would express her gratitude to Dorothea like she deserved.
With her newfound resolution held firmly in her heart, Bernadetta snuffed out the lantern and returned to her bed. “You’ve got a big day ahead of you, Bernie…” she reminded herself, her chest tightening in response to her own words. “But you can do this… You can be better… You can make it out of your room.”