#encantresse

[nobilisseoblige]

perhaps it is unbecoming for any respectable lady to nurse a grudge so early in the day — when there were a thousand other things to occupy her thoughts, when there were others she'd rather impress or entertain.

how unfortunate, then, that she should find herself seated next to him at breakfast this morning. just when she'd thought the early bird would catch the worm — or, in this case, the preferred seat next to the preferred partner.

apparently not.

so, with the briefest flicker of a sigh, dorothea turns to him, gaze sharp and disapproving as she gestures toward a bowl just out of reach.

"ferdie, would you be so kind as to pass that over? i'm afraid these delicate limbs of mine are much too frail to exert themselves this early. must be the curse of being a poor commoner, you know."

she flickered like flame to a wick, making her gaze align with his in such abject indigence, he began to trace back his steps to yesterday. if that. he frowned, in kind, wondering if a mere 24 hours were enough to stave off whatever wrongs he had cast on her life. he wished to break into her good graces. actually, no, he shouldn't word it as such. fall into her good graces? walk into her good graces? be granted the honor of her good graces? something in that line, surely, would do his tight-rope-walking heart some good.

"yes, here. of course." he was gladdened to be of some help, gloved hand rolling over the rim of the bowl before passing it over to her. whenever they did get to eat together, (though the 'togetherness' was contentious at best), she had the most dour look on her face. she was a spell-and-a-half, eyes whispering a curse so strong he knew not what knotted tree he would fall asleep by the roots at. "...if I may."

"have I said something to that effect, recently, Dorothea? to you? I am so certain I've offended you in some way, but I cannot fathom the start or end of it." she scathed him with a morning scowl, mouthing a sigh so disappointed he felt it burn at least three tiers back on the House Aegir family tree. "if i could right my wrongs, surely i would." his voice lowered, urgent. hand pressed to his chest like a creed. brow creased in rising concern.

"i know!"

he stood straight up, nose skyward. "here! this is what we shall do." he began to reach over the table, bringing all the dishes a little closer to her. rich greens and chopped scarlets, bell peppers and raining dressings. he shifted the pitchers painted in sealed blue, the sugar pearls, and glazed goose. Ferdinand tapped down every color around her, so she needn't strain herself to reach.

"see? now your morning should be unmatched!"

his eyes, clear as day, looked to her petals expectantly. unflinching. how could he fail her without knowing? how would he do right by her, without understanding? she needn't suffer by his side, if he could just see as she's seen. but what would a rose see when the sun wasn't around? she revoked her splendor from him, as if he were condemned to something lower than dirt. he wondered if they'd ever see a morning without the prick of thorns attached.

regardless. he smiled. it was the least he could do around her. "it's early."

"aren't you glad for it?"

[hermidetta]

it's a childish thing to do. it's far removed from the picture of sophistication she's spent years perfecting.

for once, dorothea doesn't care. it's hard to when stashed away in this bunker, watching classmates hobble on broken limbs and blinking back images of a burning world outside their door.

a frayed blanket is carefully lifted over their heads and adjusted so the thin fabric blocks out everything around them — the cramped quarters, the rundown and gaunt faces, the injuries. should the imagination be stirred, they might even find themselves in one of their rooms: two girls sitting on a bed, ducked beneath the covers and recounting the day's misadventures and otherwise.

"i didn't see you at mealtime," she whispers. from her pocket, dorothea retrieves a bread roll, and holds it out to bernadetta in offering. "here. a fuller stomach makes things a bit more bearable."

only a little.

her gaze falls onto the ground as she wraps her arms around her knees. there's a great deal she wishes to share — but a worn blanket and weary heart can only endure so much weight.

we had to kill a woman, bern. she begged us to. she was suffering. and still, i wanted to try and keep her alive. was that selfish of me? did i add to her misery? or should i have fought harder?

"how was your mission? you have no idea how much i've missed you."

i didn't see you at mealtime. bernadetta's absence is not an uncommon one. the kinder people who notice might bring her something later. they don't know that it isn't only about going outside. now that they are all here, strewn into conflict that may change them all, she has even fewer excuses to refuse.

"i wasn't hungry," mumbles bernadetta. but for dorothea, always, she can try. a hesitant glance at the bread. she has the decency to accept it, even though it sits in her hands like stone.

"we, um…" we had to choose to starve, or lose what made us ourselves. almost everyone chose the first one. it was probably because they were strong, or liked themselves. but me, i did it for the exact opposite. i've always done it for the exact opposite.

and for all of bernadetta's terrors throughout it, perhaps her outing came nowhere close to what had gripped dorothea so that she would bundle up with her now.

"we went through a lot, but we came out okay." the faintest shrug. then she lets herself tip sideways, leaned against dorothea, slipping an arm through her friend's and hugging it because this is where home is, too. after chewing on her own vagueness, lips part again to murmur: "linhardt really scared me. they started turning into… into some kind of giant dog monster?"

bernadetta tells her—about the village, mairenn, the forest, pasithee, the way she swung a saint's bow in desperation like a misshapen axe. she only omits the illusory feast and her own nausea from it.

"and i just don't know," she trails off, voice dwindling. "i don't know why all of this is happening. but i missed you, too. i wish we could've gone together..."

for countless reasons. but the one that gives bernadetta the most pause, as she stares blearily at the bread in her hands, finally slips out of her as a near whisper.

"did something... i mean, um... what happened?" they are here now. bernadetta is here. she gives dorothea's arm another gentle squeeze. warm, reassuring. solid despite all of her smallness, because bernadetta knows her best friend well enough. "if you want, you can always talk about it with me."

[princessmacedon]

while there'd been little time to catch up amid the fighting and preparations, dorothea had seen the princess flitting about, lending her aid to the others.

"maria," she greets, her voice soft. "i’d like you to have this, if you'll accept it." the songstress holds out a whetstone in offering and musters a small smile. "sounds like we’ve got a long fight ahead of us, and if this could make the difference between you staying safe or getting hurt, then i don’t want to take any chances. you do so much for everyone...i want to make sure you're taken care of too."

somewhat abashedly, dorothea also extends the pink ribbon her fan had attached to the gift.

"i know this is the last thing on anyone’s mind...but i figured it couldn’t hurt to have something nice. it's the small things that keep us going, so maybe you can use it for your hair. i think it'd look lovely on you."

Dorothea hands off Whetstone to Maria!

Although the expression on her face is bright as she turns, Maria meets the songstress's gentle tone with her own, a sweet hush spoken through a smile.

"Hi, Dorothea!" Subconsciously she reaches to accept Dorothea's kindness before her eyes even leave the other's face. When they do, they drop lightly to both whetstone and ribbon, eyes widening in wordless realization. It isn't lost on her how precious this gift is; this long battle has worn them down, treasured blades broken against the endless onslaught of enemies. She had even hoped to buy a whetstone herself in Hevring, but-- well, that was the thing about endless onslaughts of enemies.

Yet it is as her fingers brush over the ribbon that her smile blooms anew, admiring it a moment longer before suddenly shifting the whetstone to the crook of her arm. Without hesitation she ties her hair into a modest ponytail, taking extra care to loop the ribbon prettily.

"Hee hee... how does it look?" With an extra dollop of playful, dramatic flair, her arm sweeps from her neck to her dress, a corner pinched and raised to accentuate her most perfect curtsy. Then it drops, and so too does decorum; for Dorothea's kindness, she spins once, landing with a hand held to her heart. "Now I'll carry your good wishes with me wherever I go!" (And it will keep her light; and it will keep her bright; that is the sort of person Dorothea is, or so she is learning.)

Her expression softens and warms, touching the corners of her eyes. These are the moments she keeps in her heart; these are the moments that make her strong.

"I'll do everything I can," she promises, "To protect everyone. To help us all go back home!" A laugh. "I want to see everyone smile again!" There, she holds out a hand in offering, a touch of faith, a kindling of warmth held there in secret -- to no great effect, mind, but still to a worthy one if it can offer any comfort.

"Hee hee...! Thank you. I'm really, really grateful."

[hresvelged]

by the time dorothea reaches their leader’s side, she’s a little winded from the sprint, having shouldered her way past the competitors to be one of the first to greet edelgard. she takes a moment to steady herself, eyes bright and cheeks flushed.

once she’s sure she won’t be a breathless mess, dorothea finally speaks. "oh, edie!" she exclaims, clapping her hands excitedly. "i knew you’d make it to the next round. you were incredible out there! you’re not hurt too badly, are you?"

she scans edelgard for any visible injuries, her brow furrowing with concern. "if you are, let me take you to professor deirdre. she’ll have you good as new in no time."

a pause. "oh! and one more thing."

from one of her skirt pockets, dorothea pulls out a scarlet-and-gold-trimmed ribbon, and offers it with a light blush. "a small token to wish you luck moving forward. only for tradition’s sake, though, and not because i think you need it. it’s your opponents who’ll need all the luck they can get."

She smiles when one of the first faces she sees is Dorothea's.

"Your words mean much. Thank you."

As is expected, the number of people left in the battle begins to dwindle. She takes this respite in stride; head head high and heeled boots tapping with every step. "I'm quite alright," she affirms. "I'll be sure to seek out the Professor if I find myself in need. The Golden Deer I fought against were honorable foes."

She anticipates the conversation to end there, but it is the presentation of a gift that has the empire's heir conveying widened pupils of surprise. It is genuine; telling. It takes her a beat to move in return, but when she does, it is careful in kind.

Edelgard takes the ribbon into her hands and brings lilacs onto their vibrant colors. She begins curling her fingers around it before retracting onto a new course. Removing her purple ribbons, she neatly replaces it with the one from her friend and ties her hair into a swift ponytail.

"How do I look?" A tiny laugh leaves her lips, hands now freed to smooth out the wrinkles in her cape. "Thank you, Dorothea. I eagerly await showing Gronder Field the pride of us Black Eagles."

[berglietz]

as soon as the horn sounds, dorothea breaks into a sprint.

“caspar!”

by now, she’s learned not to ask him the dreaded “are you okay” in these instances—had seen how he'd pushed away the healer. so instead, she skids to a halt by his side, the momentum of her run making her slightly off-balance as she steadies herself.

then, the flash of a reassuring grin.

“how on earth did you take all those hits?” dorothea shakes her head, a low chuckle escaping. her hand moves, not to offer support, but to rest briefly on his elbow in a quiet show of solidarity. “goodness, if i'd been in your shoes, the round would’ve ended much sooner. you should teach me some of those tricks of yours sometime.”

Caspar doesn't pull away from Dorothea's touch the way he did with the healer, but he resists the urge to lean into her. A warrior needs to stand on his own two feet, even in defeat.

"You don't have to say all that." He grimaces. The sun feels too bright for his aching head, and his friend's kindness feels too soft for his bruised ego. "I can do better than that. You should know that already."

If she'd been in his shoes, huh...? His grimace twists further into a rough half-grin as he does shrug his arm, nudging it against Dorothea's side.

"'And you could'a blasted the other guys away with some crazy magic, so don't go selling yourself short. I don't let my friends talk about themselves that way!"

[rafent]

🎲 roll! that! die!

[ 🎲 ] Roll that die ~♪ 6. A gentle peck

Maiden and malefactor; human and dragon; beauty and beast; many were the labels that might describe two who stood in great contrast. Far fewer were the names that troubled inhibitions went by.

Hesitation and conscience to prove his limiter, the unseen wall which separated thought from action and he from her, Rafal's hands circled Dorothea's waist with the faintest pressure. Each touching finger a whisper not a shout, the whole of his grip scarcely above a phantom toeing the line between imagined and real. Beautiful was Dorothea - heartachingly so, with the silky sheen of her tresses aglow and the amicable traits of her virtue extended on this night as much as any other. The pristine red dress she wore suited her as much as blood suited Rafal.

Comely the songstress, in every way.

And so very unsightly the sinner.

For every ardent evening must arrive an end, one last needed step to bank or douse its flame. In that name, he leaned down a short ways and kissed her, a brief and uninspired peck of lips in answer to her closed eyes. Whirlwind passions, tightly cinching hands, and burial in the sepulchers of loving gazes for which one might gladly expire; Rafal knew vaguely of these. Knew clearer they were not for the dragons that better men slayed, for Dorothea's princes of wrong and misshapen kind.

"Good night, Dorothea."

His hands drifted from her; to his own understanding, a wisdom. Whatever expectations of romance germinated beneath the luminous streetlights were pruned there also, a wilted garden. One more that the Fell Heir had made.

[far-from-common]

[ KARAOKE ]  "so the fair princess has decided to grace the party with her presence! how lucky we are, 'chelly!"

no, dorothea hasn't run the nickname by the other. no, she won't be letting up.

"will you join me for a song?" the hostess beams, extending her hand to lead l'arachel to the stage. "it'd make me the happiest girl alive!"

The boisterous reply L’Arachel was about to give stops in her throat as she hears the last word that Dorothea says. What is a “Chelly?” Wait, no, it was being used as one would a name or a nickname. Oh! A delighted grin slowly forms on her face.

“I am ‘chelly? Oh I quite like that. I quite like that a lot! And of course I’ve graced the party with my presence, I would not miss such festivities, especially with all the hard work you two have put into them…” She has given her a nickname, it would only be proper to give her one back. She thinks very carefully about it, before finally settling on a nickname she is proud of. “...Rothy.”

She quickly takes a hold of Dorothea’s hand and lets herself be taken to the stage. “Why, if the mere act of singing together will bring you so much happiness, there is no way I could ever refuse! Besides, it shall be fun to sing!”

Getting on to the stage, she considers what song they ought to sing together to the adoring crowd. There is one song that comes to mind, she’d sung it back in Magvel with others before, and after a quick check in with the band, the music starts to play. This is their moment. As the music starts playing, L’Arachel starts tapping her foot to the familiar rhythm.

“When I wake up, well, I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the gal who wakes up next to you.” Her voice is slightly lower than usual, a bit more reserved. This isn’t like her beautiful improvisation whilst being a cage actor, this was something she was ready for.

“When I go fight, yeah, I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the gal who fights along with you. If I cast heal, yeah I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the gal who casts heal next to you. And if I blabber, yeah, I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the gal who’s blabbering to you.”

Going great so far! Absolutely flawlessly even! At the very least, on her end, she isn’t quite sure how Dorothea is doing because she’s completely in the singing zone. Besides, there is no time for that when the best part is coming up! Her voice rings out louder as she enters the chorus.

“But I would walk five hundred miles! And twice as much without a peep! Just to be the gal who walked a thousand miles to reach your castle keep!”

Nothing can stop her now! She puts one arm around Dorothea’s shoulder and starts waving the other in the air with her fist closed, as she takes the lead and almost screams out the first “Da-da-da da’s” of the chorus so that Dorothea may take it away in the second half.

[doyouevenliftbrooo]

🎨 from one beautiful woman to another. only if you have room, of course.

"Hey, Miss! You're really pretty, and I wanted to make sure I made you look as good as possible..." "You don't really have a lot of muscle though, so I gave you some to add on to your good looks. I think it fits you real well. Come on a run with me sometime!"

(( im heaving. i cant do this anymore. im going to actually dfie here ))

[nagaficat]

[ FORTUNE COOKIE ] lithe fingers make quick work of the paper slip inside, unfurling it carefully for the other to see as well. "'the one for you is closer than you think," dorothea reads aloud.

a long pause.

"hmm. isn't that ironic? i haven't been matched for the evening." she carefully folds the fortune in half now, lips curling pleasantly. "though i wouldn't mind stumbling upon love."

then, girlish giggle suddenly erupts. dorothea leans in as if sharing a secret, eyes turned onto the purple-haired woman before her. "what do you think, professor deirdre?" a mischievous glint flickers in her eyes. "if you had to pair me up with anyone, who would you choose?"

"You did not make a match for yourself? That is awfully selfless of you to put this wonderful event together for all of us but not consider yourself at all." She reaches for Dorothea's hand and gives it a squeeze. It is astonishing, really, that the young woman has not been swept off her feet yet. She is beautiful, kind, intelligent, talented...any man would be lucky to be given the chance to cherish her heart.

"Love will find you. You deserve to be loved."

Who would she choose for Dorothea? Someone who would treat her like a queen. Someone handsome and kind. Strong and wise. A fairytale prince straight out of a storybook.

There is someone who fits all of those qualities. The more she thinks about it, the more the idea sounds just lovely.

"I have a son around your age, you know. He is in our house. Have you met my Seliph?"

[party-pri3st]

[ 21 QUESTIONS ] "to think that, while we haven't met before, we've already got something in common. how's that for a fun coincidence?"

a smile curves the hostess' lips as she slides into the seat beside him, gaze lingering on the stanger for a moment before a spark of intrigue flickers in her eyes.

"i'm told you're a friend of fogado's, which already gives me a favorable impression of you. most aren't so lucky."

dorothea grins. she shifts her body slightly to face him, propping her chin on her hand as she leans in closer.

"how'd you two meet?"

Pandreo lights up at the sight of his friend's fellow host. She's stunning - in the way that an ocean sunset is stunning. Wow! "Miss Dorothea! It's wonderful to finally meet, I've heard such great things about you!"

Her question sends him reeling. He goes through all of the permutations in his head. She's really close to Fogado, right? Does she know about his, uh...status?

She might. But it's best to be safe. "Okay, come in close, this is a good one. He came to one of my church services, right? I must've been like...fifteen? And he grabbed me my the shoulder afterward and sad he had a horse outside, and he could take me to the most swingin' party I've ever seen. And he did!"

There are a few details he leaves out, like that the party was at the Palace of Solm, of all places. He's more than happy to talk about Fogado all night - as long as the secrets he's sworn to keep don't spill where they're not supposed to.

[warpaway]

♫ HAPPY HOLIDAYS~ ♪

there is a slow, languorous feel to the day—a soft lull of distant birdsongs and the occasional tolling of bells, replacing the usual chatter that drifts across the monastery grounds. "busy, are we?" comes the teasing greeting as dorothea settles beside him, pausing briefly to appraise the spot where she's found them. "i've gotta say, you don't look all that comfortable, lin. guess now's as good a time as any..."

whether or not linhardt has noticed the item in question, the songstress reaches behind her back and retrieves a crinkling paper bag, carefully pulling out the gift and draping it over him: a thick, quilted sleeved blanket, complete with a padded hood that could double as a pillow in a pinch. comfortable, practical, and though it’s hardly the most fashionable thing she’s ever laid eyes on, dorothea has at least made an effort to choose something with a bit of elegance: a tasteful shade of ebony, trimmed with silver tassels and detailing.

"we'll keep this a secret from our beloved house leader, yeah?" she says, tone faintly mischievous. "can't have edie knowing i'm enabling your classroom naps." a long-suffering sigh follows suit, the drama in her voice almost palpable. "the thought of disappointing her breaks my heart. you'd protect a girl's heart, wouldn't you, lin?"

whether she’s serious or not, who’s to say? dorothea simply flashes him a broad smile, then hands him the bag for one final surprise. "there’s a chocolate pecan pie waiting for you, too. no need to share. i just thought you'd like a nice pick-me-up after your next trip to dreamland."

linhardt is only half awake when dorothea finds them. they'd been enjoying watching the clouds float lazily by and wonder how it might feel to be one of them. of anyone that could bother them, dorothea receives one of their softest reactions in the form of a lopsided smile.

her movement piques his interest, so he sits up, head lolling curiously to one side in an attempt to see what it is before she reveals it. ultimately, it doesn't matter. she drapes it over him and his hands instantly move to hold it even closer. it's plush... it's warm... his eyes are closing already.

"oh, this is lovely," they say. "and a pecan pie? i'll protect the hearts of girls everywhere for less."

his eyes open again. he wants to look at her straight in the eye as he says, "thank you very much, dorothea. this should go without saying, and it is less related to the fact that you've given me such a wonderful gift, but you really are an incredible woman. i'm happy to count you among my friends."

[nobilisseoblige]

♫ HAPPY HOLIDAYS~ ♪

spite moves mountains. spite fells kingdoms. spite is the reason dorothea is up at this hour, adding the finishing touches to this package. (it is spite... right?) a frown pulls at her lips as she ponders it silently. (yes, she concludes. it’s exactly that, and no other reason. not even the holiday spirit can undo a storied past.)

the thought of what ferdinand von aegir might be planning in the confines of his own room—wearing that all-too-cheery expression of his and humming whatever merry tune—is enough to make anyone’s eye twitch. allowing him to saunter in with a present, puffed up like a proud peacock, would be unbearable. (and to leave her in his debt? after everything? no. dorothea arnault would not grant him the satisfaction.) she would not allow herself to be taken in by his over-the-top performances and shallow gestures of chivalry, and she most certainly would not forget how differently she was treated now, compared to their first meeting all those years ago. (how easily men changed their minds.)

his gift comes in the form of a box wrapped in ivory paper with gold floral patterning, tied together with metallic string. a matching envelope sits tucked beneath to keep it in place. when he opens it, he’ll find a handsome pair of men’s riding boots—made from rich umber leather, with golden buckles that are just coming into fashion. purchased from a renowned shoemaker, and without burning a hole in her pocket, for who would’ve guessed that opera fans could be found in every corner of the world? and in the envelope, a signed copy of an original poster from mittlefrank’s production of The Storm of the Heart, with a personalized note. (manuela had always been generous that way.)

in the end, dorothea will march to his side, holding out the box expectantly, that expression of hers unreadable. “ferdie. this is for you.” with that, the songstress takes her leave with a simple “goodbye,” not allowing for any prolonged exchange as she hurries down the decorated corridor.

he was music as he was clouds as he was the young man meant to move mountains and kingdoms. he laced his words with smiles and curled brows, and the snow-dappled hour was bewitched by him, in turn. Ferdinand Von Aegir was a story and a half, consumed by the spirit of yuletide until it blinded him. (and so pleased was he, to be blinded.) it had happened that in his quest to empower his fellow Black Eagles with wrapped gifts, Dorothea had accepted shouldering half of his labors. though, from what he understood, she wasn't faring very well with this partnership of convenience. why had she willingly chosen this path if she toiled, so?

regardless, he would not question it. not to her face, after all. he was just pleased she would carry on as she always has, shouldering tasks with him while they soldiered away together. time would march forward, and he appreciated that much of it was spent in her company. as much as she abhored him, she also seemed to stomach his companionship more often than naught. perhaps one day, he would discover what it was that she hated about him—what sort of sin was he supposed to bear? he hadn't a clue, and the only one she would provide involved buzzing and stripes and motion-sickness.

however, that was no matter to him. lost in his own reverie, he had finished wrapping the last of his half of the gifts, arranging fabric flowers by birthday and tying tinsel to small treat bags. he had all their names scrawled out neatly by hand, and knotted every bow with an attentiveness that would make even flowers shy. not an ounce of exhaustion had weighted down on him, since he felt the exhilaration of finishing a project so fulfilling that it could keep him up at night.

to that effect, he walked. he took to the snow and walked, trying to calm his excitement down enough to sleep for the evening. the snow piled high, snowflakes catching on his hair and kissing him cold. the apples of his cheeks glowed in the dark, and he breathed gentle puffs of air until they disappeared, taking his nerves with him. right. right. it was time to sleep now. he could find it in himself to wait for the morrow.

as he returned, chilled to perfection, he found himself staring down a Miss Dorothea Arnault, in all her dissatisfied glory. she was unreadable, her voice placid, as she afforded him such kindness. he was not even halfway through a grin, fingers curling around the corners of the box, before she retreated icily.

"Dorothea!" he called out. but she wished not to hear him. "thank you! I have a gift for yo—"

like a disappearing act, she vanished around the corner, and he was left to wait for the morrow. sighing, raked a confused hand through his hair. "what am I going to do about her…?" he muttered to himself.

shaking off the frigid air, he decided to peel away the wrapping paper delicately, as though to preserve her handiwork. "oh." he laughed fondly through his nose, pink from the chill. out came the boots and the poster, which he fondly paraded about in the lobby all by his lonesome. to himself, he donned the boots—a perfect fit. and to himself, he danced about on the balls of his feet with Professor Manuela's poster clutched between both hands.

and to himself, he is alone. unchanged. but happy.

[hermidetta]

there has been, for as long as they've known each other, a series of unspoken rules: to have each other's backs, to lift one another up, and to share in the heartbreaks wrought by the shards of girlhood that left them scarred. a past not so easily escapable for either of them — not with the constant reminders found at their doorsteps and in their reflections. yet, there is some solace, dorothea hopes, in knowing the other is but a door away should those dark and terrible memories awaken.

today will only be marked by good ones, if she has any say in the matter. so, preparations begin at dawn, and only the birds and the occasional knight catch sight of one lone songstress flitting from her room and back, arms full with baskets and rolls of fabric one moment, empty the next. the cycle repeats once more. boxes and trinkets, packages of various shapes and sizes, and to the rare passerby, she offers no explanation beyond a simple smile in greeting.

it's a special day.

there is no booting the girl of the hour from her room when the time comes. once let in, dorothea simply instructs bernadetta (and mr. bearkley) to close their eyes. "it'll be worth it," she promises. "i'll be quick." and so, the transformation begins. festive fabrics — soft sheens of lilacs and baby blues — are draped across the walls. three new stuffed animals are placed on her desk, seated around a small cake decorated with pastel-colored sprigs of flowers. a new mannequin, assembled and shoved into the corner with some effort, is placed next to where that trusty sewing kit is stowed.

finally, she carefully places the last gift in her friend's hands: a thick, leather-bound journal with the following inscription carefully etched into its cover in cursive:

happy birthday to my bern. your stories will take the world by storm one day.

"you can open your eyes now," she says, heart full and nearly bursting. "i decided to bring the party to you. i hope that's okay." dorothea sinks next to her on the bed and gently bumps the other's shoulder with her own. "happy birthday, bern-bear. i may have accidentally scuffed your floorboards... but you'll find it in your heart to forgive me, right?"

⠀ ⚘ birthdaydetta 2k24 ♡ ⠀

here is what he grumbles, already disgruntled by the gender, when they lift his newborn from the glowing mechanism: "a minor crest. i suppose it's better than nothing."

bernadetta cannot remember the last time she had been afforded a birthday party. it is understandable. her mother has toiled away in the capital for as bernadetta can remember, but every year she sends a letter that should, with luck, make it to her daughter within that same week.

her father usually buys himself a gift. a teaset for her twelfth that began all her training. an itchy dress and veil for her sixteenth that obscured her face with tulle because tulle was the socially acceptable alternative to a bag. nobody would want her without a bag.

"at least you're young enough to make up for your face, but even that's got a shelf life. you'd better shape up quick to be a desirable, obedient wife. there's a neighboring duke wants to replace his late one before his fiftieth birthday. you'll meet in a month's time."

(the story goes that this lesser duke saw a bare ankle and died of cardiac arrest. whatever the case, bernadetta had breathed the biggest sigh of relief. but there were more after him, of course. always more. somehow the country had no shortage of men who needed women while those men framed it the other way around.)

bernadetta has never loved herself enough to craft a real future in her head. she fears pain, but little else ought be expected from any sensible human, and in terms of the long term she would much rather vanish. she is unlike dorothea in countless ways—including here—that dorothea would elevate bernadetta in regardless.

all including here. because bernadetta opens her eyes to a future she should have anticipated as a girl, a future she should have believed to be within reach. bernadetta opens her eyes to dorothea. to sweets, to decorations, to gifts. to merriment, as if her having been born was ever worth celebration.

"dorothea..."

dorothea makes her want to believe again. in that moment her voice is tiny, wobbly, and so very afraid. afraid of her parents. afraid of the people who should have sent their wishes first. because what if they try to hurt you? bernadetta had asked dorothea once upon a time. what if they ever tried to harm her best friend now like her first one then?

the first few teardrops splash onto the leather cover, just short of the inscription. she startles and jolts to dab the spot with her sleeve, timid gasp torn from trembling lips.

"i-i'm okay!"  bernadetta blurts out her hasty disclaimer before dorothea can fret too much.  "i'm okay! it's— it's not you. or this. i like all of this. thank you for all of this! it's..."

with all of the care in the world, bernadetta sets aside the journal. she tries not to let her watery gaze catch again on the mannequin, or the cake, or the stuffies before she turns to dorothea and practically tackles her in an embrace.

"i'm happy,"  she weeps into dorothea's shoulder. in a smaller hiccup she echoes the words as if she cannot believe the veracity of them. i'm happy.

is this allowed? she is happy without permission. it is terrifying, monumental and exhilarating all at once—just like what she shares with dorothea.

bernadetta's arms tighten around her. a writer is supposed to weave great words, but what to say that could ever be enough? thank you? i love you? the floorboards aren't mine, anyway? it's always okay, you always make me feel okay?

as they sit together in that small, decorated room, mourning girlhood, celebrating each other, bernadetta only hopes her tight hug could convey all of it and more. to look into her heart and find room for forgiveness would be to cut it open and evict dorothea herself from it.

[dcggersedge]

As the festivities sweep across Garreg Mach, one member of the Black Eagles House finds herself partaking in a time-honored tradition—one that celebrates the warmth of camaraderie and the strengthening of bonds. A time to forget about the barriers of status that divide, and to embrace all that brings people together. 

(record scratch) 

“professor yunaka!!!” like a notched arrow, dorothea is suddenly in motion, propelled toward the woman with a swift, almost alarming force that might have been unsettling—if not for the wide, irrepressible grin stretching across her face. “i’ve just heard the news! is it true? i hope it is. otherwise, i just might cry.” a feigned sniffle, before she extends a gift bag triumphantly, its deep crimson coloring reminiscent of their banner. “you’re just in time for our gift exchange. this is for you!”

inside, she will find a small box of marzipan candies—delicately molded into whimsical shapes. nestled beside them is a snow globe ornament; a fragile, dainty thing containing miniature snow-dusted trees. “welcome to the black eagles, and may you have a lovely holiday~!”

An unexpected shout makes Yunaka flinch, hands suddenly grabbing a tight hold of the papers she was reading and wrinkling them. "Aw, man..." She mumbles to herself, frowning at them before placing them back on her desk. She'll try and smooth those out later.

Clearly, whatever was being yelled about was way more important if the rapid pace at which Dorothea was approaching her was any indication. At least...she thinks? The smile makes it a bit confusing.

"The news?" What news? Was something happening? Just in time for...oh! She was the news! Yunaka blinks before laughing sheepishly. "Aw, it's not really news! I just thought-"

Wait. Hold on. Pause. Gift exchange?

Yunaka lets out a mangled noise that is maybe (?) a squawk. "Wait, there's a gift exchange? Nobody told me there was a gift exchange! I haven't prepared anything to exchange!"

Dorothea hands her a bunch of little candies and a cute little ornament - geez! They had one ready for her, and she just got here? She quickly turns to put the gift down on her desk before Dorothea can see how wonky her smile looks.

"Hang on, don't leave! It's not an exchange if you're the only one giving a gift." She carefully plucks out a few of the candies and holds them out for Dorothea to take. "Please? I promise next time I'll definitely have something ready, but I'll feel awful if I don't give something back!"

[hresvelged]

🎲 edieeeeee

10.) A kiss along the jawline

Enbarr is as busy as it is silent.

She leads Dorothea to the palace's gardens, off to a quiet corner adorned in the reds and yellows of blossoming flowers. It's easy to lose track of time when she is there; when her song melts away the emperor's thoughts and reminds her that she is simply a person. "Thank you for coming with me. I used to spend many hours here as a child," she begins. "I visited here when I was older, too. But.. It was quieter at the time. I couldn't tell you why." As cold breath leaves her lips and winds push aside white locks, she looks rightwards at the other girl.

Their hands fall into unintentional touch. Edelgard finds her fingers swaying to her side in hesitancy. After further steps into the scenic view ensue, she declaratively takes hold of the songstress's own and meets her sight true as they move to sit on a wooden bench: "Now, that feeling is gone. I wonder if you have something to do with it..?" The questioning of her words needs no answer. Her cheeks sparkle iridescent pink; her eyes tinted with hidden ponderance.

"You've grown to know me well. Despite that, never once have you left my side. My gratitude is yours." There is no greater gift to an untouchable emperor than one who yet calls her friend; who fights by her side and treats her as much a normal face as any other. Using her free fingers, she scoots forward atop the bench to plant her feet on the ground. Resting her other hand on Dorothea's opposing arm, Edelgard leans forward and weaves two kisses atop the other girl's jawline.

She can't see her face from where she is positioned, but she does know her own is growing flustered. After a few seconds, she withdraws and stares into the petals of a small flower. "Without you woven into my story, I may have been lost long ago."

[berglietz]

♫ HAPPY HOLIDAYS~ ♪

good heavens. to think people did this for fun.

it had taken dorothea some considerable effort to wrap this present — to roll it onto its side, to get it into a box that would disguise its shape, and stars above, the time it'd taken just to hoist the finished product from her room and onto the walkway. (this is what she gets for buying the heaviest axe she could find. weighed down and whatnot. she'd been told it would be the perfect thing for a man intent on honing brute strength.) though the songstress tries to lug it down the steps, dorothea arnault quickly finds that she doesn’t last long. it's with a resigned sigh that she abandons the heave-ho’ing and instead locks eyes with a knight stationed off to the side. right on cue, he hurries over, eager to assist. smiling warmly, she'll graciously allow the man to take over, watching with mild interest as he lifts the cumbersome gift. there’s a fleeting moment of satisfaction when she notices how he strains under the weight — he does his best not to huff, but quickly does his face turn pink, and soon enough, she can see his chest heaving beneath the pressure of that heavy plate armor. (confirmation that she’s chosen the right challenge for her intended recipient.) with a string of coquettish thank you's and what would i have done without you's, she and the present finally arrive at the training grounds, and it's there that dorothea waves off the helpful knight, and calls out eagerly to one cyan-haired von bergliez. "caspar!" her voice rings pleasantly, words laced with a note of cheeriness. "have i caught you at a good time? i was hoping we could play a game." at that, she steps aside, revealing the large package behind her: now standing upright, wrapped in tidy cobalt-blue paper. "if you can lift this gift off the ground, then you get to keep it. from me to you."

dorothea draws close now, smile widening as she pulls a small medallion from her pocket. its leather cord hangs neatly between her fingers, and quickly does she loop it over his head, letting it fall with a satisfying clink! against his chest. "a small token of my affection for the strongest man i know. you'll do great things one day, caspykins."

"Oh, hey!"

Caspar comes at Dorothea's call just as the knight she'd arrived with steps aside, leaving her with that big blue box. He eyes it with interest.

"So all I have to do is pick it up?"

Arms wrapped around the package, it only takes that first ounce of effort to realize that the challenge was sincere. Whatever's in there, it's heavy enough to make his limbs ache with the effort to make it move.

She hadn't carried it all this way herself, did she? That man who walked in with her-- she'd gotten him to help. Dorothea could get a man to do just about anything with a smile if she needs it. Far from the first time since he's met her, Caspar wonders how she does that.

The cool slip of leather around his neck brings his attention back to her, and her words send blood rushing to his ears. A light flush of exertion darkens to a deeper shade right before her eyes.

Oh. That's how she does it.

"Come on-!" His voice squeaks up into an utterly embarrassing register. "Caspykins?? Really??"

He doesn't know how Dorothea's magic works on other strong men, but somehow Caspar always ends up wanting to bury himself in the ground when she directs it at him.

(Later, when his fingers curl around the medallion at his chest, it isn't the nickname ringing in his ears that will come back to him. If he does great things one day, he hopes he can celebrate and sing with a friend, especially one with such a beautiful voice.)