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Well, that's cute. Bernadetta has a crush.
"Making a garland, I see?" Bernadetta has her legs crossed on the stone-tiled floor of the greenhouse; Edelgard walks up behind her, peering down at her handiwork. The weave is dense and precise—to be expected, of course, from Bernadetta. Edelgard's never met a better craftswoman.
"Eep!" Bernadetta jumps and scrambles backwards on her hands. "Ah, ahaha… Um…" she trails off, quiet. "Yes. Sorry, why are you here?"
Outside, rain pours. Droplets pelt against the glass roof in a muted staccato.
"I was just picking up a few vegetables for dinner tonight," Edelgard replies. "You don't happen to be stuck in here, do you?" She raises an eyebrow. "I can share my umbrella, if you'd like."
"Oh, well, I guess I am stuck," Bernadetta says. "But I don't mind, really! I like spending time with the plants. And I had to weed, anyway, so…" She holds up a fistful of mulch. "Might as well."
"You've really done well by this greenhouse, Bernadetta," Edelgard says, with admiration.
"Oh, please…"
"No, really," Edelgard insists. "I fear I become so absorbed with my responsibilities that I lose sight of what's important, day-to-day. These plants, for instance." She crouches beside Bernadetta, feeling a petal between her fingers. "They feed us, they're rather beautiful, and they make excellent gifts," Edelgard says, giving her a sideways look. "So thank you, Bernadetta. Truly."
"It's no big deal," Bernadetta says, although she looks more convinced. "If I didn't spend all my time here, I'd just be sewing in my room, or something, so…"
"Hiding away in your room again, Bernadetta?" Edelgard tsks. "I thought those days were behind us. And when there's so much work to be done…"
"Please don't be mad!" Bernadetta says, frantic. "I'm not in my room, right? That's improvement!"
Edelgard laughs. "Relax. I was only teasing."
"OK," Bernadetta squeaks.
"Well, since we're both 'stuck' here—" Edelgard sets her umbrella to the side "—would you like a hand with picking flowers?"
Bernadetta laughs, awkwardly. "Asking the Emperor to help me garden?" She begins to nervously shred apart a blade of grass, fiber by fiber. "I couldn't possibly…"
"It's alright. I'd like to help."
"Well…if you say so." The worry melts off her face into a sunny smile. "Maybe I can teach you something about the plants here—they're so interesting…"
Edelgard tugs the white gloves off her hands. "I can't help but notice that your project isn't exactly traditional," she says, gesturing to Bernadetta's garland-in-progress. Indeed, she's woven together a variety of different plants—baby's breath, lilies of the valley, even some weeds—but not a single rose. "Will any white flowers do?"
"Yup! Everyone likes to pick the last of the white roses before they wash away. Or so the legend goes," Bernadetta says. She turns her gaze upwards. "Obviously, there's no point when you're growing plants inside. But I always feel bad for the other flowers. Like this daffodil. Isn't it so pretty?" Bernadetta cups the bloom in two hands, holding it up to Edelgard's nose.
Bernadetta's passion is palpable—her eyes practically light up. "Beautiful," Edelgard responds.
"I won't let anything go to waste," Bernadetta continues, proudly. "Even weeds! They're useful for creating structure. You know, making a garland is a lot like sewing…sorry, I'm probably boring you, aren't I? It's OK, you don't have to stay if you don't want to."
"I want to," Edelgard says.
"Ah—I'm jumping to conclusions, right…" Bernadetta busies herself by burying her hands in the soil, looking chastised. "Well, if I'm waiting anywhere for the rain to let up, I'm glad it's here. And with you."
The conversation subsides, then, and they work side-by-side in silence. Without the pressure to speak, Bernadetta seems to relax substantially, occasionally taking a bloom from Edelgard's hands to incorporate into the garland. Edelgard, for her part, is happy to watch her work.
"Lady Edelgard?" Bernadetta says, after a while.
"Bernadetta," Edelgard chides, disappointed.
"Oh, sorry. I mean, Edelgard? I…" Bernadetta busies herself with her garland. "I'm glad you've decided to reopen the Officer's Academy."
"Is that so?" Edelgard looks to her right, finding Bernadetta's eyes with her own.
"Aaah!" Ah, right. Edelgard softens her gaze. "Um. Yes. I know that it wasn't all good…and there's a lot of work to be done, transforming the church…but. Even so, this is the place where I really, um, learned to not be so afraid of people. Thanks to the professor, of course, but also you! You really inspire me, Edelgard." Bernadetta sucks in a big breath, after that. "So, even though I know it'll be a while before any students enroll here again, I'm glad they'll have the chance to learn like we did."
Edelgard sits with that for a moment. "I appreciate hearing that, Bernadetta. It's easy for me to become…detached." She plucks a weed from the soil by its roots, business-like, and sets it to the side. "I struggled to know if I was making the right choice, preserving an institution that caused so much harm. Was I allowing sentiment to interfere with my duty?" Then she looks at Bernadetta, who has begun weaving the weed into the flower crown, and is unable to help the smile that alights on her face. "But impartiality isn't necessarily a virtue. I always benefit from your counsel, Bernadetta."
"Oh, thank you, Your Majesty," Bernadetta responds, burying her nose in her work.
—
The next morning, Edelgard gets a knock on her door.
“H-h-h-happy birthday, Edelgard!” It's Bernadetta—in her hands, yesterday's white garland.
“My goodness, Bernadetta. I had no idea.” Edelgard thinks back. Somehow, incredibly, she didn't. Frankly, she had forgotten about her birthday entirely. She opens the door a little wider, accepts the crown in two hands. "Thank you. Should I take this to be a friendship garland? Or…" and Edelgard pauses. "Would you care to join me for dinner later today?”
"That! That would be lovely," Bernadetta manages, blushing furiously.