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i.
In Enbarr, winter always seems to progress to spring in stages: At first slowly, and then all at once.
As of the current moon, the former is in effect. Outside, the trees are still barren and tipped with frost, skeletal branches still rattling with fierce winds. At this hour, the skies are still and gray, although in only a few hours’ time they’ll have turned almost pitch black. The clouds have been growing lighter in both number and hue, however, and the sun sets later and later each day, no matter how small those increments are.
Even solidly indoors, Edelgard can almost feel the chill on her skin. The stone walls offer little insulation, and no fireplace or candles occupy this particular room. Perhaps she could consider having a hearth installed; it’s not as if she doesn’t use it, and the guests she hosts within could benefit from the added comfort.
Guests like the one present now. As if reminded of just that, she drags her gaze away from the window and back down the table to Caspar. He had begun fidgeting in the prolonged silence, but under her returned attention, he straightens.
“My apologies,” says Edelgard—sincerely but lightly, low to account for the lack of anyone else in the room. “I had no intentions to let us trail off so unceremoniously. Were there any thoughts you wished to share before we proceed?”
“Uhhh…” Caspar returns to a half-slouch and frowns in consideration. “I guess Fleche’s thinking about getting married soon,” he says at last.
Edelgard had meant thoughts on more professional matters, but she supposes the information is interesting enough. “I suppose she is at that age,” she says after running some quick mental calculations, difficult as it is to believe.
“I guess,” says Caspar, looking about equally incredulous.
“If or when she does wed, inform me once preparations are underway,” Edelgard goes on, shaking her daze. “I’d like to make an appearance at the ceremony if I’m able.”
“Sure thing. Though I can’t imagine she wouldn’t let you know herself.” Edelgard also expects a direct correspondence, though establishing contingencies is never a poor decision. Caspar, face still twisted with a mix of emotions, shifts in his seat. “Seems like there’s a lot of that going around these days. Marriage, I mean.”
Edelgard lifts an eyebrow, unsure where he intends to go with this, but hums. “Winter and spring have always been the most popular wedding seasons in Adrestia.”
Caspar snorts. “Yeah, I guess so.” He runs a hand over the side of his neck. “That’s… not really what I meant, though.”
“What, then?” Edelgard’s cocked brow drifts higher.
“I don’t know.” Caspar lets out a long huff of breath. “I guess it just seems like in the last few years, more and more people around us have been getting married. For true love and all that, not just political advantages or whatever.” His hands twist idly together on the edge of the tabletop. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Edelgard?”
In and of itself, the apparent nonsequitur gives her pause—let alone the words themselves. “Pardon me?” is all Edelgard can get out at first.
“I mean,” says Caspar, continuing but not clarifying, “it’s not like you don’t have options.”
“Multiple of whom would be options, in that sense, for you as well, were you to marry.” Instead of shrugging and acknowledging the point, Caspar looks a bit more discontent. Any pretense of formality drops altogether as Edelgard too sits back. “Caspar, where is this coming from?”
“With all the recent weddings, I guess I’ve just been thinking.” His eyes drop to his hands. “I mean, if Fódlan were still like it used to be, I’d probably have gotten married off to someone to help House Bergliez’s connections by now. Years ago, maybe. Just ’cause I’m the second son doesn’t mean I was completely free from all of that.”
“No, it does not,” says Edelgard softly. “But, needless to say, things are not like they used to be. You can wed when or if you truly wish to, not only to serve someone else’s agenda.”
“I know,” says Caspar, with an earnestness Edelgard appreciates hearing. “And I’m not sure if I do ever want to, you know?” He shrugs. “I love all of you guys, but I don’t think we really need huge ceremonies or whatever to prove that.”
“I agree wholeheartedly, though I don’t believe marriage is solely a means to that end.” Edelgard frowns as something about his phrasing turns over in her mind. “Caspar, are you perhaps… concerned about falling behind?”
“Ugh, when you say it like that…” Caspar grimaces. When she continues to stare, he separates his hands and starts drumming his fingers against the table. “You know not being like other people doesn’t really bother me. Why would I wanna be just like everybody else? That’s boring.”
“Again, I agree. But you don’t have to genuinely want that to feel distraught about missing out on apparent milestones achieved only by those around you.” Most of Edelgard’s childhood, after all, had passed her by, even the idyllic days she did get long since beyond recollection, and only sometimes does she let herself mourn what could have been.
“I guess,” says Caspar, though from his continued contorted expression she suspects any deep psychological implications are out of his realm of concern.
She sighs. “But to answer your original question… I’m not certain, either.” Caspar’s head jerks back up. “Certainly, marriage is a less strict institution and far less governed by external forces than it once was. But having grown up in that time, I doubt it will ever stop carrying that weight for me, at least on some subconscious level.” She moves her own hands from her lap to the table and curls them together. When she pauses for too long, Caspar nods her on. “Some have undoubtedly always found love and care within marriage, but it has also been used as a tool to subjugate and exclude. Bernadetta and Dorothea’s experiences are prime examples of that, and sadly, they are far from the exception.
“All that aside,” continues Edelgard, “I can’t find any inherent flaw in wanting to declare and record officially how much you care for another person, and such an idea does have its appeal.” Her fingers trace over the bare ring finger on the opposite hand. “With all of that taken into account, I am not entirely opposed to the idea of marriage, but I also have no present plans to pursue it. Is that a thorough enough response?”
“A little too thorough, actually,” Caspar says dryly. “‘Maybe, maybe not’ would’ve been good enough.”
Edelgard doesn’t stop her eyes from rolling. “I will keep it concise next time you ask, then.” She maintains her cool expression over his snort. “Regardless, you are not the only one with uncertainties and doubts—not about this, and not about other things either. Does that put you at ease?”
“Hey, I really wasn’t that upset about it. I mean, I’m not losing sleep over not getting hitched or whatever. It was just one of those weird thoughts, you know?” Caspar scratches over the shaved portion of his hair. “But sure, I guess so.”
Edelgard nods. She watches him for a moment longer, then turns her stare back to the still unresolved paperwork before her. Another glance toward the window shows the sky already darkening, so they ought to at least try to make some progress before they have to leave.
Before she gets the chance to return them to a discussion more along the lines of what they’d met here for, though, Caspar clears his throat. “Hey, if you did ever get married,” he says then, “just, you know, hypothetically, would it just be to one person? Or would you take at least a couple of consorts? That’s what most other emperors have done, right?”
“I do not particularly wish to emulate the majority of my predecessors in most respects,” Edelgard points out. “And often, they only took multiple spouses as a means of maximizing their potential heirs and maintaining certain political connections. Such relationships involved complex dynamics of power and control, rarely any genuine respect or affection.” Her parents were a rare exception, and even then Edelgard can remember her mother’s occasional jealousies and the other consorts’ treatment of them both.
“Fair enough.” Caspar waves a hand. “But if you could ignore all of that…”
Edelgard sets her jaw and holds his stare—he returns it with all the tenacity he’s brought to a more literal battlefield. Before long, Edelgard sighs again. “I suppose it would depend on the individual feelings of those—what was the term you used?—‘options.’” He’s unbothered in the face of her glare, although it lacks much real hostility. “But ideally, yes, I think I would want more than one of my relationships recorded in that manner. They are all important to me, after all.” A smile touches her face before she can rein it in. Quickly, she shakes it away and focuses back in on Caspar. “And you?”
Caspar jolts at the returned scrutiny. “What about me?”
“If you were to marry eventually, would it ideally be to one person or multiple?”
“Eh, more than one, probably, same as you,” he says without much hesitation. “Though like you said, I guess it’d depend on a lot of things. And it wouldn’t have to all be, I don’t know, romantic marriages either. Right?”
“It is only in recent years that any kind of love or affection at all has even been regarded as essential to a good marriage, so I would agree.” Caspar nods, face creased in thought again. He glances up at her and then back down a few times. Edelgard steeples her fingers under her chin. “Caspar, if you have something to say, say it directly. That has been your philosophy for the past several minutes, after all.”
Instead of looking sheepish or embarrassed, he grins. “Nope, nothing.” He rearranges his posture into something relaxed but attentive. “Sorry for getting us so off-topic.”
“I’ve come to expect it from every meeting with you,” says Edelgard, shaking her head. “Enough so that I factor it into my time estimates by now. Though this particular subject was a deviation from the normal… well, deviation.”
“Come on, I don’t do that—” he waves a hand around “—in every meeting.” Edelgard just stares, long enough that Caspar does shrink. “Well, whatever,” he decides soon, forcing out a laugh. He starts rifling through the papers in front of him. “What were we talking about before? The thing near Fódlan’s Locket?”
Edelgard’s attention stays on him. “We had just ended that discussion, and I was about to propose we move on to next moon’s excursion to Sreng.”
“Oh. Right.” Caspar flashes a toothy smile. “Uh, what excursion to Sreng was that again?”
Edelgard lets out yet another sigh but brings a sheet of paper up to hide her return smile. Even as she does, thoughts rattle about her mind like the branches outside; the wind carries them, too, briskly away, to return another time and on another breeze.
ii.
Clamor and celebration surround Edelgard—yet, for once, it isn’t in her name. It really has nothing to do with her at all, for that matter. It comes as an odd comfort to be able to sit here just like any other person, sipping at a drink and fading into the background.
Well, perhaps not just like any other person, and the others around her do possess a clear awareness of her presence. But that treatment only goes as far as she would expect of the people of Brigid.
To be invited to a wedding here had come as a surprise, but not an unpleasant one, and Edelgard had been honored to attend. Political reasons had undoubtedly driven a large part of her acceptance—appearing herself would help reinforce the equal standing of and goodwill between their countries. Not to mention both of the grooms occupy positions in Brigid’s government, and one is a distant cousin of Petra’s (though from the ambiguous term she’d used, Edelgard still isn’t certain whether their relation is one of blood), making good relations that much more important. Still, seated here now, she’s pleased on a more personal level to be a guest and take in the atmosphere.
The cliffside ceremony she had watched earlier had been quite distinct from those held in Fódlan, featuring lively dancing and a series of rather intricate rituals to join the couple in marriage. The reception, held along the beach only a short walk away, is even less familiar. Dancing and music are still as prominent and as exciting, if not more so. People in bright, colorful clothing mingle about openly; some have even joined the dancers and musicians for brief flourishes of their own.
Not many have approached Edelgard in that mingling, but everyone has to have at least glanced her way. Most of those who have wandered close enough to converse have been the very young and the very old. Others may have mentioned her amongst themselves, but in undertones too distant and too heavily overlapping to distinguish, and she doesn’t doubt that she will continue to be a topic of discussion for months if not years to come. No one seems to outright fear her, at least, although the occasional wariness or hostility she’ll accept willingly.
Her own attention drifts through the crowd, catching other eyes and picking up faces of interest, recognized or not. Soon, she finds Petra, seated at the grooms’ table and talking animatedly with her cousin. His now-husband seems to only chime in on occasion, more often just leaning back and listening with a fond smile.
A similar smile appears on Edelgard’s face, even observing from too far away to make out a single word. Petra, as if able to feel her gaze, suddenly straightens and turns toward Edelgard. While Edelgard is still blinking, Petra waves a beckoning hand. Edelgard glances around, but as before, no one is in her immediate vicinity.
She sets her half-finished drink down and rises. On the way over, she catches snippets of cheerful conversation and laughter, broadening her lingering smile. It drops into something more appropriately somber when she reaches Petra and the grooms.
“Congratulations,” Edelgard says in her stilted Brigid, using the phrases she and Petra had exchanged back and forth earlier until she’d gotten a satisfactory grasp on them. “May your life together be blessed with much love and fortune.”
She has to admit, that saying is more pleasing to her than the drier congratulations offered in Fódlan. She seems to have done it relative justice as well—Petra looks approving, and both her cousin and cousin-in-law offer earnest grins. They each bow, which she returns.
“Our many thanks, Your Majesty,” says Petra’s cousin in accented Fódlan. Hearing the words, he chuckles. “If our ancestors were to be hearing that, or seeing this…” He gestures between them.
Edelgard’s smile returns. “Yours and mine both.”
“Yes, that is what I was meaning by ‘our.’” He reaches out to clasp her hand between his. Edelgard startles but manages to relax into it. “Thank you,” he repeats, in Brigid this time.
Edelgard raises her free hand. She’d like to continue the dialogue, but she hasn’t yet learned enough of Brigid’s language to translate what she wants to say into it. “I ought to be thanking you,” she says, “for allowing me to witness this procession.”
Petra’s cousin’s grin widens. “Now that is something I am wishing your and my ancestors could be hearing.”
“Very many things have been changed in very little time,” says Petra, looking solemnly down.
“For the best, I am thinking,” agrees her cousin.
His husband adds something else in Brigid, too fast for Edelgard to follow. Petra glances between them and translates: “He is saying that since you are being here, you should be enjoying the dancing and food. Merrymaking, I believe it would be said.”
“I have been,” assures Edelgard. “And I will continue to, so long as we are here.”
“Good, good!” Petra’s cousin drops his hands from Edelgard’s to clap. “Your, ah, parties in Fódlan, they are not being like this at all, are they?”
“Not in the slightest.” Edelgard leans closer as if conspiring. “I would daresay they’re far worse in many senses.”
He barks out a laugh. “If you are already saying this, then you will not want to be missing the next few hours. Stay, please, and witness it all.”
“Could we perhaps be taking a walk first?” Petra cuts in, with a glance at Edelgard. “Only a short one. This beach has much beauty at night.”
“That it does.” Petra’s cousin nods. “Be returning with swiftness, Petra. Uncle was wishing to be having some words with you.”
“We will.” Petra returns her stare to Edelgard, who offers a polite nod to excuse herself before looking back. Petra then stands, exchanges bows with her cousin and cousin-in-law, and sets off, not needing words to know Edelgard will follow.
As they weave back around the crowd, Edelgard pauses to snatch her drink back up. She takes a quick sip and continues in Petra’s wake with the glass tucked against her chest. It doesn’t appear that they’re going far from the heart of the celebration, only enough to emerge onto the beach proper and leave behind a fraction of the noise.
The churning of the waves fills in that empty space soon, and Edelgard edges away from the shoreline. Hard as she has tried to ease her fear of the ocean of late, it is stubbornly rooted in place—too deep, she thinks, to ever eradicate altogether. Petra notices the shift, though, and without a word angles her steps to lead them farther inland.
Then, at last, she stops. With her draped garments flowing in the soft night breeze, she turns to gaze out over the horizon. Edelgard doesn’t do the same—all that’s there are endless miles of water—but glances over her shoulder. The pavilion is still in clear view, and the lights of the candles scattered throughout and bonfire at its center even touch them here, although the moonlight has taken greater precedence. Still, the elapsed distance separates them into two distinct worlds.
“It truly has been a lovely ceremony,” says Edelgard, twisting back toward Petra. “More so than I was expecting, frankly, with how tedious these things have tended to be in Fódlan.”
Petra laughs. “I am glad,” she says. “I was thinking you would be liking it, but I was not knowing. I am thinking it is important you are here and enjoying yourself, though.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Edelgard dares to steal a look toward the sea but has to quickly avert her gaze and take another drink. After she swallows, she wipes her thumb over her lips. “Will it someday be your wedding I attend like this?”
She’s not quite sure where the question comes from—the lingering thoughts from the conversation she had had with Caspar not long ago, perhaps, stirred up anew by tonight. Petra’s expression, too, goes slack with shock, and she turns blinking back toward Edelgard. The breeze picks up, stirring a braid into her face, and she bats it away.
Just when Edelgard is considering rescinding the question, Petra lowers her chin. “Perhaps. But that will not be until long into the future. I am having… I have more important things to handle for now.”
“I see.” Edelgard smiles despite herself. “It’s much the same for me, of course. Forgive me for the sudden question—it occurred to me just as abruptly, you see.”
Petra continues to study her. “In past years,” she says, tone about as neutral as Edelgard has ever heard her, “it is a possibility that a marriage would have been arranged between representatives of our nations to be securing their peace.”
“Yes, that is likely so,” says Edelgard with the same caution. “There are plenty of stories, factual and more mythological alike, that tell of similar unions.” She tilts her head back to look at the sky, the constellations there glimmering with legends along that theme. “Although in our particular cases, something of that nature would have perhaps only reinforced Fódlan’s prior power over Brigid.”
Petra nods. “Here,” she says after a somber beat, “we are usually taking only one spouse, and it is the mate of our soul. We are being bonded as true equals, always meant to support and care for one another.” Her attention drifts toward the reception as well, and she smiles before bringing it back. “It is not like that in Fódlan.”
Although it isn’t a question, still Edelgard says, “No, not historically. That seems to be starting to change, though.”
“Yes.” Petra nods again, more emphatic. “Another change that I am thinking is a very good one.”
“I have to agree,” says Edelgard, gaze still skyward. “I hope that, someday, almost all weddings in Fódlan will be more like those here.”
“Including yours?”
The question doesn’t quite startle Edelgard, but she has to think it over for longer than strictly necessary. “I don’t know if I ever will have one,” she says. “Even if I marry, which I’m not certain about either, I may not find such a public ceremony necessary. Perhaps something quieter, with only those I truly trust present.” She exhales. “But the love and care involved… yes, I think that would be quite critical.”
A smile spreads across Petra’s face. “If I am ever being wed, Edelgard,” she says, making clear eye contact, “I would be greatly liking you there as an honored guest. Not only as the emperor of Fódlan, but as my dear friend.”
Edelgard lowers her head. “Nothing would honor me more.” She straightens, shoulders remaining stiff. “And if ever I wed, I would be just as grateful for your presence. Though I can’t guarantee I can hold a ceremony as interesting as one here.”
“You will be finding some way to make it interesting,” says Petra, shaking her head, though Edelgard notes she doesn’t add in the same modifier. That’s all right—a portion of the love and jubilation here is all Edelgard can aspire to.
Another quiet moment extends between them, only the distant celebratory sounds and even lower rushing of water occupying the silence. Edelgard manages a longer look at the ocean and the moon glinting off of it.
“We should be returning now,” says Petra at last. Her fingers, warm and solid, curl around Edelgard’s wrist. “There is still much you have not been seeing.”
“I still can’t imagine what else there even is to see,” Edelgard says with a faint laugh. “But I’m sure it’ll be just as wonderful as the rest.”
Smiling still, she trails Petra back through the sand.
iii.
Edelgard ducks her head through the greenhouse door and squints through the rows and rows of plants that flood her vision. They seem to grow more, both in height and number, with every visit; they’ve certainly exploded since Edelgard was last here, let alone compared to when the structure was first built. For how relatively little time has passed since then, it’s impressive how far this place has come.
Try as she might, she can’t make out any familiar shapes among the foliage. “Bernadetta?” she settles for calling out.
It echoes around the walls. From deeper within comes a similarly reverberating squeak, followed by a series of clattering.
Edelgard winces. “Are you all right?” she asks, a little lower.
“J-Just fine!” calls back Bernadetta’s voice. “I just, um—” More thuds, though not quite enough to drown out her mumbled self-cursing.
Edelgard tracks the sound toward the back of the building, where she likely should have known to head anyway. Even then, camouflaged as she is among vivid flowers and dull stems, it takes a second for Bernadetta’s shape to make itself apparent.
She’s crouching, an abandoned stool behind her still teetering on its legs. Before her is an easel; below her are scattered supplies, which she tries to gather up from the floor. She grabs for her pen only to fumble and drop it again. It strikes the ground with a sound loud enough to make Bernadetta flinch back, then rolls in Edelgard’s direction.
Just before it can hit her boot, she leans down and picks it up. While Bernadetta is still scrambling for the remaining items, Edelgard crosses the remaining distance and holds the pen out.
It takes Bernadetta a second to notice, but when she does her already present flush darkens. “Thank you, Edelgard,” she says, accepting it. “Sorry you had to come all this way just to see me being a total klutz.”
Edelgard shakes her head. “I’m sorry for startling you. I did arrive earlier than anticipated.”
“No, no, it’s okay.” Bernadetta’s arm jerks like she’s about to wave her hands—just in time, she seems to remember the objects clutched against her chest and stills herself. “I kinda lost track of time, anyway. It’s pretty easy to do in here.”
“I can imagine.” Edelgard’s eyes pass from one wall to the other. The majority of this back section of the greenhouse, like the rest, is teeming with plants—some with very clear feeding methods, others ambiguous at a glance. She’s sure Bernadetta has described at least a few to her, though the specifics fail her now. “I seem to see some new additions. Have you been cultivating anything particularly interesting?”
“Ah! Yes!” Bernadetta spins, shunting the weight into one arm so she can safely point around the room. “I just planted those new sundews a couple weeks ago, and they’re already so big, see? I don’t know if it’s something in the soil—I’ve been playing around with that, too—or if they were just really good seeds. I haven’t found much about their cultivation in books or anything, so maybe I can discover something about them and get it out there somehow. Oh, but I—I’d have to use my name for that, wouldn’t I?” She frowns.
“Not necessarily,” says Edelgard. “I’m sure Linhardt could see to publishing your findings anonymously. Other authors do it, although perhaps not for scientific documents.”
“I guess that’s true.” Mollified, Bernadetta shakes herself and turns back toward her easel. She rearranges her pen and paints along its edge, then rights the sketchbook and canvas resting atop it. “But anyway, I was just working on that portrait you wanted. The one of all of us, remember?”
Edelgard leans closer with a smile. “How could I forget?”
Bernadetta gets out a faint, embarrassed laugh. “I’m sorry it’s taking so long, by the way.” Her chin lowers, and her eyes flit between Edelgard and the canvas. “I want to get it just right, so…”
“Perfection takes time. I understand completely,” assures Edelgard. “I don’t mind waiting. I’m sure that whenever it is finished, it will more than live up to my expectations.”
“Aw, don’t say that.” Bernadetta’s face goes red again. “Now I’ll be even more worried about getting it perfect.”
“I apologize.” Although Edelgard’s tone remains light, and her smile stays in place, some somberness seeps in. “Whatever the final results may be, I will be more than happy with them. Your hard work and time will have gone into it, after all, and what a labor of love it is will undoubtedly show. Is that any better?”
Bernadetta rubs her cheek. “Definitely still embarrassing,” she says, “but… I guess it’s okay. Did you, um, maybe want to see the few sketch ideas I finished?”
As she draws her hand away, the ring on her right hand catches the light. Though it’s only made of felt, the felt flower seems to glow around its embroidered lines as if pure gold. Edelgard’s hand drifts toward the matching flower pinned to her chest.
“Edelgard?” prompts Bernadetta.
Edelgard blinks, realizing a few seconds have passed, before regaining her smile. “Ah, I’m sorry—I was distracted for a moment.” Her hand falls back to her side, then joins with the other behind her back. “Please, show me.”
Bernadetta’s eyebrows continue to pinch together, but she nods. “Okay. So,” she says, flipping through her sketchbook until she reaches a certain page, “this is the first composition I was thinking of. I think it gives us all the most room, but maybe that’s not what I should go for.”
“Having us closer would be more fitting,” says Edelgard, “if not strictly traditional, in terms of decorum.”
“Yeah, but the whole thing isn’t exactly ‘strictly traditional,’ is it?”
“A fair point.” Edelgard’s smile widens, broader than the one with which Bernadetta has depicted her. She’s sure all of her childhood portraits had her wear the typical stern face of a future emperor, so that, too, is an acceptable break from artistic convention. “What were the others?”
Bernadetta turns to another spread. “I put us closer together in this one. Um, maybe a little too close, actually. And you look a little off-center… ah, I think I should scrap this one after all.”
She reaches for the edge of the page, but Edelgard gently catches her wrist. “Perhaps you’ll still want to use some elements of it,” she says. “I think it’s lovely, as a matter of fact. And it’s not as if I mind not being the central figure—there’ll be enough representations of myself that way.”
“Maybe.” Bernadetta is still frowning, but she at least lowers her hand. “It just seems fitting to keep you there. I mean, you’re kind of part of what brought us all together, right? And you are the emperor.”
“True. But in this image, I’d like to simply be a person, surrounded by those I love.”
Bernadetta blinks. “Yeah. Okay. I get that.” She smiles, almost automatic, and starts looking through pages again. “Talk about untraditional, though,” she adds with a giggle.
“Indeed,” Edelgard says dryly. “I don’t believe any of my predecessors had themselves and their spouses or consorts portrayed in such a casual manner. If they did, those works have been lost to time.”
“That’s kind of sad,” says Bernadetta, gaze drifting. “But it’s just another way to set yourself apart from them, right?”
Hearing Bernadetta offer an optimistic view of the situation is unexpected enough to get a huffed laugh out of Edelgard. “I suppose so, yes. Hopefully in a good way.”
“I mean, I think being willing to show that you’re a real human person who actually, um, really l-loves and respects the people around her is definitely good.” Bernadetta nods as if emphasizing her own words. “Plus, we aren’t exactly consorts. So it would still be a bit different no matter what.”
“Right.” Edelgard’s voice wavers the faintest bit, and her eyes fall upon Bernadetta’s ring again. “Would that ever be… something of interest to you?”
Bernadetta freezes. When she manages to look at Edelgard, it’s not directly in the eyes, and hers are large, irises shrunken to pinpricks. “What,” she says, slow and tentative, “being a—a consort? Your consort? Getting m-m-married?”
“Never mind,” Edelgard says quickly, hand at her temple. “It was only a passing thought. I apologize.”
“No, wait!” Bernadetta grabs for Edelgard’s arm, dragging it down like Edelgard had restrained her a few moments earlier. “I—I was just surprised, really! I—I wasn’t expecting—and I’ve never heard you—” She pauses to gulp in a breath. “Is that something you’re interested in, Edelgard? Getting married? At all? To—to me?”
Edelgard hesitates, jaw shifting back and forth. “I hadn’t given it much thought until lately,” she admits finally. “Marriage in general, that is. But…” She sighs. “Though I’m still not certain I ever will, I’m not opposed to the idea of marrying at all, and certainly not to that of marrying you.”
“Oh.” Bernadetta’s gaze clouds over again.
“But of course,” Edelgard rushes to add, “if the very thought makes you that uncomfortable, then please, we can both forget I ever mentioned it. I understand your personal reservations, and I’m not without my own. I would only want to proceed with such an arrangement if you also earnestly desired it.”
“I—I—” Bernadetta squirms on her feet. “I don’t… hate the idea,” she gets out at last, lilting up like a question at the end. Her shoulders snap up. “Ah, no, that sounded way too negative! Ugh, I mean, the thought of getting married—it’s not as, um, upsetting to me as it used to be. A-And I’ve thought about it a few times lately, too, honestly.” She pulls at a loose strand of hair. “But I—I spent so much of my life being forced to prepare for it, and being told even then that I’d never be good enough, that I don’t know if I’d ever be able to really go through with it.”
“I understand completely,” reiterates Edelgard. “For what it’s worth, you are not—unmarriageable.” She’s hesitant to say the word, unsure if it will drive Bernadetta into further anxiety the way things that remind Edelgard of a past best forgotten sometimes do, but Bernadetta’s chin remains steady. Edelgard sets her hand on her elbow. “You are not anything that man said you are. Not in the slightest.”
A tear beads at the corner of Bernadetta’s eye—she goes to swipe it away, but Edelgard’s hand is already there. It seems to make Bernadetta sniff harder. Edelgard, wincing, moves to pull away, but Bernadetta grabs her wrist.
“I know,” she says, cheek pressing against Edelgard’s palm. “I really do. But it’s still hard sometimes.”
Edelgard nods, silent. Though no more tears are forthcoming, her thumb continues to trace its silent pattern on Bernadetta’s cheek.
“Maybe eventually, I would be up for it,” says Bernadetta after a moment. “No better way to prove him wrong than to get the most powerful, richest spouse of all, right?”
An unintentional chuckle leaves Edelgard. She covers her mouth, but Bernadetta is still grinning. “I’d rather you not become my consort for the sole purpose of proving a point to your deceased father, Bernadetta.”
“It wouldn’t be just because of that!” insists Bernadetta, laughing through it. “A-And it’s a big maybe, okay? And if we had any sort of ceremony, it would have to be really quiet. Just us and the others, probably.”
“Of course,” says Edelgard at once.
“But…” Bernadetta toys with her hair again. “If that ‘eventually’ does come, I’ll let you know. Or—I’ll try to, anyway. You might just have to ask again every now and then.”
Edelgard nods. “It’s all right if that ‘eventually’ never does come, though,” she says. “As I said, my mind isn’t yet made up either.” Her hand falls from Bernadetta’s cheek to her shoulder. “And being by your side, no matter in what form, is more than enough.”
Bernadetta turns the darkest red she has yet, but her smile is bright and genuine. She pushes her attention—and with it, Edelgard’s—back to the forgotten sketchbook. “Um, so for the next drawing,” she says as she flips the page, “I kind of merged the different parts I liked of the other two…”
iv.
For all of the cumulative time Edelgard has spent on the grounds of Garreg Mach Monastery, she ought to feel more comfortable revisiting it. A flash of nostalgia for much simpler days—and even the grueling hustle of wartime, for the sense of unity that had at least filled the last push of it—does tend to set upon her, but each time, a disquieting itch displaces it faster and faster.
Perhaps it has something to do with the very nature of the monastery. Despite the years since the Black Eagle Strike Force pried away Rhea’s grip on it, her presence and impact are rooted deep, so much so that only more time than has passed will have any effect. It will take generations, Edelgard thinks, for her work to entrench itself in the same way. She knew as much from the beginning, but on occasion it still frustrates her.
But perhaps what tugs at her is not that nagging annoyance, but something more basic: A sour turn on that instinctive wistfulness, the knowledge that those days are gone and she can never live within them again. That, too, she mulls on more frequently than she’d like. Sometimes it comes as a relief; others, it bites at her with the sting she feels now.
Whatever the case, her shoulders are stiff as she walks along the quiet path outside the entrance hall. It’s late enough, at least, that no one is outside to see her in such a state.
It is also late enough, though, that she has to cross her arms in hopes of staving off the harsh wind. Although spring has ostensibly sprung, the last vestiges of winter have clung on with all their might, and Edelgard imagines they’ll last longer here, as always, than to the south.
As she suppresses a shiver and glances around for shelter, her eyes catch on a certain building. Her lip catches between her teeth. Then, with renewed purpose, Edelgard presses forward.
Before she knows it, she’s standing in the Goddess Tower. The walls are too thin to make it that much warmer, but they offer some protection, and the walk had kickstarted her circulation anew. She exhales, letting it wash over her hands where they’re clasped before her face.
She steps forward—and realizes, when her foot brushes something solid, she isn’t alone. Edelgard stumbles back. Her eyes snap down to find—
Dark hair strewn messily about, its shade made clear only by the strings of moonlight creeping in, and a familiar prone pose, curled inward in a deep sleep. Edelgard’s heart settles, and she sighs.
She edges around him for a closer look. A coat lies underneath Linhardt as a makeshift blanket, but it can’t provide much cushioning. He’ll no doubt wake up either sick or very sore or both.
“Linhardt?” says Edelgard softly, leaning down. True to her low expectations, his eyelashes don’t so much as flutter. “Linhardt,” she repeats, louder and sterner, the tone she used to use when he dozed off during important strategy meetings; still, the biggest response she gets is a twitch near one eyebrow.
With another sigh, Edelgard sits beside him. No matter how many times she’s seen him sleeping—which must be in at least the hundreds by now—it never ceases to impress her how relaxed he manages to look. The few wrinkles in his face smooth out, and his expression goes even blanker than it often is when conscious. His shoulders are likewise free of tension. A single lock of hair has fallen over his face.
Edelgard doubts she’s able to achieve that ease even in sleep—at the very least, it’s been a very, very long time since she found it in the waking world. She knows Linhardt has his own worries, but it’s difficult to believe like this. The longer she watches, though, the more fondness quiets any fleeting envy.
And the more that stray hair bothers her. Even when Edelgard turns her head away, taking in the rest of the familiar but uninteresting surroundings, it sticks tauntingly at the corner of her vision.
She can’t keep herself from finally reaching over and brushing it aside. The very edge of it still pokes out over Linhardt’s ear and refuses to be smoothed into place, but it’s better than nothing.
Edelgard’s fingers graze Linhardt’s cheek as she draws her hand away. One eye pops open, jolting her back.
They blink at each other. Edelgard half-expects Linhardt to close his eyes again, but he manages to give her a look of sleepy recognition and slur out, “Your Majesty.” He yawns. “Forgive me for lacking the faculties to bow.”
Edelgard holds in a snort. “You’ve never once greeted me in such a manner, so I hardly would expect you to start now.”
“I don’t think that’s quite true.” Even without complete control of his senses, already Linhardt is arguing with her. Edelgard is almost impressed. “Surely the very first time we met, we each had to go through some show of proper respect.”
“Considering we would have both been too young at the time to recall any such meeting clearly now, I doubt we should count it.”
“As you wish.” Linhardt yawns again, seems to fully return to himself—or as close to it as he ever gets—and rolls onto his back. “Speaking of things we can’t recall, I really don’t know why I ever thought this would be a suitable napping spot. My back is going to be aching for days.”
“It’s a mystery to us both,” says Edelgard, without any particular sympathy. “I did try to wake you.”
“Ah, well, we both know that’s a lost cause.” Linhardt tilts his head in a way that must warp Edelgard’s face terribly from his point of view. “When did you get here?”
He doesn’t clarify which here he means, so Edelgard answers both: “I’ve been at the monastery all day, but I only arrived in the tower a few minutes ago. Perhaps ten, at the most.”
“Then you’re really not to blame for my back.” Slowly, Linhardt drags himself up until he’s sitting up. He stretches his limbs out, rather cat-like, one at a time.
Then, without a hint of shame or hesitation, he flops right back onto his side—across Edelgard’s lap this time. Edelgard sighs but allows it.
“You remember all the stories about this place, right?” he says, apparently just lazing instead of falling straight back asleep.
Edelgard humors the nonsequitur with a hum. “How could I forget? Make a promise to someone here, or even just cross paths with them, and you’ll be united with the blessings of the Goddess forever.” Her voice grows increasingly dry. Her parents had gotten close enough, but still fallen quite short of forever.
“Or cursed. There’s definitely a version of the legend that goes like that, too, and no one knows which was the original.” Linhardt shuffles in her lap. “It’s nice either way, I think. Blessing or curse, you’re together in it.”
“I suppose,” says Edelgard noncommittally.
“Say, our paths have crossed here tonight,” says Linhardt, wiggling some more. “So do you feel like making any sort of eternal vow with me?”
Even though he can’t see her, Edelgard arches an eyebrow. “Of what sort?”
“Oh, I don’t know. In the legends, it’s usually a vow of marriage, isn’t it?”
“Linhardt.” At her tone, Linhardt twists his head around, expression still rather impassive, to meet Edelgard’s equally blank stare. “Are you extremely unceremoniously proposing to the emperor of Fódlan?”
“Am I?” returns Linhardt, genuinely uncertain. Edelgard isn’t sure whether to laugh or pinch the bridge of her nose. His chin tips back. “Ah, I suppose you could read it like that. You needn’t take it seriously, though.” His eyes shut, then open again, gazing down at a point Edelgard doesn’t follow. “I don’t know if I’d call it ‘unceremonious,’ though. This is a rather historically romantic place for it, and it has some personal meaning to you.”
“True,” allows Edelgard, head spinning vaguely. “But the comment itself…”
“A bit too casual?”
“Indeed.”
“Well, like I said, feel free to ignore it. I didn’t mean anything in particular by it.” Linhardt shifts onto his back, still spread over Edelgard’s lap. “If I ever do propose, I’ll try to make it clearer. That seems like a great deal of effort, though, so perhaps you should be the one to handle it.”
“I’ll… keep it in mind.” It’s a different enough conversation on this topic from the ones Edelgard has anticipated, let alone already had, that she doesn’t quite know how to proceed with it. “In all honesty,” she settles on saying, “I hadn’t thought of you as the type to have any interest in marriage.”
Linhardt’s eyes close again, but he hums to indicate his continued attention. “It does seem like a pain. Especially in places where there are so many rules around fidelity—exclusivity, rather—and who is allowed to marry whom.”
“Those are ideally no longer problems, at least from the legal side of things, here in Fódlan,” points out Edelgard.
“You have quite thoroughly seen to that.” Linhardt slings one arm across his torso. “I suppose the core thought of having someone to care for you throughout their life is compelling enough. Although you don’t exactly need to be married to share that kind of devotion.”
Edelgard smiles despite herself. “No, you certainly don’t.” A bit more critically, she adds, “I think the point either way is that you care for each other, though, rather than only you being cared for.”
“Doesn’t always work out that way, but probably.” Linhardt shrugs, palpable against her crossed legs. “I’m not not interested, as it were. Perhaps we should have a full debate on the merits and downsides at some point.” His eyes reopen. “That could be your proposal. If you convince me that the former outweigh the latter, I’ll gladly become one of your consorts.”
“I have no intentions of ‘convincing’ you to marry, Linhardt,” says Edelgard with renewed coolness, shaking her head. “Let alone through some childish debate.”
Linhardt sighs. “It was kind of a fun idea, though.”
“You would get tired halfway through and concede my point whether or not you actually entirely agreed, as you almost always do.” He doesn’t reply to that. Edelgard, refraining from smirking, continues to look sharply down—with his eyes still half-lidded, he attempts to meet the stare. “If you and I do marry, which is by no means a certainty, it will be entirely because of our mutual desire to. Is that understood?”
“Very well.” Linhardt huffs. “We should still make some kind of promise here, though,” he adds, head lolling to the side. “It suits the occasion.”
“Upholding traditions, let alone ones established on these grounds, is not my key ideal,” says Edelgard, “but… I suppose this can be a rare exception.” She thinks to herself for a long, silent while, in which Linhardt also stays quiet. Finally, she straightens. “How about we agree that, regardless of the ultimate form of our relationship, we will support and care for each other as long as possible?”
“Huh.” A smile stretches across Linhardt’s face. “Not bad. Sure, let’s promise that.”
He raises his hand and sticks his pinkie out. Edelgard rolls her eyes but curls her finger around his and shakes.
“Whether we’re cursed or blessed now,” says Linhardt, gazing at their still-linked hands, “it’s some kind of eternal connection.”
“So it is,” says Edelgard, eyes on the same point.
As Linhardt lowers his hand back to his chest, bringing Edelgard’s with it, she realizes that gnawing discomfort from earlier has left her altogether.
v.
“Your performance tonight was incredible.”
Across the dressing room, divesting herself of her costume and cosmetics, Dorothea laughs. “You say that every time, Edie,” she says, coy eyes meeting Edelgard’s in the mirror.
Edelgard, seated on the sofa a short distance away, chuckles back. “It’s true every time,” she counters. “There are few things I take greater pleasure in than seeing you on stage, especially on opening night.” She had always loved the opera as a child, foggy as those memories—like most from that time—are now, but the personal joy she’s taken out of it since Dorothea’s return is a unique emotion.
“Well, thank you.” The amused edges of Dorothea’s smile soften as she wipes off her lipstick. “It won’t be much different most of the time it’s running, you know, so you don’t actually have to show up every single night.”
“Had I made any promises to do as much?”
“No,” allows Dorothea. “But you pretty much always come for the first week or so straight we’re running a new show.”
“As emperor, it is within my duties to support the arts, no matter my other obligations.” Edelgard catches Dorothea roll her eyes, though it’s soon hidden behind a brush as she works on removing her foundation. “And I am hardly the only one with such a fondness for your operas.” Her gaze passes over the abundant flowers distributed throughout the room, likely not even a fraction of all Dorothea had received. “I’m surprised we’ve not yet been disturbed by your other fans, as a matter of fact.”
Dorothea shrugs, leaning closer to the mirror. “The opera house’s security and yours combined are taking care of that, I expect.”
“Yes.” Edelgard’s stare turns to the door. “However good they are, though, someone usually manages to sneak through.”
“Wouldn’t you rather be grateful than suspicious, Edie?” Dorothea lets out another low laugh. “We so rarely get uninterrupted time together. We shouldn’t waste it expecting to be interrupted.”
“I suppose you have a point.” Edelgard sighs and leans back into the sofa, relaxing about as much as she’s capable of. With the fireplace providing more than enough warmth, she undoes the vest she’s beginning to swelter in and rolls up her sleeves.
Dorothea finishes scrubbing off the last of her makeup and leans back with a relieved exhale. Though she had taken her wig and cap off about as soon as the door had closed behind them, she had kept her hair in its compressed updo; now, she lets it down and shakes it out. Dark tousles cascade artfully around her shoulders. She combs her fingers through a few times, without much need.
“Plain old Dorothea again,” she announces, arms spread.
Though her tone is neutral, lacking even a hint of self-deprecation, Edelgard shakes her head. “Those are two adjectives that will never suit you.”
“Never?” The laugh stays suppressed this time, only rippling through Dorothea’s shoulders. “Not even when I’m an eighty-year-old crone?”
“The life expectancy in Fódlan is increasing by the year; in due time, that will be a perfectly ripe age.” Edelgard should know—she’s pored over those statistics so many times they’re all but burned into the backs of her eyelids. “And even then, I’m sure your smile will be just as beautiful and youthful.”
“If you say so.” Dorothea puts on the exact smile Edelgard means: Not the too-wide one she wears on stage or used to when impressing potential spouses, but something quieter and more sincere. It goes even more somber as she studies her reflection. “There was a time when that would have seemed like such a pipe dream. Me getting to that age at all, let alone being happy at it.”
“I do know,” says Edelgard, just above a murmur.
Dorothea doesn’t turn, but her eyes land on Edelgard in the mirror. “Yes,” she says, just as soft. “You really do. That would have seemed so strange when we first met, too.”
“Me understanding you? Or sharing some of your experiences and feelings?”
“Both, really.” Dorothea slides off her stool and smooths out the dark, thin slip she’d stripped down to. She joins Edelgard on the sofa, crossing one leg over the other and setting her folded hands on her propped-up knee. “But I’m sure what would have surprised me most of all is that I would be able to expect you and everyone else to stick around even once my looks and talents are gone.” She broadens her smile. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, of course—I do, more than I could ever hope to put into words. It’s just… funny, how things work out sometimes.”
Edelgard nods. Funny, even if neither of them is laughing anymore.
“It is nice,” adds Dorothea, lighter, “to not have to spend so much time and energy on hooking a wealthy spouse. I mean, I don’t think I could even if I wanted to anymore—I’m busy enough with the opera, and of course with all of you.” She reaches over to the table off to the side to run her fingers over the roses—a joint gift from Ferdinand and Petra, both currently in Brigid, if Edelgard is reading the tag right—set there. “I do get the occasional suitor, someone who’s seen me on stage and thinks they’re in love with me, but… none of them really know me, and I don’t think, starting off like that, they could come to over time. Definitely not the way you and the others do.”
Some things tie people together inextricably, in a way that can never be shattered, that no one who hasn’t had the same experiences could dream to match. Such bonds, Edelgard would agree, link the Black Eagle Strike Force as a whole. She suspects she and Dorothea—if for different reasons—are equally shocked yet relieved to have forged those kinds of lifelong relationships.
“So you’re no longer interested in taking a spouse at all?” With the recent practice she’s had in discussing such matters, the words leave Edelgard surprisingly naturally, even if she winces at how unceremonious they end up sounding. “Even one who perhaps does know you well enough?”
“Well, I don’t know about that. I mean, if—” Dorothea pauses, breath hitching in her throat, and blinks slowly over. She’s still smiling, but as if it’s been frozen to her face. “Edie, are you…?”
“Not in any official capacity.” Edelgard holds up a hand in reassurance, though she can’t quite tell if that’s what Dorothea needs. “I would certainly hope I would broach the topic in a smoother manner than that, if I truly were.”
Dorothea gets out another laugh, loud enough it startles them both. “If it were you saying it, Edie, I don’t think it could be not smooth,” she says. “But would you really be interested in that? In—in marrying me? Because that’s about as politically disadvantageous a union as you could make, you know.”
“As if that matters to me at this point.” Edelgard shakes her head. “Even so, there are plenty of worse options than a brilliant songstress and writer whom I love, not to mention whose wartime heroics saved my and many of our allies’ lives dozens of times over.”
“And took other lives in the process,” Dorothea points out, smile dimming.
“Your hands bear only a fraction of the blood that coats mine.” The hands in question curl into fists in Edelgard’s lap. She shakes herself to return them to the previous line of thought. “Yes, Dorothea,” she says, meeting her gaze, “I would. Perhaps not until far out into the future, but it would honor me beyond words to have you as a consort.”
“Well.” Dorothea lets out yet another weak, nervous laugh and fans herself despite her scant layers. “In that case, I don’t think I’d be able to find any reason to decline.” The glass in her eyes spills over, and she hurriedly turns away.
Edelgard fumbles for a handkerchief—a surprising number of people have had them delivered as presents, so one is well within reach. “I apologize,” she says as Dorothea accepts it. “I hardly meant to make you cry.”
Wiping at the corners of her eyes, Dorothea shakes her head. “You definitely teared up during my last aria, so I think we’re even.”
“My box can’t have even been visible from the stage,” says Edelgard, though she neither confirms nor denies it—from the smirk Dorothea’s mouth slashes up into, she notices. Edelgard reaches for the hand still on Dorothea’s knee and takes it between hers. “Regardless of whether I do ever pose a more formal question to you, know that I truly will always want you by my side. No matter what you look or sound like, I will be here for you. And on matter how many years past, that will never change.”
“I do know that.” Dorothea’s voice is still trembling, and she has to dab twice as hard at her eyes before she can meet Edelgard’s gaze. She tosses the handkerchief to the side. “Thank you, Edie. Though I don’t know how you’ll be able to give a real proposal half as good as that one.”
A laugh tears itself out of Edelgard’s throat. “I suppose we’ll both have to find that out. We have plenty of time, after all.”
Dorothea cups Edelgard’s hands with the other and beams. “So we do,” she says, squeezing firmly.
The fireplace roars on, but its warmth pales in comparison to that spreading between the two of them.
vi.
“You know,” says Ferdinand, gazing upward at the clear skies over Enbarr today, “I cannot have even set foot in the capital until I was, oh, midway through boyhood, but being away from it reminds me more and more what a second home it has become to me.”
“There is that saying about absence and the heart,” says Edelgard, albeit in a much drier voice.
“Indeed. Though I did not take it so seriously until lately.” Ferdinand tips his chin back down and tilts his head to the side with a tender smile. “It is not the only thing I seem to grow fonder of during a time of sorrowful separation.”
Edelgard, feeling the warmth of his arm tucked through hers more intently than ever, tries not to roll her eyes. “You were away for, what, three weeks? Which you spent in Brigid with Petra, for that matter. So forgive me if I can’t imagine that time being all that sorrowful.”
Ferdinand just laughs. “Perhaps not,” he admits, head twisting forward. “Yet I am only reciprocating the sentiment you gave of having missed me in my time away.”
“A sentiment I felt no need to dress up or hyperbolize.”
“Your loss, I feel.” Ferdinand inhales deeply. “Say, Edelgard, does the air here seem any fresher to you?” He doesn’t wait for a reply. “It does to me. A mark of the season, I suppose. Perhaps it is not only my heart that has changed in these weeks, but Enbarr as well.”
“Having been here for all of that time,” says Edelgard, “I can say confidently that it has not.”
Ferdinand’s gaze returns to her. “Even you, Edelgard, may have changed in that time. No, I would say that you most definitely have.”
“Oh, really?” An incredulous smile slips onto her face before she can rein it back. “How so?”
“I cannot put it to words.” Ferdinand shakes his head. “I can simply tell.”
“Hmm.”
“The sound you make when you cannot agree with me but will also not start an actual debate is the same as ever,” says Ferdinand, waving his finger, “but something is not. No matter how minute, I will work it out eventually.”
Edelgard, feeling his gaze start to examine her, sighs and slips her arm out of his. Before he can even startle, she steps out in front of him and faces him. Her hand rests over the axe strapped to her side.
“Ferdinand,” she says, “would you care to duel?”
He only gapes at her. When his expression clears, after a solid half a minute, the first thing to leave his mouth is a chortling laugh—he hurries to cover it with a hand.
“Forgive me for the undignified response,” he says, muffled. “I simply I did not anticipate ever hearing those words from you. You scoff at the notion that you have changed in these few weeks, but I can see that question as nothing more than proof of the matter.” His hand lowers, revealing the faint flush that’s spread over his cheeks. “Do you mean it?”
Edelgard keeps her expression cool and emotionless. “You think I would ask something like that just to silence or distract you?”
“Well—yes.” Ferdinand blinks. “So you truly wish to? Even though you have already decisively proven your superiority to me?”
“‘Decisively,’ you say? I told you then, and I will tell you again now, that I don’t honestly know who would claim victory were we both to give it our all.” Edelgard holds his stare. “And I’m not the sort of person who would lie about that to spare your feelings.”
“No,” allows Ferdinand, “you are most certainly not.” He shifts his weight, contemplative, before at last nodding. “Very well. If you are offering, then I suppose it is only fair and honorable to accept. There is an outdoor training ground not far away, is there not?”
“Yes, but perhaps we should—” He’s begun walking away, perhaps not wanting to risk Edelgard changing her mind. “Agree on the basic terms first, at least,” she finishes to herself, already out of earshot. With a low sigh, she starts after him.
By the time she catches up, Ferdinand has already shed his coat and acquired a wooden lance. Edelgard huffs, sheds her own outer layers, and grabs an axe for herself. They face each other unmoving for a moment, then simultaneously step forward.
Edelgard doesn’t unleash her power so instantaneously or forcefully this time, nor does she play up her movements as she had when they’d sparred for that impromptu school-style tournament a while ago. Instead, she goes into it as she would any other battle. Ferdinand, despite his contagiously brazen smile, treats it with all the same gravity.
Characteristic to his persistent determination, he’s improved even since Edelgard last saw him in a serious spar—certainly since the last one against her. Yet she, too, has been training and studying. Catching his flashes of surprise and awe more than convinces her of its worth.
It’s a close match, with quite a few fierce attacks and narrow misses from them both. Yet still, as Ferdinand had implied, Edelgard emerges the indisputable winner when she drives him to his knees and swings her axe in against his chest.
Their eyes lock in silent agreement. Ferdinand’s smile, never having left, takes a wry twist. He bows his head and backs away, panting as heavily as she is, sweat gleaming as brightly on his skin. He wipes a string of it—and the loosened strands of hair it’s slicked down—from his forehead.
Edelgard, too, notices she’s still smiling. She twirls her axe back to her side and extends one hand, which he gladly takes to hoist himself to his feet.
“A fine showing,” he pants out. “Despite your claims, you have more than established your greater skill at this point. I have learned when one must admit defeat, and this is that time.” He pauses. “I enjoyed myself, regardless. Did you?”
“Yes,” says Edelgard once she catches her breath. “I did.” She nods toward the lance she had knocked from his hand. “I could tell how hard you’ve been working. Though I may not have always treated you as such, you are as ever the worthiest opponent I can imagine.”
Ferdinand lets out a soft laugh. “Thank you. That is all I could ever hope to be, I think.”
From the faint twitches throughout his face, she thinks he’s considering adding something else. In the end, though, he only widens his smile and squeezes her hand.
When he tries to move away, though, Edelgard tightens her grip and holds him there. Ferdinand turns back to her, blinking.
“You…” Edelgard’s voice comes out faintly—he still looks too confused to show more than some fleeting pleasure at it. She has to clear her throat to return to her usual firm cadence. “You are an Imperial beauty.”
The faint pink of exertion in Ferdinand’s cheeks turns to a violent red so fast she might have been amused under different circumstances. His mouth parts, but no sound leaves it.
That alone gives Edelgard the confidence to continue: “Please remain by my side for the remainder of our lives.”
Ferdinand’s face darkens further, and his jaw remains loose. Only his wide-eyed blinking makes obvious that he’s still conscious. He stays silent for perhaps the longest he ever has as long as Edelgard has known him.
“You are,” she takes the opportunity to add, “one of the most important people in the world to me. Perhaps it was not always unthinkable to live without your close presence, but it has most certainly become so. And I have recently come to see the value of making those things clear.” She clasps his hand as firmly as she still has the strength for. “I am not yet asking you to become a consort. I would simply like you there with me to the end, whatever and whenever that may be.”
Finally, Ferdinand swallows. “If we are to take historical accuracy into account,” he says, slow and even at first but ramping up as he continues, “then when my ancestor asked yours something similar, yours refused. Quite vehemently, as the most often told story goes, I do believe.”
“As do I.” As Edelgard recalls, it had involved the very weapons in both their hands at that moment.
“Otherwise,” continues Ferdinand, “we would not be standing here and having this conversation. The two of us would likely never have been born, for that matter.”
He pauses. Edelgard prompts, “However?”
“However!” Ferdinand bursts at once, as if he had been waiting for it. Edelgard smiles despite herself. “We are much different people, living in a much different time, from even the generation that immediately preceded ours, and of course far more separates us from those ancestors than the intervening time alone.”
“We are much different people, I would venture, from even the ones we were a few short years ago.”
“Indeed.” Ferdinand raises his jaw with his typical pride, tempered over those years but never flushed entirely out. “And… as we are now those people, living these lives, I can find no reason at all to deny you such a request. Rather, I feel much the same way.” His soft smile returns. “It would take far more convincing to get me to ever leave your side than to stay by it, Edelgard. I am not sure anyone could persuade me of it, actually.”
“If history is anything to go by, then I doubt it as well.” Edelgard laughs, surprising even herself with its genuine force. “Thank you, Ferdinand.”
“I was not finished,” he protests. At her arched eyebrow, he presses closer and brings his other hand up to close around hers. “Whether it is as your prime minister or a consort, or even simply a private companion, it would be more than an honor for me to remain with you as long as possible. Your presence is of great importance to me as well—as I said before.” The reminder of the earlier not-quite-debate somehow doesn’t alter the atmosphere between them but reinforces it. “Even if we do not always agree, I respect you quite possibly more than any other person. And of course, I love you ardently as well, although I cannot rank that feeling so cleanly.”
“Nor would I ask you to.” The indignation that flashes through his face gets another snort out of Edelgard. “Did you still have more to say? I apologize.”
“That was more or less the heart of it, I suppose.” Ferdinand sniffs, perhaps either out of pure disdain or as a partial ward against the creeping glassiness in his eyes. He clears his throat, again with some ambiguity as to its purpose. “Just to clarify: This was not, you said, an explicit proposal of marriage?”
“Not at the moment. Perhaps one day.” He slackens slightly—whether with disappointment, relief, or both Edelgard still isn’t sure. “I can’t say that taking my prime minister as one of my consorts would be the wisest political decision,” she adds, free hand rubbing over her temple, “but if it is to be my darkest moment, then I think I have improved greatly upon my predecessors’ reigns.”
“It will most certainly not be your darkest moment,” says Ferdinand, shoulders drawing up with offense. “There are much things you could do—and have done—than wed me.”
Edelgard dips her chin. “I do agree, honestly.”
“But I suppose that discussion is a separate one, best saved for a separate time.” Ferdinand nods to himself, which she returns. After a brief pause, he lets out his heaviest sigh yet and sags forward. “It seems, Edelgard, that you have not only bested me once again—not only in combat, but in a way from which I can hardly ever hope to recover.”
“It seems so.” Edelgard’s smile sharpens. “But do you truly mind that much?”
“No,” admits Ferdinand, squeezing her hands. “I cannot honestly say that I do.”
vii.
A great thud, perhaps louder than would be expected, echoes throughout Edelgard’s office as a stack of papers lands on her desk. In the silence she had been sitting in, it comes almost as a surprise, straightening her in her seat.
“The report you requested, Your Majesty,” says Hubert with a brief bow.
“Thank you, Hubert.” He inclines his head further but doesn’t move from his stiff position opposite her. Edelgard flips briefly through, looking over the headings, then glances back up. “While you are here, are there any updates regarding the recent trouble with the Albinean ambassador?”
Hubert, grim once more, shakes his head. “We are yet awaiting a response from Lord Wagner regarding that. I intend to meet with him in several days’ time.” He strokes his chin. “I would prefer to leave someone else to handle conferring with such a spineless, vacuous excuse for a person, but I’m afraid it is too delicate a matter.”
“Do try not to antagonize him too fiercely, Hubert,” warns Edelgard. “We are still in need of his fealty.”
“Precisely. There is no better way to earn such fervent loyalty than with fear.”
“Hubert.”
He sighs. “Very well, Your Majesty. I shall stay civil, so long as he does the same.”
“Good. So long as you really do keep your word.” Edelgard links her fingers and sets them on the edge of the desk. “Have you anything further you’d like to report?”
Hubert hesitates, then nods. “As a matter of fact, I received this just last week,” he says, reaching into his coat for a plain envelope. “According to the seal and signature, it was sent by the king of Almyra.”
Edelgard frowns. “To me?”
“To me,” corrects Hubert, dismayed. “Encoded quite cleverly, and not, for all appearances, in search of any information of national importance. However, I thought it best to consult with you before I offered any reply.”
“I see.” Torn between amusement and bemusement, Edelgard accepts the envelope and opens it. Inside are both the original parchment and an enclosed translation in Hubert’s handwriting. “Well,” she says after a quick skim, “if it’s a private correspondence, as you say, I see no need to involve myself. Respond as you see fit.”
“Even if ‘as I see fit’ is to not respond at all?”
“Is it?” Edelgard lifts an eyebrow.
“Hmph.” Hubert, even without moving from his rigid posture, manages to convey the impression of crossing his arms through expression alone. She swallows a laugh and offers the envelope back, but he shakes his head. “Reading it yourself may prove useful. I have the contents committed to memory already, and perhaps you will be able to uncover something I overlooked.”
“Considering your knowledge of ciphers and skill at reading between the lines—even when no such lines even exist—I highly doubt it.” Still, Edelgard places the envelope in the stack of other documents to read and letters to reply to. “Was that all?”
“I believe so.” Hubert bows. “If you have no further need of me, then, I shall take my leave.”
Edelgard opens her mouth again intending to agree and excuse him—she’s sure he has any number of other more important tasks to attend to today, although if she voiced as much he would argue that nothing ought to trump his duties to her—but instead finds herself pausing. “Actually,” she says, seeming to surprise them both, “would you mind staying a moment, Hubert?”
He blinks. “Had you something further to discuss, Your Majesty?”
“Must I have something in mind to wish to spend time with you?” From Hubert’s blank face, his answer is an unhesitant yes. Edelgard sighs as she realizes hers is the same. “Although—I suppose so, actually, though it is a more personal matter. I’ll make us some coffee to discuss it over.”
She starts to stand, but Hubert halts her with a raised hand. “Nonsense; I will attend to that. Will you also be partaking in a cup, or would you prefer tea? Bergamot, perhaps?”
“Coffee is perfectly suitable,” says Edelgard, remaining half-risen. “But please, I was the one to invite you, so I will also be the one to prepare it.”
“You are my emperor,” insists Hubert, meeting her stubborn steel with his own, “so I will.”
“I am requesting your presence as a friend, not as an emperor.”
“You know as well as I that those descriptions are one and the same.”
Edelgard takes a breath. “The greatest compromise I will allow,” she says, “is for us to prepare each other’s coffee.”
“And waste an additional pot?” Hubert shakes his head. “That is no compromise at all, Your Majesty.”
“My point exactly.” Edelgard plants both hands on her desk and gives Hubert a wide—but not mirthful—smile. “I will wait here all day until you agree, Hubert.”
His eyes dart to the clock. “Your meeting with—”
“We can reschedule it,” says Edelgard, flashing her teeth. “Even if you concede now and allow me to make coffee, I may have to, depending on how long we spend here.”
For well over a minute, Hubert is dead silent—Edelgard doesn’t even see him blink. “Very well, Your Majesty,” he says finally, through gritted teeth. “Just this once, you may prepare the coffee.”
Though Hubert would surely be glad to remain standing throughout an entire cup of coffee and additional conversation, she all but forces him to relocate to the small table near the window. She joins him there with a pot and beans imported only a few days prior. They sit in continued silence, Hubert looking cagey and Edelgard not feeling much different, while the coffee brews.
Although they’re comfortable in each other’s presence—perhaps more, in many ways, than either of them even is with anyone else—Edelgard suspects interacting merely as friends, with little to no bureaucratic pretense, puts them both off. Even as children, they were serious, busy people, and status and formality defined their relationship. Edelgard can’t imagine either of them living a life free of work and responsibility. It connects them, but it also creates an odd air in moments like these.
She’s grateful when she can quit only staring at the table and organizing her thoughts and instead occupy herself with pouring their coffee. “I hope it tastes all right,” she says as she does, struck with belated concern. “I haven’t much practice preparing it, really—perhaps I should have let you take care of it after all.”
Hubert sips. He pauses, inspecting his cup, before swallowing. “You should have,” he agrees, “but not for the taste. It is perfectly suitable, Your Majesty. More than, in fact.”
He takes a deeper drink. Tentatively, so does Edelgard. The rich taste is pleasing, if too bitter for her liking, though she supposes that would indeed suit Hubert fine.
She mixes in some sugar, getting a faint snort from Hubert. “Not all of us can tolerate the tangs you prefer,” she says with a sharp look.
“Of course,” says Hubert, nodding indulgently. He tries to hide his smirk against the rim of his cup. “Now, what was this ‘personal matter’ you wished to discuss?”
“Ah. Yes.” Carefully, Edelgard returns her cup to its plate; Hubert’s absent stare intensifies. Her fingers steeple again, resting against the table. “What would you say if I were to tell you I have recently been thinking about marriage?”
It catches Hubert visibly by surprise: His mouth opens the slightest bit, and he rushes swallowing the next drink he’d taken. He’s quick to recover, though, and take his usual tactical angle.
“Well,” he says with slow precision, lowering his own cup, “I suppose I would first ask whether it was a business arrangement you had in mind, or one based primarily if not solely in affection. If the former, I would share my thoughts on any potential candidates and perhaps, with your permission, recommend whom I regard as the most advantageous. If the latter, I would merely offer my congratulations—and to handle what I could of the necessary arrangements.” He sets his coffee all the way down. “May I ask whether this is a simple hypothetical, Lady Edelgard, or something more concrete?”
“Somewhere in between, I suppose.” Edelgard toys with the handle of her cup. “I have raised the possibility, but… I haven’t made any decisions just yet. Though, of the choices you posed, it would almost certainly be the latter.”
“I see.” The very corner of Hubert’s mouth twitches up, then settles. “Then may I also ask with whom you have ‘raised the possibility,’ as you say?”
“I haven’t outright proposed to anyone, if that’s what you mean,” says Edelgard dryly. “But I’ve discussed it with, well…” She hesitates. “At this point, everyone except you, I believe.”
“I see,” repeats Hubert, entirely neutral.
“Fairly recently,” Edelgard is quick to add. “And not entirely intentional on most occasions. Caspar is the one who first posed the question of whether I would ever wed, and Linhardt broached the subject on his own as well.”
“You needn’t explain yourself to me, Your Majesty.” Hubert lowers his head. “I take no offense at all. My secrets have become yours, but that does not need to run both ways.”
Edelgard nods, then shakes her head. “Regardless, as the Minister of the Imperial Household, you should be aware of what is going on within that household.” Her fingers curl around the side of her cup. “And as my friend, as well as the fellow partner of many of those with whom marriage has become a consideration, it’s not as if this doesn’t affect you.”
Hubert’s chin lowers in vague acceptance. “It’s not as if anything has happened within the household yet,” he points out. “Nor is marriage especially of interest to me, at least as of the present.”
“Perhaps not. And it isn’t a glaring priority of mine at the moment either,” adds Edelgard. “Still, preparation never hurts.”
“No, I suppose it does not. No matter how far in advance.” Hubert seems to recall his coffee and brings it back up for a sip. Edelgard does the same. “I suppose I must thank you for sharing this with me, then, Lady Edelgard,” he says after swallowing. “And I will offer those congratulations now, however premature they may be.”
“Thank you, Hubert.” Face flushing slightly, added to by the warmth in her cup, Edelgard ducks her head. She keeps her eyes on her coffee. “I… don’t have to tell you how much you mean to me, do I?”
In the very edges of her peripheral vision, she sees splotches of red appear high in Hubert’s cheeks. “I implore you not to, in fact,” he says, the closest to mortified she’s ever heard him. “Some things do not need to be spoken.”
“That is another matter on which we agree.” Fighting her own embarrassment, Edelgard brings a calm gaze up to his face. “But I would like to say this. Though I have no intentions of counting you among my consorts, if I do take any, and I expect you also do not wish to be tied in such a way—”
Hubert shakes his head. “Not particularly,” he interrupts. “Standing behind you is all I can aspire to.”
Edelgard admonishes him back into silence with a look. “I have a different request of you—a request,” she notes, “not an order.” She waits until he manages to look straight back at her. “Do not stand at my back or before me, but by my side. Stay with me as the steadfast companion and friend you have always been.”
Even seated, Hubert brings himself into a close approximation of a bow. “That is no challenge at all, Your Majesty.”
“And, just this once,” adds Edelgard, “call me by my name.”
“It is no challenge at all…” Hubert clears his throat. “…El.”
“Good. Thank you.” Edelgard smiles. “Now let’s finish up our coffee already, or I really will need to reschedule that meeting.”
“As you command,” says Hubert dutifully as he straightens, already reaching forward. She spots a faint smile on his own face, though it’s soon obscured by his cup.
viii.
In the future, Edelgard von Hresvelg’s life would be subject to a great deal of debate. She had been a controversial figure even in life, and enduring records would hold that she had known this and expected to remain one for perhaps eternity, or at least until her legend faded from recollection. If existing Fódlan history was any standard to judge by, that would about count as eternity.
Certainly, she had made quite the impact—whether it was for better or for worse would never be unanimous. Some of the precedents she set forth and policies she established would persist for centuries in the unified Fódlan; others would be dispensed with within a few generations. Even the former would be up for regular discussion, their validity and value weighed constantly as times continued to change. As she had declared, the world she wished to build was one in which people reached out to each other, in which merit determined status, in which individuals truly determined their own fates and the systems under which they lived. Such careful and open conversation, therefore, would have likely even pleased her.
Her role as princess and emperor, first of the Adrestian Empire and then of all of Fódlan, would of course be under heavy scrutiny. Her personal life, however, would perhaps become an even greater area of focus, despite or because of her notorious privacy regarding it. Nothing about her would be spared: Whether her actions were just, and what her exact motives in pursing them were; who she was as a person, the more authentic personality she shielded in public but shared with others when alone; even the nature of her relationships with her consorts, friends, and other allies. New, unique opinions regarding these points and others would arise on a frequent basis. Widely accepted facts would change over time, adapting to the era and what new information became available (or what old information faded from reach).
But one thing would be wholeheartedly, near-universally believed both during her life and well after her death: She cherished the moments of respite offered by her partners and friends above all else.