Chapter Text
“Congratulations, your child is blessed by Saint Seiros.”
One of the nurses buzzing around them tore out of the room. No doubt to notify Ionius. Love kissed by the Goddess– a childish fantasy proved ever true with a Crested child. Ionius promised Anselma and their child the world. Suddenly, despite every ache in her body, Anselma von Arundel reached out for her daughter.
The ever-ethereal Lady Rhea, heavily robed even in the midst of summer, cradled the newborn close to her chest. Almost… like Lady Rhea was afraid of losing the child herself. Although Anselma only observed Lady Rhea from afar at the Officers’ Academy, closer to her ward Sitri than the Archbishop herself, even Anselma could tell a marked difference in Lady Rhea’s countenance. She hadn’t ever been so affectionate with Sitri before.
“Lady Rhea?” Anselma pressed on, her lilac gaze trained on an absent Archbishop.
“Apologies my dear, I’m quite fond of this little one,” Lady Rhea ran a finger over a plump cheek, and then over the soft brown fuzz pressed atop her head, “Have you named her yet?”
“Ionius and I have decided on Edelgard.”
Anselma forced down the terseness in her tone, focusing on the white magic dredged in her body to dispel her exhaustion. She has faced worse from other consorts and nobles alike. Ionius’ reassurances, effortlessly bright like the stars above the Goddess Tower, and equally as hard to grasp. Both willingly turning a blind eye to this fading night of dreams. If their hubris were to crash upon them, Edelgard had to be spared its brunt.
“A fine name.”
Perhaps the Goddess meant for this. Edelgard’s birth on the summer solstice. The Archbishop’s favour, however transient.
The Goddess will clear her followers’ paths.
The Imperial infirmary ward began to empty of Anselma’s retinue. Ionius would return soon. The Emperor preferred his privacy. At least the most one could get, while House Vestra was involved. Lady Rhea’s escorts followed suit, Sitri not among them. Anselma felt a pang of regret. Her friend had always been sickly. But Anselma never allowed herself to wallow, seizing her chance to speak with Lady Rhea alone.
“Lady Rhea,” Anselma spoke in a rush, “Perhaps you have long forgotten me. But I know your kindness from when I attended the Officers’ Academy. I ask you extend such kindness to Edelgard, to be brought under the Church of Seiros’ protection, if she is ever in a time of need.”
Lady Rhea paused, her gaze flickering from the babe in her arms and somewhere far away.
“Edelgard is of the Hresvelg line, one of the Goddess’ chosen. The Church of Seiros welcomes all that serves the Goddess with open arms.”
Heavy is the Goddess’ favour. Even those bestowed must prove their worth, lest they fall into ruin.
Anselma let her clasped hands fall to her sides. She only ever lowered her head for the Goddess. But even then, Anselma felt her affinity for faith fading. Ionius struggled against the tide, to concentrate power from the Empire’s noble houses, all in pursuit for their love. Even little El was a statement to that extent. Anselma stared up at the Goddess’ blank visage immortalised in the palace cathedral, silent for one millennium and perhaps the next.
Should she watch too, as her daughter was pushed further and further into House Hresvelg’s depths? El had begun her weapons training. Her affinity for swordsmanship and axefaire raised to meetings within the Imperial household. Of the Four Saints’ bloodline, House Hresvelg’s holy weapon was the axe Labraunda. El was, in all respects, a near perfect successor. If she was the eldest with a Crest of Seiros.
As it was, El, at the full age of four, had to prove herself worthy. El liked stories, her bear stuffies and playing in the gardens. She was a child that fell asleep to Anselma’s lullabies. Anselma pieced together scraps of childhood she could give, and clung to it with the vigour that enrolled her in the Officers’ Academy.
Eager as El was to learn, to eventually spar in play with her older siblings… word was never so innocuous and always so unkind. But as of now, the Hresvelg children still treated El like a little sister, and less a rival for their father’s attention. While the affection remained, Anselma still encouraged play with El’s half-siblings. Arms full of treats pilfered from the kitchens, Anselma invited Adelaide, one Crested elder sister, a girl still on the cusp of childhood, still exempt from her first blood.
“Adelaide, would you like to join El and I for tea today?”
Adelaide tugged her braid over a slumped shoulder, muscles weary from a long day, before straightening her posture.
“Lady Anselma, I’m… quite busy today,” Adelaide sighed, grip tightening on her stack of books, sword hanging at her hip, “I want to apply for the Officers’ Academy.”
Then Anselma looked, at the lingering softness in Adelaide’s cheeks, the slight imbalance in not having fully grown into her weapon, the burden of a childish dream, and offered out a serving of saghert and cream anyway. Adelaide’s eyes, the colour of a dove’s soft gray, so much like Ionius, flickered up and down, tempted by the prospect of a treat.
“You will pledge your services to the Church for one year. You will draw your first blood and much the next. I recommend you put off your attendance at the Academy as long as possible,” Anselma let her words sink with appropriate levity, and continued with a smile, “But, I’m willing to share more over tea if you wish.”
Because children were children, the veneer of approved rest outweighed even the strongest ambitions. Anselma allowed herself a small chuckle. An exchange met. Adelaide trailed at Anselma’s side, nibbling on the offered saghert and cream in one hand, her stack of books precariously balanced in another. Anselma let slip small tidbits and morsels of her time at the Academy, and held her tongue on Ionius.
The Enbarr palace gardens were a sight to behold any time of year. Owing to the more temperate conditions of Southern Adrestia, many flowers confined in greenhouses across Fódlan sprouted freely here. Oftentimes, it was the children staking their claim.
A boy dangled over El, his mop of dark hair swept over a single eye, fitted in Imperial black to El’s Imperial red, both knelt over a small patch of red carnations. One so blatantly of House Vestra, despite having not learnt to conceal his footsteps in shadow yet. Ionius’ kept promise to Anselma– a physical right bestowed on the heir to House Hresvelg. The boy blanched slightly at Anselma’s arrival, then folded himself forward with nary a stutter, “Lady Anselma. Lady Adelaide.”
“Mother! Addy!” El perked up. She scampered forward, then pouted at the boy obediently remaining a few paces behind. She dashed back and grabbed him by the wrist, dragging them both in front of Anselma, “I have a Hubert! Hubert’s my friend!”
Hubert corrected in a soft tone, “My name is Hubert von Vestra. I am Lady Edelgard’s servant.”
“Addy?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Anselma caught the whisk of her skirts, a swift trot to a table under the pavilion. Anselma couldn’t blame Adelaide. El’s inheritance of Hubert had to sting. Hubert started, almost to give chase after the elder Hresvelg to relieve her of the parcels in her arms. Anselma shook her head to stall him. The young Vestra still had not learned to read his liege well as of yet. Just as briskly, Adelaide returned, scooping El up in the embrace of her freed hands.
“How was your day, El?”
El pecked Adelaide on the cheek with a giggle. ‘Good!’ followed by excitable babbling as Adelaide hoisted El up into the air. Anselma watched the sisters go with relief simmering in her chest. She thought of Volkhard, who still adored his little niece despite their parted ways. Family was a bond Anselma liked to believe in.
Then Anselma bent down to invite El’s newfound friend, and hoped he would be more than a Marquis Vestra.
“Would you like to break for tea with us?”
“I will serve Lady Edelgard.”
Hubert’s earnest eyes lingered on his newfound liege. Suppressing the slight rise in the corner of her lips, Anselma nodded with appropriate solemnity. Hubert’s face reddened slightly as he realised the load in Anselma’s arms too.
“Lady Anselma, may I…?”
“Hubert, this is nothing compared with my time at the Officers’ Academy. Don’t worry.”
At El’s insistence, Hubert was forced to take a seat at her left, Adelaide on her right. Anselma finished off her brew for four. Always, she spoiled El with Bergamot, irrespective of her other guests. El eagerly introduced Hubert to both Anselma and Adelaide once again, evidently deeming her previous statement insufficient. Hubert squirmed, employing, not quite successfully, a diversion to take his leave.
“Should I fetch Sir Beargliez?”
“Your tea will cool. And you can’t give your tea to Sir Beargliez.”
“Of course, Lady Edelgard.”
Anselma pressed a smile to her knuckles. El was the one to use her bear stuffy to get out of having traditional Enbarr sweets at dessert. Apparently too strong even for a child with a sweet tooth. El eagerly bit into a plump sweet bun, a burst of Albinean berry and Noa fruit jam making her eyes light up.
“Have some, Addy! You too Hubert!”
El’s lilac gaze darted towards Hubert’s empty plate; the boy having only sipped at his tea since being seated. Anselma worried how far servitude was already ingrained in a boy so young. El offered one of her sweet buns, almost visibly drooping the longer Hubert wavered.
At El’s crestfallen face, Hubert tentatively took a bite, his face rapidly scrunching in distaste. El’s eyes widened, a rapid ‘Sorry!’ leaving her lips. Ah. Anselma reached over to soothe a dejected El, and offered instead a plate of spicy fishballs to Hubert. Between fervent bites of the spicy fishballs and the sweet bun, Hubert spoke again.
“Thank you, Lady Edelgard. Thank you, Lady Anselma.”
A sleeping draught, steeped in Bergamot, weighed like condemnation in Anselma’s pocket. Cornelia had assured her, brewed from her own hand, that it held no adverse effects for even children. Bowing her head, Anselma twisted open the door to El’s room.
“Mother…?”
Drowsily, El squeezed her bear stuffy close to herself, safely tucked under her covers, eyes already clearing from sleep. El would understand, sooner or later, that this was for her own good. That Anselma’s hands were tied, in all the ways that mattered. But…
“El, listen to me and don’t say a word. We’re going on a trip, you and I.”
Then El looked at her, with those lilac eyes like her own, and slowly, mercifully nodded. Maybe she noticed Anselma’s quivering smile, the slight hysterical rise in her tone, the satchel over her shoulder. All signs that her mother should not be trusted, and decided not to poke through the lies. El clutched her bear stuffy in one hand, reached out for Anselma with another.
Anselma bent down to kiss El on her forehead. Lifting El up, Anselma unconsciously favoured her right, away from the bottle stashed in her pocket. El shifted. Not quite to run. Not quite to lean into her either. Anselma laid El’s cheek against her shoulder, facing herself, like that would shield her eyes from all that was to occur.
Not a few steps down the hallway, did a soft cry pass El’s lips, “Addy!”
Anselma whipped her head around. Up on the staircase, Adelaide von Hresvelg caught them both. Not knowing what passed between the sisters, Anselma held on tighter to El. There was a sharp intake of breath against her neck. But Anselma couldn’t find it in herself to ease her grip. Not yet. The thrum of reason magic began to burn in Anselma’s palm.
“You’re… taking El with you?”
Hardly above a whisper, Adelaide’s gray eyes– so, so much like Ionius– darted between them. She kept a shaking hand on the hilt of her sword. Anselma swallowed through the erratic pulse in her neck, suppressed her tone to one just above begging.
“Away from House Hresvelg. Somewhere… safer.”
El whimpered at the mention. El couldn’t understand, how precarious House Hresvelg’s position was, how it all revolved around them, mother and daughter. If Adelaide remained as the unspoken Crested heir, that would at least placate the major noble houses. And halt Ionius’ grand dreams.
“You have Marquis Vestra’s approval.”
“You were always bright.”
There, Anselma locked Adelaide into a promise, that not even the moonlight cloaking them could purify. El sobbed, then muffled it into her bear stuffy. Perhaps El hoped that neither of them would notice. Adelaide opened her mouth, to comfort El like she always did. But not a word passed her lips.
Adelaide clenched her teeth, and turned on her heel. So did Anselma. She pretended not to hear El’s forlorn whispers, pretended that El didn’t see Adelaide walking away, and most of all, pretended that she wouldn’t leave El’s side.
Through the prepared tunnels, a secret passage leading outside the palace into Enbarr, Cornelia’s carriage awaited them, a speck of light even among Enbarr’s vibrant nightlife. Tears blurred Anselma’s own eyes as her old friend from the Academy rushed to greet her. While El clung to Anselma like a bear cub, Cornelia gently tugged free the satchel on Anselma’s shoulder.
“Hello, little one,” Cornelia said.
El simply burrowed deeper, face stubbornly buried into the ever-dampening fur of her bear stuffy. Anselma couldn’t bring herself to chide her.
“My daughter, Edelgard,” Anselma answered, an introduction to her last of kin. The exile from House Hresvelg, the ruin she brought onto House Arundel. All she had left was little El.
Cornelia, brilliant understanding woman that she was, simply nodded. She led Anselma by the hand, yet spoke to Edelgard, “My name is Cornelia.”
“Aunt Cornelia.”
Cornelia exchanged a glance with Anselma, her aqua eyes flooded with relief. Anselma shook her head, gesturing to the full bottle deep in her skirt pockets. Cornelia pulled them both into the warmth of the carriage, scattered cushions and stashed food prepared for the long days of travel.
With a click, the carriage pushed forth onto smooth Enbarr roads. Anselma heard a faint din from the opera house, the highly revered Mittelfrank Opera Company across Fódlan, still hosting guests, where she once planned to take El to a play of theirs. The handful of years in Enbarr hadn’t been enough, all things considered.
Ever steadier bumps and jolts was a telltale sign of departure from the main roads. Anselma chanced a glance outside, at the now clouded skies, at the fading lights, at the city she once called home, for the people she arrogantly claimed family. Cornelia reached over, a silk handkerchief dabbing away at Anselma’s face.
Almost like they were young again. Like the greatest troubles in the world were the Church’s next mission, an impossible assignment by their professor, the awfulness of the boys in the Academy. But how could one ignore the child curled up in her lap, fears more prominent than what Anselma had to voice?
Biting back the scream in her chest, a lullaby squeezed out of her ever-tightening throat. Off-kilter, stilted with concealed sobs, leaden with desperation, a poor imitation of hope. But Anselma treasured it so, rocking El to sleep for a few days more. Garreg Mach was the last refuge on Fódlan from the Empire’s wrath. As long as Anselma went into hiding, El would be safe.
“Remember El, I’ll always love you.”