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“This better be important,” she huffs, sitting across from Claude; one-on-one meetings with the man had a tendency to veer in directions she didn’t wholly like.
Then again, she could hardly blame him; they were two years into a war that was making absolutely no progress on any fronts and it was all he could do to keep the Alliance in a neutral position so that it didn’t get immediately eaten by its neighbours. He didn’t act very stressed, but they’d been besties for ages; she knew the signs in how he picked at his food at mealtimes, how he left his braid undone more often than not (and how he had confessed to her that he was considering stopping bothering with it, which was about fifty red flags in one).
“I need your input on something.” He runs his hands through his hair, eyes roving on a drafted missive on his desk.
“I get you love me and I’m your favourite person in the whole world, but why me?” She quirks a brow. “You know me, I’m best served brute forcing my way through things.”
“What happened to the ‘delicate flower’ bit?” He smirks.
“It now serves to worm me out of these exact situations, Claude. I don’t know anything about politics and international relationships, I’m just no good at negotiation.”
“Fortunately for you, should you give me the go-ahead, I’ll be handling the negotiation.” He sighs, finally looking at her. “I need an in-road into Edelgard’s court. I have spies, obviously, but those can’t help sway her to more peaceful resolutions.” He slides the paper over to her. “This is the draft of a marriage proposal to that end.”
“Edelgard would never marry you. You saw the way she looked at the professor, that girl has tastes and you aren’t them.”
“Exactly. That’s why the proposal is for you.” She studies his face; he’s not joking. Turning her eyes back to the spidery script, yep, that’s her name, alright. “I won’t send this without your full permission, I promise.”
“You’re crazy,” she says simply.
“Thank goodness for that, because I don’t think any of my plans would work if I wasn’t.” He leans back in his chair. “Look, I’m nominating you for this because you’re who I trust the most to make it work.”
Okay, it really wasn’t that bad of a prospect. She could admit it, Edelgard was hot.
(She’d once seen her rip a log in half with her bare hands for reasons she had never learned, and boy, that had been an awakening.)
The issue was that Edelgard was kind of absolutely insufferable. She was haughty and closed off and Hilda was never forgetting ‘the Alliance is merely an offshoot of the Empire, and you will see, one day, that we remain superior’ and the intense restraint it had taken not to break her nose right then and there.
She still thinks she deserved a reward for that, honestly.
But the whole point of this was to change Edelgard’s mind, wasn’t it? And maybe, probably, that would involve pointing out how fundamentally different her home country had become from the Empire, how Edelgard had absolutely no right to be so reductive, and that not everywhere was just ‘temporarily embarrassed Imperial territory’ or some other nonsense.
Ugh, she was thinking herself in circles.
“I’ll do it,” she decides. “Well, if she will. Obviously.”
It’s worth it for the sheer relief that overtakes Claude’s expression, the vaguely manic grin that overtakes his face. “Thank you, Hilda.” He stands up, taking the missive. “I might rewrite this; it’s a bit shaky. I’ll get it sent off by the end of the week, though.”
“No pressure, Claude. Take however long you need, cause Goddess do you need a break.”
“Lady Edelgard.”
“What news do you have for me, Hubert?”
“I’d rather you read this yourself, I must admit.” His shoulders are shaking with supressed laughter.
“If I must,” she sighs.
Two lines in and she understands his mirth. “Is he truly serious?”
“If, between us, we know anything of von Riegan, it is that he will stoop to any level if he thinks it may benefit him. There is every likelihood he writes with sincerity.” Hubert folds his arms.
“Indeed.” She rubs her temples. “What are your thoughts, Hubert?”
“It would be valuable to have such a relationship with someone so influential in the Alliance; it may be an effective move to turn the war in our favour by bringing the Alliance out of neutrality and to our cause.” A faint twitch of his lips betrays his air of objectivity. “It may also convince some of your detractors that you are indeed open to new ideas from outside sources.”
“You raise sensible points.” She leans back in her chair. “Very well. Send word to Claude that I intend to accept the proposal.”
“As you command.”
The next few months were a blur for Hilda; it would have been odd if they weren’t, considering she was to be married by the end of them. House Ordelia, despite their precarious situation, had offered a small estate near the border for the two brides-to-be and some of their associates in the intervening time of planning and preparing (and for the actual ceremony; the gardens were simply gorgeous).
She very rarely got to actually talk to her fiancée; between fittings for her dress (that she was willing to admit she was maybe being somewhat perfectionist about, but could anyone blame her? Fashion was her thing) and rehearsals that left no room for idle chatter was Hubert’s ever-present form, glowering intensely whenever she tried to have some one-on-one time with Edelgard.
She groans, leaning back in her chair. She and Edelgard had separate rooms (tradition or some such, they’d share one after they were wed; she didn’t care for it), which certainly wasn’t helping the issue; Edelgard retired to hers early in the evening, and Hilda wasn’t risking entry for a second with Hubert around.
A tentative rapping at her door interrupts her lamentations; unexpected, with how late it’s gotten. “Who is it?” She calls, expecting Marianne, or perhaps Ignatz.
“Ah, um,” says Edelgard’s voice, clearly unprepared. “It’s Edelgard. As you... no doubt inferred.” She clears her throat awkwardly. “If you would rather I left—”
“Nah, come in!” Edelgard blinks on the other side of the now-open doorway, evidently not expecting a positive reaction. “So, what do you want with li’l ol’ me?”
“Well, I thought...” Again she clears her throat, nervously avoiding Hilda’s eyes. “That is, it occurred to me that, if we are to be married, it would do both of us much good were we to form a stronger relationship.”
“Aww, you can just say you wanted to see me.” She ushers Edelgard in (no sign of Hubert nearby, thankfully), who sits down on an offered chair with no small air of uncomfortableness. “Relax, seriously. Though, how long did you practice that line for?”
Her cheeks redden. “That is none of your business.”
“Several hours, got it.” She grins. “I’ll stop now, promise.”
Edelgard looks much smaller now, in the privacy of her room, than in public; perhaps it's how she seems to want to shrink in on herself, drawing her shoulders in and hunching her neck as much as she can without being obvious.
Or maybe it’s just that she’s dressed in nightclothes as opposed to the regalia of the emperor, hair in a loose side ponytail and not those extremely bizarre hair buns, making her look like any other person as opposed to the ruler of the largest country on the continent.
“I will admit to having not entirely thought this through,” Edelgard admits. “I haven’t really anything to talk about.” She wrings her gloved hands in her lap. “Though, if you happen to have any ideas, I would prefer you kept them... light. Conversational.”
Hilda hums thoughtfully. “There’s always basic stuff like hobbies—”
“I’ve never had one,” Edelgard sheepishly admits.
“Never?” Hilda gapes. “Not one, in your entire life?”
“Well, I simply... never have the time.” Her blush deepens. “Especially of late, as you... can imagine.”
Whatever happened to light and conversational, Hilda thinks but doesn’t say; she’s embarrassed Edelgard enough for now. “That’s not gonna stand if I have anything to say about it.” She jumps to her feet, Edelgard following the motion with wide eyes. “I’m finding something you can spend your time on that isn’t official imperial business, and you cannot stop me.”
“This is really quite unnecessary—” Hilda shushes her protests. “Very well,” she sighs, “you may try. But I promise you nothing.”
“We will start with something I have experience in.” She slides open her draws, pulling out a necklace. “Namely, making accessories.”
“I see.” Edelgard’s expression remains carefully neutral.
“So, as a beginner, I’ll have you make something simple...”
Sleepless, Edelgard turns the bracelet over in her hands; as Hilda had said, it was simple: coloured threads delicately interwoven, inset with a few small gemstones.
Honestly, she’d enjoyed it. Hilda’s typical lackadaisical attitude had quickly vanished, revealing the surprising dedication that lay beneath; clearly, Edelgard needed to re-evaluate her.
(When Hilda had been guiding her, early in the process, so very close, warm hands touching her gloved ones... she’d enjoyed that rather too much. She flushes just remembering it.)
Ah, but curse her cowardice; she’d had more than one reason to visit Hilda at night, but she had found herself unable to admit them. Of late, her nights had been void of rest, sights of chains and rats and iron bars playing behind her eyes in the dark. She had no idea if company would alleviate the nightmares, but... she would be lying if she did not simply long for it, alone as she was at night.
And yet, she had shied away from the proposition at the last moment, unable to admit her weakness; she’d planned her reasoning hours before (“we are to be wed soon, after all. It would hardly be unbecoming for us to.”), prepared for either outcome...
But in the end, she could never do it.
It was to be another sleepless night, it seemed.
Edelgard comes to her room regularly after that; not quite every day, but more often than not. Surprisingly, she takes to accessory making pretty well; she’s deft with her hands and has an exacting eye for details, and learns quickly. Edelgard soon amasses a small hoard of self-made trinkets and ornaments, and Hilda couldn’t be prouder of her impromptu protégé.
Well, really, she’d probably be prouder if the woman would just say whatever the hell it was she very clearly kept trying to with these visits; as the nights waned, she’d start biting her lip and making constant moves to speak before simply shaking her head and abandoning whatever thought plagued her mind.
Not like it was much of Hilda’s business, anyway; she’d say it when she wanted to.
For now, Hilda was finalising a plan that had sprung upon her a few nights ago, a (hopefully) subtle way of tackling that pesky Empire-centric view of Edelgard’s; simple, but elegant, if she did say so herself.
“This,” she shows off her finished work to a raptured Edelgard, “is a traditional Leicester design, from... Sauin, actually, if I’m not mistaken.” She winces. “Leonie’ll be pissed I forgot that.”
“Fascinating...” Edelgard murmurs, taking the necklace from her to inspect it closely.
“There’s a lot of meaning in it. The colours of the ropes — blue, green, gold, and white — represent water, the earth, the wild — I think that one’s to do with deer or something, y’know, Golden Deer and all that — and the sky; a piece of everything that keeps things going for them.” Hilda leans closer, running a finger across the intertwined colours. “They’re braided in a way that makes them really strong, but only if all four of them remain in place.”
“I see.” Edelgard chews her lip. “I... cannot think of anything in the Empire with a similar inspiration.”
“Really?” She quirks a brow, tone as dry as she can make it.
“I am well aware which incident you are referring to, and I apologise for it.” All the haughty tones in the world can’t hide her deep flush. She lets out a beleaguered sigh. “Needless to say, I have... had reason to reflect over my opinions, these past few months.” A brief pause. “They have been... more worthwhile to me than I could have imagined when I agreed to this.” Edelgard won’t meet her eyes, and Hilda wonders if the flush is only embarrassment.
“Is that what you’ve been coming here to say?” She asks, genuinely curious.
“Well... somewhat.” Edelgard stares resolutely at her lap. “It... isn’t important.”
“Uh huh.”
A sharp knock interrupts her answer; both of them jump. “Who is it?” Hilda asks.
“I have it on good faith Lady Edelgard is currently here,” Hubert answers. “An important matter has arisen that requires her attention.”
Edelgard sighs. “Very well. I will be with you presently.” She gives Hilda one last lingering glance. “Thank you for your efforts of late. These nights of ours have been... greatly enjoyable.”
“Don’t worry about it, Edie.” She waves her away. “Go deal with your important imperial business, I’ve got beauty sleep to catch.”
“Very well.” Edelgard gives her a small smile as she leaves.
The day of their wedding is bright and clear, the venue stunning; Holst walks her down the aisle with a brilliant grin on his face to where Edelgard stands, in a dress the deep red of her country, hair styled as the Emperor and golden horns adorning her head. She recites her vows crisp and clear, regal and poised.
The woman at the alter is not Edelgard, Hilda thinks; she is the Emperor of Adrestia, to be certain, but with night after night together fresh in her mind, the difference in how she holds herself, how she acts, is stark.
Here is not the place to question that, however. She, in turn, makes her vows to her bride; rings are exchanged, and, as customary, Edelgard leans in and presses her lips to Hilda’s, short and chaste.
(If she is honest to herself, it leaves her wanting; wanting for Edelgard to throw propriety to the wind and lose herself in Hilda.)
There are many congratulations, and yet more dances, and by the time she retires with Edelgard to the suite prepared for them she is thoroughly exhausted and just wants to sleep for a week.
Her wife (it was probably best for to get used to the term) clears her throat uncertainly. “It is... customary to... well, consummate the marriage on the night of the wedding. I...”
Even in the dark, Hilda can see her deep red cheeks. “I am way too tired to care, Edie, and you don’t much seem like you want to.”
All of the tension leaves Edelgard’s frame at once. “Oh, thank goodness...” she sighs. “I, that is to say—”
“Just get in bed already,” Hilda grumbles. “I don’t mind that we’re not doing it, but I at least expect spooning.”
“Sorry?”
Hilda stares at her from under the blankets. “You are so oblivious. Do you seriously not know what spooning is?”
“I’ve never had much time in my life for... frivolities. You know this.”
She sighs. “Spooning is when two people lie in bed together, front-to-back, cuddling.”
“That seems... acceptable.” Edelgard gingerly climbs into the bed, stiffening at first at Hilda’s touch before relaxing into her chest. “I must admit, this is—” she yawns, to Hilda’s surprise. “This is most comfortable.”
And Hilda thought she could fall asleep quickly; Edelgard was out like a light in seconds.
“Sleep well, Edie,” she murmurs into her wife's hair.
She’s woken quite abruptly by Edelgard thrashing in her sleep, whimpering something about “Wilhelm, no, please,” and a litany of other names and pleas.
“Edelgard,” she whispers urgently. “What’s wrong?”
She snaps awake with a strangled cry, slick with sweat, eyes wide and unfocussed. “Hilda,” she gasps. “I’m... sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you, please, pay it no—”
“Edelgard,” she says firmly, taking one of her hands in her own. “What’s wrong? You don’t have to tell me everything, but... I want to be someone who can help you.”
They’re both silent for a tense few moments, Edelgard’s breathing slowing gradually. “I had siblings, once,” she starts hesitantly. “Ten of them. I loved them dearly. But...” A tear leaves a shimmering trail down her cheek. Hilda gingerly wipes it away. “They’re all dead now, or worse. I’m the only survivor, and my dreams are no respite from that.”
“What happened to them?”
“I...” For the first time Hilda can remember, Edelgard looks torn. “I’m sorry, Hilda, but I can’t tell you that, not now. There’s simply... too much associated with it. It’s not just you I need to trust to reveal it.” She meets her eyes firmly. “But I will someday, that I swear to you.”
“A vow, you might say?” Hilda says, despite herself. It earns a snort, however shaky, at least. “I mean it, when I say I want to help you. So, any way I can, just tell me. I’ll do my best, for you.” A smirk plays across her lips. “My vow, to you alone.”
“You’ve already done plenty, Hilda.” Edelgard leans in, and Hilda obliges; this kiss, she thinks, even if they’re both exhausted and Edelgard’s face is stained with tears, is perfect. This, Hilda thinks, this is Edelgard. Not the woman with carefully schooled expressions and perfect diction and speech, but the woman who had spent hours practicing a single excuse to see her fiancée and blushed at the slightest provocation, who acted like she knew nothing of composure and elegance at times.
“For someone who didn’t know what spooning was, you really know how to kiss a gal, Edie,” Hilda murmurs, dazed, once they separate.
“El, please.” Edelgard seems as to have found it as heady as her. “Call me El. You... are precious enough to me to deserve it so many times over.”
“If you say so, El.” The nickname feels right on her tongue, somehow. “You’d better know what you’re getting into. I like people to do the work for me, you know.”
“I’m certain we can compromise on that front.” El is so very close now. “I know you can be a hard worker as much as I know you can be otherwise.” A hand creeps up her thigh. “I wonder which side I can draw out now?”
They don’t sleep much more that night, and Hilda cannot find it in herself to care.