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“Nnngh-” a weary groan echoes out into the room.
Edelgard von Hresvelg groggily twists from under the plush duvet, her eyes trying their best to catch the stray rays of sunlight bleeding their way through the thick curtains of her room. Through those, the room is tinted in the colors of Adrestia. The shimmering of dust in the air leaves no doubt in how old, and most definitely in need of a good cleaning, they are.
She would have changed them a long time ago if she were not so sentimental about them.
That too applies for a great deal of things currently surrounding her. The walls are adorned with the once-fine tapestries of a bygone Hresvelg era. Many are fraying at the edges. Even the small furnishings that clutter the floor have some forefathers name behind them, and on top them, the trinkets of a long forgotten personal significance. This all gives off a musty, bookish, dated, smell to the room.
Yet that fragrance of old is of some comfort to Edelgard, she who had her family ripped away as a child. To give these up would mean leaving them behind. This is the smell of someone who still believes in the hope of nostalgia.
Edelgard smacks her dried lips as she swings her legs over the edge, all too keen to stay attached to the plushness of her bed for one moment longer. A hand reaches up in an attempt to rub her tired and bagged eyes, but stops midway through. There is an unusual heaviness to it. Her pale eyes are sluggish to focus, but a subtle twist of her wrist brings a gleam of gold that blinds her.
Another groan fills the room.
When her vision does return she quickly wishes it hadn’t. Right there, slipped on her finger as though it were meant for her, is an engagement ring. A simple band of gold adorned with a small stone. It is clearly a pittance for her station as Empress of Adrestia, yet her heart cannot help but twinge at the sight of it. A sense of longing clumps in the pit of her stomach.
Edelgard has not taken a consort, nor will she.. but there was once a time where she believed it possible.
This ring had belonged to someone so dear to her heart. How it had gotten on her finger, she could not know. Or she did her best to believe she did not know. Taking the moment to think, she recollects on what she had done the night before.
Then it hits her.
Lately, her nights have been filled with the retreading of past memories. Memories of them.
She remembers her bad habit of putting it on during those reminiscences, and also of falling asleep with it. A mistake. Surely that must have been what happened. Perhaps now she will do without her nightly sips of wine before bed.
If only that were so easy…
Their face flashes in her mind. Thinking about it again turns that feeling in her gut into a lead weight. Even in the early morning hours, Edelgard balls her fists in an attempt to stifle a sob from breaking out. Her face begins to burn, just a single thought back brings up so many memories and feelings she had tried to restrain.
In the blink of an eye she’s back in the Goddess Tower at Garreg Mach.
“I’m not one to argue with you, Byleth, but why me? You should keep something so precious with you.”
“I do not disagree, yet precisely because it is important that I cannot keep it. We are to wage a war soon and I cannot see myself keeping it safe and whole. That ring had meant so much to my father and mother. Please, El, hold onto it until we’ve won. There’s no better person I can think of to safeguard it.”
The Princess tentatively looks up, awed at how the moonlight cascades over the professor’s sharp features. Their face is resolute. Many people don’t believe there’s much behind those deadpan eyes, but she knows better. She knows how easily it is to get lost in the windows to their world.
“If you are so adamant…I can do that for you, my dear Byleth…”
A knock at the door tears her away from the reverie. She has returned to her bedroom in the imperial palace, staring at the way the light catches in the diminutive gemstone atop Byleth’s ring. It wouldn’t matter to her if there were no stone at all, only the idea of Jeralt using this to express such an undying love for Sitri was what matters. With great reluctance, she slips the ring back into its box.
“Please, come in,” Edelgard calls out to the servants outside to help her start the day.
“Your grace, with all the expenditures for today, the council is worried about our ability to continue to finance the campaign against Fhirdiad. The army is already struggling in supplying food yet we are granting every citizen in Enbarr a loaf and cut of meat for the festivities.”
The Empress rubs at her temples with a gloved hand, “we have been at war for several years now, the people are in need of a small break from it all. I will not have a repeat of the previous year’s strict rationing.”
She did not like it one bit, having to continue holding the Goddess Festival as though they aren’t currently at war with the church, but the common folk aren’t ones to let go of what little joys have been left since the war started. Instead of criminalizing it as her ‘uncle’ had once suggested, she has decided to use it to her advantage. As long as it brought on some form of happiness, however small it may be.
In truth she had found some enjoyment in the process as well. Her maids have done well to hide the sleepless and worry-induced blemishes on her face. The imperial tailor has helped her give life to a resplendent crimson gown worn by some great grand-ancestor. Empress Edelgard von Hresvelg looks all the part of a the pinnacle of nobility, a stark contrast to her continuous work to abolish the system that set her up like this.
Thankfully her hopes seems to be coming true as some cheering can be heard outside of the audience chamber. The empress watches as more and more people filter in to celebrate with the royal court. First are the nobility taking their place closest to her, allowed only as a sign of goodwill to these relics of the past. Next, the men and women of merit the Empress herself had raised to status. If this were her father’s court the nobles would be up in arms about this, but she has already dealt with those types in the first year of her reign. People like the previous Duke Aegir, who will be celebrating his third year in the oubliette soon enough.
As she mulls on the progress she’s made so far her eye catches onto something familiar out in the distance. The corners of her lips turn. Her mind immediately dissuades herself from lingering too long on it, too many times she’s thought of seeing that once loved shade of teal only to have her hopes crushed. Yes, far too many times.
A wave of people make their way in, some with smiles and many more at least able to exchange pleasantries. The Empress had made a great effort to have gotten the people to get along for at least one day. Pristine Adrestian banners line the walls and various ornate decorations have been set up. This is one of the few times where she is thankful that some of her predecessors had favored entertaining over matters of the state. She would never have spent the Empire’s money on such extravagances, but there was nothing against reusing old ones.
Finally, the last group to enter the hall are the emissaries of Those Who Slither in the Dark. It still disgusts her to continue working with them, but their assistance in the war has been quite a boon. Still, once Rhea and the church has been dealt with she will waste no time in casting them down as well. At that thought she allows herself to smile. These darkly hooded men begin pushing their way through the hall, having formed a circle around something. Once they made it to the center of the room, and in her direct line of sight, one of them steps forward.
“Empress, in this celebration of this..day,” he spits onto the marbled floor, “we have been hard at work on an appropriate gift for her majesty.” The figure gestures their special guest forward, his footsteps echoing through the whole room, and Edelgard’s eyes widen. “Who better to present on the church’s sacred day than the one who was once touted as their greatest creation.”
Edelgard stands from her throne, in utter disbelief of the sight before her. It is as though the wind was sucked out from her lungs. The sight of a deep teal and indigo. As the figure takes another step a roar of gasps erupt in the room, from the students of yesteryear, from the people they once helped, from her.
She has to lean on an arm rest to steady herself. For the unaffable Crimson Empress, this is too much.
Byleth Eisner stands in front of the group, just out of reach of her, not saying a word nor looking in any particular direction. From her seat, Edelgard sees the professor as she had remembered them. All those moments with them, all those hopes, all those dreams.
“How! I saw them die at that foul creature’s hand!” A voice cries from the side.
Though cloaked with a hood, everyone in the room can feel the emissary eerie grin. “Aye, this vessel was once destroyed by the Immaculate One, but a fraction of it’s heart remained. We have reformed it in the years since then as one of our own, and now it is unveiled to the world.” The figure dares to put a hand on Byleth’s jaw to turn to the sides for all to see. The professor does not react.
“Empress, if you would be so kind as to return the Sword of the Creator, it should be able to wield it once again to hasten the destruction of our enemies. It will be most useful out in the field.” He takes a step forward, but the raising of a hand stops him.
The Empress stands tall over her throne, having recollected her bearings in less than the blink of an eye. Her face is emotionless, posture emanating the regality of her storied family. “Come no further, snake. I will return to my professor the Sword, but only to take them into my service.” The emissary tries to speak up but a glare from her is enough. “I will hear no quibble nor protest on this matter. Go back to your master and declare this as compensation for his..debacle in Remire all those years past.”
They all share various looks to one another, arguing in murmurs. Yet none dares to speak up again. The vocal one returns to his place amongst them and they leave the chamber. With their departure, some life is brought back into the hall. Byleth is the only one to remain from the group, unfazed by it all.
She motions for her advisor to return, “please oversee the festivities for a moment. I wish to talk with the professor for some time.”
Edelgard looks up the wall in a room adjacent to the great hall, a portrait of her father looks back down. Painted before the Insurrection, Emperor Ionius IX is shown in his hearty and hale complexion, a far cry from the withered old man who passed the throne not to his oldest crest-wielding heir, but to his daughter, the only one who survived. She looks on in a willful contemplation, now knowing she isn’t left alone on this world. Byleth is back.
Then a knock comes at the door.
“Please enter,” Edelgard calls out in an uncharacteristically fluttery tone. One of her attendants comes in first with a queer look on her face. The Empress sheepishly looks away while tamping down a few stray hairs. They give a small curtsy before opening the door for Byleth and leaving.
After so long, after so many years gone from her, her beloved Byleth is but a room’s length away. The suspense has her heart thrumming at the top of her throat. What should she say? What should she do?
“Byleth..” their name rolls off her tongue with such ease. Not in a long while could only just a name bring her such an immense amount of joy. “My Byleth, it is so wonderful to see you once again.” Her face warms up considerably from the amount of blood rushing to her cheeks. So much so that her vision blurs from lightheadedness.
Her chest flutters from the amount of emotions coursing through her. For so many years she has had to repress her emotions for the sake of her duty as Empress. She had done the same as Princess just before enrolling at Garreg Mach. It was only at the Monastery did Edelgard remember how it felt to love another and to be loved. She had relished those secretive dalliances with her professor, the enigmatic Ashen Demon. Yet when holding them in her arms, that demon was just another person who wanted to be loved.
Only the soft flickering of candlelight filled the air.
Edelgard bites her lip, patiently awaiting for them to say something. Surely, if their bond had meant anything then Byleth would be jumping into her arms as much as she wants to do the same. Are they perhaps similarly nervous like her?
Seconds pass by, then minutes. That rush of blood settles down. The room is dead silent now, neither the thumping of her heart nor the ruckus from outside can be heard. Her enthusiasm deflates, like she had been doused in cold water. Her smile breaks. Why haven’t they said anything?
Still nothing.
Concern wells up in her chest, “Professor?” Immediately, her mind turns to excuses, but somewhere deep in her conscious does her fear speak up. Her lips dries out. She takes a step, but not another.
Edelgard knows she needs to move, yet her feet betrays her. To get closer would be to confirm her worst suspicions. Foolishly, she wishes she could stay in the unknown, to stay right there in that exact same spot until her body withered away. However, that would be a disservice to the memory of her love.
She can feel the eyes on the wall watch her. Each step is a test of her will and determination. She did not launch this war against the church only to waver here. Byleth doesn’t move an inch. It hurts how quickly her heart is palpitating.
From across the room it would be difficult to make out the details on their face, however now that she’s but a foot away, what she sees startles her.
“What have they done to you?”
Crisscrossing Byleth’s skin, their body, their face, is a spider-work of scars. Thin little white lines where the skin has healed but not made whole. Edelgard can clearly see where the skin pinches at various points, where they are most recent. Even in the warm light, their skin is pale, paler than she’s ever seen of it.
With an ungloved hand she reaches out. She holds her breath.
Byleth’s skin is cold to the touch.
She traces a finger along one patch of the many scars, feeling the hardness of their skin. They don’t react. To touch Byleth like this would have sent her into a giddy mess in a different time, but instead a lone tear rolls down. Cupping their cheek, she looks deeply into their once-brilliant teal eyes, only to be met with unending voids.
Her heart rends itself into pieces.
Another tear joins the first.
How many people must she lose to these monsters?
And another.
She who was cursed to watch her family die before her.
And another.
She who couldn’t save the one who made her believe that she could be loved again.
And another.