Chapter Text
8 Lone Moon, Imperial Year 1183
The great hall of the imperial palace was abuzz with activity, as men and women in the red and gold livery of the Adrestian Empire moved to and fro, carrying trays and platters, shouting instructions, and preparing decorations in a last minute effort at turning regality into grandeur. The preparations were numerous and extensive: the hall’s floor had been cleared and polished to a shine, with the best wooden tables the Empire could offer placed in a circle around a large and open central space. The tables were clothed in red, a deep, vibrant color synonymous with the Empire and its Emperor herself. Runners of white and gold lace ran down the middle of each table, and the Crest of Seiros—symbol of both House Hresvelg and the Church of Seiros—formed a repeated pattern down the length of the fabric. To the side, a small orchestra tuned instruments, violins and cellos and various wind instruments making a soft hum of noise that served to balance the clatter of dining ware, glasses and other fineries.
All present would be able to watch the commemorative ball that would surely only be the first of many celebrations to come, and it was the goal of every laborer there to ensure that everything would be perfect. The Empire refused to show weakness or bend its knee, even on the very eve of the peace treaty to be signed between the Empire and the Church itself. And the people of the Empire, its lifeblood, would make this a night to remember for generations to come.
Peace.
It was a word on everyone’s minds that day, but it was on none moreso than on Edelgard Von Hresvelg, Emperor of the Adrestian Empire. She sat in her private chambers, a fine red dress elegantly fitted on her thin body, and tried her best to ignore the fatigue in her expression, the strain around her eyes, eyes that—despite all good sense and reason—sparkled with just a hint of life in them. Just a hint, not really more than a glimmer.
She looked like she’d aged a decade during the last three years, and though that still put her fairly young and in the prime of her life, she looked far older and more world-weary than her mere twenty-one years. She’d lost a considerable amount of weight too, and she’d never been what some might describe as comfortably padded. She was fit, yes, but three years of stress, grief, and insomnia had cut away at much of the lean physique she’d once prided herself on.
The treaty would be the end of her path, a path long laden with blood and sweat and tears, and she had walked it mostly alone. Always alone. History had taught her time and time again that hope was a luxury she could ill afford, and yet here she was, hours before the culmination of her greatest failure, with the small flame of hope traitorously flickering within her.
“You’re going to look radiant tonight,” Dorothea crooned behind her, fingers working in Edelgard’s hair as she situated the crown on her head. It was the horned crown of the Emperor of Adrestia, the symbol of her station and her long-standing defiance against the reign of tyrants. Instead of wrapped tightly around it like she wore for combat, however, tonight her white hair was loose beneath it, resting limply about her shoulders and down her back. “This dress suits you.”
“It doesn’t,” Edelgard returned, her eyes flickering to the brunette standing just behind her, visible in the large mirror that sat in front of Edelgard. “Nothing does, these days.”
Once, Dorothea might have offered a flippant retort, a reassurance that Edelgard was as “grand as the day they’d met”. Not tonight. Dorothea pursed her lips instead, then said, “Are you going to spend some time with the Ve—”
Edelgard glared at her in the mirror.
“—Byleth, I mean? While she’s here?”
“If she’ll have me,” Edelgard told her quietly. “Though there’s no guarantee of that. We failed her. She may not want anything to do with us outside of her duties.”
The admission pained her. Three years ago, Edelgard wouldn’t have let it show, would have barreled through the pain with sheer force of will. Edelgard from three years ago, however, was a different person. The current Edelgard couldn’t hide it if she wanted to.
“You know we’ll support you in whatever you need,” Dorothea said after a pause as she finished Edelgard’s hair and moved on to affixing the ornamental black feathers to the shoulders of Edelgard’s dress. “We have your back.”
“Do I?” Edelgard spat. “Will you support me like you did three years ago? Stand on the sidelines while my heart is ripped apart in front of you by everyone I trusted? Or will you actually join in this time, Dorothea?”
The former songstress recoiled as if Edelgard had risen out of her seat and slapped her. Edelgard wasn’t entirely sure which thing had the greater effect on the woman: her spiteful words, or the nearly flat, deadened delivery with which they were made. It didn’t matter. Edelgard might regret them, but they were already said.
She couldn’t change the past.
“Edie, I—”
“Don’t ‘Edie’ me, Dorothea,” Edelgard snapped, curling her fingers into fists in her lap. “Just finish and leave me. I have to prepare to receive my guests.”
Dorothea fell silent, staring down at her work with tear-rimmed green eyes.
If there were feelings left within Edelgard that hadn’t been scorched away by three years of failure, loss, and grief, she would have felt bad. But things took a toll on even the most determined woman, and repeated failures had left little of the confident, determined young woman she’d once been.
In reality, that small glimmer of hope within her breast was really all that was left inside her.
Moments later, Dorothea’s fingers knotted the last ties of Edelgard’s dress, finishing the ensemble, she walked silently to the door. Only once she stood on the threshold, one hand firmly on the wooden frame did she look back over her shoulder, the pain and hurt clear as day on her face. Her lip trembled. Her voice quivered.
“I…know we haven’t talked much since…since after the siege, Edi—Edelgard,” she said, words hitching audibly. “But for what it’s worth, I have always regretted that I didn’t stand up for you back then. I hope, one day, you finally understand where my heart and loyalties truly lie. What I would give, for your sake.”
Then she turned and left the room without another word, leaving Edelgard to sag against her chair with an aggravated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose with the red-gloved fingers of her left hand. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling a headache blossoming behind her eyes and at the base of her skull.
Too much pain dulled a person. Made them hard and harsh. Trapped them between searing agony and numbing despair.
Edelgard knew she was lashing out, hurting people that didn’t deserve it. And Dorothea, wonderful and kind as she was, was at the top of that list. She had done her best to be supportive, assisting Edelgard with whatever and wherever she could within the confines Edelgard gave her, and despite how firmly she kept her at arm’s distance. Edelgard would have to write her an apology, after all was said and done. Once they’d both had a chance to heal from the hurt Edelgard had caused. Because Edelgard didn’t think she’d be capable of saying it to Dorothea’s face. Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
Still, the Emperor was above such states. She had to be. In this time of defeat, in this time of hardship brought on by her war, they needed to see a confident, strong, and determined leader. Not the broken shell behind the mask.
She stood up, braced her hands on the vanity, and stared into the mirror, glaring intently into those lilac eyes in the reflection. “I am doing this for my people,” she told herself, as she had so many times. “For humanity. For those that suffer in the darkness. For those who live under the thumb of oppression.”
Though the words sounded hollow in her ears, she repeated the phrase three more times, putting every ounce of will she could into them. Forcing herself to be determined.
It wasn’t enough.
She closed her eyes, tried to remember a warm smile. The way blue eyes had lit up when offered street food for the first time, the mirth of a laugh as they danced amongst the people. Her face had begun to fade over the years as time and grief took their toll, but Byleth’s place in her heart never had. Even if she’d never spoken those feelings aloud. Even if the woman would hate her for failing her so badly.
“I make peace,” Edelgard breathed, resisting the urge to cry that always welled up when Edelgard thought of her, “because it is the last thing I can give to my people, and because I owe it to Her. To save who I can. To make the best of this terrible situation that I can.”
She let out a long and shaky breath. Then she stood up straight and squared her shoulders, put thoughts of her former friend out of her mind for the moment—though Byleth was never far from it—and adopted the mask of the Emperor. Only once she felt fully in that role did she open her eyes, glaring baleful defiance and all the stern resolve she had accumulated over the last three years. She nodded once, satisfied, and left her chambers.
A tall woman in black, her black hair braided neatly at her back, stepped into Edelgard’s shadow the moment she closed the door.
“Any word?”
“The Archbishop and her entourage arrived in Enbarr forty minutes ago, Your Majesty,” the woman answered. She had a flat, sardonic way of speaking that reminded Edelgard far too much of the woman’s brother. “Sir Eisner should be greeting them as we speak.”
“Good.”
Edelgard’s heels clicked on the stone, her footsteps echoing through the hall as she made her way through toward the entry hall of the imperial palace. She kept her hands at her sides, fingers curled against her palms, and didn’t look at her companion as they walked. “How are the signing preparations proceeding?”
“As planned. With the pomp the Church is making en route to the Palace, everything will be more than ready to receive them with the proper deference, as you requested.”
Edelgard nodded just once, acknowledging that she’d heard the woman. Like her brother, Edelgard’s shadow was a member of House Vestra. Though she currently filled the position of Edelgard’s retainer, like her brother before her, the schism between Hresvelg and Vestra had ensured that the woman had very little of the trust her brother had once benefitted from. And if there was bitterness where Dorothea was concerned, then it was anger that boiled within her at the thought of Hubert. Anger and resentment and hurt, as deep as the dungeons beneath the imperial palace.
Even now, three years later, she had yet to forgive him.
“And what of Leicester?” Edelgard asked. “What have your spies found out about their actions following the treaty’s announcement? What’s that snake up to?”
“Riegan has consolidated his control over the portions of Varley and Bergliez you ceded to him. He holds them in an iron grip, and anyone we have sent in to investigate his doings there were killed, presumably on sight.” Edelgard’s shadow paused, clearing her throat. “And our mole in Hrym has gone silent. My apologies, Your Majesty, but there is nothing of use to report.”
Edelgard let out a breath. No news was still news. It just wasn’t good. “Keep me informed. The second he makes a move, I want to be aware of it.”
“As you command, Your Majesty.”
They walked down the hall a few more steps, then turned a corner. A woman with deep, violet hair pulled into a long tail was leaning against the wall not far away; she wore a stiff gambeson that disguised her figure, with an archer’s guard on her left arm. As Edelgard approached, her head turned toward them with startling speed, and she stood up and straightened abruptly, hand going to her breast even as her posture went rigid.
Bernadetta had changed a lot over the last three years. They all had.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Bernadetta?” Edelgard asked, keeping her voice level as she walked up to her. She didn’t smile, nor did Bernadetta avoid her gaze.
“I h-heard about the treaty, Your Majesty,” Bernadetta squeaked. She’d always been skittish, but the way she maintained her gaze at Edelgard and didn’t immediately look for a place to hide showed was a testament to how much the last three years had helped her social fortitude. She had been one of the only people to defend Edelgard when everything in her life had crumbled, and was now one of Edelgard’s most reliable generals.
Which was why it was odd that she was here, and not on the border.
“And you’re here because…?”
“Because I thought it’d be important for you to have support, i-in case things go sideways,” Bernadetta replied.
Edelgard leveled a hard stare at her. “Do you know something? Have you heard news that would lead you to believe things might?”
She hoped not. Things were already frail enough as they were. If something went sideways…
Bernadetta clasped her hands in front of her, biting her lip. “N-no, ma’am. Not any more than usual. I just…thought you might want a friend. It’s a big day.”
“Are we friends, then, Bernadetta?”
Bernadetta blinked at her, then blushed and shook her head.
“P-Protection, then! I’m here to see to your safety, since there are a lot of foreign d-d-dignitaries. I’ll take out anyone who seeks to mess things up!” Bernadetta finished her statement by raising her fists in front of her face, giving Edelgard a determined glare. “I know you don’t have a b-bodyguard right now, since Sir Eisner is greeting the Church, so I’ll stay at your side at least until he’s back!”
Edelgard sighed, putting her hands on her hips. Bernadetta was right. They’d already received numerous missives from the various nobility throughout Adrestia and Faerghus, and even a handful from Leicester, confirming their presence at the treaty signing. Everyone wanted to be present to witness the so-called ‘Mad Emperor of Adrestia’ be forced to yield power and authority to the very organization she had vowed to dismantle. Adrestia’s own nobility would be snapping at her to take back from her what power they could for years, and then there were the concessions the Church was forcing on her…
“All right then,” Edelgard said at last. “You may accompany me for protection, but do not speak unless I give my express permission. Understood?”
Bernadetta nodded, her teeth audibly clicking together as her mouth closed in a heart’s beat. Her gray eyes focused on Edelgard’s face. Resolute.
Satisfied, Edelgard turned and continued, taking a flight of stairs down and turning the corner to continue her descent, her red dress swishing about her feet. “Have you found any evidence of spies or assassins among the attendees?” she asked her shadow at the bottom of the stairs.
The Vestra woman shook her head. “None yet, Your Majesty. We’re keeping a close watch.”
When the Church of Seiros, when the Archbishop herself, had extended the invitation for peace two months before—promising to cease all hostilities against the rapidly declining and faltering Adrestian Empire—Edelgard hadn’t known what to make of it. Peace? An end to the fighting? Surely Rhea couldn’t be that naive, to think that simply making peace with her would return the continent to the stasis it had endured for centuries. There would be others. There were forces at work that would do what Edelgard had failed to. And the offer of peace hadn’t been extended to Leicester, who had allied with Edelgard against the Church and the Kingdom of Faerghus.
To believe Rhea was genuine, that she wasn’t about to insert some deadly threat to eliminate Edelgard and any loyal to her was foolish.
Still, Edelgard hadn’t been in a position to refuse, either. Not when her country was split in half by the Church, the entire Aegir province was in open rebellion against her, and Leicester demanded more concessions from her by the week. Day by day, the strain on her people increased, with no end to the suffering in sight. Day by day, the number of calls for her head increased, growing more vitriolic and insidious.
And day by day, Edelgard realized more and more how alone and miserable she really was.
So, to reject the offer outright would have been tantamount to suicide. She would have agreed on that principle alone—but Rhea, manipulative and conniving, had sickeningly sweetened the deal to make sure Edelgard couldn’t say no, under any circumstances.
“What of Aegir and his ilk? Will they seek to disrupt the signing?”
“It’s doubtful,” the Vestra woman replied. “Word is that he is dealing with his own insurgence at the moment, though he might send an envoy to stir up trouble.”
Perfect. As if she needed anymore kindling for an already volatile event.
Edelgard had hoped that by publishing news of the treaty signing, it might bring some comfort to her people, who had born the brunt of Edelgard’s ambitions. The war would end, and the Emperor herself would make what reparations she could. The nobility would take the opportunity to bite at her heels, sure, but they’d see that she had the best interests of Adrestia in mind.
Instead, many had spurned her, seeing this as the last and final failure in a string of failures that showed her as weak and short-sighted. The kind of Emperor that didn’t live long on the throne before finding a knife in her back or her throat slit in the dead of night. Aegir’s little rebellion had swayed some, the toad of a man asserting his claims that he could tame her and bring her in line. Make her a tool of the nobility.
"Ferdinand w-won’t be coming!" Bernadetta stammered behind her.
Edelgard stopped in her tracks, that name bringing a memory to the surface of her mind that, even after three years, sent her reeling.
A dark room.
Edelgard, still reeling from her defeat. Her loss.
Ferdinand, face red and livid as he shouted into her face, hands balled in her shirt as he lifted and slammed her into the wall.
Edelgard, unable to even stammer out a reply.
Too much. It was all too much.
Edelgard hadn’t seen Ferdinand, much less spoken or even written a letter to him in three years. For all she knew, he had sided with his father against her and would be fronting the charge astride his destrier in the baying chants for her blood to bathe the stones of Enbarr. So long as his rage was there, she knew the next time she’d meet him would be with her axe in hand. He’d always been rash, thinking so much, yet never thinking to stop and understand before acting.
Edelgard let out a shaky breath, closing her eyes to calm herself as she turned to face her general. “I thought I asked you not to speak without my permission?”
“I’m sorry!”
“Please, Bernadetta,” Edelgard said, opening her eyes to see that the general—despite being clearly nervous—stood with her back straight and stared intently at her. “Just do what I ask so that we can all get through this with our skins intact.”
And so that I can finally have some peace of mind, she added mentally.
By the time Edelgard had made her way to the great hall to begin receiving her visitors—guests—a line had formed out the doors, with a caller eagerly awaiting his turn to perform his task. Edelgard stood on a raised dais at the far end of the chamber, where anyone coming in the door would look past all the fineries and decoration to see her at the head of it all. Announcing each guest was a tedious and time-consuming matter, but she usually took pleasure in how it galled the nobility to be forced to wait in line. Seeing the nobles who had banded together to have her family stripped of power, turning a blind eye as she and her siblings and so many others were tortured and killed, one by one; who had thought nothing of the young women they brutalized and traumatized, stripping them of their youth and innocence in their pursuit of vain power and influence; those nobles, forced to bow and scrape and wait on her was a small but just recompense.
This day, however, the processions made her sick. The whispers, the backhanded compliments to her person, the way the men’s eyes roved her body in the clinging fabric all dug at her, made her skin crawl. She’d worn this dress for one reason and one reason only—and it was not for their viewing pleasure. She’d have never worn such a thing otherwise.
Three years…
The way her heart fluttered, the way her stomach tried to churn inside of her in anticipation…it was like she was a young girl again, nervous before her first ball. Edelgard didn’t let it show, of course; she was the Emperor, the leader of an entire—if temporarily fractured—nation. Instead, she kept a thin smile on her face, listened to empty favorings of her health and well-being, and watched as nobles from Adrestia, Faerghus, and Leicester filed into the great hall and greeted her.
It was a chore, but a chore she performed for the sake of her people.
The Church arrived with all of its customary grandeur while the sun was amidst its descent in the sky, bathing the great hall in the red-orange light of twilight. The first of their entourage were the Knights—the army that had been a knife in her ribs these last three years. The Knights of Seiros were not the same organization they had been before the war either; like the rest of the continent, it had been shaped and molded by that awful night at Garreg Mach when everything had changed. For one, they had lost a good half of their original number, and were now bolstered by the soldiers of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, and the show of force as rank after rank of the Knights filed in for the signing was just another reminder that Edelgard was in their power, and not their equal.
And there, at the head of the Knights walked Catherine, the First Knight, and Dimitri, the Knight-King of Faerghus. Once, a different figure would have led them all, silver armor shining beneath cascading teal hair, but as with the rest of the changes, that woman was nowhere to be seen. At least…not yet. Edelgard knew Rhea would hold back Her appearance as long as possible, a way to lord her control over Edelgard, to reinforce that Edelgard was at not just the Church's mercy, but her mercy in particular.
After all, hadn't that been the deal to bait the catch all along?
Following the coalition of Knights and Kingdom soldiers walked Seteth, the arrogant former headmaster of the Officer's Academy. His green eyes scanned the room disdainfully, noting the Imperial banners and decorations, before settling on Edelgard with a baleful glare. Seteth had never liked Edelgard; Her avowed atheism and insistence on flouting the restrictive policies he held so dear had made her a constant target of contention during her Academy days, even moreso due to her familiarity with his precious 'Vessel'. When she returned his glare with a flat and level stare of her own, he sneered, flourishing his resplendent navy robes, with its gold trim and threading embroidered into the hem, collar and sleeves.
It had always been ironic to her, the ostentatious use of gold and silver threading in Church attire. In Adrestian clothing, gold and silver threading were signs of wealth and financial security—gold being the more accessible and ubiquitous material, as silver was reserved for weapons and the finest wares, but both still being well above what the average worker could afford. Edelgard herself had only ever had two garments made with the threading: the dress she now wore, and a crimson coat that had once been a gift and labor of love, and which had been burned, its remnants sent to her three years ago as a meaningful reminder of her failure.
And yet, every one of the Church's higher members flaunted robes and tunics embroidered and seen with the precious threading, even while they demanded financial support and contributions from even the poorest of their followers. It was an infuriating—and obscene—hypocrisy.
Seteth's "sister", Flayn, was curiously nowhere in sight, however. Surely, with all of his paranoia and oversight, he wouldn't have left her in Garreg Mach by herself?
Behind Seteth, far in the wake of their liege, trudged the Faerghus Four, called the "Lion's Teeth" by her soldiers on the battlefield. All four, former classmates and connections of various degrees, had made a name for themselves during the three-year war, fighting as a concise and powerful strike unit that often pushed the tide of battle in their King's favor where they appeared. It was much like Edelgard had once envisioned for her friends, before everything had gone wrong.
Dedue, Dimitri’s right hand, was a towering behemoth, bedecked in a full suit of heavy plate. His face was battle-scarred, but he walked with confidence, head raised, eyes fixated ahead on his liege. Edelgard had fought him before, many times.
Next to him stalked Felix, fur-lined cloak fluttering behind him as his eyes shifted every which way, focusing, oddly, on the Knights of Seiros and the Church’s soldiers, and not the Adrestian congregation before them. He'd always been a skeptical one, and the years had only added to his sardonic nature.
Sylvain, red hair a mess and unkempt, walked at a slight distance from Felix and Dedue, closer to the only woman of the four. He was without his signature swagger, however, and a haunted shadow darkened his expression.
Time had been kind to Ingrid, the short cut fitting her golden hair far more than the long braid she’d worn when Edelgard had known her ever had, but there was a weariness to her posture and step. Of the four, Ingrid had been the one that was most a thorn to Claude as, last Edelgard had heard, her home city of Uathac still resisted Leicester's invasion of Faerghus despite the surrounding areas falling.
None of the four were armed, however, despite the Knights all carrying their armaments. An oddity Edelgard didn't miss.
And then, beyond the Teeth, beyond Seteth and his sneer, beyond the Knights and their leaders, at the position furthest removed from Edelgard herself, several men in white hoods and cloaks embroidered with silver carried an oversized palanquin. The mobile structure was long, requiring a coterie of some twenty men to carry the thing, and it was ornate, with a deep blue lacquering and silver and gold trim and filigree adorning all visible surfaces. The Crest of Seiros and the emblem of the Church shone in gilded paint on the sides. Diaphanous, golden curtains hung across the opening of the palanquin, obscuring the interior and its occupant.
Edelgard knew who would be in that structure, however. Only one woman had an ego big enough for such a thing.
It didn’t matter. Her eyes moved past the palanquin, to another just behind. This one was smaller, but even more lavish than the one that housed the Archbishop. There was no gold, here. Only silver. Silver curtains, sheer, a veil between Her and the people. Silver trim, lovingly molded and carved. Silver lacquer, just like the teachings claimed her heart was. The only color amidst the palanquin’s surfaces and decoration was the purple crest painted in the similitude of fire. The Crest of Flames.
Their crest.
As the palanquins approached, the Knights parted, opening space. Rhea’s was set down first, and while the woman busied herself with her own extraction, Edelgard focused her gaze on the other, smaller one. In the darkening evening light, as braziers and candlesticks were lit to accommodate the gathered nobility, the silver curtains did little to hide the glowing, iridescent green hair and eyes in the darkened interior. They shone with an ethereal light, shifting in the darkness slightly, and for a brief moment, Edelgard could swear they focused on her, and that attention, even though slight and possibly figmented, made her stomach do another flip.
Still, that her hair and eyes were glowing meant only one thing: the Church had drugged her for this event. Again.
And that meant that she would have difficulty recognizing Edelgard. More likely than not, Edelgard would spend the next few days caring for her, helping her recover, and anger boiled inside of her at the thought, remembering a time years ago when she’d done the very same. She suppressed that emotion, however. She had to. This treaty had to succeed. If it didn’t…
She returned her gaze to Rhea’s palanquin, watching as the tall, green-haired woman stepped down, all haughty arrogance, with an amused smile that reminded Edelgard keenly of the way noble adults teased the impoverished children in the streets, lauding their wealth just out of reach of the desperate hands below them. She was enjoying this, enjoying how Edelgard stood before her, hands clasped at her waist. Enjoying how it made Edelgard’s skin crawl, made her insides seethe when Rhea held out her hand, offering her ring for a sign of obeisance. Showing that even the Emperor of Adrestia would yield to the Goddess’s will for Fodlan, and the Church that dictated it.
Unfortunately for Rhea, however, Edelgard still had her pride, and she refused to show weakness, even in her hour of defeat. Let her see that Edelgard was not cowed, nor would her deference be stolen so easily. Edelgard might have lost the war, but she hadn’t broken. So, instead of kissing her ring, Edelgard simply inclined her head slightly. The barest acknowledgement. A small act of defiance.
She would not belittle herself for anyone, much less this tyrant of a woman.
Rhea, of course, understood Edelgard’s refusal. Rather than show her anger, however, she simply smirked and shook her head, then walked over to the other palanquin to draw back the curtain. Compared to the Archbishop, who towered over most people even without the ostentatious headpiece, the woman that climbed out of the palanquin was much smaller, barely a few fingers taller than Edelgard herself. Her hair and eyes were familiar, if an eerie green instead of teal and blue, though her expression was blank, vacant, the way it had been years before when she played her role as the living goddess reincarnated. The white garment she wore, unlike the robes that had habitually enveloped her and heavily obscured her figure, left little to the imagination, hugging her hips and accentuating her curves, the tone of her stomach easily visible through the sheer film that covered it, and Edelgard found herself needing to resist the urge to stare at a face that hadn’t aged a day in the three years since she’d last seen it. It was a little leaner, perhaps, but at the sight memories rushed back through her, recollections of the time they’d spent together and the myriad emotions that had been reserved only for Edelgard to see.
Her heart ached.
As Byleth climbed down out of the palanquin, she didn’t wobble or lose her balance. She didn’t sway like she had when drugged. She didn’t lean on Rhea for support, instead planting her foot firmly on the ground to stare blankly around the room. That blankness unnerved Edelgard. Had Byleth finally built up a tolerance to that vile drug? Or was it something else?
Regardless, it was the visual confirmation Edelgard had needed, and it stoked the spark of hope within her into a small and flickering flame. Rather than stare and give her heart away, she focused her gaze instead on Rhea, looking up at the woman towering over her with all of the steel she had learned to muster over the years.
“Adrestia welcomes the Church of Seiros,” she said, projecting her voice like she was on the battlefield and giving orders to her commanders. “Archbishop, Headmaster,” she nodded to both Rhea and Seteth in turn, her breath catching as she looked to Byleth, “Vessel. I thank you all for your graciousness in agreeing to this treaty. If you would follow me…”
And so it began. Edelgard led the representative’s of Fodlan’s nations into the heart of the imperial capital, wondering just what would come of this event. Would history remember her as a prideful upstart, unprepared for the reality of war and forced into subjugation by the very force she’d fought against? Would she be just another failed rebellion fighting against a regime that wouldn’t be toppled for centuries?
She didn’t know. And at that moment, with the weight of the world on her shoulders and a small flicker of hope burning in her chest…she didn’t care. Let history make of her what it would. For now, just like her people, Edelgard just wanted an end to her torment, and peace.