Edelgard wakes up in a whitewashed room with sun streaming through the windows onto unbleached linen. Every fiber of muscle in her body feels like it’s been filled with lead, which is better than… She whimpers, trying to cringe away from the memory of pain and hurting more with the attempt.
“Ssh,” someone says. To see them she’d have to move, and even the thought of moving makes tears prickle in the corner of her eyes. One overflows and traces an itching path down the side of her face.
With effort, Edelgard says, “No.”
Whoever it is gasps. “You’re awake!” She doesn’t recognize the voice. “I’ll get his Majesty—”
Stop, Edelgard thinks. Where am I? Who are you? Where is Hubert? She doesn’t get any of those out before the door opens and closes again.
The edge of the sunlight quivers—she must have moved her leg under the sheets. Amazing, that she can do that.
Out in the hallway she hears the clicking of fashionable boots on stone, and the deeper, duller sound of marching boots. Dimitri and someone else, then.
The door opens.
She hadn’t realized how much it had hurt her to see Dimitri’s reaction to the husk until she sees the warm relief in his face now. “Edelgard,” he says, bowing. Even that doesn’t take that brightness from the room.
Mercedes, at his side, says, “You’re looking much better than we’d hoped!”
“Hubert,” Edelgard says. Her lips are dry, but she doesn’t want to spare the energy to wet them. It’s the quickest of her questions, and it will tell her something about the rest.
“He’s doing just fine,” Mercedes says. If she’s lying she’s terrifying; Edelgard believes her instinctively. Then again, when this started, Jeritza had said that his sister was good clean through. Maybe it’s all true. Either way, Mercedes’s sweet smile doesn’t change. “You’re both still recovering, but once one of you is able to move around of course you’ll be able to see him.” She touches Edelgard’s foot through the sheets and a rush of magic rises, loosening Edelgard’s aching muscles and dulling the flares of pain. “You damaged yourself pretty badly, though.”
“What…”
“You’re tired,” Mercedes says, and her eyes are so, so sad. “You almost burned yourself up to fuel that thing you turned into, and you didn’t have much before that.”
Dimitri takes a seat at Edelgard’s side, in the chair she couldn’t see before. With the echoes of Mercedes’s magic still whispering under her skin she’s able to roll her head to face him. “It is good to see you again,” he says quietly, “in happier circumstances than last time.”
Mercedes withdraws, leaving the two of them alone.
Edelgard considers her lack of fear, turning it and looking at it from every angle. There are things she is afraid of, she decides. Pain. The possibility that they’re lying to her about Hubert. The dreams that she knows she’ll have when she sleeps. But she isn’t afraid of Dimitri, for all that they were enemies when she was last awake. “Good to see you too.”
“There are treaties and things to negotiate when you’re feeling better,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “I think the paperwork breeds when I’m not looking.”
“Treaties?” Edelgard asks, frowning and then wishing she hadn’t.
“Peace treaties.” Dimitri sounds surprised. “We’re not at war any more, after all.”
Edelgard keeps her face still with long practice. “You conquered Adrestia.”
“I wouldn’t know what to do with Adrestia,” he says with an awkward little laugh, as if they’re so much younger than they really are. “All I ever wanted was to do well by Faerghus. And our new Archbishop Byleth has been talking to Hapi about church reforms, but you may want to bring that up in the negotiations yoursel—”
“Wait,” Edelgard chokes out, reeling. “Wait. Please.” She’s crying again, the room full of refracted light, and every stuttering breath yanks pain through her shoulders. “I don’t—I lost.”
One of Dimitri’s hands covers hers where it rests atop the sheet. The warmth of it is dizzying, gives her strength enough to turn her arm so her palm lies against his. “You were playing the wrong game,” he says. “That’s all.” His own voice is rough—when she blinks her vision clear she can see his eye is shining wet too. “Edelgard…I wish you’d asked for help sooner. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“You called me El again,” she says. Moving had been a mistake. She’s weighed down by exhaustion again, rolling from her hand, her mouth, her eyes. She pushes through. “When we were enemies.”
“El,” Dimitri says. His voice almost breaks on it. She can’t keep her eyes open any more. “Thank you.”
She gives him a twitch of her fingers, the closest thing to a squeeze she can manage, and falls into sleep again.
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dear forgiveness,
Date: 2020-06-15 10:29 am (UTC)“Ssh,” someone says. To see them she’d have to move, and even the thought of moving makes tears prickle in the corner of her eyes. One overflows and traces an itching path down the side of her face.
With effort, Edelgard says, “No.”
Whoever it is gasps. “You’re awake!” She doesn’t recognize the voice. “I’ll get his Majesty—”
Stop, Edelgard thinks. Where am I? Who are you? Where is Hubert? She doesn’t get any of those out before the door opens and closes again.
The edge of the sunlight quivers—she must have moved her leg under the sheets. Amazing, that she can do that.
Out in the hallway she hears the clicking of fashionable boots on stone, and the deeper, duller sound of marching boots. Dimitri and someone else, then.
The door opens.
She hadn’t realized how much it had hurt her to see Dimitri’s reaction to the husk until she sees the warm relief in his face now. “Edelgard,” he says, bowing. Even that doesn’t take that brightness from the room.
Mercedes, at his side, says, “You’re looking much better than we’d hoped!”
“Hubert,” Edelgard says. Her lips are dry, but she doesn’t want to spare the energy to wet them. It’s the quickest of her questions, and it will tell her something about the rest.
“He’s doing just fine,” Mercedes says. If she’s lying she’s terrifying; Edelgard believes her instinctively. Then again, when this started, Jeritza had said that his sister was good clean through. Maybe it’s all true. Either way, Mercedes’s sweet smile doesn’t change. “You’re both still recovering, but once one of you is able to move around of course you’ll be able to see him.” She touches Edelgard’s foot through the sheets and a rush of magic rises, loosening Edelgard’s aching muscles and dulling the flares of pain. “You damaged yourself pretty badly, though.”
“What…”
“You’re tired,” Mercedes says, and her eyes are so, so sad. “You almost burned yourself up to fuel that thing you turned into, and you didn’t have much before that.”
Dimitri takes a seat at Edelgard’s side, in the chair she couldn’t see before. With the echoes of Mercedes’s magic still whispering under her skin she’s able to roll her head to face him. “It is good to see you again,” he says quietly, “in happier circumstances than last time.”
Mercedes withdraws, leaving the two of them alone.
Edelgard considers her lack of fear, turning it and looking at it from every angle. There are things she is afraid of, she decides. Pain. The possibility that they’re lying to her about Hubert. The dreams that she knows she’ll have when she sleeps. But she isn’t afraid of Dimitri, for all that they were enemies when she was last awake. “Good to see you too.”
“There are treaties and things to negotiate when you’re feeling better,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “I think the paperwork breeds when I’m not looking.”
“Treaties?” Edelgard asks, frowning and then wishing she hadn’t.
“Peace treaties.” Dimitri sounds surprised. “We’re not at war any more, after all.”
Edelgard keeps her face still with long practice. “You conquered Adrestia.”
“I wouldn’t know what to do with Adrestia,” he says with an awkward little laugh, as if they’re so much younger than they really are. “All I ever wanted was to do well by Faerghus. And our new Archbishop Byleth has been talking to Hapi about church reforms, but you may want to bring that up in the negotiations yoursel—”
“Wait,” Edelgard chokes out, reeling. “Wait. Please.” She’s crying again, the room full of refracted light, and every stuttering breath yanks pain through her shoulders. “I don’t—I lost.”
One of Dimitri’s hands covers hers where it rests atop the sheet. The warmth of it is dizzying, gives her strength enough to turn her arm so her palm lies against his. “You were playing the wrong game,” he says. “That’s all.” His own voice is rough—when she blinks her vision clear she can see his eye is shining wet too. “Edelgard…I wish you’d asked for help sooner. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“You called me El again,” she says. Moving had been a mistake. She’s weighed down by exhaustion again, rolling from her hand, her mouth, her eyes. She pushes through. “When we were enemies.”
“El,” Dimitri says. His voice almost breaks on it. She can’t keep her eyes open any more. “Thank you.”
She gives him a twitch of her fingers, the closest thing to a squeeze she can manage, and falls into sleep again.