Chapter Text
Day 10 of the Lone Moon
When her body threw itself forward as if she had been in some sort of horrific nightmare, the woman found herself alone. The room that she was trapped in was closed but she could see a thin crack of warm orange light underneath and around the frame of what she presumed to be a door.
So, she crawled from the cool stone she had been cradled in and stood carefully observing the darkness as her eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light. Suddenly a claustrophobic frantic, panic clawed at her chest, she could not place her name, or why she would be being kept in such a confined space.
“Perhaps I am a prisoner?” She asked out loud, her voice hoarse.
She barely noticed knocking the stand over, or the glass baubles smashing on the ground as she tore the javelin off the wall. Pitching it against the sliver of light where the door would surely swing open, she began to twist. With strength she didn’t recognise, the woman tumbled from inside as the door creaked open.
Alone in a silent graveyard, she decided not to look back as she ran towards the woods to the north of her prison.
Day 12 of the Lone Moon
Dimitri walked this path alone; he thought that bringing a procession to her doorstep would only ensure her distress. She had been so alone in life; it was only when papers and whispers made their way to his office that he had understood. He had interned her close to his home, more for his own sake. Most of her kind were buried in unmarked graves and spat upon, Edelgard may have stood knee-deep in blood and anger and fire but her isolation was all she knew. The what-ifs gently posed themselves in the back of his mind and he swallowed the guilt rising against his chest.
The wind whistled through the trees as he came across the mausoleum, built from white marble which stood alone with room enough for one. It was beautiful, he wasn’t sure it would have been her taste, but he hoped it served her purpose. The flowers, which would bloom bright crimson in the spring, were beginning to grow again.
The wreath he carried was beautifully made by hands she would know, as Bernadetta did for every time he had ever come here. Crimson, and cobalt, and bright brash yellow were all woven together beautifully. Dimitri eyed the tomb, perhaps she would have thought it gaudy? Or offensive?
He paused, startled suddenly, realising the door to the tomb hung haphazardly on its side as if thrown to the wayside by some creature. A heavy swallow. Concern suddenly swelled in his chest as Dimitri, who had never been the most graceful of men, stumbled inside. The heavy stone which covered her had been thrust onto the floor. He dreaded to see what type of desecration she had been subject to as he leaned in to look at a body he was sure would be bone by now.
Instead, he saw nothing. The stone casket was empty, void of skeletal remains and anything to suggest there had ever been a body placed there. There were only remnants to even hint she had ever been there in the first place, a scrap of black fabric caught on the side of the casket and the woven circlet, beautiful and thorny were all that he could see of her burial clothes.
Turning to look around himself he searched the room for some indication of who could have done this. A candelabra knocked on its side the glass orbs around the candles shattered, a torn velvet curtain, bloodied footprints from a left foot smeared across the floor. The offering vases and dishes, a part of her home culture, were intact though strewn into a corner.
With horror, he realised a long, sturdy, metal javelin, a common offering to those who died in battle, had been torn off the wall.
It seemed almost as though her grave had been desecrated from the inside, given the way the door not only locked but had been forced open. The hinges were mangled, it would have taken massive strength or given the missing javelin, the aid of leverage to open it.
The silence felt horrifically empty as he placed the wreath down into the casket and stepped out into the watery sunlight.
There was much to be done.
Day 13 of the Lone Moon
The Crown Prince of Almyra eyed his friend (or allied force was perhaps the better term), currently pacing in his study. His diplomatic visit had been interrupted by some horror Dimitri had stumbled upon and Claude, the name he used when he was in Fódlan, watched him carefully. Dimitri may not have walked on a hair-thin edge anymore, but Claude was certainly suitably wary of the King as he raked his hand through his hair. He was clearly stricken by something.
“What exactly happened?” He asked, from his position in the seat across from Dimitri’s at his desk.
“Someone, from inside her tomb, tore the door off the hinges,” He stated, frantic, “Forced their way out, they’ve taken a javelin, and her body is gone.”
“Are you sure?” Claude asked, incredulously.
“I am certain,” Dimitri snapped, and Claude sat back instinctively.
“The dead don’t just get up and walk away, Dimitri,” Claude stated, almost matter-of-factly, and watched as Dimitri allowed a long sigh and collapsed into the seat opposing Claude’s. His eye drifted up to the painted ceiling of the room.
“Who would do that to her?” He asked the air; no answer was expected.
“A lot of people,” Claude responded anyway, “The question is what would motivate them five years after her death to do it?”
Dimitri fell silent, breathing in a practised manner. He was self-soothing, and so Claude looked away before swinging to his feet and approaching the window. He eyed the manicured grounds of the palace; he could see the lights of the city in the distance. The wooded area surrounding the palace gardens offered as much protection as it did somewhere for the criminal to hide. For a moment Claude imagined an Edelgard, still in school uniform, running along the tree line, her white hair thrown out behind her. In a blink she was gone, a ghost from another life.
“I wish it were different,” Dimitri stated suddenly, voice cracking and Claude turned to look at him.
“I think we all do in a way,” Claude said slowly, careful to mind his tongue and his tone, “She once told me there was nothing that could stop her, and she wasn’t wrong.”
“She wanted no mercy,” He said, with a heavy sigh.
“She was driven to destruction,” Claude said with a roll of his shoulders, “I wonder sometimes if I had talked to her earlier if things would have been different.”
“I didn’t know the extent of what she’d been through until I was told by someone else,” Dimitri responded, not quite listening and Claude sighed as he strode to sit down across from him again.
“No use chasing old spectres,” Claude said as he slouched down where he sat.
“No use chasing old spectres,” Dimitri echoed.
Day 17 of the Lone Moon
Byleth had been called to their presence, but she had felt something was off days before. Sothis had seemed concerned and had been tight-lipped when asked so Byleth had opted to wait. Usually, when there was something that needed her attention it would find her.
She stood before The King and a Crown Prince, as they talked more at her about their discovery than with her. Byleth found herself unsure of their solution.
“Have you considered it was Edelgard who broke the door?” Byleth asked suddenly, interrupting them, “Stranger things have happened.”
“Impossible,” They had both said in unison.
Day 25 of the Lone Moon
The woman had been relieved when the tavern owner’s wife, Khristina had fought for her to have room and board for the work she was doing. They had given her the name Gaelle, her accent reminded them of a country long gone and she had been accepting of the title though it seemed… unlike her. It meant "stranger", or so she thought. She wasn't entirely certain of anything.
Khristina had gotten her suitable clothing when she had found her curled up in the alley between their establishment and the business next door. She was thankful, especially after having scaled a wall and torn through the woods as far away from the guards she had avoided as she could manage. Though she had thought it best to keep that element of her story quiet for the time being.
She had been surprised when she had seen her face in the smudged mirror of her room, wild, pale brown hair and lavender eyes. She was pretty, though her body was scarred, but Gaelle didn’t mind so much as she smoothed her hair into a neat bun.
The work was simple, cleaning, and pouring ale for travellers who came through with their stories. Some of a bloody war, some of the benevolent king, some whispered of the wild emperor who had waded through the blood of many. One man said she had the same face as Gaelle. She had recoiled at the notion and slammed his ale down harder than he had anticipated. Khristina had been quick to snap that he had best not harass her staff. Gaelle had agreed as she wiped spilt ale off the polished, wooden bar top.
She supposed she was, in a way, a fugitive of sorts. She wondered if someone was mourning her, perhaps they even missed her.
‘Likely not,’ she thought, ‘Why would you have been trapped if you were liked?’
Thoughts pushed aside she began to lace her apron for her work, they would be busy tonight.
Day 29 of the Lone Moon
“What if it was her?” Dimitri announced to Byleth, turning to look upon her. Claude rubbed his temples with a loud sigh.
“Enlighten me, how could it have been the woman who’s been dead for at least five years? I would love to hear this.”
“Well,” Byleth began slowly, “There are revenants.”
"Those are fairy tales," Dimitri said, his tone incredulous.
“Sothis was a fairy tale,” She responded, leaning back from them, “A lot of things that are fairy tales can be…”
“Sort of true,” Claude finished, his tone unreadable.
“How would she have escaped?”
“Unless you have guards posted along every inch of that wall it’s possible.”
Dimitri stopped, turning to survey the woods that lined the edge of the wall. He felt his hands clench into a fist. Something akin to guilt, and almost like anger coiled itself in his stomach, to move a body from its resting place was at best sacrilege but for someone to use their power to raise the dead? It was unheard of.
“What could she possibly have that they want?” Dimitri asked, almost demanding.
“She was built to burn down the world,” Byleth said slowly.
Dimitri heaved a breath and threw himself back down into a seat, a hand raking through his hair as he eyed the notes on what little they knew. If it were her, she could be anywhere, Edelgard was strong and fierce, she bore the weight of two crests. Well, according to Byleth she had.
“I suppose it’s time to go searching.”