Chapter Text
Edelgard,
Hi, sorry for not keeping in touch since… really, our academy days. Thanks for not killing me back in Deirdru, that was nice of you.
Anyways, I just wanted to let you know that you addressed your husband-to-be in your wedding invitations as “Korshid Mirza,” but that’s not his full name. I bet you did it on purpose, but his full name is “Khalid Claude von Riegan-Mirza.”
Keep in touch,
Hilda V. Goneril-Edmund
Claude,
Hey, so, Edelgard probably doesn’t realize you’re Khalid. Like, put only “Khalid” on the wedding invitations. She’s obsessed with being proper, right? Wouldn’t she put Claude on there? She’s not responded to my letter either.
Hope you don’t die at your wedding,
Hilda V. Goneril-Edmund
The Bridal Chamber, a small bedroom in the Locket, was covered in linens and silk, as most of the bridesmaids slept on the floor. Only Edelgard and Dorothea remained awake, as Edelgard takes another swallow of wine. Her hands are decorated with henna, beautiful swirls of brown against her skin. Dorothea eyes her worriedly, and reaches to take the glass away.
“Come now, Edie,” she says, “You don’t want to be hungover at your own wedding.”
The bitter laughter that follows is heartbreaking, “Maybe then I won’t remember it.” Edelgard says in turn, and tightens her grip on the glass. Her whole world feels woozy, but she doesn’t care.
“Edie, that’s horrible! It’s supposed to be the happiest day of your life… You regret saying yes, don’t you?” Dorothea asks, and finally manages to take the glass away, and stands to pour it out.
“Regret?” Edelgard parrots, her voice a whisper, “I have never felt such guilt in my whole life, even more than when we all thought Byleth was dead. Yes, I regret! Is that what you want to hear?”
Dorothea shakes her head, “I was hoping that by now, you would have formally called off the engagement. Edie, you don’t want to marry him.”
“I have done many things I did not want.” She reminds in kind, but there are heavy tears in her eyes. “What is one more?”
“This isn’t school or the war, this is the rest of your life. If you’re having second thoughts,” Dorothea sighs, and looks at their sleeping friends. If Petra were awake, she’d say something about having fought for love, and Bernadetta would say that if Edelgard really wanted to be married, she shouldn’t have to drink her way through the ceremony. Ferdinand might chastise her for starting a bad habit, telling her to turn back before it's too late, and Lysithea would pout, which was the most effective tactic on Edelgard. But Dorothea is the one awake, so she suggests gently, “Just… consider saying no, saying ‘I don’t,’ whatever.”
Edelgard stares at her hands, “It is tempting. I don’t want to marry him.” She confirms, “But what choice have I? We have announced it to our countries, everyone is here, and to call it off now? What a waste of resources.”
Dorothea flusters, and sits down on the floor, next to Edelgard. She grabs at Edelgard’s blanket, trying to force her to sleep, “I don’t know what to tell you, Edie.”
Edelgard sighs, “I wish I listened to you. You were right, I deserve to be happy. But I squandered my chance.” She shrugs, and accepts her fate as another blanket is wrapped around her. Alcohol had loosened her lips. As her head tilts, Edelgard asks, “What’s a happy marriage like, Dorothea? You and Byleth seem so… effervescent, when you’re together.”
Laying down next to her friend, Dorothea begins telling her stories, “Well, when we first bought our house, the first thing Byleth did was carry me in, and kiss me in the doorway. She said it wasn’t home until I’d been loved in every corner of it Well, you remember, I couldn’t walk the next day-.”
“Okay, that’s too much detail-“ Despite herself, it does make Edelgard giggle.
“You wanted to know.” Dorothea says, and lightly hits Edelgard’s shoulder, “You gossip.”
“I did learn from the best, Dorothea.” She wriggles to lay closer to her friend, and affectionately butts her head against Dorothea’s shoulder. “Thank you, for listening.”
“What else are friends for?”
All of Fodlan’s Locket was decorated with fresh flowers, beautiful silks and bows. Edelgard had hired all the decorators, caterers, having planned all the way down to the cleaning staff, though the gold to pay them with had been split amongst the marrying parties. In Fodlan, the wife’s family paid for the wedding, but apparently that tradition had fallen out of favor in Almyra. Perhaps because of how long the parties could last. Perhaps because it was a joining of families, the opening of arms. Either way, Edelgard insisted on being in charge of planning, supposedly to pay homage to that tradition. In reality, she liked keeping busy. The busier she was, the less she thought about it. Dorothea knew this, so did Hubert, but the rest of their wedding guests thought her just a dutiful woman.
Right now, Hilda could care less. Her nerves were high , ever since she’d sent her letters. Neither had responded, and though Claude verbally acknowledged it, he wasn’t concerned. He said that she had to know, it was simply impossible for her not to. Hilda, giving the air of not caring, had shrugged it off with him. However, it was Marianne who was truly anxious. And that meant Hilda had to be anxious too.
So, as the guests begin to gather around midmorning, as the nuptials were planned for noon, Hilda casually approaches Dorothea. They’d been friends at the academy, this should be easy. “Hey, Dorothea!” She calls, walking towards her. Easy. Calm. Just a friend excited to see a friend.
“Hey,” Dorothea responds, and giggles, falsely, “How have you been?”
“Just peachy,” Hilda responds. Are we playing this game, Doro? Are we really?
Quickly, pretense is dropped, and Dorothea’s smile drops, with her voice, “I’m sorry about Claude,” she says, “I’m sure he must be heartbroken.”
Hilda flips her hair out of her face, nonchalant, “Well, these things have a way of working out,” her heart beats a little bit too hard, “How’s the Emperor?”
“... Not well. She drank herself into a stupor last night, cried while we were fixing her wedding train. She thinks she can brave face her way through this.” Dorothea shakes her head, “Edie is brilliant, but Gods, does she make bad decisions.”
“Could say the same thing for Claude,” Hilda comments, and manages an uncomfortable laugh, “ Anyways, I, uh, need to go check on, uh, Marianne! Bye!”
Never had she walked so quickly, never. Claude better thank her, Hilda thinks. The groom was on the other side of the fortress, being readied by his second-best man ( Hilda was obviously the first. ) Normally Hilda liked her height - it made her cute, diminutive, but now she curses her short legs, pushes past Rapheal as he offers her some food, ignores Lorenz as he heads to the chapel, and barges into the groom’s room. No knocking needed, civility be damned.
Claude is adjusting the shoulder pads of the uniform, last minute fixes to make him absolutely perfect. The uniform was white, accented mainly with gold, a few spots of red. He wears knee high boots of black leather, as if he were going to jump atop his wyvern at the end of the ceremony. Which, to be fair, he was. The final part of the ceremony, after the pagoshā ( or reception, for the Fodlanic folk, ) he and Edelgard would fly off to the wedding bed, a cottage on Almyra’s coast.
Of course, none of that would matter if Claude spent the first week of his marriage on the couch, or dead. The former was acceptable and preferable to the latter, but neither was good.
“Hey, Hilda! How’s my best man?” Claude asks her, turning round to show her a smile with sparkling green eyes. He had been on cloud nine for weeks, as the wedding approached.
“Red alert, Claude!” Hilda starts, “You need to go to the bride’s room now.”
“What do you mean?” Claude turns puzzled. “That’s bad luck- well, in Fodlan, anyways.”
“Remember that letter I sent you-“
“And remember I told you, there’s no way she couldn’t know.” Claude rolled his eyes, “We’ve been bantering in our letters for months, seriously, you should read them.”
“Ew, I’m not reading your love letters- and that’s not the point!” Hilda scoffs, and decides to stretch the truth, “Dorothea said she’s tempted to back out because of how bad she feels about abandoning you. She really thinks she’s marrying someone else.”
“ What?” That sends him into alarm, and it seems he finally got the red alert. Claude’s back straightens, and he moves to the door. “I’ve got to go.”
“Uhm, yeah!”
Just as Claude leaves the room, and begins his race across the fortress, Hilda calls, “Don’t die!”
The chapel bells are so loud in her ears. Edelgard has never liked chapel bells, never in her whole twenty seven years. Even now, even when she has finally grown past her intrinsic dislike of chapels, she hates the bells, oh, how much her head aches. Or maybe it is simply the tight braid, or the amount of wine she had drunk the night before, trying to forget the man she once loved. Still loves. Edelgard is still in love with Claude. But she doubts he would love her now.
Part of her supposes this was always her fate. As ninth in line, Edelgard was little more than securing a trade deal to her mother, who had been charged with her care. Of course, Edelgard knows better, that Patricia was moving through the motions of motherhood, may not have even been Patricia by the time that Edelgard remembers of her. Still, it has stuck with her.
You may be unhappy. Your husband may even be cruel. Just remember, it is all for Adrestia. All for your people, and you will survive through it.
She wonders, now, if it was simply planting the seed, that has grown and wilted into a woman, who conquered a nation all while backed into a corner. But that is over now, she tells herself. Edelgard smooths the dress, her hands folded in her lap, and self soothes with the thought that she will not have to fear Those Who Slither soon. That her tangled web of thoughts will eventually end, and she might even grow to like this Khalid. After all, he reminded her all too keenly of Claude, but Edelgard shakes her head. Her life was tragedy after tragedy, and she would never be so lucky. She will tolerate him, and the kids they might bear, she will love them. At least she won’t be like her mother.
All for your people, she tells herself, adjusting the train so that it is even behind her back. Her handmaidens put flowers, roses and carnations, buttercups and yellow begonias, all throughout it, adding weight, but she looked beautiful, like a garden followed her where she went. Despite it, her eyes are heavy laden, wet; Edelgard tries to wipe them away. She still had to put on some makeup, its own form of mask.
Edelgard hears a rapping at her door, but doesn’t have time to call for them to wait. The door swings wide. It has been almost two years she has seen Claude , but Edelgard recognizes him by footsteps alone, the pattern in how he walks. Had she any doubts, she sees him in her mirror, cheeks flushed as if he were running, his hair a fluff of curls, and the shock of the wedding uniform making her heart skip a beat.
Before she can stop herself, Edelgard turns on her heels, and demands, “Claude, what are you doing here?” One hand comes up to touch his forearm, as if she thinks he isn’t real. He is very physically solid, and breathing heavily. Claude grabs her hand, and squeezes it tight. “You— are you?”
“Khalid. Khalid Claude von Riegan Mirza.” He confirms, taking his own hand to gently thumb the side of her cheek. He doesn’t mean to, but he whispers. “I thought you knew.”
Which receives an incredulous little chuckle, “How was I supposed to—“ Edelgard sniffles, and shuts her eyes; tears leak down her face. She thinks she has never cried audibly, before, not since she was a little girl. And yet her sobs come out loudly, like broken beats of bird’s wings.
Wiping those away with the same, gentle motion, Claude shakes his head, “I thought you’d pieced it together, especially after that backgammon board you sent me.” A strange look of fondness crosses his face, and despite her crying, Edelgard cannot help but smile. “Remember, no matter what you did, I always managed to surprise you, even when you won.”
“Even then.” Edelgard finds herself responding in kind, and then turns her lips downwards, “Stop bantering with me. I should be furious with you.”
“Are you furious with me?” He asks her, a genuine question. “I wouldn’t blame you if you were.”
“Yes— maybe. ” Is what she finally says, her lips pursed. “I spent so many nights thinking I was betraying you. Fearing that I would be loveless and alone,” And thus, she nuzzles her face into his hand, even as she asks, “Why all the pretense?”
“Because I am dramatic, El .” He answers casually, which makes Edelgard glare at him. “You want the real answer? Because I thought either way, I’d get to marry you. If you said yes to Khalid, I thought you’d piece together who I am, and if you said no because you love me, well, how lucky for you that Khalid turns out to be Claude.”
“That’s a dangerous gambit,” Edelgard rolls her eyes through her tears, “I still might very well deny you at the altar, you know.”
Claude shakes his head, “Would you, now?” He leans over, and kisses her nose. “How do I make it up to you?”
For an agonizingly long moment, Edelgard thinks. With her eyes red and puffy from crying, miserable lilac hues full of tears, and her ragged breathing, she looks like she might just deny him. Call the whole wedding off, in this moment of wearing her emotions for him. Her pink lips open, her voice commanding.
“Give me your slice of wedding cake.”
Releasing his breath, Claude almost laughs in relief, “That’s it? You ask so little of me!" He wraps his arms ‘round her, and spins his bride.
Which earns the reprimand, “Put me down!”
He does, but his arms stay around her. Edelgard puts her head against his shoulder, and the two stay like that. Bad luck be damned, he wants to kiss her right now; he wonders if Edelgard feels the same compulsion. As opposite as the back of a coin, Edelgard muses, would it be bad to kiss him before the ceremony? Certainly so, and yet...
Before either can act on such impulses, the door flung open again, and comes out a red faced Hubert, a piece of parchment clutched in his hands. “Your Highness, we intercepted a letter from Lady Hilda before it—“ Hubert huffs, one good eye looking over the to be wedded couple, embraced, and scowls, “It seems you are already aware.”
Edelgard nods, and then her eyes go saucer wide, pushing Claude away. “It is bad luck, Claude, for you to see me in my gown!”
“You have never believed in luck,” Claude responds, but leaves anyways, “Besides, it only counts in Fodlan.” Then, he looks over to Hubert, and back to Edelgard, “Your hair is brown-”
“We are in Fodlan, Claude.” She interrupts him, before laughing. “Go, now, I need to clean myself up. I’ll tell you later.” As Claude turns to leave, Edelgard smiles to herself. A thousand weights had lifted from her shoulders. Wishing to be alone for a moment, Edelgard calls, “Hubert, please escort Claude back to his chamber, it would be remiss for people to see the groom leaving the bridal chamber alone.”
She can almost hear Claude groaning as Hubert walks with him.
A hush had fallen over the chapel. Everyone watched, and waited, as the door opens. First comes Petra and Bernadetta, who hold the door open, while first, Lysithea and Manuela enter. Though neither are related to her, they are like family to Edelgard, and they precede her to the altar. Lysithea throws petals from a basket, as all eyes fall on the Emperor herself. She gives herself away, no father or brother in sight. Her head is held high, and she walks perfectly in time with the violins. Covered by her veil, no one sees her expression, and many expect it to be sad. Behind her, the train of flowers is held by Dorothea and Ferdinand, a garden falling behind her.
Linhardt stands at the altar, his hands resting on two different scriptures - that of Sothis, and that of Almyra’s god, Lyrae. As the bride arrives, he reads from neither of them, instead from a card that Caspar hands him, but the gesture is appreciated by those in attendance. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the joining of King Khalid Claude von Riegan-Mirza and Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg, the joining of hands between Almyra and Fodlan.”
“Rarely has peace ever truly reigned in our world - in times where warfare lights our skies with conflict, we neglect those we love. Today, and perhaps forever, we may turn our attention to our personal battles, stand with our fellow man, and move forward hand in hand. Edelgard,” Linhardt turns his head to her. “Do you take this man, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?”
The air is heavy, and everyone in attendance waits on bated breath. Edelgard can feel the eyes on her, worried friends and, perhaps more worried, nobles gathered at the back of the hall. She can hear a few whispers, as she responds,
“I do.”
“And, Khalid, do you take this woman, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?”
And he responds in kind, “I do.”
“Now, before we lift the veils and bring you both into this new part of your lives, it’s been requested of me to pay homage to an Almyran tradition. As these sugar cones sprinkle upon your heads, we hope they bring sweetness and prosperity into your life. Now, you may kiss the bride.”
Finally, her veil is lifted. Light plays on Edelgard’s face, a beauty of her own kind. Yes, she is freckled, but she wears them like constellations; her cheeks are round and her button nose is cute, yet she does not look like a little girl. She meets her husband’s eyes, green and sparkling, and notes his noble stance, his hook nose showing pride, and his lips smiling. Neither wishes to make the first move, but someone needs to, and Edelgard wraps her arms around Claude’s neck, draws him down to her, and their lips connect.
Somewhere, people are cheering, but Edelgard and Claude really can’t care. They feed each other’s warmth, as his hands rest in the curve of her back, and Edelgard curls her fingers into his hair. The kiss is far longer than the peck most everyone anticipated, one moment breaking for air, as neither feels compelled to let go. Eventually, it takes Hilda tapping Claude’s shoulder and Ferdinand tugging Edelgard’s train back a bit, to get them to release each other.
Claude takes her hand, and they walk down the aisle together. Somewhere between the altar and the door, her wedding train is released, the weight of it being far too much for Claude’s wyvern to carry. The beast’s wings beat outside the chapel door, waiting for her rider and her purpose in the ceremony. Friends see them off, Claude slinging his foot over the harness as Dorothea gives him a dirty glance.
Edelgard brings herself up onto his wyvern, with help from one of his hands, and they lock lips once more. Both wave to their friends, and take off as the sun warms them. Everyone waves back, weeping from happiness or smiling brightly.
They kiss once more, before Claude snaps the reigns, making them go higher, ready to honeymoon.