Chapter Text
The wind was soothing within the throne room, windows thrown open to allow it entry. The ocean breeze blew through peaceably, giving Petra a certain measure of peace as she listened to the seemingly endless line of petitioners who had waited so patiently for their opportunity to plead their cases to the Crown Princess of Brigid. It was exhausting. It was boring. Often, it was pointless.
But, at least the wind was nice.
Petra sat in her father's throne, posture carefully formal, despite her own discomfort. She was the living symbol of Brigid, the avatar which held within it the spirits of her home, but even now it still felt like her father's throne, with herself as pale pretender. She grasped the jade pendant around her throat. Only when Edelgard had freed Brigid from its vassalage and allowed Brigid to self-govern once more with her at its head was she able to see her family's holy relics once more. Her father lived on within the jade of her pendant, as has every ruler before her in their own jade icon. There was no freedom for her family, duty continuing past death, honor-bound to advise and assist their ancestors.
Not that such paltry matters as these required her father's guidance.
"Highest Jadeheart, to allow these--foreigners to use our speaking grounds for mere entertainment is blasphemy! You cannot allow these troupes of mummers to use our holy lands." Hissed yet another old priest, beads jangling at their wrists as they gesticulated wildly. Petra carefully resisted the urge to scoff. The speaking grounds were for everyone. Civil functions, tourneys, festivals and yes, religious ceremonies.
It was like this every day. Pointless objections to public policy, cajoling and wheedling for favoritism from her court, and endless attempts to undermine her for their own agendas. She had sat on this throne for almost half a decade now, and she had never let them take advantage of her on her first day. To see them try even now just proved tiresome.
"Shaman," began Petra with a gimlet stare, "you know as well as I that speaking grounds are not strictly for religious use, and is not sacred. If you wish to sway me, you will require more than half-baked xenophobic rabble-rousing to turn away tourism, cultural enrichment and broadening of cultural horizons with our neighbors." She stated bluntly, taking small pleasure in the way they gawped at her like a fish.
Or, she did until he made the mistake of opening his mouth again.
"Oh, aye, culture! That of our oppressors!? Fine words, coming from the woman who spent half her life away from the islands and in their loving arms. You'd love it if our culture burned! One "cultural opportunity" at a time!" He cried out, loud enough for the other petitioners to hear.
The sun burned brightly above them as always, but the room was colder for the force of her frosty glare. Guards stood at the ready. "You overstep, Shaman. You throw my words in my face, disrespecting me and the opportunity I have given you to plead your case. Leave this place, or be forced from the grounds." She stated, frost riming her words, hand slowly reaching back to her father around her neck, grasping it. Though they did not force him, one of her guards briskly escorted him out of the queue. She sighed in the moments before the next petitioner stepped forward. Now there would be another. Life was simpler when she was a mortal savant under her Professor's command.
Simpler, but not better. She would not make the mistakes of her forefathers, and she would champion Brigid as a peaceful nation.
Despite their frequent, noisy resistance to her plans for the nation, these were her people. This was her duty, and this was her home. She would make it into the shining beacon she knew it was meant to be if she had to drag her people into modernity kicking and screaming.
Though, she had to admit her own bias. Dorothea and Healer Manuela had infected her with appreciation for the operatic arts of the mainland. She hoped that despite the words of fools like that priest, her time away from the nation had only given her perspective to help in leading her people in dealing with the outside world. Her people would remember her as a conciliator, someone who brought Brigid into the world at large.
Or, that is what she hoped they would remember her for.
Her mind wandered then, as the next petitioner spoke. Simple, obvious matters. Something about extending the grazing lands of a farmer's herds nearer to a holy mountain. Of course she would say no, all that was left was to wait for her long-winded petitioner to stop licking her boots for her to do so. All she could think of were the days when Dorothea had worked so hard to show her the beauty of her nation’s culture. She understood in a way that few wanted to how cruel her country and her people could be, and still she found such beauty in the culture that hurt her, and in turn raised her up.
She thought of their nights on the march when Dorothea and Manuela would sing in duet, some mercenary or another pulling a lute from somewhere, and how their voices had swept her away, Dorothea's profile glimmering in the firelight, hair gleaming like burnished bronze... the way she would look back at her, eyes shining, stealing her breath away.
She remembered their quiet words in the darkness, how they had whispered secrets to one another that no other souls alive knew, how they talked about life and death and their plans after the war.
But they had been at war. And she was royalty. As kind, and loving and sweet, and smart and beautiful as she was in the firelight, she could not pursue her. Not honorably in the ways of her people. Not with so much unsure still. She had duties, even then as princess in exile. Responsibilities. Expectations.
She stifled a yawn as the petitioner finally finished their speech. She dismissed them, and the day dragged on interminably as they all were, Petra bored stiff.
She missed Dorothea.
---
Brigid was so beautiful. The blue, blue ocean, the exotic trees, the warmth that necessitated a brand new wardrobe... Dorothea was so glad she made the time to get to Brigid. With trade on the uptick upon the end of the war, Anna was quick to point out to her one day that culture was a commodity that could be bought and sold just as easily as jewelry.
This of course led to her offer of forming a traveling opera troupe to tour through the Empire and its allies.
Dorothea was hard-pressed to object to the thought. Though her time at the opera house, both as understudy to Manuela and as prima donna had been wonderful, she was sick of the rich that infested her art form. More people could and should learn to appreciate the opera and its beautiful stories! The thought of sharing her art with the uninitiated and seeing the world at large without worrying about an arrow in the throat was an enticing one.
So, that was how she ended up saddled with Anna, traveling from village to village dazzling the commonfolk. Or, she hoped she did. There was often quite a bit of confused staring. But she quickly learned to adjust to her audience and her new medium. Their sets were not as elaborate as at the opera house of course, and a focus on the more folksy tales she knew and loved went over better overall. But this was a new and exciting challenge in and of itself. Brigid didn't speak the same language.
This, Anna had assured her, would not dissuade those who wished to see some true culture. In the days of the country's vassalhood there had been almost no cultural interplay, the Empire seeing Brigid as foreign and strange, the Brigidians seeing the Empire as interlopers. But with Princess Petra's (her Petra! Princess Petra!) thawing of relations, tastes were shifting. And Anna, savvy merchant she was, pointed them towards Brigid to act as the first wave. Anna had spent many a night starry-eyed at the thought of beautiful Brigid fibercrafts and materials that she could ferry to the mainland and the delight she would take in charging nobles through the nose for.
And that, in turn led to her searching for someone who could read and write in Brigidian who could transcribe the Opera's lyrics for the audience. Mercifully, Petra had deigned to teach her a bit of Brigidian when they had been girls, and she took full advantage as she grilled merchants and scholars for someone who could serve.
"700 gold a page!?" She cried out in disbelief. The merchant stared at her from inside her stall, unimpressed.
"That is the price, Adrestian." She said, not breaking eye contact. Spots of color grew on her cheeks as she clenched her fists.
"Why you listen here! That price is that of a thief's! If you want to spit at me, fine, but don't look me in the eye and be saying it is rain!" She yelled in (she hoped) passible Brigidian, loud enough to get the attention of the other people on the street to her grim satisfaction.
The merchant scoffed, waving her off.
"Begone, noisy woman. I've no need of your business and no desire for your presence." She said, in a way Dorothea was almost certain was intentionally hard for her basic understanding of the tongue to grasp. With a final harrumph, Dorothea stomped off, still in her normal clothing, thick red dress leaving her sweaty and uncomfortable while the order for garments she put in with Anna was being fulfilled. Miserably, she sat down in the town square, near a modest fountain, staring into space.
She missed Petra. She missed having someone to care for like she cared for her.
It had been years since she had seen her, but she missed her just as much now as she did the first day Petra had left to rule her kingdom. Her kind words, steady hands, her incredible patience and dedication... her gorgeous accent…
She did her best to hide away the part of her that made sure to remind her Petra was half the reason she agreed to come all this way, but it was a lost cause. She sighed, forlorn.
She wanted people to love. The amount of money she had given the orphanages they passed by, the meals she’d bought the urchins who had stumbled into her path was embarrassing, but she could hardly help herself. She wanted so badly to help. She so badly wanted to share her love with those who deserved it, who needed it, like she did all those years ago.
She so badly wanted no one to have to live her life.
Petra may have been royalty, but she believed firmly that they had something special. She had been a hostage, back then. But still, she was so kind, so ready to bond with an Adrestian street rat, the scum of the people who captured her.
Because she knew she saw it. As prettily as she dressed, as carefully as she hid her street rat's accent, she knew Petra saw her for who she really was. Who she always would be. Right from their first meeting when she'd instantly narrowed her eyes at the scars the rats left on her hand from when she'd slept in the wrong alley, and promptly looked up and greeted her with a smile, clasping her hand.
Perhaps it was selfish, but she liked to think she would not have befriended just anyone. Their school days together were some of her most cherished memories. Her soft, kind words that never mocked her origins or how she kept them secret. How she would gently tease her when she made a particularly bad translation error and helped her fix it. The delicious meals Petra would make for her at times, spicy enough to bring tears to her eyes... and their teamwork on the battlefield. She'd dropped more than a few meteors on the heads of anyone who dared get close to her Petra, and the number of people Petra had cut down to protect her. They had been terrors, the Professor often complimenting their teamwork to their shared delight.
She was pulled from her reverie by a tug of her sleeve. She looked over, surprised to see a shabby urchin, golden-brown eyes looking up at her through poorly cut bangs.
"You need to translate something?" They asked, matter-of-fact. Dorothea was too caught off-guard to do anything but tell the truth.
"Y--yes. Why?" She asked, confused. Who was this little one, so small and thin and haggard? Her heart gave an uncomfortable lurch, recognizing the hollowness of their cheeks from her own face before Manuela had saved her from the streets.
"I can translate it." They said simply. "100 gold a page." Their voice was soft, clothing too big for them, hair a pretty slate color, albeit straw-like from wear and poor care.
"W--well, that is a very fair price. What is your name?" She asked, fighting not to take them under her wing then and there.
"...Asha." They said, after a moment, obviously a bit uncomfortable sharing their name. Dorothea gave a polite nod at the admission.
"Well Asha, in the Empire it is good -- tradition? To celebrate new business friendships with food. I will take you out to lunch?" She offered, a trifle nervously.
Asha froze, then, eyes widening like a rabbit in a snare. She knew that look. She was offering something for nothing, and they were looking for the trap. No one was kind to urchins without an agenda. Dorothea wanted so badly to soothe them with a soft touch, like she had so dearly wanted as a lonely, hungry child. But she resisted, instead straightening her posture and offering a soft smile.
"I mean you no harm, Asha. My name is Dorothea. We can eat wherever Asha wants." She promised, hands open in her lap as she looked them in the eye. Their eyes complimented their beautiful tanned skin wonderfully.
Asha seemed to have been mollified by something in her gaze, because they nodded once, jerkily, before turning to point down a street. "There is a place there with good food." They said simply. Dorothea stood up, dusting off her dress before giving Asha another smile. "I am sure I will not be sad."
And so, they were off.
---
Finally, a day where she could actually take some time for the opera. It had been weeks that she had been meaning to visit, and she had even made sure to know when they were leaving -- it seemed they were making brisk business, and had extended their stay. To no one's surprise, from what she could tell. Apparently Anna was the one who had bankrolled the operation, and she could offer nothing but cautious respect and reasonable tariffs for the sprightly merchant gradually growing an empire bigger than Adrestia's.
Their next show was tonight, and she had an out -- she refused to call it an excuse. Her advisor had said it would be good for diplomatic relations if Petra were seen enjoying foreign arts to help cement her position as a ruler welcoming of Adrestian business and culture. And who was she to challenge her advisor's sage advice? So, she prepared.
Her handmaids worked tirelessly. They combed and braided her hair, festooning it with her beads of office. The many marks of her honor, status, and skill at arms which she had earned in her life. Her garments similarly were stunning, striking green and yellow garments draping around her body, showing off her flat stomach and her unquestionably well-built arms, accentuated by bronze arm bands. She rarely wore all her beads, or made such effort to be so striking a presence, but this time she felt it was warranted.
After all, she was going to be at an ostensibly-foreign event as royalty in public.
After all, Dorothea would be there.
She was a mess. Of course she'd asked if Dorothea was on the playbill. And of course she was. And of course it had turned the Crown Princess of Brigid into a blushing schoolgirl. All she could think of was what she would look like after all these years. If she had been doing well. If she had missed her. In the darkest parts of her heart, she hoped despite herself that she came here for her. She took a cleansing breath, straightening her back.
She stepped out of her chambers as the image of royal grace. Beautiful. Untouchable. The avatar of a royal line that had the souls of a hundred ancestors sworn to her service. Her guards escorted her to her palanquin -- a pointless display, but one forced upon her by her status -- and they were off. All she could do was sit in the darkness of her palanquin and wait to see her again.
---
The show was a hit, as she knew it would be. Asha had been true to her word, and gave wonderful translations, even helping to engineer a system of sliding placards which the crew could load with the translations and send sliding across the bottom of the stage. They had proven themselves a smart, committed, ingenious, broken little girl Dorothea never wanted to let go.
Oh, she had come up with all manner of odd jobs to keep them nearby, but she'd caught them listening to her warm ups with a look of quiet amazement. She could help them. She could pass on Manuela's gift. To leave such a beautiful soul to molder in the streets should be a crime, and it was one she was happy to rectify. She was so sad.
She saw the haunted, paranoid look in their eye, how twitchy they got when there were men around. How they fastidiously kept their hair short as she had as a child. Girls did not last long on the streets. They never referred to themselves as a girl, but she hoped that maybe she could help them to reclaim that part of themselves, see it as more than another risk, another thing to hide.
She sighed as she delicately scrubbed at the thick stage make-up she had caked onto her face, reapplying her more natural style. She wasn’t in her (heavy, suffocating) stage wear anymore, and in some of the tropical wear she’d commissioned from Anna, resplendent in a red garment that left her midriff exposed, half-sleeves reaching halfway down her upper arms, with lovely gold detailing along the edges, a delicate slit showing off just a touch of cleavage. The outfit was completed with a fluttery, silky ankle-skirt and strap-up calf-length sandals.
While she was relaxing at the end of the show backstage with the others, she was surprised to see Asha sprinting at her, full-tilt with a wild look in their eyes. While happy to see them as ever, Dorothea was alarmed to see them in such a rush, and so out of place. They were just supposed to be a clerk giving directions to guests to find their seats! They shouldn't even be backstage?
"Asha? What is the problem?" She asked, surprise coloring her voice. Asha fell onto herself, hands at knees as she took great gulps of air before looking up into her eyes and flailing their arm outside. "The -- the princess --" they gasped. Dorothea's eyes boggled.
"What!? Asha, the princess what!?" Urged Dorothea, Asha's panic proving infectious. Petra -- Petra is here? Did she see the show? Is she here for her?
"She said -- she looked at me --" she babbled on, "She said "bring Dorothea to me."" They gasped out, pointing to her. Dorothea's heart simultaneously flew into her throat and imploded into itself in desperate, frantic joy.
"Then do as the princess said, Asha, take me to her!" She said, hiking up her skirts as she followed Asha along the aisle towards Petra, who to her shock was standing right outside of the backstage entrance, breathing quickly with a faint sheen of sweat, her amethyst eyes wide and gleaming as they started at her. She stood in royal regalia, and Dorothea’s throat locked up. There was only one word that could come out of her mouth as she gazed at her dearest friend, after so long, dressed so beautifully.
"Petra."
---
Her name on Dorothea's lips was sweeter than the entire show. Despite herself, Petra had sprinted after the child, steps silent as she followed them to the entrance backstage, desperate to be close to Dorothea, her mind half-mad at the implications of her own actions. She sprinted after a child, abandoning royal decorum to get closer to Dorothea. To see Dorothea. Her heart knew exactly why, but her mind could barely address the implications of her actions. Until that woman said her name and it all made sense.
"Dorothea." She whispered, heart pounding for reasons more serious than the light cardio that brought her here. "You're here." She said, stupidly. Dimly, she was aware that she had said that in Brigid, and that there was still a child there, staring at them like they'd both grown extra heads, but she couldn't bring herself to care.
"I -- yes, Petra. I'm here." She said softly in Brigid, taking a step forward, then another until they were only feet away. "I hoped you would come. You never did see me in a real show before." She said, with that fond smile that left her resolve melting. Petra wanted to -- she wanted to do a lot of things, in that moment. "You clean up nicely." She said, with a teasing wink. "Princess."
Petra gulped, trying to keep herself in line. "Is there somewhere private we could speak?" Asked Petra, shifting to Dorothea's mother tongue. Dorothea smiled at her, a glint of mischief in her beautiful, shining eyes.
"Oh, Petra, don't try and keep secrets from Asha. They can speak both." She said, gesturing to them. "Asha, this is Petra. She is an old friend of mine." She said, sliding back into Brigid. The child, Asha, still stared at her like she was a demonic beast, or perhaps a bomb about to explode.
"Hello, Asha." She said, with all royal decorum, offering them a bow, which brought a searing blush to their face. "Um!" Managed Asha, "Dorothea didn't say she knew the Crown Princess!" She babbled out in a rush. She smiled down at her. "Yes, well, Madame Dorothea and I are old friends, from my time on the mainland. She is very dear to me." She said softly, stroking at one of the wooden rings on her finger, its curves and whorls marking it as one of her royal regalia, making Asha all the more starstruck.
"Okay, Asha, you've met the princess. Now Petra and I have private words to have." She said with a tint of laughter to her voice, shooing her off.
"I-it was nice to meet you, Highest Jadeheart!" Asha barked out, offering a 90-degree bow before sprinting off, startling a surprised laugh out of Dorothea.
"Goodness! Highest Jadeheart, you say? Clearly, I must watch my manners!" She teased, pulling Petra by the hand backstage past a mostly uninterested cast who did not recognize who she was as they made their way to Dorothea's room. Dorothea pushed Petra in, and locked the door behind them. With Petra successfully secreted to her rooms, Dorothea's bravado had nowhere to go, and she merely stood awkwardly before the crown princess, clutching at her arm nervously. "You... wanted to speak in private?"
Petra nodded, giving an audible gulp. "Dorothea." She breathed again, like a prayer. "You look beautiful.” She said, eyes scanning over her in traditional Brigid garb. Something hot sank down into the bottom of her stomach, at seeing her in her people’s styles, like a local. Like someone who could live here.
“Why have you come here, Dorothea?” She asked softly, delicately, cognizant of Dorothea seeing the way she was looking at her, and too fascinated to care.
Dorothea blushed prettily before responding: "What do you mean? Performing, of course! Anna offered me a job in her troupe and I accepted." She said, puffing her chest out proudly. "I've been showing the commonfolk the beauty of the opera!" She continued, blustering. Petra stared at her with those sharp, observant eyes, unaffected by her posturing.
"Is that the only reason you are here?" She asked, stepping towards her, boxing her in against the door, hardly a foot separating them now.
"Well -- that is, I of course was excited to get to see my far-flung friends, you, um, more than others..." she murmured, voice suddenly much quieter, face burning properly now, color high on her cheeks. Her back was flat against the door.
"I did not forget my promise, Dorothea." She murmured, face inching closer. "I swore that I would show you Brigid, and why I love it so." She all but whispered now, hot breath ghosting over her as Petra stared at Dorothea's lips, and Dorothea at hers.
"I--that is, I wasn't sure you would... you're a princess, and..." Dorothea babbled, staring at Petra, with her strong arms, her flat stomach, her stunning braids, her everything. The night was suddenly much warmer than it had been.
"I am the crown princess of Brigid." She said, not quite sure where her confidence was coming from, but riding it for all it was worth. She switched to Brigidian. "And I seem to remember you being interested in romancing nobility." she whispered in her ear, arms to either side of Dorothea.
"P-P-P-Petra, what are you saying?" She gasped, face burning. This was moving so fast! She wanted to see her, talk about their feelings, maybe see if after all these years things had changed, but now all of this... well, she got her answer on if it had changed.
"The war is over, Dorothea. I am crown princess of Brigid. I would not have to risk losing you, anymore." Petra pulled back, giving Dorothea room to breathe after nearly having her self-immolate from her blush alone. “I could give you what you deserve.” She continued, locking eyes with her. She switched to the mainland's tongue. "I know things have changed. But my feelings from then have not. I could never be honest with you. I could not tell you then. I was not brave. But I have had years to be alone. To wonder at what I could have had, and I cannot lose you again." She took a shaky breath.
"I would do anything you ask of me, give you anything, if it does not stop me ruling my country. I..." she knelt down on her knee, looking up at her as she stared down, eyes wide in disbelief. "I know this is much. I know this is fast. But I know you are what I want. If you would have me, I would be your bride. You do not need to give me an answer. But I cannot keep that secret a moment longer." She said, eyes shining as she stared up at her.
She had her hands clasped across her mouth, tears streaking down her face. She so badly wanted to touch her, to sooth her, but she knew she had already pushed so hard, so fast, perhaps foolishly but certainly thoughtlessly. She did not want to scare her further. She looked up at her, willing her eyes to show how much she cared.
"But I am a street rat, Petra!" She moaned, vowels stretching as a sob crawled out of her throat and she wrapped her arms around herself. She leaned against the door, tears staining her face. "How can you want someone like that?" She asked, confused and in denial.
"Because you are more than a street rat. You are Dorothea. Prima donna. War hero. The woman I love above all others." Petra said softly as she stood up again, gently placing her arms on Dorothea's shoulders. "You are more than your origins. They never mattered to me. I will smite any who make it a problem. Please. Let me show you my sincerity." She whispered, as Dorothea's eyes widened in realization.
"...Okay." She whispered, and curiously, was the first to lean forward and close her eyes.
And then Dorothea kissed her. It was a kind kiss, loving, and chaste, but the way Dorothea held her tight left no doubt that chastity was not a thing she was committed to. Petra kissed her like she was drowning. like she was air. In that too-brief moment, all that came to either of their minds was that it was much easier to show their feelings with actions than words. Petra gently, regretfully pulled back, staring into her eyes. She said nothing, her eyes begging for her answer.
"This was the last stop along the tour. I'll tender my resignation with Anna, tell her I'm staying." She said, with more confidence than she felt. "You will… I can stay with you, if I stay?" She asked, voice small and pitiful, a street rat once more, disbelieving that someone would want her, would want to give her a home.
"Of course, my love," Petra whispered fiercely, pulling her tight. "You will stay in the palace. You will want for nothing. Never again." Dorothea closed her eyes and leaned into Petra's embrace, heart soaring. It was happening. This madness that overtook them, it was real. It had always been real. But.
"I have one request." Said Dorothea, sliding into her most formal Brigid, pulling back to stare her down. Petra smiled, looking at her in confusion.
"Of course, dearest. I meant it, whatever you desire." She said, smiling at her, a cold drop of nervousness sitting at the bottom of her spine.
"I want to adopt Asha." She said simply. Petra blinked, widened at the realization of what precisely was being asked of her. "They are like me. Asha is kind. They are smart. They are clever. And they need people who love them. I think we can be those people." She said seriously,
Petra was silent, for a moment, eyes glazing in thought. She looked back at Dorothea, and gave a soft smile. "Well. I would need an heir..." she murmured. "When they are 18, if we are agreed, I could crown them." She said softly, seeming to grow more fond of the idea as time went on.
They were quiet, for a time, simply holding each other in her dressing room, all silent save for the soft sound of conversation heard through the door. Both of them stood in the weight of their decisions, of what they had done just then in that small room. Almost by accident, Dorothea had found a wife. Completely by accident, Petra had been given an heir. As if reading each other's minds, they made their way to the modest couch in the room, flopping gracelessly onto it.
"There will, of course, be some work involved to formalize everything." Petra said in Brigid. "But that can wait, I think."
Dorothea nodded, staring up into space. "Go home. I'll close things up with Anna, and I'll pack my things. Pick me up in the morning?" She said, with a shy smile, as if even those words were unthinkable. "We can break the news to Asha together." Petra nodded.
"It will be so." She confirmed, a giddy smile on her face.
But before all of that, before the world caught up with them, they simply sat on the couch, heads leaning against one another, hand in hand. If anyone knocked on the door, they were not interested in answering.