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After all this time, lying on a hospital bed with a doctor nearby still made Edelgard’s hair stand on end. Even if the doctor was Professor Hanneman, whose knowledge and methods she trusted. Professor Hanneman had even volunteered to make the journey to Enbarr, so that Edelgard could stay at home, in her own bed, during the procedure. But she declined, and instead returned to Garreg Mach where he’d remained after the war’s end, not only to make things easier for him but also so she and Lysithea could be in recovery at the same time. It wasn’t that Hubert didn’t empathize with her situation, more that he had not experienced what she and Lysithea had.
Hubert sat in a chair beside the bed, hand on her shoulder, cautiously observing Hanneman and Linhardt inspecting the tools. Linhardt was only there to supervise and ensure the procedure went accordingly; he had helped deduce the steps of the procedure from the texts they found in the libraries in Shambhala, preserved not in books, but in mysterious mechanical systems with different “pages” that deceptively mimicked paper—after deciphering the alphabet, he’d still had to transcribe it by hand. Not a single drop of blood had been drawn yet, but he still looked quite pale.
“As you know, Your Majesty,” Hanneman said, laying out metal Fódlan tools and curious implements from Shambhala on a small table near her head, “we are in possession of a copy of the will you drew up in the war. Should anything else happen, we have agreed to discuss the Empire’s next course of action with Hubert. Are there any lingering anxieties you have about the procedure, or any other details that you wish to discuss with me or with Linhardt before we begin?”
Edelgard tried to think for a moment. The syringe filled with an anesthetic right near her head made her skin crawl, and the sharp metal edges of the tools made her mouth feel dry. But she trusted Professor Hanneman and Linhardt. And soon she would be back in Enbarr, back to the palace where she grew up, and back visiting a place she’d recently come to love.
“There is one thing I have neglected to mention. In Enbarr, I frequently volunteer at an orphanage with Dorothea. If there are complications, I have an important message for her.”
“What should we tell her?”
“Tell her to tell the children that Auntie El loves them.”
“We shall let her know. Is that all?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, Edelgard, are you ready?”
She turned her head to Hubert and nodded at him, signaling that it was all right for him to leave the room. He nodded in return, giving her shoulder a faint squeeze before standing and walking away. Then she turned her head toward the ceiling.
“Yes. I am.”
When she closed her eyes, she did not hear the screaming that had lingered in her head for years, but now heard the laughing of children, and Dorothea’s laughter rising to the top, loudest and most joyful of all.
The fog overcame her.
—
“Good morning,” Edelgard announced as she walked into the orphanage.
“Auntie El!”
A small gaggle of children rushed to greet the disguised emperor. Though her hair had returned to a pale brown color, her face and stature and her need for safety even in the capital merited continuing to hide her identity.
“Auntie El, you’re not sick anymore!”
“Was the hospital scary? Did you have to stay a long time?”
“You look so happy to be back!”
Edelgard laughed quietly. “I am happy to be back. Were you all good while I was away?” She sat on the edge of an empty bed, and fifteen children gathered around her, jumping up on the creaky bed, sitting down at her feet, or leaning on her arms and legs.
“We had lots of visitors,” Beatrice said. “Auntie Dorothea was by almost every day before or after rehearsal. And all of Auntie Dorothea’s friends came and told stories and taught us things.”
“Who came to visit?” Edelgard leaned over so she could lift Esther, one of the youngest children, onto her knee. Esther still sucked her thumb and she was just learning to read—but then again, so were the other children, and they were anywhere from five to ten years old.
“Miss Petra came aaaaallll the way from Brigid!” Daniel spread his arms to indicate how far away Brigid was.
“Oh? She did? And what did she have to say?”
“She told us about the Festival of Fire and Water, and she showed us her traditional dances. She danced around like this.” He hummed, rocking from side to side.
“It didn’t look like that,” Beatrice said.
“Did, too. And then she told us a ghost story from Brigid, and she made Esther and Beatrice and Lawrence scream really, really loud!”
“I didn’t scream.” Beatrice put her hands on her hips. “I never get scared. I wasn’t even scared when Professor Hevring told us that story about the Demonic Beast.”
“Nobody was scared because Caspar beat it up, like this.” Daniel punched the air and made impact noises.
Edelgard laughed again. “Full of energy as always, Daniel.”
After two long months in recovery, she was glad to be back here. And soon, Dorothea would be by, after rehearsal was over. While she was convalescing, Edelgard had grown to miss their weekly conversations over tea, when Dorothea had pried into the details of her life to prepare for playing the Emperor in the opera’s upcoming production, Il Garofano.
—
Reluctantly, Edelgard had allowed Mittelfrank to compose an opera based on her experience in the war. The writers and composers had come to her first, asking her general, surface-level questions to ensure they had the basic, accurate facts. They then attempted to reach out to her classmates, all of whom were more than eager to discuss their individual roles in the war. The Professor had even been willing to talk before promptly disappearing from Garreg Mach, off to who knew where.
Edelgard expected Mittelfrank to embellish the show to exaggerate her role in the war. They had to impress their audience with spectacle and dramatics, and they weren’t afraid to take artistic liberties to achieve an overall feeling. So she was surprised when Dorothea, cast as the Emperor, insisted on interviewing Edelgard to gain a better background for her role.
“It’s not about the facts,” Dorothea insisted as they sat down with porcelain cups and frosted tea cakes. “It’s about getting a general sense of what it’s like to be you. If I can understand something personal about you, I’ll be a better actress because of it.”
“My personal life? What exactly does that entail?”
Though Dorothea had already taken a few sips of her tea, Edelgard refused to lift her teacup to her lips. Not until she was certain of Dorothea’s objective could she comfortably tend to her tea and sweets.
“I was just envisioning a casual little talk about your childhood and your life up until you came to the Officer’s Academy. I’ll only ask the questions I think I need to portray you successfully. But you let me know if I overstep at all. The last thing I want is to invade your privacy.”
Before the Academy. Edelgard shuddered involuntarily. Years had passed, and she had become used to ignoring the slight ache in her veins, but now it felt less like mild irritation and more like actual pain.
Yet it was Dorothea asking the question. Edelgard looked up from her teacup, meeting those sincere emerald eyes. Dorothea, who despised bloodshed but had still fought for her. Dorothea, who never hesitated to offer kind words. Dorothea, who’d said she knew what it was like to have nothing.
“Go on, then,” Edelgard said.
—
The children never took a moment to breathe. If they weren’t chattering, they were crawling all over her, hitting her, or hugging her. Edelgard had to remind them that she wasn’t a playground, especially not if Esther was sitting in her lap.
Today, they were even more wound up than usual. What could have them so excited, other than just her return? Maybe Manuela had stopped by. They adored Manuela. Her former professor had been a little reluctant to engage with the kids at first, but she’d warmed up to them and now she even seemed to glow in their presence, like Dorothea did.
“Did anyone else come to visit while I was away?” she asked, as Ronnie crawled up on the bed next to her.
“Auntie Dorry was by almost every day,” Lawrence said with his usual wide grin. “But someone super special came by after I lost my front teef.”
“So you got a visit from the Tooth Fairy, hm?” Edelgard smiled. “Did she leave you some sweets?”
There was a pop as Esther removed her thumb from her mouth. “Lawrence got money from da Toof Faiwy,” she said in her diminutive voice.
“Even better than money. It was a chocolate coin,” Lawrence said.
Ronnie snorted. “And then Lawrence tried to give it to Mistress Marisha so she could spend it for herself. He didn’t know it wasn’t real money.” He burst into laughter.
Lawrence stuck out his tongue. “I knew it was chocolate, dummy.”
“You’re the dummy, you dummy.”
“That’s enough, boys,” Edelgard said.
She much preferred silly arguments about chocolate coins over the very real arguments about reforming currency in the Empire. Lacking financial wisdom aside, these orphans, bright-eyed and curious, were the future of Fódlan. It was encouraging how eager they were to learn from her, Dorothea, and their classmates, and how compassionate they were toward Marisha who minded the orphanage and toward each other, even if they fought sometimes.
Had her siblings ever fought?
—
Dorothea’s first question was, “Tell me about your family.”
And Edelgard froze.
Even now, screams echoed in her head. Even now, chains rattled, mechanized doors whirred, keys on a chain clinked, and rats scuttled over her feet, the cocktail of horrific noises reverberating in the vast, lonely, dark nothingness.
She still slept with the lights on, because when she closed her eyes to complete darkness, a ghastly white face was leaning over her, and a needle was stuck deep, deep in her arm, and she was sobbing, and calling their names, and crying, Papa, Papa—
Dorothea’s concerned voice broke her out of her thoughts.
“Edie? You look pale. Was that the wrong question?”
Furrowing her brow, Edelgard opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have gone there right away. Family is hard for me to think about, too. I never knew my father. And I lost my mother before I could even read.”
Edelgard breathed out, her expression relaxing. “My father has passed. My mother is gone, too. And I used to have ten siblings.”
“Goodness, what a big family. Did they ever give you any trouble? You must have fought constantly.”
“No, I don’t seem to remember anything like that.” She frowned. “Truthfully, there isn’t very much I remember. Even basic details escape me, as I am unable to recall all of their names.”
“I could see how having that many siblings might mix you up as a child.”
“I was never mixed up. I could always tell them apart.” She paused, carefully thinking over her next sentence, before saying, “It’s simply that time and stress has fractured much of my memory.”
Since her imprisonment and since the nightmares began, she could never match the faces to the names properly. It was as if all the details were smudged, or underwater, and she was always trying to unearth them, but they remained blurred, submerged. Most of what remained now was mere sensation. A brother hugging her, a sister’s laugh. Footsteps thumping in the halls of the Imperial palace. Whispering in a closet with her sisters while playing sardines, waiting for an older brother to come find them. The coo of her youngest sibling, months old, as she held it cradled in her child’s arms.
“If you’re not ready,” Dorothea said gently, “I don’t want to force you to speak about it. Maybe if you remember some things, you can write them down for me, how about that? I would love to read about your childhood.”
Edelgard sighed. “Forgive me. I’d hoped it would be more fruitful than this, for your sake.”
“Give it time, Edie,” was all Dorothea said. She reached a hand across the table, placing it over Edelgard’s gloved hand, and Edelgard felt an odd twinge in her heart. “I’ll be patient. I hope you realize I care about more than playing my part properly.”
The earnest look in her sincere green eyes loosened the tension in Edelgard’s shoulders, though she felt her heart beating faster, and she wasn’t sure why.
“Thank you for your patience and your sincerity, Dorothea. I treasure it.”
—
Edelgard awoke from the surgery a day later, still all in one piece. The heat in her veins from the Crest of Flames was gone, as was the accompanying smoothness of the Crest of Seiros. No longer would she feel a pinch before a Crest activated. No more fevers or illnesses. Without the twin Crests, her body felt blank, but not deprived. Was this what it meant to be Crestless?
She didn’t mind not being able to remember anything from the surgery, but she felt nearly as weak as she must have the first time her blood had been reconstructed. Over the next week, she found herself unable to leave her bed. Hubert looked after her, giving her distance and privacy when she needed it. She blazed through many romance novels, an old passion of hers, though they strained her eyes if she read for too long, and she reread the note Dorothea had written her before her departure over and over.
Dorothea had written to wish her well in the surgery and express the hope that she’d be back in time for the show. But she had also included a line that continually haunted Edelgard. She had been talking about their interview sessions, when she’d written, My greatest hope is that one day the sad tears you shed will become tears of joy, and that you can step into the future despite the pain of your past.
Every step Edelgard had taken on her crimson path had been for the future of the Empire and all of Fódlan. She had never expected that anyone but Hubert would follow her, or that she would have so many friends and mentors supporting her. She had concealed her feelings, focused on her goals, and achieved what she had set out to do, including getting revenge on the people who had experimented on her and her siblings, and on Lysithea. It was never supposed to be about her—it was everyone’s future for which she had fought.
When Dorothea first offered to interview her, she’d expected similar questions to what the writers and composer had asked. But Dorothea was interested in her personal life, and what was personal was also deeply emotional and difficult to confront. Dorothea understood that life, and especially memory and the past, was messy. Edelgard, who had sorted her life into neat boxes in order so she could press on toward the future, was only now beginning to realize just how messy her childhood, and her life as a whole, had really been.
Folding the note closed, she thought about when Dorothea had seen her cry, and though it brought a blush to her cheeks, it wasn’t embarrassment—it was a feeling of warmth. Not the kind of feverish warmth that the Crest of Flames had given her, but a feeling that had risen in her when the Professor and her classmates had defended her in the Holy Tomb, the feeling that had risen in her when the Immaculate One was defeated and everyone could finally walk toward their future, together. The warmth that rose in her when she saw the children at the orphanage, and saw how they made Dorothea smile, and the warmth she had felt upon remembering a clear moment from her childhood just a day before her planned meeting with Dorothea.
—
Edelgard hadn’t touched her tea, or even taken a glance at the sweets. She had sat down in her chair, waited for Dorothea to pour herself a cup of tea, and then said, “I have a relatively clear memory that I am willing to share.”
Dorothea’s face lit up. “That’s wonderful. I’m so excited to hear that something came back to you.”
Edelgard frowned slightly. “To be honest, it’s a bit silly,” she said. “I’m not sure how much insight you’ll get into my childhood with something so inconsequential.”
“No matter how trivial you say it is, I’m dying to know more.”
“I had just lost a tooth. I put my tooth under the pillow, and I went to sleep. I was woken up in the middle of the night by footsteps outside my door. It was my older brothers, who were teenagers, and they opened the door and came in. I was worried the Tooth Fairy wouldn’t come if my brothers were sneaking into my room. And what would they be looking at, my… my sketchbook. My sketchbook?
Clearing her throat, she continued, “Excuse me for getting sidetracked. I hadn’t remembered that little detail before. Yes, there was a sketchbook I had on my bedside table.
“At any rate, my brothers entered, and I pretended I was asleep. Something was slipped under my pillow. Then I felt a hand on my head, pushing my hair back from my face. And someone kissed my forehead.
“A child’s brain…” She paused. “A child’s brain draws the most absurd conclusions. I thought my brothers had pushed my hair back to let the tooth fairy kiss me. But now I know, it was my older brother. It was odd, until yesterday I never remembered it that way.” Her eyes began to water. “That silly little moment may have been one of the first times in my life that I truly understood what it meant to have family.”
Tears. Tears were dripping down her face, for the first time in front of Dorothea. She was not sobbing; they were silent tears, and they did not come easily. Dorothea got up from her seat and rubbed Edelgard’s shoulders.
“But now, my brothers are gone. All of my siblings are gone. My entire family, gone. I no longer have any family. I can’t help but think, what if I never get the chance to have anything like that again?”
“You do have family,” Dorothea said, still rubbing Edelgard’s shoulders gently. “You have Hubie, and the Professor, and… and all of us.”
“I know. And despite all of that, I’m selfish. I want my childhood back. I want those memories back.”
Dorothea hummed. “Well, I can’t bring back those memories, but I certainly would if it were possible. I wish I had some of your good memories.”
“That’s right. You had a hard life, too, didn’t you?”
“Mm-hmm. I barely even knew my mother before she was gone. Then I was on the streets. I was stepped on, spit on, glared at. People, especially rich nobles and especially men, were simply nasty to me. When I came to the opera, everything changed. Enbarr’s richest had wanted me dead, and now they wanted to marry me.”
Edelgard’s mouth fell open as Dorothea continued, “I had requests from suitors every hour of every day. But they didn’t really know me; they only liked the idea of me. They only saw me for the character I played on stage. So I didn’t give a single one of those scumbags the time of day.
“It’s true that most of the time, living at the opera was far better than living on the streets. But the more famous I got, and the more sleazy nobles I encountered, the more determined I got that nobody deserved the kind of life I’d had. And that’s why I followed you until the end, and why I’m still with you.”
“Dorothea, I’m not sure what to say.” Edelgard took a moment to compose herself, still in shock from the details of Dorothea’s past. “You have truly opened my eyes. I knew that you had disdain for nobles, but the way they treated you, both when you lived on the streets and when you were in the opera, is unforgivable. When you said you had a hard life, I was truly clueless. I’ve underestimated how much you suffered, and for that, I apologize.”
Dorothea sighed. “There’s no reason to apologize. You couldn’t have known. Besides, I didn’t mean to make this all about me. I’m here because I want to know more about you. Your life has been harder than mine. But despite everything, you held on to your hope, and everyone around you supported your vision, and we left the war behind. Your strength has become one of my biggest inspirations. And that’s why I’m so honored to play you.”
“Dorothea, I—”
Edelgard swallowed. I don’t deserve you came to mind, but she didn’t know if she could say that yet.
“Thank you. I’m honored that you’re the one playing me. I… don’t know what else to say.”
“Never mind that. We’ve talked enough for today. There’s someplace I want to take you, Edie dear. I think we both need kid therapy.”
“Kid therapy?”
“When we get there, you’ll know exactly what I mean. I know you’ll love the place. So?” She held out her arm with a smile. “Come with me.”
—
“Can you tell us a story, Auntie El?” Beatrice was tugging on the bottom of Edelgard’s coat. “We all missed your stories a lot.”
“What would you like to hear about?” She tried to think of a story. Maybe the time when Linhardt had broken into the Holy Tomb? She could fashion that into a good adventure story about buried treasure. After all, she had full artistic liberty.
“But Auntie Dorry is really good at telling stories too,” Lawrence said to Beatrice, flashing his missing front teeth. Turning to Edelgard, he said, “She talks about you all the time, Auntie El!”
Edelgard’s heart turned over. “Really, now?”
“That’s because Auntie Dorothea likes Auntie El.” Beatrice had her hands on her hips again.
Edelgard froze. “Excuse me, young lady?”
“You can tell me it’s grown-up talk all you want, but it’s super obvious that she likes you.” Beatrice sniffed. “Like, like-likes you. Like hold hands and get married and be together forever.”
“Ewww.” Lawrence wrinkled his nose. “Does that mean you’re going to kiss Dorry? Gross.”
“Kissing is super funny. Your noses and your lips smash together like boom,” Ronnie said with a giggle.
Edelgard’s cheeks were burning, but when she tried to retort, she had no idea what to say. She couldn’t entirely deny it, but she wasn’t about to admit it to Dorothea, least of all to the children.
“Auntie El and Auntie Dorry sitting in a tree,” sang Daniel. “K-I-S-S-I—”
“Darlings, what is going on here?”
Edelgard’s heart caught in her throat. Dorothea!
“Nothing, Auntie Dorothea,” Beatrice said, smirking at Edelgard.
Edelgard set Esther on the bed and got to her feet, smoothing down her coat. “Er, hello, Dorothea. I was just about to tell a story to the children.”
“Beatrice, were you embarrassing Auntie El?” Dorothea giggled. “You are full of sass. Just like Auntie Dorry.” She winked at Edelgard. “Well? Are you ready for the show?”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Edelgard said. “It’s been a long wait. I’m excited to see how it’ll turn out.”
“I’m sure it won’t disappoint.”
—
That evening, Hubert escorted Edelgard from the carriage and sat down to wait outside with a lantern and a book; he wouldn’t attend the opera even if the show was personally relevant, and she wasn’t about to try and persuade him.
Edelgard got a special balcony seat designated for the emperor. She had to be careful of her expressions and her outward appearance because at any moment, the spotlight could shine on her so that the people could see her reactions to the show. That also meant Dorothea would be able to see. She didn’t expect that to be a problem. Mittelfrank was the best company in Fódlan, and it always put on a good show.
It began as she expected. Manuela, playing the Professor, and Dorothea, playing Edelgard, duetted to introduce the show, then the scene shifted to Garreg Mach, each character singing to introduce themselves. The play explored Edelgard’s conflict at staging her revolution right underneath the nose of her classmates. She was shocked by the depth of feeling in Dorothea’s voice when she sang an aria about Edelgard’s deception of her classmates.
Then the sets changed, and suddenly the narrator was saying:
“But she was not only the Flame Emperor who deceived her classmates, or the princess who hid her emotions underneath a cold exterior. Like any girl her age, the Princess had a colorful childhood in the Imperial Palace, with a host of siblings of varying ages.”
“Hey! El! Catch me if you can!”
Upon hearing the beloved nickname in an unfamiliar voice, she froze.
A boy with a blonde mop of hair rushed onto the set, grinning and revealing his missing front teeth.
“But that’s Lawrence,” Edelgard gasped.
Another boy with dark brown skin and curly hair rushed onto the scene, followed by a boy who was his twin, just that his hair was different. Ronnie and Daniel!
“Come and get me!” one of the twins sang.
A girl walked on stage sucking her thumb, followed by another couple girls. Esther and Shannon and Eliza.
“El?” Lawrence called.
Then a girl with dark brown pigtails popped out from behind the throne. “Here I am!”
Beatrice. Of course.
“I was scared. I thought we’d lost you,” one of the girls said.
Esther took her thumb out of her mouth to hug Beatrice—to hug El—and Edelgard realized only then that her nose had started to run, that tears were dripping down her cheeks.
The scene changed, but Edelgard remained shaken. She was aware that the spotlight would appear on her soon to show the audience her reaction, so she quickly wiped away her tears with a handkerchief, though her pensive expression remained, and any moderately observant onlooker would notice the red splotches coloring her face.
—
After the curtain call, Edelgard rushed down from the balcony, pushing past the half-dressed actors backstage. She found Dorothea half in her costume from the last scene, some of the armor already taken off and her bodice exposed. When she turned around and saw Edelgard, she threw her arms across her half-bare chest, her face flushing red.
“Helloooo, there, Edie.” She laughed nervously. “I see you’re in my dressing room all of a sudden. What’s the big deal, did you like it so much you just couldn’t wait to see me?”
“Yes, that’s it.” Edelgard paused to catch her breath. “You are a gift, Dorothea, you are wonderful and I’m so happy you’re in my life.”
“Oh, well, I feel the same way about you, too. Having you in my life is a blessing I honestly don’t think I deserve.”
“Dorothea.” I don’t deserve you either. “I love you.”
Dorothea’s mouth fell open as she loosened her self-hug. “Oh. What? Oh my goodness.” Her shock turned into a smile. “Edie, I’m not even sure what to say, I—you know, when we were kids at Garreg Mach, I had the worst crush on you?”
Edelgard blinked, stunned. “You did?”
“I never really gave up on that crush. I’ve always admired you, looked up to you, and, yes, I’ve loved you.”
“Dorothea…”
She felt another blush coming on, and, embarrassed at how blind she’d been, threw herself at Dorothea, burying her head in the crook of her neck. She smelled like sweat, roses, and makeup, and her heart was still pumping madly from the effort of the show. Dorothea set one hand on Edelgard’s waist, and one on the back of her head, and Edelgard grasped her tightly with both hands on her back, breathing in her smell.
“But what brought this confession on all of a sudden?” Dorothea asked when they released their embrace.
“The children,” Edelgard said, still breathless. “The scene with the children. They didn’t even tell me they were going to be in the show! I was so surprised. I loved it. I absolutely loved it.”
“Oh, I’m so delighted that you loved it.” Dorothea grinned. “I thought it was so important to include something about your family, and well, the kids, they just wanted to be in the opera. You know how excited they were while you were away in recovery, and they were just over the moon to be in the show.”
“And Beatrice as me—that was the perfect choice! Oh, it was just so perfect.”
“You know what else is perfect?” Extending her arm, Dorothea tipped Edelgard’s chin upward to meet her eyes.
Edelgard had never blushed so hard in her life. She felt like her entire body was on fire. When she went to ask “what,” she bit her tongue by accident.
“Our family,” she said. “And most of all, us.”
Dorothea’s lips were warm, and Edelgard melted into them, into the way Dorothea held her chin up to meet them, how her other hand dug into her hair. Her roots were strong now, her hair wouldn’t fall out, there would be no more white strands on the pillow when she woke up.
There might even be some dark brown strands, a little while from now, and two pillows, but who could tell?
When they parted a moment later, and Edelgard turned around, fifteen children faced her.
“How wonderful is that?” Manuela crooned. “The perfect way to end your first show.”
Edelgard smiled. And Dorothea, and Manuela, and the children.
Welcome back.