Chapter Text
Your name is Edelgard von Hresvelg, leader of the Black Eagles of Garreg Mach, heir to the Adrestian Empire, and you are currently being undressed by an orphan.
It's the Pegasus Moon and the wind is howling, and the the tree outside your window is tapping its branches against the sill and big things are coming, you know they’re coming, you are what’s coming and-
And her fingers are cold.
They move to cradle the back of your neck and she gently brings you down so your head is against her pillow. She leans in, and she’s kissing you again.
“Dorothea,” someone murmurs- you realize it was you as she pulls back.
Suddenly your view is Dorothea Arnault, her chestnut brown hair illuminated like a halo around her face by the lantern positioned directly behind her. Beautiful, kind, clever Dorothea Arnault.
You dreamt about this moment last week when she slept over in your room and the two of you sat in your nightgowns until the sun rose, talking, and grinning, and laughing, surrounded by food stolen from the dining hall.
You dreamt about it the night of the ball, as you attempted to keep to yourself on the sidelines of the crowd until Dorothea Arnault came barrelling over like a hurricane, a tropical storm adorned with gold and red and black, and bright green eyes, that swept you onto the dance floor. You let her lead, if not just to enjoy the feeling of her hand on the small of your back.
You dreamt about it as the two of you fell into a pattern in the dining hall of saving the two seats at the end of the house table for yourselves every evening. You thought about it through those warm summer afternoons, sitting in the gardens together, trying to decipher Manuela’s more nonsensical assignments. You imagined it those weeks you were put on sky watch together, racing through the clouds around the monastery, already trying to piece together an excuse for Hubert for when he would inevitably question you on why this was an appropriate use of your time.
You may have even considered it your first day at Garreg Mach. Your very first memory of Dorothea, of running into her standing underneath the gazebo in the midst of charming some inconsequential noble boy as you were making the rounds introducing yourself to all the students, a warm spring wind blowing her hair in every direction.
And suddenly it wasn’t a dream anymore. Somehow you arrived to this place and time, lying on your back in her bed in the lower dorms, and the top of your nightgown is unbuttoned, and she's leaning back, legs straddled around your hips, palms planted on either side of your shoulders, her eyebrows furrowing themselves together.
When was the last time you’d ever been this close to a person, physically? You certainly don’t think you’ve even felt Hubert’s skin once. Was it your parents then, when the world was safe enough for you to curl up in your mother’s lap? Had it really been that long?
“Edie? …Should I stop?”
Your mouth is suddenly very dry without hers on it, and it takes you a moment to remember how to speak.
You know this is a bad idea. You also know you want more, you’ve wanted more for longer than you can even remember. But you are all too aware of the damage that could be done to a soul as bright hers, if you were to let her in. How your past, your present, your future, can and will harm her.
But your mind is not in control anymore.
So your heart replies for you, and it says “No.”
Is the thump inside your chest going that fast because of how you much want this? Is it desire? Is it fear? Is it a preemptive regret?
You decide to leave those questions unanswered and wrap your hands around her neck, pulling her back in. For now, all that matters is the taste of Dorothea Arnault.
————
You know you’re a fool, a broken folly of the human experience, but it’s never been so apparent to you as when you wake up next to her.
The air is freezing cold as you ease yourself out of bed, careful to tread lightly as not to wake her. You curse yourself for wearing her cloak here in the first place instead of yours. There’s snow accumulating outside, and the hallway journey back to your own room will be like walking barefoot on ice.
You’ve done a bad thing. The world is about to end and you yourself are the harbinger of that apocalypse, yet you let someone so pure, so good, close enough that now you fear she’ll be caught in the inevitable crossfire.
No.
This was a mistake. You chose your path many moons ago. Others, like Hubert, made the hard decision to follow. But you cannot ask Dorothea to walk it with you. You don’t deserve for Dorothea to walk it with you. You are Edelgard von Hresvelg. You are the Flame Emperor. She is a white silk slip, soft underneath your fingertips, and far too delicate for its own good. How could you bring something so flammable near the fire?
When Dorothea sees you in the dining hall the next morning, she smiles, giving you a wave and a wink. You take a pastry, and retreat to eat in your room. You know you’re being obvious, but maybe it’s for the better. After all, you cannot look her in the eye.
Dorothea’s smile turns as cold as the midnight sun as her gaze follows you out the door, but it never falters.
————
You see her once more in the first week of the Lone Moon. The world should have started its slow ascent into spring by now, but the cold is more biting today than it has been all winter.
She’s leaned against the wall of the bridge leading to the church, bundled up in the set of winter-wear you had delivered from the capital for her in the fall, engaged in what is clearly an enjoyable exchange with Petra, and Claude and Hilda of the Golden Deer. The four of them are gesturing, and laughing, and talking over one another. You were always surprised how easily she could get along with people, regardless of house.
You’re passing by with Hubert on your way to the noble’s dorms for an important meeting. It’s a somber time for two of you, knowing what’s to come in just a couple weeks. The days seem full of an uncomfortable, hyper energy buzzing in the air, as if the world was about to fall off a cliff visible only to you two. But when you see her in the corner of your gaze, your stomach drops, and your head feels both heavy and lightheaded at the same time. You fear it just might roll off your shoulders. What was it you were planning on discussing with Hubert? How could you ever be expected to remember when you know she saw you too?
Did you hurt her, when you left that morning? Does it even matter, if you would have hurt her more by staying?
You will always do what is necessary.
————
The night before you are to leave for Enbarr to forcefully ascend the throne seems stiller than most. The students of the academy sleep peacefully in their beds, and in yours you lie alone, wide awake. You know Hubert would scold you if he were here. Tomorrow is to be the biggest day of your life, you need all the rest you can get. But you feel like there are insects crawling through your veins where there should be blood, and you know there’s no use in even trying.
You won’t sleep.
So something compels you.
Suddenly, you’re dashing down to the lower dorms, and knocking violently on Dorothea’s door, hand wildly shaking the doorknob.
She can’t stay here. She can’t witness this. You won’t allow her to be caught in the crossfire, you can’t be the reason any harm comes to her, she needs to leave she has to go she has to be safe and away from you and-
With one big push the lock snaps and you fall through onto your hands and knees.
Once you’ve caught your breath, you look up, and find yourself staring into an empty, dark room. The bed is made, the desk is tidy. The vanity, normally covered in makeup, and jewellery strewn haphazardly, is bare. You throw open the closets- empty. The books and papers that are normally dumped all the floor are nowhere to be seen. It’s meticulous.
She’s gone.
You don’t know if you’re relieved or distressed. As you lay back in her bed, staring up at a ceiling as blank as the expression on your face, you almost feel as if a piece of you has disappeared with her.