Chapter Text
A Family of Their Own
Chapter One
When Dorothea Arnaut wakes up she is not alone.
She is also naked.
Dorothea doesn’t drink much. She has watched Manuela fall into the trappings of alcohol, and she doesn’t want that for herself.
However, last night was the first night that the Black Eagle Strike Force got a chance to celebrate.
They won the war.
This thought isn’t at the forefront of Dorothea’s mind as she turns around. She knows who she is going to see, but there’s still that sense of dread in her stomach.
She doesn’t know what possessed her to kiss Ferdinand last night.
She doesn’t know what possessed her to take him back to her rooms at the Imperial Palace.
Well, no she can’t lie to herself. He had been sweet, terribly endearing, like the boy he was during their academy days. Dorothea had hated him then, and now well-
She doesn’t know.
How is she supposed to know?
She doesn’t hate him. Not anymore-they had fought too closely together during the war. Ferdinand had made her cookies, once, in his own attempt to solve a riddle that Dorothea had made unsolvable.
He asked her to dance last night, and Dorothea, full of giddiness and relief from a war finally won, had said yes.
(It wasn’t the first time she had danced with him. She did once, during their academy days, and the way he had looked at her last night was not so different from when she was a girl).
She doesn’t know why, but she continued saying yes everytime he asked her to dance last night.
And when she was too drunk to make any reasonable decisions she had kissed him.
Loneliness had plagued her during the war, and it still did. Dorothea did not flirt, at least not like she did in her academy days. It was easy to be lonely.
She turns to look at Ferdinand. His body is edging towards her, his hands on her stomach. He’s warm. He’s always been warm to the touch, and Dorothea appreciates it more than she wants to.
She takes in a breath, and Ferdinand’s eyes open; wide at first as if he is terrified, and then they soften.
“Dorothea,” He says her name breathlessly. He smiles, somewhat bashfully, and his cheeks redden. “I thought it was a dream.”
Dorothea laughs. “You’ve dreamed about me before then, Ferdie?”
She feels bad when his cheeks redden and he glances away. She has always known he harbored an attraction towards her. Many men did. She did not expect Ferdinand to act so shy about the entire thing.
They are lying together, naked after all.
“I-” He stutters, and he glances away. “I’m sorry.” He admits.
She snorts. “You wouldn’t be the first man to dream about me.” She says.
She had dreamed about Ferdinand a few times, especially during the war--Strange confused dreams, where she would wake up aching.
Her body has always harbored an attraction to him, even if her soul knows better.
“Still-” He says. “To do that-while under the influence-” He seems to choke out the words. “You deserve better.”
She sighs. She had…She did enjoy herself last night; even if Ferdie was a bit inexperienced and clumsy, he made up for it with passion and an eagerness to please her.
She doesn’t want to say so much in words. “I’ve been with men under worse circumstances.” She says. “Really, Ferdie, you weren’t terrible-besides I was drunk as well.”
His hands ghost her cheeks. “Still next time I will strive to be better.” He says.
She winks at him, and for whatever reason her stomach feels sick. “This will help you prepare for any future spouse you might have.”
He sighs. “Dorothea-“
She doesn’t let him finish. “It’s probably best that you head back to your guest room.” She tells him. “You wouldn’t want rumors to spread about bedding a commoner.”
His hands, which were touching her cheeks before, move away quickly, as if they were burned. “I do not care that you’re a commoner, Dorothea.” He says. He moves to sit up, and turns to look down at her, his expression clearly weary. “I wish you would believe that.”
Memories of a boy, glaring at her in childhood; come back to her and Dorothea remembers-
She shouldn’t let his words impact how she views him. He has shown how he really views people like her in the past.
“You say that now.” She says. “But once the rumors start, you will have regrets I’m sure.” She turns away from him so she can no longer look at him.
She had…She did enjoy herself last night. But it was a mistake, that was all.
"As you requested, I will take my leave.” Ferdinand says. “But I have…the only regret I have is the fact we were drunk, and I did not get a chance to court you properly. That is all.”
She ignores him. He gets up, and she tries to block out the sound of him getting dressed.
He shuts the door, ever so quietly when he leaves.
Ferdinand is never quiet about anything.
It proves Dorothea’s point-He is ashamed of her. Even if he doesn’t believe that.
-0-
Dorothea doesn’t want to recognize the signs--But she does. It’s easy enough, she misses her cycle for the second month, and she feels sick in the morning-a sickness that sometimes carries over to the rest of the day. She either eats too much, or not enough, and she feels more lethargic than she is used to feeling.
The first month she had missed her cycle she thought it a fluke-A side effect of the tea she drinks to keep her from getting pregnant. She knows the tea isn’t 100 percent foolproof but--
Dorothea doesn’t actually sleep with many men. She knows she has a reputation--but it is simply that. She hasn’t slept with a man since-
Ferdinand.
She hasn’t shared a bed with anyone since Ferdinand.
So Dorothea has a pretty good idea about what is wrong when she finds herself at Linhardt’s private apartment in the city.
Years ago-She would have gone to Manuela. But now- Manuela is yet another casualty of the war.
She can’t help but feel bitter when she thinks of it. She feels bitter about a lot of things.
Linhardt greets her with a disgruntled look and a yawn. He’s wearing his night robe, and looks incredibly dishevelled. “I got your message.” He says. “You don’t need to knock so loud.”
She tries her best to smile. “I feared you were sleeping.”
“Reading in fact.” Linhardt says, gesturing her in. “How are you Dorothea?”
“I’ve been better.” She reaches out and gives Lin a hug. “I need you to run some tests, and I need you to be discrete.”
“I’m a retired healer.” He yawns. “That was my job during the war.”
“You’re a good healer.” Dorothea says. “Lin-” She grasps onto his shoulder. “Please-I don’t trust anyone else, and Manuela is-”
She doesn’t finish her sentence and Linhardt briskly nods. “Sit down.” He says, gesturing to a dishevelled couch covered with books.
Dorothea cannot imagine many noble men willingly living like Linhardt-in a one bedroom apartment, full of books and dust. He doesn’t even have his own private cleaner. But Linhardt insists on his own private space, in exchange for occasionally doing research for Edelgard and Hubert. From what Dorothea has seen Linhardt is getting the better end of the entire deal.
“Okay-what’s wrong?” He asks
She looks down at her legs and her face flushes. “I believe-” She doesn’t want to say the words. If she says the words it would make it real. “I believe I’m with child.” She manages to choke out.
“Hmm.” Linhardt says. “Why do you think that?”
Dorothea tells him the signs she has been noticing.
“Well you certainly have all the symptoms.” Linhardt says. “I would say you’re pregnant.”
“Isn’t there a spell you can do to tell for sure?”
He sighs. “It takes so much energy, Dorothea.” Linhardt says. “Do I look like a midwife?”
She thinks about this. “Not particularly.” She says. “But-I just want to know-for sure.”
“Okay-” He says. “Can I put my hands on your stomach? You can keep your clothes on.”
“Of course.” Dorothea says. Linhardt moves towards her and touches her stomach. She closes her eyes-But whatever Linhardt is doing doesn’t hurt-Instead she just feels warm.
“Well, you’re definitely with child.” Linhardt says. “I could feel it--Inside you I mean.”
So Dorothea’s suspicions were correct then.
She--She feels sick to her stomach. So she isn’t so much different than her mother then--With child, by a noble man who doesn’t love her, and who surely wouldn’t marry her.
“Do you want to keep it?” Linhardt asks. “There’s magic we can do if-”
Dorothea stops him before he can finish talking. “I know that’s the path many women take, and that’s okay.” She clutches her stomach. She always wanted children-just not like this. “It’s not-I want to keep the child.”
“Okay.” Linhardt shrugs. “Fine by me.” He looks at her, seriously. “Do you know who the father is?” He asks. “Did you want him involved?”
“I-” She doesn’t know what to say. Would Linhardt judge her? “It’s Ferdinand.”
Linhardt nods, and he looks straight at her. “Figures.” He says.
She studies him. She can’t quite read him. “What does that mean?”
Linhardt yawns. “Ferdinand has never been quiet about…his hope that he could one day court you.” He says. “I even picked up on it-and I hardly care about such things.”
She sniffs. She doesn’t see how Ferdinand would want to court her-especially now, as a woman in her almost-mid twenties, ruined by war. “I’ve hated him.”
“You haven’t in years.” Linhardt tells her. “But either way-You choose what you tell him.” He says. “I-want no part in this.”
“Of course I’m going to tell him.” Dorothea knew Ferdinand enough to know that he would probably want to know about his child. For all of his noble ways Ferdinand was not her father. “What if he doesn’t believe the child is his?”
“I think you have always been too quick to expect the worst out of him.” Linhardt says.
Dorothea can only hope Linhardt is right.
She takes in a breath. “I should repay you for helping me today. When was the last time you ate?”
Linhardt tilts his head. “I had some bread at 3AM.”
“Oh Lin-” Dorothea says. It’s almost 1:30 PM now. “I’m going to get you some groceries, and buy you lunch. You have to eat more.”
“I forget, that’s all.” He grumbles, but he nods his head. “Let me get dressed.”
Dorothea smiles at him and tries to ignore the sense of dread in her stomach.
-0-
It doesn’t take Ferdinand long to accept Dorothea’s invitation for tea, and meet her at her apartment near the Mittelfrank Opera House.
When she opens her door, she notices that he carries a tin of some sort.
“Hello Dorothea-” He bows, of all things. Ferdinand is nothing if not formal and polite. “I feared I would never get a chance to speak with you again.”
She snorts. They were going to have plenty to speak about now. “We run with all of the same friends, Ferdie.” She says. “We would have definitely spoken again.” She gestures at him to come and he follows her to her table. Her apartment is small, only slightly bigger than Linhardt’s place, and she cannot imagine raising a child in it, even if she knows her and her mother had much worse than the fashionable one bedroom she lives in.
He sits at the table, and puts the tin in the middle of the table. “I acquired the ingredients to make you cookies-I have developed quite the taste for baking, admittedly.” He says.
“How pleasant.” She says, actually meaning the words. “I've never been a great baker myself-just ask Petra.”
“I’m sure you could learn to be a wonderful cook.” He says. “If you wanted to be-of course.”
“Not much time honestly-between restoring the opera, and working with helping the orphans in Enbarr.”
“Yes-I heard you were doing performances just for them.” He says, smiling. “You never cease to amaze me, Dorothea.”
She looks down at the table, hiding her blush. “It should not be amazing to help the unfortunate.” She says.
“I know as such.” Ferdinand says, gently. “And yet, it’s not an instinct that many people carry.”
She stands up, too quickly, overwhelmed by his praise. “Please Ferdie-” She says. “Let me make you some tea.”
“Please-let me.” Ferdinand says. “I mean-I don’t wish to impose. But I have quite a talent for it. Hilda used to get me to make her tea all the time when we were at the Academy'' He pauses, and lets out a sniff. “Oh Hilda-”
Dorothea sniffs as well. So many people are dead-and here she is, trying her best to go about her life as if there is anything about the world that is normal.
She is going to bring a child into it, and everything.
But she hopes-that the world her child is born into is a better one.
It doesn’t take long for Ferdinand to finish the tea, deliver it to the table, and sit back down.
“I have actually brought you here to talk.” Dorothea says, quickly, forcing the words out.
He nods his head. “Is it about-” He flushes. “That night?”
“In parts, yes.” Dorothea tells him. “It is connected-”
“Even if it will be difficult, I will try to-” He takes in a breath. “I will try to forget that it ever happened-if that is what you wish.”
She lets out a slight laugh. “Well, you see, Ferdie, I can’t quite forget about it.”
For a second his eyes widen, in what looks to be--Excitement perhaps. Or even hope. Perhaps he wishes for a repeat. “I cannot either.” He says, breathlessly. “I-I-”
“Was it your first time?” Dorothea blurts out. She suspects as much.
He nods his head. “I wanted it.” He says. “I never-”
“It’s okay Ferdie.” She says. “I enjoyed myself. You never really forget your first time.” Dorothea’s own first time had been a nightmare, but Ferdie doesn’t need to know that. Hopefully she was better for him, than the man who had been with her.
That man had bought her gifts, and showered her with compliments, and Dorothea was foolish enough to believe it to be love.
She had been wrong of course, and he had left her alone the next day, worn and used.
She would occasionally see him at the opera, flirting with the newer divas, and she always ensured to warn them against him.
“It was-” Ferdinand hesitates. “My only regret is that we didn’t end it on better terms.” He says.
Well, Dorothea hardly believed they were going to end it on good terms now. She takes in a breath. “I’m pregnant.” She says. Ferdinand looks shocked, and he tilts his head. “The baby-It’s yours.” She says. “Look, I know you might think I’m a liar, but-” She hesitates. “I’m not. You’re the only person I have been with in months. The child is...well your's.”
“I believe you.” He says, too quickly. “Dorothea--why wouldn’t I?”
She shrugs. “Sometimes it is easy for a nobleman to deny being with a common woman.” She says. “How did I know for sure you would be any different?”
He frowns, clearly disappointed. “What can I do to prove to you that I am not like that?” He reaches his hand over the table. “I’m sorry Dorothea.” He says. “I don’t want you to feel forced into this--and It’s not how I imagined but-” He smiles now, light and easy. “You’re pregnant, with my-our child and I can only ask-” He sighs. “Please-would you give me your hand in marriage?” He hesitates. “I want you to know that if you say no our child will still be provided for financially, and you as well--But I want to--” He sighs. “Even if you don’t love me, even if you never love me-I want to make a home together for our child. If you will.”
She thinks about her own miserable life, without any parent to call her own, lonely on the street.
Even if Ferdinand doesn’t love her, she has no doubt that he would love his child, and provide for them both.
And they are friends, sort of.
There are worse marriage arrangements.
The teenage girl with too much pride is screaming at Dorothea to say no.
But the adult woman-the adult woman does not necessarily want to say no.
“Okay.” She tries her best to smile. “Let’s get married, Ferdie.”
He beams at her, and she feels her heart skip a beat.
(She blames it on the hormones).
-0-