Work Text:
The mist seemed to rise out of nowhere, enveloping the battlefield and splitting up their forces. Monica made a point of sticking close to Edelgard as they retreated to a small dell to regroup, but it soon became apparent that they'd lost track of the rest of their units.
Edelgard sighed. "Hubert will be beside himself by now."
Monica clasped her hands, trying to contain the swell of emotion rising within her as she spoke. "I'll do my utmost to serve you in his absence, Your Majesty."
"You always do," Edelgard said absently as she scanned their surroundings. There was little to be seen; their comrades' forms were mere silhouettes in the mist, and the trees nestled close around them loomed like misshapen monsters at the edge of their vision.
And yet in the centre of it all, Edelgard stood resplendent. Her eyes were alight with determination. She clasped Labraunda tightly in her right hand, the blade's silvery gleam marred by a dark stain of dried blood. Beads of moisture glistened on her armour like tiny gems.
At moments like these, Monica could hardly tear her eyes away from her, though, in truth she was ashamed of the wild fantasies that sometimes troubled her thoughts: Edelgard laid bare beneath her; Edelgard's skin, warm under her hungry lips; Edelgard's hands, gripping her hair, tugging her closer; Edelgard crying out her name.
She tore her thoughts away as Edelgard looked up sharply, weapon raised. Monica heard them before she saw them, the flapping of wings thudding the air. "Wyverns!"
There was a mad scramble in the mist and their shadows loomed above before they dived at the scattered soldiers, all slashing talons and snapping jaws. Monica swore under her breath even as she raced to Edelgard's side. Their enemies had planned all of this; they had attacked from different directions and managed to split the imperial forces, then called in the mist to further isolate the emperor and render her vulnerable to airborne attack.
A wyvern rider to Edelgard's left was notching an arrow. Monica loosed a flare of magic that struck him in the shoulder, dropping him from his saddle. Edelgard's long axe swept through the air and struck another soldier in the chest. He slumped forward over the wyvern's neck and the creature shot into the air. All of them knew better than to harm the wyverns; an injured wyvern was a much fiercer foe than their riders.
All around them the misty battlefield was full of shrouded movement and the strangled cries of soldiers. Edelgard's axe swept through the enemy ranks, keeping their spears at bay while Monica's magic slew their archers. All the while, she kept close to Edelgard as the mist swallowed the sounds of battle and the sight of their comrades. Soon it was as hard to find their enemies as their friends.
From the corner of her eye, Monica spotted a hulking shadow and summoned a spell—too late, she realized, as a reptilian form shot out of the thick swirling air and a toothy maw snagged her left arm.
She screamed and reflexively released a flare of magic. It blazed from her right palm, the flash momentarily blinding the wyvern. It reared back, releasing her. She stumbled, fell, her vision dancing with white spots. Her arm was searing flame, throbbing, and she didn't dare look down even as she felt the sticky warmth of her own blood streaming into her palm and dripping off the tips of her fingers.
The battle seemed distant, darkness hovering at the edge of her vision, but her eyes caught on a swirl of brilliant crimson: Edelgard, fighting in the mist. Monica's breath came in ragged pants, but she kept her eyes on the emperor, her light in a darkness that threatened to engulf her.
Edelgard was a force of nature in battle, like a violent storm sweeping through the enemy's ranks. She slew her enemies with ease, even when she remained standing alone among them. And yet she was not impervious. She dodged away from an enemy spear and Labraunda came up swiftly and struck her enemy in the shoulder. He gave a sharp tug of his reins and his wyvern screeched and swung its head wildly, catching Edelgard in the chest and knocking her backwards. She skidded across the ground… and did not get back up.
The throb of her arm was forgotten. Monica launched herself towards Edelgard, placing herself between Edelgard and the wyvern.
The rider, injured but still very much alive, raised his spear again, ready to skewer Monica as his wyvern charged towards Edelgard's prone form. "I will not let you lay a finger on Her Majesty!" She raised her hands and summoned a wall of flame. The wyvern reared up, wings flapping in alarm, and the injured rider tumbled from the saddle. He rolled, scrambled to his feet, but Monica already had another spell at hand, though sweat beaded her brow from the effort. This time he didn't get back up.
The wyvern's shrieks had drawn the attention of more enemies. A pair of swordsmen emerged from the mist. Her magic struck one full in the face before they realized she was there, but her whole body trembled with the effort. The second soldier lunged towards her. She leapt back, grasping at her magic, but it seemed to slip through her nerveless fingers.
A flash of silver through the mist, a crimson spray, and the soldier fell. And then the air was still save for the wingbeats of retreating wyverns.
Clutching her injured arm against her chest, Monica turned, and her heart surged to see that her saviour was none other than Edelgard herself, her hair half loosed from its plaits, blood smeared across her armour, her axe gleaming. "Your Majesty! I thought you were injured."
Edelgard shook her head. "I had the wind knocked out of me, that's all." Her eyes darted to the side. "But you—"
"I'm fine." But Monica knew it was a lie the moment the words fell from her lips. Relief that Edelgard was well seemed to make her weak; white spots danced before her eyes and the throb in her injured arm, which had seemed so distant mere moments ago, was now a tidal force, pulling her down towards the murky darkness.
"You most certainly are not," she heard Edelgard say even as her knees turned to water.
#
Edelgard rushed forward, catching Monica before she could collapse. She eased her down onto the ground where she could get a proper look at the wound. Monica's dark sleeves had masked the severity of her injury but as she leaned over her, Edelgard could see now that the fabric was soaked with blood.
"You should go, Your Majesty," Monica murmured, her eyes glassy. "It isn't safe here."
"I need a proper look at your arm," Edelgard said. "Hold still." She pulled the knife from her belt and sliced open Monica's sleeve, revealing the deep puncture marks from the wyvern's teeth and the shard of bone jutting through her flesh. Grimacing, Edelgard tried to recall what she knew of battlefield medicine. She could not set shattered bone, not bandage such a wound. All she could hope to do was slow the bleeding.
She paused a moment to glance once more around the dell. But it was deathly still. There were neither cries of battle nor for help. Even the wyverns had taken to the air and left the place. Around them remained only the dead and the only sound was that of Monica's ragged breathing. If it stopped Edelgard would be alone among the dead once again.
She buried the thought as swiftly as it had come. Instead, she set about slicing her cloak into bandage-like strips. Monica's eyelids drooped and Edelgard paused to press her palm against Monica's clammy cheek and loudly call her name. "I need you to stay awake, Monica."
"Anything for… Your Majesty."
Once the strips of her cloak were ready, she turned again to Monica. "I'm going to tie off the injury. Please bear with me." She began wrapping the crimson fabric around Monica's arm, just above the elbow, pulling it tightly to slow the circulation to her forearm. She snapped in half one of the many stray arrows at hand and slipped the shaft into the outer layer of the makeshift tourniquet. She twisted the shaft once, twice, to tighten the bandage—pausing when Monica grimaced, a tiny whimper escaping her throat—before knotting the bandage around the arrow shaft. "That should slow the bleeding until we can get you to a healer."
Monica was paler than ever, a slight blue tinge to her lips. "Please go… Your Majesty. I'll… wait here."
Edelgard's lips thinned to a line. She was aware that her position was precarious. If another enemy detachment were to find her here alone, she would be hard pressed to fight them off. But surely Shez and Hubert could not be far away. Hubert would be frantically searching for her and she had no doubt Shez would soon locate and dispose of the mage who'd called this unnatural mist. Perhaps it would be sensible to leave Monica and fetch a healer, but that would waste precious minutes that Monica could ill afford when she'd already lost so much blood. Once before, Edelgard had been willing to leave Monica to her fate; she would not do so again.
"Absolutely not," Edelgard announced. She strapped her axe to her back and then, without further comment, slid her arms beneath Monica's body and lifted her up.
Monica groaned as the movement jostled her arm. "But what if you're attacked? You—"
"If we're attacked," Edelgard began evenly, "I'll set you down, defeat our attackers, and then return to collect you."
"But, Your Majesty—"
"Stop arguing and save your strength. I will not be dissuaded."
Monica stilled. Edelgard held her close against her chest and, with long, determined strides, headed back towards where she hoped to find their comrades.
The mist continued to swirl around them, its touch icy against Edelgard's cheeks. Monica shivered in her arms, her entire body trembling. Her skin seemed to meld with the mist itself, growing ever more ashen as the minutes dragged on. Her lips kept moving as if in a whispered prayer but when Edelgard leaned down to try to catch the words, what she heard was… her name.
She stumbled and had to catch herself lest they both go hurtling to the ground. It was the first time she'd ever heard Monica speak her name. Always it was "Your Majesty" this and "Your Majesty" that. Though Monica was wont to loudly profess her love for Edelgard on the battlefield, she never dared to speak her name.
Edelgard allowed one long, slow breath to pour out of her as her eyes lingered on Monica's pallid face. "Oh Monica," she whispered, "I wish you could understand… The Edelgard who had a heart died long ago."
Monica groaned and Edelgard murmured an apology even as she held Monica more tightly against her and continued along what she thought—or rather hoped—was a path back towards the rest of their forces.
A swirling shape some distance ahead made Edelgard pause and listen, though the mist blanketed her senses like a silken blindfold. She set Monica down as gently as she could and, steeling herself, drew her axe and waited for what approached through the swirling silvery air.
A dark shadow. The beat of armored footfalls. She slowed her breathing and gripped Labraunda.
Her muscles bunched, rippling with the power of the Crest of Flames, as the shadow broke through the mist—
Only to reveal the face she most wanted to see in this moment. "Hubert!"
He took one look at her and rather than reply called over his shoulder. "Send a healer to the fore. Immediately!"
"I'm fine, Hubert," she assured him. "It's not me." She moved aside so that he could see her, shivering on the ground, the tourniquet wrapped around her left arm. "It's Monica."
#
Settled in the strategy room at the imperial basecamp, Edelgard was reviewing a stack of tactical reports when a knock called her attention away from her work. She'd expected Hubert but instead, when she looked up, there was Monica, her left arm in a sling, bags under her eyes, her face several shades paler than it ought to have been.
Edelgard sprang to her feet. "Monica! You shouldn't be up yet. The healers informed me you would need several days of rest."
Monica bowed her head. "Please don't be concerned, Your Majesty."
"Please, Monica, take a seat," Edelgard said, pulling out the nearest chair. "I will not have you passing out in the strategy room." She gave her a stern look just to make it clear that she would brook no argument.
With slow, tired steps, Monica made her way over and sank into the chair next to Edelgard. "I wanted to thank you," she said softly. "For saving me. I owe you my life once again, Your Majesty."
"I'll hear of no such thing," Edelgard said with a wave of her hand. "When I was knocked down, you distracted the enemy forces until I was recovered, didn't you? I should think that makes us even."
Monica shook her head. "It's not the same. The healers told me that if you hadn't aided me, if you hadn't created a tourniquet and gotten me to them as quickly as you did, I might not be here."
"I could do no less," Edelgard said, shaking her head.
Monica's gaze drifted down, lingering on the sling and her bandaged arm. "Your Majesty…" She hesitated for long moment. Edelgard was about to ask her what was troubling her, when Monica spoke again. "When you were carrying me, for a moment I felt like the whole world was falling away, like I might close my eyes and never open them again. And…" She paused and swiped at her eyes. "And then I realized I could hear your heart."
"My… heart?"
"I could hear it beating. That sound—your heart—kept me here."
And Edelgard found herself at a loss for words. "Monica…" she began but nothing followed.
Monica offered a tiny smile and then rose. "I'll go get some rest now, like I'm supposed to. I just wanted to tell you in person." She moved towards the door but then paused and turned back to whisper. "Thank you, Edelgard."
For a long while after she left, Edelgard sat, one hand on her chest, feeling the steady thrum of the heartbeat beneath her palm.
The End