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A/N: Ferdigard whoooo! I love their paired ending, and thought to expand on how they have children :).
A/N(2): This fic is a part of a loose trilogy of Ferdigard one-shot fics that showcase how their relationship develops (this instalment is the last):
1: My Darling, What Is Our Relationship?
2: My Love, I Adore You (In Control) (NSFW!)
There was a time when Edelgard thought she’d never have children.
The first time she had such a thought was upon receiving another Crest. The… doctors (she hates to use such a term, for doctors are meant to help people) informed her of her side-effects, one being that she’d never be able to bear children. Before her imprisonment she did not give the idea of motherhood much thought. To then learn she will never have a physical choice brought the unbearable grief of losing bodily autonomy and control of one’s life. Such grief seems too much for a human to cope, let alone a child.
The second time, when she overcame the horror of losing autonomy and recalled that adoption is an option, she had such a thought was during the planning of how she will change the entirety of Fódlan. With how shortened her lifespan is, is it cruel to raise a child knowing she will abandon them in death? With the many lives that will be lost and the many children made orphans during the upcoming war does she have the right to raise a child? Such questions haunted her for years, continuing even after the war’s conclusion, even after courting Ferdinand, even after marriage, and even after removing her Crests.
Yet here she is now: with two beautiful children, the eldest being eight years named Clara and the youngest being five named Eberhard.
In the dining room of her cottage, clad in clothes that seem far too casual for one who still remains emperor (not for long now… to think such a system of rule will come to an end soon), Edelgard observes from her seat her two children fiddling with wooden toys on the floor. Sitting cross-legged with Eberhard in his laps Ferdinand encourages their (their) son to try moving the wooden horse towards the playhouse that serves as a barracks. Nothing can wipe that pearly white grin off his face, nor rid the shine in his amber eyes, as he chuckles and coos their son for almost getting the toy there. Beside the playhouse-turned-barracks Clara ushers her baby brother’s horse on over, her lilac eyes twinkling encouragingly towards Eberhard’s amber ones. When the horse makes its journey Ferdinand hoorahs by throwing his hands up and Edelgard claps and murmurs ‘well done Eberhard!’.
Eberhard tilts back his head to look at his father. “When do I get to ride a real horse, Papa?”
Despite being unable to see it with how Ferdinand looks directly down on his seated son Edelgard can sense the adoring smile on her husband’s (her husband…!) face. “In due course, Eberhard!”
“But when?”
“In the future!”
“But when in the future?”
“When you are older, Eberhard,” Edelgard chuckles, coming to her husband’s rescue. The pout to appear on Eberhard as he looks to her all disappointed is very reminiscent of his papa. “Remember: safety is the most important thing.”
“That won’t stop him from climbing up trees,” Clara chimes as she grins deviously at her little brother.
If Eberhard’s sugar brown hair could ruffle like a bird it would be extremely poofy with antagonism. He hits his fists upon his father’s knees. “You’re such a dobber, Clara!”
“Be nice you two,” Edelgard playfully warns, her eyes darting between her children.
That silences them from fighting any further (though they will very likely continue this conversation in private). Eberhard speaks with his father about the best horses, which naturally Ferdinand lectures on and on about, whereas Clara simply stares at her. The way her head tilts implies something is puzzling her, something to do with her with how her lilac eyes searches hers. Clara worries her lower lip, contemplating deeply on some matter. Her head darts to her brother then back to her. Edelgard merely offers a smile that she hopes encourages her daughter to open up.
“How come Eberhard has light brown hair when you have white?”
Her smile falters.
Ferdinand visibly flinches.
Despite her smile disappearing she maintains an expression that does not showcase sorrow. Instead it appears blank, devoid of any emotions. Her posture is both, oxymoronically, lax enough for her to slump out the chair and stiff enough to hurt her joints. The hand resting upon the table clenches so tightly that she nearly winces. Despite Eberhard making clopping noises with his toy horse there is a silence that only a corpse can relate to. She can feel her heartbeat thrumming in her ears. She has forgotten how to exhale. She is a prisoner awaiting her execution, all eyes on her.
“Ah—I just remembered!” Ferdinand takes Eberhard off his laps and comes to a stand. “You two must attend to our vegetable patch!”
Clara looks alarmed at the possibility of the vegetables wilting away because she failed to take care of them, and Eberhard matches her mortification by insisting to her to hurry. Ferdinand gently pats their backs to move them along, and calls out to make sure they wear gloves and to not over-water the vegetables. Once their footsteps fade away Ferdinand turns to her. Her expression softens in vehement gratitude; hopefully the limitless love she has for him is evident in her gaze. He comes on over and pulls a chair next to her, his expression so utterly solicitous that it eases her with the reminder that there is someone who knows her well and would never use that knowledge against her.
The hand upon his knee flicks to her direction, screaming of his uncertainty as to whether to take her hand or not. Long ago she would have refused any touch, even with her gloves on. But now she offers it out to him and he takes it, thumbing her with a delicateness of how one handles a flower. To many people she is the personification of fire, ready to burn all that get in her path. But to Ferdinand she is a human being, an individual that deserves to be loved and cared for.
“It was only a matter of time until one of our children started asking such questions,” Edelgard affirms with a rueful smile.
Ferdinand nods, though his expression showcases how ill-prepared he was for the inevitable. “…I had thought they would only start asking such questions when they are teenagers.”
Despite the heavy mood Edelgard cannot help but chuckle. “Children are curious by design,” she reminds him with a playful glint in her once austere eyes.
A crooked smile appears on him, showcasing his desire to ease her and his uncertainty if he should be smiling. His thumb prods her glove around the wrist to soothe the scars she still struggles to showcase to anyone not intimately familiar with her. Their children have only caught glimpses of her scars; she has been adamant of wearing gloves, so to not make them ask difficult questions. They will eventually learn of the horrors she has experienced, but now is not the time.
Actually it is the time, with how Clara asked of her hair colour.
The sigh to escape her is heavier than any armour she donned during the war. With her free hand she takes a loose strand between her fingers, eyeing the whiteness that once was seen as sickly and now tends to be viewed, strangely enough, as beautiful. At least there is a way to lie or expose a half-truth that does not go into the gruesome details of her past, unlike with her scars. Unlike her scars she has come to… ‘love’ is not the right word, but for a lack of better word: she has come to love her white hair.
It seems stupidly odd for her to struggle with sharing her past with her children. She has shared it with Hubert, then later Ferdinand, and then finally the entirety of the Black Eagles. Surely sharing once more with those whom she loves more than anything can’t be any more challenging or different from the others? No, it is different. These are children. They are at a stage in life where they can be protected from the hardships that she and all her friends went through growing up. There is no more Those Who Slither in the Dark to hurt them or others.
Lilac eyes soften, matching the colour so perfectly. She thumbs her husband’s hand, playing with his wedding ring in hopes of conjuring the strength she needs to open up with their children. Observing his face she does not see any judgement regarding her struggling to tell a story she has told before with others close to her. There is only warm understanding, the likes she, which she shan’t admit to him, still struggles to believe she deserves.
“They do have the right to know…” she admits, yet the words to leave her feel as if she is dragging along a body up a mighty hill. “…It’s just…”
“Unexpected,” Ferdinand finishes for her.
She nods. “It does not get easier, repeating the same story over and over, even if I plan to keep it vague.”
Ferdinand knows she does not plan to brush their children aside or tell an outright lie, judging by his solemn eyes. He interlocks their hands, and offers an encouraging smile. “I can tell them in private, if you prefer.”
It would be so easy to have someone else tell her story. It would be less painful. But she is not one to shove her problems onto another. She shakes her head. “I appreciate the offer, but I must be the one to tell them.”
“You need not do it alone, my darling.”
Something swells in her chest. Once such a sensation had to do with her Twin Crests, an unpleasant feeling of some fire clawing up her throat to tear itself out of her. But this feels pleasant, a warmth that can only soothe the owner. Long ago she believed to have grown incapable of crying, yet she feels the once unfamiliar wetness well in her eyes. She smiles with such overwhelming gratitude and love that it would make people envy just a fraction of that feeling.
“Thank you, my Ferdinand.”
His smile truly outshines the sun. That says quite a lot, with what she has been through. He leans forward to give her a chaste kiss on the lips. She drinks it in, a parched woman now finding an oasis, channelling his positive energy.
When they pull away he comes to a stand. “Allow me to bring them back.”
She nods, and off he goes. Mentally she prepares a story that her children will understand yet is not too horrific. That’s another component to add to how this is different from telling others: sugarcoating the details. She has never been the best at softening the blow. But that is where Ferdinand will come to her aid. You’re not alone anymore. You haven’t been alone for a very long time.
She hears her children first before they enter the room. Ferdinand has his hands resting atop their shoulders, a means to anchor them from tackling their mother with endless hugs once her story breaks out. Clara blinks, appearing to sense the shift in her mood. She is quite perceptive… just like her. Perhaps uncle Hubert and aunt Dorothea have taught her the tricks to reading others. Eberhard simply grins, blissfully unaware of what he is to learn, lifting his freckles across his cheeks. His boundless positivity, even in the worst of times (that being tripping and scraping his knees), was taken from his father. She cracks a tiny smile.
“I shall answer your question, Clara,” Edelgard breathes out.
Yet the words refuse to leave her. Some invisible force crams them back down every time she opens her mouth. Seeking comfort she looks to her husband. Ferdinand’s gaze is soft, clouds in human form, and he slowly blinks—it is one of their secret signs that means if she requests his aid, in many cases to speak up, she need just blink back. Feeling soothed she simply nods: it is their sign that she has this.
She inhales a deep breath. You got this. You have a loving and supportive family. Your children deserve to know.
“The reason I have white hair is because some bad men hurt me…” it sounds so silly how she is wording it, but she pushes onward, “I used to have brown hair,” —she waves a hand towards her son— “just like you Eberhard.”
Eberhard gasps, his hands covering his gaping mouth, yet his mortification is clear as cloudless skies. Clara’s eyes shoot seemingly to her hairline, and her lips start to quiver. They seem tempted, no, desperate, to rush up and hug the life out of her, but they are in such states of shock that they are utterly paralysed. Her posture sags; even years on she hates worrying others about herself.
“But your mother defeated those bad men, so they will not harm her or anyone else ever again,” Ferdinand assures as he rubs their shoulders and smiles down at their sullen faces gazing up at him.
Once again she becomes more at ease. Ferdinand knows her so well. In the past to be known so intimately would have petrified her, but now she finds it a blessing. “That is right,” Edelgard affirms, and she smiles when her children look to her for indisputable confirmation. “Your father, aunts and uncles, and myself worked together to get rid of those bad men.”
The children look up at their father with sparkling eyes that are beseeching him to let them go to her. He looks to her, and she nods. Carefully he lets them go, and immediately they bolt towards her. They slam into her knees and hug her. Leaning forward she returns their embrace, cherishing them beyond human comprehension. She hears Ferdinand walking on over, and then she feels him hugging her. Here is a family that is alive and well. She counts that blessing time and again, now and forever. Oh how she loves them.
Everyone pulls away, yet their arms are still upon her person. “Are you in pain, Mumma?” Eberhard whimpers, watching her hair with the terror of knowing something is waiting in the shadows for its prey to come closer.
“Not anymore,” she answers. He brightens with an intensity that only his father can match.
“Is it wrong that I think your hair is pretty?” Clara asks with the guiltiest look on her face.
There was a time when she despised how sickly her hair made her, and then grew to despise people thinking it beautiful when it is a visible and shocking reminder of what she has been through. Now she shakes her head and smiles. “Not at all.”
“I too find it beautiful,” Ferdinand voices with the sort of syrupy love whose sweetness makes one tingle in delight. If one were to describe someone appearing enamoured then Ferdinand is the text book definition of it.
Once everyone gives her some space she looks to her children, a dopey yet loving pearly grin adorning her features. Mischief tends to never be synonymous with Edelgard, but with family—be that the Black Eagles, and her children and husband—she shows that she is capable, with how her eyes twinkle.
“Since you’re so interested in my past: would you like to hear how ridiculous your father continues to be?”
Ferdinand gawks and places a hand upon his chest, the betrayal so sincere that she cannot help but snort and smirk up at him. “I have matured quite a lot!”
But their children ignore his insistence to plea ‘please, please, please!’ as they huddle on closer to her knees and look up with wide eyes. She shoots her husband a sympathetic look that is clearly fazing his ‘hard stance on being horrified by her comment’, with how his brows quiver ever-so-slightly and how he tries to avoid her gaze.
“If it makes you feel better, dear, you can tell them something silly about me,” she promises softly with a smile that screams sincerity.
“I cannot think of anything!” Ferdinand laments, half-seriously and half-playfully as he comes to sit beside her.
“Mumma can be silly!” Clara insists as she turns to him. An oh-so dramatic gasp escapes her and she whips around to look back at her mother. “Can I tell silly stories about you?”
“Yes, please!” Eberhard encourages with a few claps.
She looks to each of them like a flower that seeks the sun no matter where it goes. The softness in her gaze is something that no writer can ever do justice. Once upon a time Edelgard thought she would never have genuine friends or a loving family. Even after declaring war she found a group of friends that are for life. Now she has a wonderful husband, one whom, had someone told her it would be Ferdinand of all people, she would have barked as ludicrous and merely for political gain. Together they have two amazing children to form this beautiful family. The future too looks bright for them all; whatever her children wish to pursue they can, and she and Ferdinand will support them.
“Go ahead, Clara.”
A/N: I'd love to hear your thoughts (be that a multi paragraph analysis, a keyboard smash, or even if it is an emoji) and if possible some feedback!