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"Ah, Edelgard, you're here. Come in, come in."
Edelgard feels her shoulders relax as Linhardt guides her through the door into his lab and shuts it behind her. It's always nice to hear someone refer to her as Edelgard and not Your Majesty; it reminds her that today, she's among friends. She never particularly cared for her title when it was uttered with respect - but how much worse it is, these last few months, when she can hear the hollowness behind it, the barely-concealed scorn.
Linhardt and Lysithea, at least, have never judged her. Not for this, anyway.
"There you are!" Lysithea says from across the room, immediately moving forward. "And there he is! Bright-eyed and ready, as always. May I hold him?"
And there goes Edelgard's relief, as she's reminded why she's here. She looks down at the baby in her arms, wrapped in dark blue cloths and staring up at her with eyes that match. Carrying him has become so second nature to her that sometimes she forgets he's the focus of everyone else's attention. Nevertheless, her arms are grateful for the rest as she passes the baby over to Lysithea.
"We're going to do a little experiment today," Lysithea tells him, bouncing him slightly. It does amuse Edelgard, a little, that Lysithea has taken such an interest in her son. She almost expected the younger girl to be prickly, to hate the idea of cooing over a child the way people coddled her. But it seems even Lysithea isn't immune to the child's charms. He already seems to have his father's charisma. A familiar pain washes over Edelgard at the thought.
It was only one night. And she was careful. Sudden as the decision was, she already had the contraceptive herbs ready. She had secretly procured them in Enbarr just in case after fleeing the church, hoping the professor felt the same but not daring to press the matter. It wasn't as if they had ample free time, what with the war looming on the horizon, and it felt selfish to ask.
Of course, eventually the topic came up anyway. It was the elation of realizing their shared passions, her joy at his decision to stay with her, the stress, the apprehension, the fear that the next battle could be their last. It was supposed to be the start - of their new relationship, their new Fódlan.
And then Byleth went missing in the battle, and Edelgard realized a month later that the sickness she was feeling was not just heartache, and then things fell apart.
All her careful planning, dashed by one bad decision, one night of bad luck. Or was the goddess already punishing her for her sins? She got only two more skirmishes in before the healers forbade her from standing on the front lines. Training became tiresome so quickly that she didn't even argue when they took that from her, too. No fighting, fewer public appearances - it was going to be impossible to keep it secret much longer.
She did consider her options. She didn't have to go through with it... but such a procedure could be dangerous, and deep down, part of her was hesitant to give up this last reminder of Byleth. Besides, the faithful didn't look kindly on such things, and if word got out she may lose more of what precious allies she had left.
Not that the alternative came without censure. Already under fire for her brash actions against the church, her enemies added ridicule and scorn for her personal life to their arsenal. Not yet twenty years old, unwed, unable to produce the father of the child... If it were anyone else in her position, Edelgard knows she would have reacted exactly the same way. For someone who claimed to have such grand ambitions to let them be derailed by a base desire for physical pleasure and emotional fulfillment... It was irresponsible. Shameful. Completely unlike her.
Telling Hubert was the worst part. He clearly suspected before she met with Manuela to confirm it, but Edelgard could barely look him in the eye when she confessed. At the edge of her vision she saw his eyes narrow, the gears in his mind speeding up. Wondering how to kill whoever did this to her. Realizing why that was no longer possible. Frantically adjusting their next several moves to keep them on course without endangering her - or her child.
And still, he was gentle. He did not shame her for making the exact mistake he warned her against so many times at the academy. He did not blame her. He did not even speak ill of the professor. He shielded her from the worst of the public scorn and dutifully stepped up to take care of her.
They withdrew from Garreg Mach not long after that and relocated back to Enbarr. Leaving enough troops at the monastery to prevent it from being retaken left them short-handed on the other fronts, but they had the superior numbers to begin with. Hubert instructed her to leave the reallocations to him, and by that time Edelgard was miserable enough to agree.
The war continued, in the background. It burned at Edelgard to hear about the state of the army only through reports, to give orders from the safety of her own palace while her soldiers died for her. It was never her plan to lead from the back. But her condition necessitated it, for a long year of pregnancy and then recovery. It's only recently that Edelgard has been cleared to train again, and even now her future on the battlefield is uncertain. She would be back in a heartbeat if she could, but she knows it will never be the same. The decision will be met with scorn by some and fear by others, and privately Edelgard is afraid to wonder if she'll even fight the same, knowing what she now stands to lose - who stands to lose her.
Before that, though, there's something she has to know. Linhardt flicks a switch on a small machine standing apart from the other furniture, and the ensuing soft hum brings Edelgard back to the present.
"As you well know," he says, "the contributions you and the professor made to our research have improved the crest detection system. It shouldn't have any trouble recognizing even the rarest of crests."
Lysithea steps forward with the baby. "Hold still now. This won't hurt a bit."
Edelgard inhales deeply and closes her eyes before anything can appear above the machine, but it's as if the lines burn right through her eyelids, etching themselves into her vision anyway. After a moment, Linhardt breathes, "Incredible," and her suspicions are confirmed.
She opens her eyes and the results on the crest machine are clear as day, zoomed out to contain the whole large insignia.
"How about that, little one?" Linhardt says jovially as he switches off the machine. "You belong to a very exclusive club. Why, even two years ago, it was unheard of for anyone to bear the Crest of Flames."
"I guess Professor Byleth really is the father," Lysithea says, pulling the baby back to her chest. "Not that I ever doubted you, of course. But this is good evidence to prove the naysayers wrong."
Linhardt taps his fingers against his chin. "Not quite that good, I'm afraid. Since Edelgard has the Crest of Flames herself, it's entirely possible for it to manifest in her children regardless of who the father is." Lysithea opens her mouth, and he adds quickly, "I don't see why it would matter how she obtained it; if it's in her blood, it can be passed down."
"Sure, but what are the chances?" Lysithea rocks the baby slightly before carrying him back to Edelgard. "Most children don't bear crests in the first place. A firstborn child with a rare crest is far more likely to come from parents who both had that crest."
"That's true, but this particular crest has never been studied. For all we know, maybe it's so powerful it has a one hundred percent chance of inheritance."
Edelgard's stomach turns even as she reaches out for her son. Lysithea gently places him in her arms and gives Linhardt a skeptical look.
"That would mean Jeralt had it too, or the professor's mother, unless you're implying that the professor got his the same way Edelgard did."
"We can't rule out-"
"That's enough conjecture," Edelgard cuts in. Her voice somehow sounds hoarse, as if it's been disused for more than just the last couple minutes. "We've learned what we came here for. He has the crest."
When Linhardt said it, it sounded like a revelation. In Edelgard's voice, it comes out more like a death sentence. She gazes down at the baby, his dark blue eyes refusing to settle on one thing as he starts to fidget in her arms. He's been rather quiet for a baby - not nearly the same eerie stillness Byleth displayed at that age, according to Jeralt's diary, which Edelgard read front to back, shame-faced but desperate for any information that may help her find Byleth. No, this baby definitely falls within the realm of normal, but something about his rare sounds reminds her so much of Byleth, in a way that makes her heart ache.
It doesn't matter to her whether or not people believe Byleth is the father. They'll see in time; Edelgard can already see Byleth in his eyes and herself in his nose and the faint wisps of pale brown hair on his head. The crest shared among the three of them will lend credence to the idea, a juicy new bit of gossip as people debate the emperor's personal life around their own kitchen tables, but it's so much more than that. It's a symbol. It's something Edelgard never wanted, but wields as a weapon in hopes of using it to destroy everything it stands for; it's the divine power that made the professor unstoppable, until he wasn't. It's the strength that will save the world. It's her shackles.
And if it burns through their blood so strongly they can't help but pass it down to their children, like Linhardt said - no, that can't possibly be true. Edelgard has another crest, a natural one (if such a thing can be said of any crest). She can't be sure where Byleth obtained his own crest from, since it's not likely to have come from Jeralt, but after everything that happened at the monastery, she can't believe it came from the same place hers did. Thales regarded Byleth as a wildcard at best, and a dangerous enemy at worst. He and his ilk had no grasp on the professor.
No, Byleth's crest seems more like what crests were always supposed to be: a gift from the goddess. Divine power granted from on high. Not like hers - a terrible and bloody thing thrust upon her from below.
And now her child has it too, and Edelgard doesn't like the thought of him experiencing either world. In her new Fódlan, the authority of crests will mean nothing, and manifesting one will be little more than a parlor trick, but this is a crest that cannot be ignored. Not when her son is one of only three (she will not consider it two) people alive in the world who have it.
Her fear must show plainly on her face, because when Lysithea and Linhardt look at her they immediately stop their debate. Lysithea glances at Linhardt and then ventures, "You know, Hanneman is already looking into the possibility of removing crests. If he can figure out how to do it for us, maybe it'll be gone before he's old enough for it to matter."
"You don't have to tell anyone the truth," Linhardt puts in. "I know it's standard practice for nobles to have their newborns tested for crests, but I don't think anyone will cry foul if you of all people buck that tradition. Or claim to, at least," he adds wryly, looking between the two women. "As we're all aware, it's very possible to hide a crest, even from people who would very much like to know."
"You're the only one that invested in other people's crests," Lysithea shoots back. "You and Hanneman."
Linhardt sighs. "I suppose you're right. The general populace will care only as a matter of principle. Fuel for their gossip, nothing more."
"As it should be," Edelgard says, a little more conviction returning to her voice. "The particulars of a stranger's bloodline shouldn't matter, nor should it color a person's opinion of another. It really is not anyone else's business."
"I agree!" Lysithea chimes. "Don't worry, Edelgard, we're not going to tell anyone. What you do with this information is entirely up to you. Pretend this never happened, for all I care."
Edelgard swallows past the thick feeling in her throat. "Thank you. Both of you. I will keep everything you've said in mind. For now, I... should return to my duties."
The child in her arms burbles, reminding her once again of his steady presence. She lifts him up higher, and Lysithea gives him a little wave.
"Bye now, little one," she says. "Make sure your mother gets some rest today."
Linhardt stifles a yawn as he turns back to his desk. "That's a big job for such little shoulders. Best leave that to Uncle Hubert."
Fortunately Edelgard is already opening the door, so neither of them can see her amusement. Hubert has never taken to the nickname, nor does he share Lysithea's enthusiasm for babysitting. Nevertheless, he remains her most steadfast companion, and never shrinks away from helping her - or at least from calling a maid to help her. He'll certainly be at her side later today, trying to see to all her work as emperor, and the baby's well-being, and Edelgard's own well-being all at once.
She looks down at the small face in the crook of her arm, and the child clumsily tries to reach up a hand, opening his mouth soundlessly.
"Yes, my dear," Edelgard says, catching his tiny fingers in her own. "By the time you're old enough to understand what this means, it won't mean anything. You, your father, and I... we'll be just like anyone else."
The baby's blue eyes remain blank, fixed on Edelgard's face, but she swears he smiles - that same slight twitch of the lips as his father - and Edelgard smiles too.