Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dorothea is ninety-nine percent sure this estate is haunted.

That’s the easiest explanation, anyway. Perhaps it’s natural, when staying in a place designed to accommodate at least five times the number of current inhabitants, for her conversation-starved mind to invent apparitions that roam its empty rooms and darkened hallways. Perhaps she’s exhausted, up far too late into the wee hours of the night, hunched over a dense text of arcane formulas that demand the full extent of her magical understanding.

She isn’t built for this—not the isolation, not the grueling study, not the dreadful uncertainty that’s punctuated every day since she arrived here. Sometimes, though, she thinks she might deserve it.

You betrayed her, after all. You left her. This is your chance to make things right again. No ghost could plague Dorothea worse than her own harsh judgments of herself, the persistent reminders of what she had to do to survive this wretched war. She still has regular nightmares about her near death at Magdred, about the unspeakable tragedy that struck at Arianrhod, about the jarring aftermath of the battle at Garreg Mach. Dorothea closes her tired eyes and envisions Edelgard brought to her knees, violet gaze blank and wrong; Dimitri’s usual terrifying resolve broken into something between confusion and pity.

Dorothea isn’t sure what possessed the King of Faerghus to leave the Emperor of Adrestia alone that day, what kept him from seeing his vengeance all the way through. All she knew was that she couldn’t make the same mistake twice. She couldn’t leave Edelgard again.

Deserting the Kingdom Army had been far too easy. It helped that Monica had been tailing them since the battle in the west, determined to recover Edelgard at any cost. Dorothea offered her assistance without question—anything to get away, to try and make sense of the mess Adrestia was reduced to. Her desperation led her here: to a secluded country manor owned by House Ochs, hosting a skeleton crew of the family’s most trusted guards and staff.

Two months have passed since her arrival. The location remains secure, as far as Dorothea is aware, though further news of political fallout has yet to reach her ears. Such broad outcomes are of little interest to her, anyway; all Dorothea cares about right now is seeing Edelgard recovered, her mind restored to its former brilliance. No matter how long it takes—and progress is, to her ever-growing dismay, painfully slow.

Her head aches, squinting at the handwritten pages in the flickering firelight. Hubert’s neat script, an old journal recovered from his room in the imperial palace sometime after he’d gone missing. He’s the dark magic expert, not her; she’s ill-equipped to try and decipher his cryptic codes and convoluted theories. But Hubert von Vestra isn’t here, and with each passing day it becomes more doubtful that he’s even alive. Monica is away following yet another dubious lead regarding his whereabouts; Constance von Nuvelle is off goddess-knows-where searching for obscure remedies, or perhaps looking for another dark mage to shed light on their situation.

All Dorothea can do is sequester herself in this near-empty house, filling her head with whatever sliver of knowledge might bring her even a tiny step closer to the Edelgard she knew before everything fell to pieces.

Despair tightens her chest, a single tear dripping onto the parchment. She leans back in her chair, sliding the materials away, resigning herself to another fruitless night of—

“Dorothea?”

She almost mistakes the voice in the doorway for a dream, or perhaps one of those ghosts she keeps musing about. It wouldn’t be unheard of, considering how many times that same cool tone has called to her in her sleep. But as tired as she is, Dorothea can at least recognize what’s real and what isn’t.

Wood slides against wood as she pushes away from the desk, rising to her feet and pivoting around. The figure in the doorway is a fragile silhouette in the dim light, a pale white nightgown with matching long hair that falls in loose waves. “Edie?” Dorothea creaks, crossing the room swiftly. “What’s the matter?” Her tone is lilting and sweet, like one might use with a child, a habit she’s conflicted about forming.

Edelgard tilts her face up to look at her, eyelids drooping with drowsiness. Dorothea hovers a hand over her shoulder, hesitant as she tries to discern whether Edelgard is sleepwalking—it wouldn’t be the first time. “It’s late,” Edelgard murmurs, her voice flat and her words halting. Still, it’s an improvement compared to when they’d found her, when she could barely get through a sentence without stuttering. “You should be asleep.”

“I could say the same of you,” Dorothea says with a hint of amusement. She rests her palm on Edelgard’s upper back, directing both of them into the hall. “How about this: I’ll go to bed if you let me escort you back to your room, first.”

“Alright,” Edelgard agrees, letting Dorothea lead the way. Another sign of progress: Edelgard walks without stumbling or needing to latch onto Dorothea’s arm.

“What woke you up?” Dorothea asks.

“Dream,” Edelgard slurs, as though it takes great effort to speak. “Dreaming,” she manages.

“Not a nightmare, I hope.”

“No. Can’t… I can’t remember it.” Edelgard’s gait slows, and Dorothea matches it, trying to remain calm. “There are holes,” Edelgard continues. “Next thing I knew, I was standing outside the study…”

Maybe she was sleepwalking, then. Her condition is curious, difficult to understand—but Dorothea’s recent dark magic practice has helped her gain some insight. There’s nothing concrete, but she’s begun to notice details she couldn’t before—like the fact that she can sense a malignant energy wafting off Edelgard like thick smoke, clouding her mind and leaving her as nothing more than a hollowed-out shell of who she once was. Those clouds seem to be shifting now. Dorothea hums in thought, trying her best to observe Edelgard’s expression and movements in the dark.

“Dorothea,” Edelgard says, with a strange tinge of clarity. “I’m—How much have I missed, this time?”

Dorothea stops in her tracks. “Edie, are you…” She raises a hand and summons a bud of flame to her fingertips, hovering it close to Edelgard’s face. The other woman doesn’t flinch, looking up at her with some semblance of understanding. Dorothea’s stomach churns at the thought that this is her Edie, or something close to it, the most lucid she’s ever seen her. Her gaze shifts down the long stretch of hallway, one hand resting on Edelgard’s shoulder. “We’re almost to your room. Do you want to talk more there?”

“Yes. That sounds good,” Edelgard murmurs.

With every subsequent step Dorothea’s skin burns more intensely, disbelief boiling her brain. She tries to rehearse everything she’s longed to say, tries to anticipate what Edelgard will confront her with. So many questions, so many reasons for her to refuse Dorothea’s help and send her packing. They cross the threshold into Edelgard’s chambers; Dorothea waves her hand to ignite the oil lamps, washing the room in warm yellow light.

“Here,” she breathes, motioning Edelgard toward the bed. “I… I don’t know where to start.”

Edelgard hums, scanning the room as though it’s her first time seeing the place—in a sense, it is. Her gaze lingers on a spot behind Dorothea—a water kettle and a porcelain tea set. “Perhaps tea?” she suggests, with a casual tone that belies the gravity of the situation. “If it isn’t too much trouble. I’m sure you must be exhausted at this odd hour.”

“Anything for you, Edie,” Dorothea responds immediately, moving to follow the request. “I couldn’t sleep knowing—knowing you’ve resurfaced.”

“‘Resurfaced…’ That’s one way of looking at it.” Edelgard settles on the edge of the mattress, her expression pensive. “Who knows how long I’ll be able to stay afloat before sinking back down…?” Dorothea frowns in concern, biting her lip when she catches Edelgard watching. “It’s as if there are weights dragging my limbs to the floor,” she explains. “Like every minute I spend as myself is something I have to fight for.”

“Edie…” Dorothea turns around, lighting the coil to start boiling water.

When she pivots back, Edelgard is smoothing her palm over the quilt on the bed. “You’ve been taking good care of me, it seems.”

Dorothea draws closer, nervous energy flaring. She channels it into pacing the rug, her mouth moving without thought. “Not just me. We have Monnie to thank for securing you here—and the small handful of staff she was able to afford to maintain the place.”

“We’re in Ochs Territory, then?”

“Well… I’m not sure who’s controlling it now,” Dorothea says, trying her best to recall the last report she’d heard. “So much is in flux since you lost control at Arianrhod—and you know political matters have never been my strong suit.” Her vision has been narrowed to these cramped halls of late, each day devoted to ensuring Edelgard is comfortable. “But it’s been a few months since the war was more or less decided at Garreg Mach, and—” She pauses. Edelgard probably doesn’t even know about that. She’s awoken to a world so drastically different from before, in a situation where the odds are stacked against her. “Goddess,” she sighs, “where do I even begin?”

“Relax, Dorothea,” Edelgard urges—and it’s such a comfort to hear that soothing, measured cadence, that clear head that’s always worked so well under the harshest of pressure. “This is actually the second time I’ve… resurfaced, so to speak.”

Dorothea’s feet still on the rug; she pinches her chin between her fingers as she turns to face Edelgard. “What?”

“Yes,” Edelgard confirms, speaking slowly. “The first time was strange. I was in a dark void—Claude and Dimitri were there. That curious mercenary too. They filled me in on a few things.”

“When…”

“It was after a battle north of the monastery, if I recall… The Imperial forces were fleeing Ailell.”

“Ah,” Dorothea breathes, trying to remember the chaos of that chase. Most of her allies had been focused on locating the king, but Dorothea could think of nothing but Edelgard’s whereabouts and safety.

“We don’t need to discuss it right now,” Edelgard says. Her brow furrows, her face tight with worry. “Thinking of how much Adrestia has suffered while I’ve been incapacitated is… no easier to process than the first time I heard it.”

Dorothea swallows and steps forward. “I should tell you that the man posing as your uncle, Lord Arundel—Thales, was it?—is dead, at least. By Dimitri’s hand. I saw it with my own eyes.”

Edelgard hums, her eyes widening ever so slightly—a far more subdued reaction to the death of a longtime enemy than Dorothea would expect. “You stayed with the Kingdom Army that long, then.”

Something twists in Dorothea’s chest. “Not by choice, Edie. I mean—” She holds her tongue, guilt surging through her. What are her words but poor excuses? She could have left at any time—absconded from Arianrhod, run off to find her old friends, returned to the side she believed in when it needed her most. But her fear had held her back. Her old classmates from Faerghus had spared her life and offered her a way forward, and she’d been unable to let go of her sentiment. Fighting the Empire at the Silver Maiden was the closest she’d gotten to returning—but when she watched Edelgard transform and the city go up in flames, her resolve had wavered. The despair had set in.

She chokes back a sob. “I’m so sorry, Edie—”

The kettle whistles before she can say any more, and it’s almost a relief to excuse herself when her voice shakes and it takes every ounce of her willpower to hold back tears. Edelgard remains quiet the whole time, allowing Dorothea to lose herself in the calming task. But her hand still trembles when she pours the tea, crossing the room and handing a cup to Edelgard. She settles down beside her on the bed.

“Don’t apologize for the choice you made, Dorothea,” Edelgard says, blowing away steam with a careful rounding of her lips. “It was probably the safest place you could have been.”

Dorothea frowns. “Safety is what cowards choose.”

Edelgard’s hand lands on her arm, skin warm from holding the teacup. “If you were truly a coward, Dorothea, you never would have been in that battle at Magdred in the first place. You wouldn’t have been at Arianrhod. And you certainly wouldn’t be here, spending countless sleepless nights trying to salvage the broken pieces of a fallen emperor.”

Their eyes meet, a long silence stretching as Dorothea gets lost in a sea of purple punctuated by long, dark lashes. They’re so clear, like the Edelgard Dorothea remembers—the woman who fought back against monsters trying to control her, who spent two years carefully planning a war to make her vision of a better world possible. Dorothea has always believed in that Edelgard. She believes in her now, too, even when any hope left for Adrestia flickers like a candle in a strong wind.

Edelgard turns to face forward, taking a slow sip of her tea. “I know so much has happened for you since then, but… Arianrhod is still fresh for me. Do you remember the words we had for each other, back then?”

Tension grips Dorothea’s shoulders. “Like it was yesterday,” she replies, her voice low.

A gentle smile brightens Edelgard’s face, her fingers sliding down Dorothea’s sleeve and settling atop her thigh. “You refused to make excuses. And I…” The memory echoes in Dorothea’s head as Edelgard’s lips form the words, a phantom of clashing metal and sizzling flames engulfing her. “I told you I’d drag you back to the Empire myself.”

The bold statement stuns her just as much as it did the first time. “You did say that, yes,” Dorothea whispers.

“And here we are,” Edelgard lilts, motioning around the room. Quiet laughter tickles Dorothea’s ears like light rainfall. “I suppose there was much less dragging involved, but…”

“Hm.” Dorothea twists toward Edelgard and leans in close, her hand shaking as it hovers between them. Edelgard takes her wrist and guides it up to cradle her cheek. A fire of fresh confidence ignites in Dorothea’s core. “I would drag you back from hell itself if I had to, Edie.”

Edelgard’s gaze drops, even as her grip tightens on Dorothea’s hand. Her half-full cup quivers in her lap. “Thank you, Dorothea,” she manages, her voice shaky with sudden nerves. “Tea will do for now.” She takes a deep breath, her body swaying with sleepiness. “I’m exhausted, but…”

“You should rest,” Dorothea cuts in. “We both should.”

“I know, but…” Edelgard swallows. “I’m afraid. I don’t know if I’ll come back again when I wake up.” She catches Dorothea’s eyes again, swirling with uncertainty. “What’s more terrifying than not knowing when a moment is your last?”

Dorothea lets her hand fall, intertwining her fingers with Edelgard’s a moment later. “It won’t be, Edie. Not so long as I can help it.” She steadies herself, her mind flooding with a million different things she has to do. “Or Monnie, or Connie, or… Or Hubie and Ferdie, when we manage to find them.”

“It’s strange,” Edelgard says, her expression wistful. “For so much of my life, I always had a plan—even when everything felt impossible. Now I can’t think of where to start.”

“We’ll take it slow,” Dorothea tells her. “One day at a time.”

Edelgard nods, slipping her hand out of Dorothea’s and shifting further onto the bed. As she peels the covers back, her hands pause for a moment to fix Dorothea with an imploring stare. “Dorothea, if you could… would you stay with me tonight? I think it would be easier to fall asleep if you’re here.”

The suggestion takes her aback, but she does her best not to let it show. “Of course, Edie,” she says, turning her voice syrupy and sweet. She flashes a wry smile when she adds, “Would you like me to sing you a lullaby as well?”

She almost laughs when Edelgard’s cheeks turn a familiar shade of red. “Th-that won’t be necessary.”

That does it; a giggle bubbles to Dorothea’s lips, uncontrollable. It’s been so long since they’ve been able to talk like this, and she’s finally letting herself enjoy it. “You know, I have been singing to you since we got here,” she admits. “You seemed to like it. Maybe it helps.”

Even as she says it, Dorothea can’t help considering the foolishness of it all. How bold of her to think that a simple song could be the key to saving Edelgard—to undoing all the foul things that have been done to her. But Dorothea is in a daring mood after tonight, and what’s more daring and revolutionary than a spark of hope in the most unlikely place?

Edelgard’s brow quirks upward, as though she’s enacting her own silent rebellion. “Alright,” she says, climbing under the covers. “One song.”