A Royal Abduction

[crimsonflower]

[Kill me, she had begged Byleth, it is the only way to stop the fighting. You know this. And, as the professor raised their sword, suddenly Edelgard's world went dark. But she could have sworn she heard Claude's voice before her last moments.

Which, in fact, were not her last moments. With great effort and some of Claude's "poison" concoctions he was able to keep her in a stable but unconscious state that resembled death. All of Fodlan assumed her dead, and then the Golden Deer faced Nemesis himself. Only after that is complete does Claude shove the responsibility of Fodlan onto Byleth's lap and take off for Almyra.

Though when he goes... he takes precious cargo with him. Edelgard's limp body. Slightly cold but well cared for. Kept clean and nourished by healers, and in a suspended state. It is only when she is removed from Fodlan that she is allowed to wake. Thanks to some insight from Lysithea and Claude's bright mind it's no longer a mystery what had provoked Edelgard to lash out against the Church. Or even why she couldn't progress without the help of the Agarthans.

For the first time in about a month her eyes open. Light lashes fluttering as her hands rise to rub the sleep from them.]

Is this... the afterlife, I wonder?

Comments

[outsideer]

[ Hey, he knows. This? Not his brightest idea.

When he'd told Teach that, notwithstanding the far flung hope that they might yet walk the same path, he would himself kill Edelgard if she threatened the lives of his allies, he'd meant it. Without hesitation. By her refusal to surrender, the battle would need continue, and so the threat, so her death. Having heard her last to Teach, he understood the wisdom of it. Fodlan could not move forward, past this war, while the Emperor lived.

While the Emperor lived.

There, the seed taking root.

Dedue might never forgive him, and so Dimitri might yet haunt him, and he put himself at considerable risk with this scheme, given the greater information he'd needed to share to pull it off. Given the difficulty of traveling discreetly with such cargo. Foolish, every step of it, impractical and outright stupid.

But -- funny, that the ashen demon might have made him soft. That having allies with whom he shared his dream, his intentions for Fodlan, able to believe enough in them, had both necessitated the bloodshed and tired him all the more of it. And seeing Edelgard bowed and broken, watching Teach lift their sword, he'd wondered if he would be able to deal the last blow himself. Understood, abruptly, the hesitation in his heart if not his hand, and grasped for another way.

It hadn't been easy. But it had been possible, and they actually make it right to the capital. There he allows her to wake, lest they made a scene on the way.

He's a little nervous, given how long she's been out, as most humans couldn't pull a Teach and sleep away five years without issue. But she looks -- OK? Groggy, maybe. Relief hits like a battleaxe and he finds himself glad of his seat just then, leaning back against the chair as a smile begins to unfold.

The hard part's over, and the hard part's just begun. Nothing's ever really come easy, but Claude understands that as of late, he's done it to himself. ]

I wonder if I should be flattered or offended. I'm gonna take flattered. Good morning, Edelgard.

[crimsonflower]

[The sound of Claude shifting in his seat catches her attention. The sound of his voice spooks her. Edelgard starts away from him. A futile retreat, but she recoils all the same.]

—You did not kill me?

[Why not?]

[outsideer]

What a question!

[ And what a response, when what she asks is obvious. When even before the terrible battle, she had treated her death as foregone conclusion, as inevitability, if he prevailed.

The beautiful curse from a beautiful woman.

Claude stalls, though he doesn't need the time. He'd had plenty of time in "their" travels to imagine this, to plan out each of her probable reactions and what he might offer in return. He doesn't need the time, but he lets her have it, and have the space of her reflexive retreat. His expression keeps unchanged through it — that, too, he had expected.

And this: she might be thirsty, hungry. He uses the time to pour two glasses of water, though capable of speaking and pouring. Once poured, he moves one closer to her, taking up the other to drink from, more out of demonstration than his own need. ]

I guess... yeah, I guess Lorenz was right when he said my manners were atrocious. Maybe it's rude to give back a gift, but I didn't want yours.

[ So he's giving it back, if by first taking. ]

I mean, in my defense? A head's a pretty creepy gift.

[ ;) ]

[crimsonflower]

[She accepts the glass in her hands, but does not drink from it just yet.]

But what of your promise? What becomes of Fodlan with you gone? How can babysitting me, making sure no one knows of my continued existence, be preferable to moving on with your life?

[Why choose me? It breaks her heart. Mostly because when has anyone ever chosen her for good? The only time someone has ever chosen her was as a tool. To have someone choose her as a person...

It touches her shriveled heart, scorched in flames, and she's unsure how to handle it.]

[outsideer]

[ She's sharp, to have understood so swiftly that they are no longer in Fodlan. There was evidence enough, and logic enough, but to grasp at it so soon after waking is a good sign. No signs yet of any deleterious effects from the long sleep.

Less of a positive sign: how she phrases her "continued existence." There's a note in it, a position in which she casts herself and the tone of it, that resonates. Too deeply, too buried for him to easily identify it.

Nothing surprising yet. Except for that strange familiarity. ]

I haven't broken my promise. Teach will lead Fodlan into change, lulling with the mantle of the Church. And...

[ Taking another sip, holding the water a moment in his mouth before swallowing. ]

I am moving on with my life. This, here, is the next stage of my dream. It so happens that this stage has the benefit of anonymity — few here know or care about the going-ons within Fodlan. Those with knowledge of any specificity, know only of the Alliance and their shared border. And they are as little inclined to let news reach Fodlan of their own affairs, as Fodlan is to hear it. By the time I've opened the borders...

[ Claude shrugs, confidence in the set of his smile. ]

Well, we'll come to that. Or you will. I don't really plan on baby-sitting you, Edelgard. I wanted to give you a real choice, one you could make with a new, broader perspective.

[crimsonflower]

...But why?

[She looks up at him now. Her expression turning from accusatory confusion to shaken melancholy. Even her eyes look watery as she locks gazes with him. Why would anyone ever pick her? She even asked Hubert multiple times if he wanted to leave her service. To turn away from the path she was bound to walk. And now he's gone. The only one who ever chose her. She's alone.

Alone, except, for the man before her. Someone who, despite his flighty nature and the strain it puts on his Dream, chose her. Did he make the wrong choice? When she becomes a burden will he run from her just like he has run from Fodlan? From his mentor?

Edelgard's grip tightens around the glass in her hand, but her true strength is holding back enough not to crush it like Dimitri would.]

[outsideer]

[ Plenty of time to imagine, to plan. His agile mind easily conjuring every expression, every word, and preparing. So he ought to sit here unflappable, easy in that confidence.

But it's different, of course it is, confronted with her eyes. A childhood spent plotting for survival, a short lifetime of scheming so to anticipate all and everything, anything, from others, but people do surprise. He's been blindsided before.

He's blindsided now, just like that, just that fast. That mind surmised she might be emotional, who wouldn't be, but never having seen it in Edelgard, even that night beneath the stars, she'd remained composed, her shield unwavering. It was Claude who'd wrestled with the inevitability, the impossibility. Claude, who thought himself so removed, who asked her again, if she wouldn't consider another option. His dream.

The dream he's now forced upon her.

And her eyes are wet. The ground drops out beneath his certainty, the solidity of that footing, his footing, as he now fights the urge to look away. Away from this glimpse of feeling, away from the depths of greater despondency. Wanting to look away and knowing he mustn't. Not now.

He'd meant to answer, when asked why, that he'd already said, easy as that and easy as this: I didn't want your gift.

Staring back, his smile quavers, beginning to align with the clouds now in his eyes. ]

Why did I save your life, after taking everything else from you?

[ Her city, her country, her war, those who fought for her. Hubert. Hubert, whose letter made him all the more grateful that he'd interceded on her behalf, but threatened to engulf him in that storm which he'd briefly, but irreversibly, succumbed to with that intercession. ]

And why me, right? Because --

[ Looking into the shimmer, not yet spill of her eyes, he surprises himself. It's an inconvenient surprise.

His voice cracks. ]

Because I didn't want to kill you, Edelgard.

[ Again, stupid. Each commanding their armies against the other, war, each and every other death that must ultimately be piled at his feet. He catches a flare of reactive anger as it surges up his throat, grinds it between his teeth, quick and hard. If she'd told them about those who slither, they could have fought together, they --

But Claude cannot begrudge her reticence, not as he had Rhea's. He'd been about as forthcoming.

He, too, grips the glass too tightly. but having no crest-magnified strength, is in no danger of shattering it ]

Wasn't everything else enough? In that moment, it was for me.

[ A moment he couldn't take back. He hasn't wanted to, hasn't regretted it, but having yielded to unusual emotion in that moment, he could not look back from it. No more than he can look away from her now. ]

[crimsonflower]

I...

[Her voice wavers. Edelgard finally has to set aside the glass of water less she crush it. Instead her scarred hands, marred and purpled from her past, bring to anxiously wring the fabric of her blanket instead.]

I hope you know the position you put yourself in, Claude. Are you fully aware of it? Could you have been at the time? Do you even know now? At this moment, you... You're all I have.

[Because everything? Everyone else? Dead. Gone. Away from or hates her. Cut from the country she tried to save. Guilt clawing at her for surviving. Not only surviving her siblings, but her empire too. They died for her, and curse Claude for not letting her die with them.]

[outsideer]

[ Claude doesn't look away, doesn't follow the movement of the glass, doesn't find himself distracted by the scarring, the wretched tale it suggests. He's had time enough for that, before. After he denied her death, before now. ]

I do know now.

[ Spoken quiet, spoken firm. ]

I won't lie to you. In the moment, I didn't.

[ In the moment, that moment, when Claude broke abruptly against the mold his each and every year, each and every day had shaped him into. Every lesson, every wisdom, every shred of both common sense and deviation. There had been nothing intelligent, nothing crafty and crafted in his decision then. Again: would that they could walk the same path, but if her life put his allies at risk, he would not hesitate. He'd believed it until he hesitated.

But then, in that moment, all else had fallen. Only Edelgard remained, low and bleeding. Ready to die. Yearning, in what she believed her last, to have walked with Teach. Like that, she posed no immediate threat, none he could not handle and easily keep his people safe.

So he'd forced her to walk his path. With him. ]

I didn't at the time. But, give me a little credit, won't you? By the time we faked your execution, I knew.

[ And now she knows that. ]

I knew what I'd done to you and what I was doing to us. I knew you'd probably hate me for it and that I'd deserve it. And I knew I wouldn't be able to keep it up forever. I'm selfish enough to want to convince myself you aren't my prisoner, but smart enough to know that's just semantics.

[ Sitting back in the chair, Claude finally looks away, to the glass in his hands. He takes a sip, holds the water in his mouth, then slowly swallows. ]

But you're alive. You're here. You've suffered plenty. Would you walk with me? At least for a little while.

[crimsonflower]

Seat yourself on the edge of this bed with your back facing me. Then you shall have your answer.

[The muscles in her throat clench. Her hands grip the fabric of the blanket that had been covering her with such strength that the thread cries a little under her stress-pulling. Edelgard's lip is pressed into a thin line as she refuses to let it quiver, and her eyes... they shine with the excess of liquid that threatens to become tears.]

[outsideer]

[ Not to belabor the point, that in his travels, he'd conjured every expression, every word, and prepared for each contingency. Anticipated her emotion but in practice, been unable to steel himself against it. Easier to predict than sorrow, than distress, more obvious: hostility, challenge, attack.

But what Edelgard asks in exchange is a clear threat only to his mind, to the startled jump of his eyes from the glass to the tight clenching of her hands, to the line of her lips and to what wells still in her eyes. She speaks a simple thing, neither request nor command, but terms. If he turns his back to the woman who would have killed him, to the woman he should have killed, if he bares his neck for the grasp of her tenacious hand, then she will respond.

By any metric, her terms are fair. Having first stolen all from her, he last thieved the Emperor herself, leaving her no choice but to rely upon him, whether or not she trusts him (and she can't, couldn't, who would?). No choice but violence, against him or herself, to escape by one means or another. It isn't outside of the realm of possibility. She had been ready to die in her throne room, both expectant and resolute as she gazed up at Teach. If she meant to die having lost, if she still means to die, how tempting his neck might be. A last offering to those who had fallen in their conflict, in her dream that he dashed against the marble. That her eyes yet gleam, wet and brimming, need not be impressive theatrics. Despair has its means of firming the most grim resolve. What else has she got to lose?

Quick as his mind is, it's soon enough obvious that he hesitates. Too much to consider, to work through, to decide swiftly and act as though unsurprised and unaffected. Instead, it's obvious. That her words have struck and paralyzed him, his smile a vestige of habit while his eyes hollow out.

She knows what she asks, though he wonders if she can possibly know the depths of it. But if he cannot do this, there can be nothing kind or redemptive in his theft, a foolish yet well-intended act reduced to base cruelty. Because if he cannot do this, just this, he leaves her no space beside him. The path that had so widened with Teach, with the Golden Deer, narrowed as he followed its twists back to Almyra. If he cannot do this, just this, no other passage would remain for Edelgard.

By now, little remains of his smile, little then none, gone inscrutable as he sets his glass onto the table. He thinks of Teach's expression when he interceded, when they discussed after. Their relief. He looks at Edelgard's expression now and nods. ]

As you wish.

[ Though he doesn't recover much of his smile, he speaks lightly, conversational. As he stands, he shrugs, hands wide in it. ]

I wonder, what should I do if you reject me?

[ Turning, he takes the requested seat at the edge of the bed, his back to her. Tension so taut as to hurt, as to ache in his jaw. Could he be swift enough to slip free, squirm his neck from that scarred vice, if she voiced rejection with her hands? ]

[crimsonflower]

[He'll feel it quite quick. She wraps around him tightly. So firm that it might be difficult to breath. He had imagined her hands around him, squeezing the life from him, and perhaps she does indeed squeeze.

But not his neck. No, her arms loop around his torso and she buries her face into his back. Her whole body hiccups a little as she chokes back sobs. Edelgard dares not breath for fear of the noise she might back when inhaling or exhaling. Hot tears stream down her face an stain little bits of his top. They sting her eyes and wet her cheeks.

She could never cry in front of him. Not to his face, at least not now. But she can hide herself. Cower behind him and be thankful there is no mirror. She can sink her weight into his back - broader than her own - and hold him tight like a life line. Give her some time like this. Her voice is not ready for words. The tone and pitch would falter, and she may even wish yet again she were dead.

But for now there is somewhat selfish relief. The promise of the sun kissing her face. A sweet breeze catching in her long hair. The feel of grass and soil beneath her feet.]

[outsideer]

[ Credit must be given where due. One might think that after her lengthy, imposed slumber, Edelgard might be slow to thaw. To regain full mobility and strength in her limbs. But the magics and concoctions were better than the estimations. Granted, even sitting at the very edge had not left much space between them, but she moves swiftly. He's hardly sat, muscles hardly shifted into new bracing, new tension, when she's on him.

It isn't anything like he imagined. If not for the years of wary habit ground into him, pounded and cut and hit until it became second and first nature, he might think he'd better give up trying to anticipate anything with her, he's clearly not any good at it. She's surprised him again.

The simple, impossible surprise of an embrace. Claude flinches, reflex in that, but understanding it isn't his neck she holds, he does not try to pull away. Instead, his mind staggers, tangling in the roping weeds of the swamp in its confused haste to understand. Her arms gripping snug, her face pressing wet, shaking against him. The fabric of his coat here is much thinner, lighter, quick to dampen with her tears. Tears. What else?

Edelgard, infamous and unyielding, weeps. Quiet, but heavy, strain in the quiet of it, suppression that he remembers more with his body than the meticulous management of his mind (or encouragement of the sucking, drowning waters). Hiccuping like that, swallowing like that, alone. Alone, or reprimanded for showing the dripping misery of his face, or clutching at a beast who allowed it, but couldn't hold him, at best nosed or nuzzled.

Because he'd learned to cry alone, then not to cry, for a numb and muddling moment, he sits dumb and unsure. Where to put his hands, what to speak, how to answer what reaches in his heart and squeezes. Because before he'd learned not to cry, he'd wept from pain, from frustration, from anger, from misery, from everything that festered and hurt and clouded and raged, a grim certainty begins to shape, leaden and heavy in his gut. Shaped and sinking. He's reduced her to this, to fury, to desperation, to despair --

Only, the longer she holds him, the farther her tears stain and wet, the more that certainty cracks. Until he lifts his hand, unlike him in the hesitance in the movement, slow and awkward to curl over her wrist, just below his heart. Chin tilting for shoulder, back toward her, though not far, knowing he wouldn't be able to see even if he craned his neck. ]

...I,

[ clearing the pebbles from his throat, ]

I'm not sorry I didn't kill you. I am sorry if you regret it.

[crimsonflower]

[It feels like an eternity, holding him. Clinging to him like the lifeline he is, because it was his refusal of her wishes that ensured she be alive today. Alive, to bury her face pathetically into his back. To nuzzle there like a child hiding their face in their mother as they hide away from the world that hurt and scared them.

It is some time before Edelgard lets go. That quick burst of energy she had after sleeping for so long has worn her out. After all she hasn't properly eaten or moved in days. Weeks? She's not sure how long he kept her unconscious. Slowly, weakly, those arms lose their hold on him. Falling away they unwrap from his chest even as her weight continues to lean on his back. Edelgard's small hands now rest limply on his lap.]

I... will give walking with you a chance.

i need to do better than every 3-4 months. . .

[outsideer]

[ Claude doesn't speak again. He sits, hand staying, thumb once twitching into an inadvertent stroke along her inner wrist. It's striking how fragile she feels, though he knows that those dainty seeming bones and soft feeling wrist belies incredible, crushing strength. His other hand keeps at his side, curling once with shaky energy, skittish excess he attempts to flatten in that brief grip.

He remains awkward, remains unlike himself, but he doesn't know how to hold her like this, thinks perhaps he's not meant to, that it's enough to give this much of himself, this much she would take. And it isn't as though he's never seen a child hide behind their mother, but the only and only time he'd tried as much, acting on human instinct, it had ended rather poorly with repercussions for weeks.

But the quick, heavy thudding of his heart begins to calm, to steady, finding comfort in growing accustomed to her proximity. When her arms finally loosen and sink, he does not move for immediate space, does not leap free.

And once she speaks, his hands find new, lively energy, skipping to clasp over the backs of her hands and squeeze. Claude can pick up his smile again, brush off the dust and adjust its angle, can regain his footing with the confidence that they may yet step forward.

Together.

Quite a notion, even now. ]

Thank you.

[ More a murmur, but his voice picks up, too, as a laugh thrusts a spark of light through it. ]

I should warn you, Edelgard, my path involves plenty of food. You might get fat.

[ He leans, not enough to break from her, as the glass he'd poured for her is near enough to grab without needing to lean far. He does grab it, knocks it lightly against her knuckles. Which, yes, might be a little weird, given their respective positions. ]

Won't you start with water?

[ Claude knows well how long it's been since she supped. And he'd felt the drain in her arms. ]