perhaps once upon a time you wore a crown. perhaps once upon a time you didn’t. it hardly matters anymore. your head is no longer one to bear that weight; instead your sword sits heavy, hilt in fist. once people bowed to you, all reverence, and now you bend the knee to edelgard. it’s not servitude, though; you’re far too proud a beast to be chained down. if you wear a collar now, it’s your choice. though you don’t. you know you don’t. you’d feel it. 

this feeling of mutual devotion, the promises the two of you have made to each other without saying a word - these are the things that weigh the most on you. it’s not a bad weight. in fact, it’s good. you know how it feels to have nothing on you. floating, lost, empty - it’s by learning to tie yourself down that you’ve learned the most about the world around you, and you have no one to thank for this more than edelgard. really, you owe her so much. more than you could possibly say. 

 they have wars to fight, behind closed doors, but they’ll do it together. they will. there’s too much at stake for them to loose this battle. and you’ve lost so much to these enemies - both of you.

 but between running the empire, and fighting these private political skirmishes, the public appearances, there’s moments like these: soft and emotional and charged with words that neither of you entirely know how to say, nor do you need to. your experiences - all that the two of you have been through together, your connection, has given you an understanding of each other.

 the golden headdress slips onto your head like it was made for you, but you know better. it was made for edelgard, custom made, and so bits stick into your forehead, and your hair is slightly too thick for it, really. it’s slightly lopsided, but that’s not the point, really.

WHATS MY REWARD FOR BEING RIGHT HUH

we just want minecraft freedom

battle is rarely climactic.

there is no picturesque moment to the GORE that is spilled in the name of this, that, or the other. whatever call there is for war, for death, for bloodshed : there is no true moment of GLORY, no seconds where the sun has just begun to rise and all is quiet but for the final moments. it all simply ends. peters off. a gradual sort of thing, as the soldiers and the innocent and all those caught in the CROSS FIRE realize, belated and stilted and stuttering : that there is no more cause for battle.

if this were something out of a FAIRY TALE that so many of his peers so enjoy indulging themselves in, it would not be he facing her. it would be THE BOAR or THE MERCENARY or anyone but him / but this is a shred of reality / and the clashing of swords and the firing of arrows rage on all around them ( an impenetrable wall screaming and screaming and screaming ) / and he cuts a soldier down : and sees her.

he had wondered, when they were young, about her stature. her slightness. her height ( or lack thereof ) and the slope of her shoulders and the curve of her face : all so very delicate seeming. she is much the same ———— a lie / for as much as she had not grown in HEIGHT there is a difference to her face and she has lost the softness that once dwelled in her cheeks / and her eyes have hardened / and she has hardened and set herself aflame ———— but he knows well : not to underestimate her. he had learned, back then, through watching her and watching her and NOT UNDERSTANDING HER but seeing the way which she wielded her axe and RULED OVER THE BATTLEFIELD and she is : the queen of rage.

between one moment and another the distance between them is closed and his sword is lowering and he is THE EXECUTIONER passing judgment and she twists / heaves her axe / there is the SCREECHING CLANG of metal upon metal and he bares his teeth at her : and she stares at him with wild eyes and she is not the girl he once knew. he is not the boy she once knew / in the periphery, always.

EDELGARD IS POWERFUL / but so is felix / and there is a ferocity in the swing of their arms and the twist of their bodies and his blood is pumping. his blood is rushing. there is a fury inside of him that is matched ONLY BY HER and the instinct for violence rears its ugly head and one of them will fall. one of them will die. it’s a battle to the death and they both know it / he can see it in the set of her jaw / reflected in the harshness of his blows. a never ending and macabre dance.

an arrow soars just past his head and she dodges and he ————

there is a CRASH and their weapons fall and they fall and there is a scrabble. a scramble. there is a blade sheathed in his sleeve and he unleashes it and lunges and it meets resistance / and then sinks : like drowning in the sea. he arcs his arm and ————

to say that blood blossoms is sickeningly poetic yet he watches as it bursts from her body and splatters on the soft earth / joining whomever else has FALLEN in this seemingly endless battle / and it pours from her. a deep wound. a wound that will not kill. sweat drips down his face as she falls and he stares. transfixed. that there is still a DEFIANCE ABOUT HER is only to be expected from the QUEEN OF FOOLS and she lies there. staring at him. daring him.

❝ so it does, ❞ a shred of an offering. an acknowledgment of her role in his life. of her role in his.

he remembers her, young and dark haired / young and white haired / ancient and crumbling. he remembers her as he kneels beside her / over her / and he lifts his blade and when he lowers it : he sinks it into her heart.

her gaze pierces him and he HOLDS IT as her heart gives its last feeble beats / as her defiance fades / as she falls to the ground : so utterly mortal. so human.

his heart beats a fluttering and too fast pace in his chest and he stares at her for a mere moment / the way that her eyes gaze at the sky in a glassy and DEAD GAZE / before he picks up his sword and / steps over her grave.

the dead are dead. the living are still here.

( and, see : if this were a book and if battle were climactic here and now is where a HUSH would fall over the scene. where all would gaze upon the deceased woman who is no longer a girl nor queen and would pity her / grieve her / mock her. here is where all battle would cease and this, now, would be the CLIMAX of the scene. yet the battle rages / and he slides his blade neatly into the plated armor of an enemy / and people die, still.

long may the queen reign over her city of death. )