#surgery -

The five years of war wear thin on Those Who Slither’s patience, and by the time Edelgard moves to capture Deirdru, they are planning something. Edelgard doesn’t know what, but the air feels heavier when she moves, and she’s certain it’s not just nerves. 

Capturing Deirdru comes with a hitch. Edelgard is injured by Nader, as she jumps to protect Lysithea, and it is her professor that must bring Claude to his knees. He swears surrender. Though she was retreating, the professor defers to Edelgard as to what to do with Claude - do they kill him? Do they squash any thought of Alliance rebellion, right here, right now?

Of course not - of course not. He had surrendered, and though Edelgard knew it was unwise to believe his promise of paying her back, she took some solace in the fact that he is leaving. Claude was many things, but a fool was not one of them. Besides, he clearly held some standing in Almyra, a prince’s son if she must guess. Enough to summon their general.

If asked, she will say it was simply most advantageous for them. 

She isn’t asked, though. No, she’s put in the infirmary, with a firm warning from Manuela that anymore dangerous stunts would only injure her further. While the soldiers celebrate in Deirdru, Edelgard is faced with this familiar sinking feeling, as the shadows in the infirmary grow. She tried to struggle upwards, but it pulls at her stitches, still covered by a bandage; Edelgard cannot fight it, before she is underground once more. 

Indescribable panic filled her chest, as the air became hard to breathe, as if her lungs were traitors in and of themselves. Her hands were bound before she woke, metal chains chafing and cutting into her wrists. 

Those Who Slither, the masked mages, they never explain - but Arundel did, in hissing reprimands.  To let the Almyran scum live, to throw herself before the blade simply for that little girl, she would clearly need to face recourse. Was she trying to make herself into a dulled weapon?

Well, like all weapons, Arundel reasoned, she simply needed to be forged. 

Edelgard knows what comes next. They never knocked her out, though she knew they had access to such vials. No, they simply chain her taut, and begin. The screaming, her begging going unnoticed, as if her voice didn’t come out her mouth; the magic forced through her blood, it is all too familiar to her, and she has no power but to maybe twist her wrists, knowing that to thrash only made it worse. 

All at once, Edelgard stops screaming. She’s not sure if that’s the same time as the pain stops, or if it’s after, or before, or maybe the pain doesn’t stop. Edelgard isn’t sure anymore. The masked men stare at her - and Arundel, smiling at her like a prized possession - and yet. Edelgard cannot find the place to feel revolted or angry. 

She can’t find the place to feel anything, really. 

When she wakes in the infirmary, she is met with thousands of questions. Where had you gone, how had you, why - Edelgard doesn’t answer. She stares at them, hazy eyed, blank faced. They notice - her hair is stark white now, not the pale blonde it’d been before, her eyes even lighter, and though they bet she couldn’t get much paler, she looks even more deathly, bags under her eyes. 

It brings a new flurry of questions, and a new stint of silence. Finally, the healer gives up, and simply pets her head - Edelgard thinks she would’ve enjoyed the contact, but she can’t make herself feel that joy. It was just her, and the professor, and she finally has something of an answer.