A mockery of birdsong polluted the cool spring air over Enbarr. As dawn took its first stabs at the purple sky, pigeons crooned, gulls squawked, and crows cawed.
Each resident of the awakening city took their own meaning from the noise. A bricklayer heard that he would soon have to put on his boots again. The proprietor of a baked goods stand heard that winged thieves would still be eyeing her wares. A street sweeper heard that he'd have a fresh layer of bird-filth to scrub away.
And, off in the highest tower of the Imperial Palace, a tired young woman heard that she was still there.
Still in the capital. Still alone in her bed, blinking away dreams in the most precious hours of the morning. Still preparing for a fight, long after swords had become plowshares.
There was a point, many years ago, when Edelgard would have given anything to hear the sounds of the city from the safety of the emperor's chambers.
But she had been spoiled, since then. Spoiled by late mornings, by the cheery gossip of peers, and by actual birdsong, which the bickering of those city-wise pests outside could never match.
The tired girl caught herself, and frowned for no one to see. She shook those far-off thoughts from her mind. A thousand nuisances would nag her, that day, and insufficiently pretty sounds outside her window did not need to rank among them.
The last Hresvelg stretched one arm across her chest, and then the other. They put up more resistance than usual before giving her the noise she sought. It was a poor omen for the day ahead.
She kicked off starchy bedsheets and began testing her other limbs. Her knees took extra effort to bend, and she could swear she felt iron forming around the bones in her thighs. Eventually, though, her legs gave up the fight, and surrendered their own sounds. From under hardened pale skin, and corded, Crest-addled muscle her very bones groaned out.
When she had mined her limbs for all they were worth, she settled her arms at her side and sought one last sound. Her back didn't resist her, snapping and cracking so nicely that she barely registered the ache.
The noise conjured memories of Aymr, and the ghoulish music it made when it ground against its bindings.
With her stretches complete, the mighty ruler inched herself to the edge of the bed. Cold stone greeted her feet where plush red carpet used to lay.
She glanced towards her destination, over against the far wall, and saw nothing. Though the morning sun was winning its coup against the Great Tree Moon, her window didn't yet offer enough light to see.
A heavy hand thumped onto her bedside table, where a golden candelabra once sat, and found a small iron lantern. After a moment of fiddling, a smooth, heatless orb of magefire turned the dark room orange.
She could see it, then. That looming wooden monolith and the responsibilities tucked inside.
Her first step confirmed the worst; Her body was rebelling again.
One modest stride was enough to strain the tissue deep within her legs. The arm that she had just stretched fought every inch of the way to reach for her lantern.
It came in waves, this treason from her muscles. On good days she would wake up to a dull throb, and on bad ones her wretched body seized up like jammed clockwork. Today wasn't the worst she'd ever felt, but it was certainly on the poor end of the spectrum.
No matter what she tried, be it stretches or medicine or magic, she could not cure the condition. She could only treat it.
As far as Edelgard knew, no one had ever documented that side of the "gift." She had never found any warning about how "divine" strength from Crested blood could sour and turn on its wielder with disuse. How all of that gruesome might could tangle and knot and make an elder of a young woman.
She wasn't sure whether that lack of information was due to conspiracy, or her freakishness even among Crest bearers.
In the grand scheme of things, she supposed it didn't matter. She had larger concerns than a sore body. A whole nation still had need of her. The twenty-nine-year-old, going on ninety, had to endure.
The second step came easier than the first, but only just. Obstinate knots deep in her quads tried to keep her still, but each new tap of flesh against stone weakened their hold. By the time she made it to her destination, she had settled into an acceptable imitation of her normal gait.
Edelgard set the lantern down and looked up at the armoire in front of her. Her caged sun's dull orange glow drew strange shadows across the closet's ornate surface.
Long, long ago she used to fear the thing. All its bloody spears and swords and skulls and screaming eagles had been a bit too macabre for a small girl. Though she was far from a child now, she still found no joy in the sight of it.
It was one of the few bits of royal furniture to survive after she'd culled the chamber's unnecessary opulence. That mercy wasn't born out of sentimentality, though. The solid oaken chest had a practical purpose no lesser wardrobe could fulfill.
She undid a set of latches, and pulled open a door. And then she waited.
Seemed that, hobbled as she was, she had won their little race that day. That meant she had another chance to test his composure.
Maybe today would be the day she'd get him. The thought was a welcome distraction from the ache.
Three sharp knocks rang out from behind her, and the most familiar voice in the world announced "I'm here."
Edelgard flicked the straps of her gown off of her shoulders, and called "Come in."
Heavy doors creaked, and a fleeting beam of hall light lapped at her pooled dress.
"I hope you're feeling rested, Your Majesty," Hubert told the far wall, "Today's schedule will be demanding."
Adrestia's leader cast a glance over her shoulder and confirmed what she heard. Sure enough, her oldest companion stood stock still, facing the door, waiting for his lady's response.
He did not shift, or squirm, or give any indication that he'd noticed her completely coincidental state of undress.
As always.
It was as if the coy old spoilsport walked in backwards.
"Oh, I'm feeling spry," she told him, while she rifled around in the closet. "I am the very picture of energy."
She slipped on her underclothes and a tight shirt.
"It might be wise to invest in finer bedding," he offered. "Laying down in something softer than starched cotton may help stave off early morning sarcasm."
The half-clothed emperor chuckled. She tugged a stubborn pair of leggings up one leg, then the other.
"If I thought silk sheets would make this easier, I'd have a set," she said. After she'd gotten her waistband straight she added "And I think your analysis is off, besides. Inviting bedding would make it harder to get up."
To the dismay of her wretched legs, she hopped a few centimeters in the air, so she could tug out a bunched-up bit of fabric. It was well worth the temporary pain, she knew. One little kink would nag her all day.
"Oh, I think you're more than a match for any blanket, Lady Edelgard. No matter how warm."
"My, such glowing praise," she called. "But, this is a conversation for another time. Come, I'm decent now."
She heard the chatter of metal on wood, and before she could turn she caught the smell of wet cobblestone. Then he was in front of her, crouched and grasping in her wardrobe's gaping maw.
He managed silence as he produced the beginning of her shell: one black steel greave. When he freed its twin, though, a tiny grunt of exertion slipped out.
She sometimes felt the tiniest pinch of guilt watching the lithe man muster so much strength to carry her armor. Never more than a twinge, though, for she knew he took pride in his ability to help her bury herself in steel.
And, in the first place, he had been the one who had talked into wearing her metal trappings during peacetime.
The people knew her as a steel emperor, covered head to toe in invincible plate. Every painting, tapestry and statue depicting her paid homage to that striking armor. Wearing the full set of Imperial regalia, he had argued, would inspire confidence in anyone who saw her.
And, in the event something unfortunate happened, it would keep his lady safe. He had conspicuously forgotten to make that point, but he hadn't fooled her for a second.
A yellow cat eye blinked at her, and she realized she was wasting time. He was half-leaning in front of her, watching her from down the slope of an offered shoulder.
Without missing another beat, she accepted his offer. She posted just enough weight on his waiting shoulder to slip one leg into its metal case, then the other.
As the the steel-legged woman adjusted leather ties, Hubert went back to work.
He hauled out her faulds and tassets, and cinched them around her waist. Then he produced her gauntlets, and fastened them snugly onto her arms.
His normally dire visage became ever so slightly more dire as he pulled out her breastplate. It was the densest, heaviest piece of all, and he had to lift it as high as his chest. Before the exertion could wear on him, though, the emperor clanked forward, and slipped her metal arms through the plate's holes.
If he was offended by her help, he didn't show it. Without missing a beat, he slipped behind her and secured her bindings.
In fact, she almost thought she could see verve in his step as he fetched the last piece, a smooth pair of pauldrons. He fixed them to her shoulders in the blink of an eye, and stepped back to inspect his handiwork.
"How is the fit?" he asked.
Edelgard always thought that was an odd thing to ask after he'd finished putting everything on. The fit was wonderful, though. As wonderful as forty pounds of steel could be.
For the moment her treacherous muscles sang their approval, happy to have something besides her skeleton to struggle against. She wondered how long that would last.
"Awful," she told him, in the flattest tone she could manage, "Unbearable, even. We'll have to start over."
A single glinting eye studied her face, and she did her best not to crack. She could only last a moment, though, before the corner of her lip started to curl upward.
"You are the pinnacle of comedy, my lady," Hubert said. As he turned to gather material for the next phase of her transformation, she thought she saw a little smirk on his lips.
Perhaps her joke had actually hit. Or perhaps he was happy to be done lifting heavy things. Or, maybe, just maybe, under all the man's glares and scowls beat a girlish heart that enjoyed putting frilly dresses on porcelain ladies.
He didn't give her much time to wonder, as heavy red fabric swooshed out of the armoire.
The skirt came first, hooked carefully into the not-quite-heart-shaped buckles of her faulds. Then he helped her into the coat, and buttoned the gleaming golden buttons that her clumsy gauntlets could not.
She could only imagine the scandal that would result if someone were to walk in and see him getting fresh with the hull around her chest.
But that sort of thing never happened. Even if he didn't act like it, they were alone together.
As her mind wandered, he slipped on her gloves, taking care not to get the thin material caught in her finger joints. Finally, he wrapped her cape around her shoulders, weaving straps into her pauldrons to hold it in place.
Once again he stepped away, and looked her over.
"Does everything sit properly?" he asked, though it sounded like he knew the answer.
The girl thought she knew the answer, too, but she moved around just to confirm. She bent her arms, and kicked out a leg. Her garments followed along, as expected. She leaned forward, and then back, and then twirled as much as her heavy boots and dignity would allow. Nothing felt out of place.
He definitely had a little grin, now. Edelgard was starting to think her girl-heart theory might have some truth to it.
"You did a fine job, Hubert," she said. "Thank you."
His grin vanished, and he declared "No thanks are in order, Your Majesty. Least of all now, before we're finished."
"Please, do away with the modesty. I'd still be trying not to tear my own gloves, if not for you."
He shifted, almost imperceptibly, and said "If you insist, Your Majesty, then you're welcome." He reached down and scooped up her lantern. "But, we still need to finish preparing you."
Edelgard nodded at that. She knew her favorite part of the morning was at hand, and she did not need to be told twice.
Clattering steel followed silent feet to the other side of the room. Hubert set the glowing device down on the former empress' vanity, and pulled out the stool for his lady.
Carefully, the steel-and-cloth woman sat, mindful of all the ways her extravagant dress would sit with her.
For the first time that morning, in the glow of artificial fire, she saw herself. Her attire was certainly in order, gathered neat and proud around her. That was where her regalness ended, though.
Her face was lost somewhere between aloof and grumpy, and she saw the beginnings of bags forming under her eyes. She had to remind herself to sleep more, when she had time.
Her hair was a mess, splaying out across her chest and shoulders like a tangled silken avalanche. She didn't fret over it, though. It wouldn't be a problem for long.
Her retainer slid a tray over to her, and the salty smell of breakfast caught her attention. Sausage links, and seared mushrooms, and crisp little cubes of potato.
An excellent breakfast for someone whose armored hands could only make simple stabbing motions with a fork. Not the best for someone who enjoyed sweets, but she couldn't be selfish. The sugary cakes or pastries of her dreams would leave her sluggish in court, and she didn't want to imagine Hubert cinching armor around a body with extra... heft.
She managed to pick up her fork at around the same time the man behind her began corralling her hair.
"Care to walk me through this busy schedule of mine?" she asked, before he could do it unbidden.
"Of course, Your Majesty." he replied, as he wrangled stray hairs. "The Minister of the Interior has blocked out the first three hours of your day. Seems he's trying to sell you on a proposal that failed the Senate."
"Wonderful," the emperor opined, between bites of sausage. "One can only imagine what he wants. What's his angle this time?"
"Curtailing banditry in southern Faerghus, as I understand," said Hubert, with a trace of either mirth or sympathy in his voice.
Edelgard could hardly wait.
"After that," he continued, "the Minister of Religious Affairs has requested an hour to discuss a subsidy for a Church infirmary. This matter actually did pass the Senate."
The emperor nodded, just before her retainer took hold of her head. Carefully, gingerly, his gloved fingers turned her so that her chin was up, and her face was forward.
"You have a laundry list of public audiences, but they appear to be routine. I can brief you on the exact details now. Or if you'd prefer, I can wait until this afternoon, before they begin."
Edelgard watched her own mirror image answer "Waiting until this afternoon would be prudent." Hubert's reflection nodded.
It was indeed wise to forestall the gory details of who would be coming to ask for favors. She would remember names and titles and issues better that way, without the bluster of her ministers blowing them away in the meantime.
Certainly, her decision had everything to do with keeping the information fresh in her mind. It had nothing to do with enjoying the next few minutes in silence.
Hubert stepped to her side, and picked up her favorite instrument. He checked one final time that her head was straight, and then he began to brush.
It was gentle at first, like always. Slow, careful, radial movements that started at center of her scalp and lapped outwards.
Each stroke dared to travel a little further than the last, before returning to the middle. And each one sent a slightly bigger jolt through her.
Edelgard had a theory that, each time a dull testimony, or smug pontification, or foolhardy political jab met her ear, a little bit of lightning came into existence. Despite all her steel trappings, she was a poor conductor for this lightning. So it sat, tangled and messy upon her head, just like her hair, waiting for an outlet.
She was full of that lightning, this morning, but it just so happened that Hubert gave it the perfect escape.
Each time those firm, rubbery bristles scrubbed against some of the only soft flesh she had left, more electricity darted out. It flowed out behind her ears, and around her jawbone, and down her spine, leaving wonderful crackles and tingles in its wake.
The vanity allowed her the chance to see her own face soften as he worked. Her lips curled upwards, and all that tingling electricity loosened her tight jaw. Her brow, so often tensed in scrutiny, drooped, and her eyelids along with it. She could even see a little tinge of pink playing beneath the pallid whiteness of her cheeks.
At that moment she was closer to a house cat than a head of state, just a few degrees removed from purring at the sensation of being pet. It would be a mortally unbecoming state for anyone to find her in.
But no one would find her. No one except Hubert, and he wouldn't tell a soul.
The man acted like he didn't know what he and his brush did to her, but the phantom retainer in her mirror gave him away. He was softening too, in his own way.
To most, the changes were imperceptible, but Edelgard knew what to look for. The gloomy shadow under his eye didn't sink as deep. His lips, usually drawn into a tight line or a scowl, pursed and pondered with the utmost concern as he gently worked on knots. And, even though he managed to keep it off his mouth, she could see a smile glinting in his eye.
He didn't need to be so guarded. She wouldn't tell a soul.
Eventually, his brush found a smooth, effortless path through her once tangled locks. She received one last, nice scrub against her scalp, and then no more.
He took a moment to straighten himself, and then he set his brush down.
The happy little mirror-phantoms of Hubert and Edelgard disappeared behind the dutiful visage of her flesh-and-blood servant. The little glinting smile in his eye had disappeared, but she wouldn't begrudge him its absence. The coming process wasn't nearly as enjoyable as the prior one.
Once again he set her head straight with a careful touch of his gloves. This time, though, his white leather fingers stayed. They traced around to one side of her head, found the exact spot they sought, and began to weave.
In another life, the fearsome Count might have been a hairdresser. Deftly, he wound her locks together, working towards the lengthy braids her diadem demanded. She marveled at the speed of his fingers. Even without her gauntlets, she doubted she could ever braid so fast.
It wasn't fair to compare her hair tending abilities to his, though. There was a nigh-insurmountable experience gap between them.
Hubert's styling routine was one of the few holdouts from the time when she was a princess, and he was a grumpy little glorified butler. Back then he mostly brushed, and put in the occasional ponytail, but the experience still counted.
Like mother's dressing-table and father's armoire, though, she only kept this morning ritual due to its practicality. Solely because Hubert was quicker at preparing her hair than she could ever be. No other possible reason.
By the time she had almost convinced herself, the world's most dire stylist was finished.
He stepped back and looked her over once again. For the sake of thoroughness, he compared the lengths of the great white ropes hanging off the sides of her head. When he was satisfied, he stepped away to fetch the finishing touch.
In his absence, an overly formal barmaid greeted Edelgard. Or perhaps a fair skinned farm girl, whose family produced only red cotton to dress themselves. She could never quite decide what the girl in the mirror with the long, thick braids looked like, but it wasn't much like an emperor.
As quick as he'd left, Hubert appeared again, holding the thing. The spiny, twisted symbol of authority that reminded her and everyone around her of her role in the world.
He placed it on as gently as he could, and tried to settle it, but it made no difference. Her younger self had been... ambitious with the design.
She had had a strong vision of how her headdress should look: the sharp flowers and gleaming jewels typical of Adrestian royalty pinned between curled bovine horns. She had been quite taken with the idea of a crown that conjured images not of polished golden spires, but of a beast of burden, a servant, carrying a nation forward like an ox pulling a cart.
The symbolism seemed so clever, at the time. So clever that it left no room for concerns like weight, or contact points, or centers of gravity. No matter how she and Hubert had tried, over the years, they couldn't find a way to make it sit comfortably.
It was no matter, though. Comfortable headwear was a luxury. An indulgence. She would be a poor emperor if she pursued an indulgence at the expense of responsibility.
If a nice indulgence that didn't get in the way of her responsibilities manifested, though, she would be a foolish emperor not to pursue it.
Hubert stood in front of her, working carefully.
It was a delicate procedure, winding those odd looking cords of hair into the great wheels of her crown.
Her most trusted advisor was up to the task, but it demanded his full attention. Though his head was just above her line of sight, and his torso blocked her mirror, she could practically see the look of concentration on his face.
When she could tell he was well and truly engrossed, something unfortunate started to happen.
Perhaps her poor sleeping habits caught up to her. Or perhaps the weight of the ill-fitting metal on her head became too much. Or perhaps she wanted one last crack at her companion's composure.
For any number of possible reasons, the girl's eyes fluttered shut, and her head began to lull forward. Subtly, degree by degree, her chin tilted downwards, threatening to topple the spiky diadem roosting on her head.
She didn't make it far.
A pair of cool, leathery digits caught her head, gently tilting it back where it belonged.
The smell of rainslick cobblestone filled her nose.
When she opened her eyes she found one concerned little topaz staring at her.
"You must be more careful, my lady. You can't afford to lose focus at this stage," he said, trying to sound stern instead of worried. "If I weren't keeping an eye on you, you might be dealing with a broken crown and a very lopsided head of hair."
He wasn't wrong, Edelgard thought. In the right scenario that heavy headdress of hers could probably take a whole host of white strands with it on a trip to the ground. It wasn't worth considering, though.
"That's not a realistic concern, Hubert," she replied, feeling as devilish as a horned woman could. "Because I'll always have my faithful servant to keep an eye on me, won't I?"
That got him.
Surprise slapped the poor Count in the face. She heard an almost-silent breath catch in his throat, and that beady cat eye widened ever so slightly.
In real time she watched an argument take shape, and attempt to be born, and then die on his lips.
Eventually he managed "Of course," in a respectably even tone.
And then nothing happened. Two, then three, then four blinks worth of nothing passed the two of them, before Hubert remembered where they were.
All at once he snatched the fingers holding her head away, and he shot back up to his place tending her hair.
He was being as difficult as ever, and she didn't get to savor it much, but the most powerful woman on the continent was happy with her victory all the same.
For a moment silence sat. Hubert resumed his coiling, but his fingers moved even more carefully than before. A bit sluggish, even.
Eventually, a perfectly collected voice up above her said "You have two new marriage proposals."
Edelgard blinked at the information for a moment, and then took great pains to swallow a sigh.
"From who?" she asked, in a tone just as collected as his.
"The former Count Gloucester has proposed a marriage between you and his son," Hubert said, a little too businesslike, "and a prominent Srengian chieftain has offered you his hand."
The girl wished her retainer was not blocking the mirror, so she could see the sight of her own eyes glazing over.
"You should at least consider them, Your Majesty."
Try as she might, she could not swallow another sigh.
Edelgard spent a considerable amount of time being the emperor. All of it, in fact. She couldn't stop being the stony, serious, invincible ruler her people had come to expect. Not for a few more years, at least, when she'd pulled the cart far enough that it could roll on its own.
But she liked to pretend, when she could. When she was alone with someone she trusted, she liked to think of house cats and little princesses and barmaids and farm girls, and other things.
But if that trusted person of hers was going to insist, she wouldn't deny him.
"There is no political gain in marrying into a family that has already demonstrated its utmost loyalty to me," called the cool voice of the emperor. "And it would be foolish to entangle a rebuilding nation in a quagmire of tribal conflict. Sreng's best use is as a paper tiger to keep our army on its toes, and to ensure Imperial presence is welcome in Faerghus."
After a moment, she added "And that's before we consider how all of those chiefs seem to think that marrying me would make them Fodlan's King, instead of her Empress."
Hubert stepped back, for he had finished his task as she spoke.
"Exquisite analysis, Your Majesty," he told her. "As always, your pragmatism is something to be admired."
He stepped back behind her, and she finally saw herself. Stiff and steely and expertly coifed, with her gleaming horns set in perfectly. An emperor, if she'd ever seen one.
An emperor who was frowning a little deeper than she had meant to.
"Yes Hubert, I've put a lot of thought into this" she answered, softening her imperial tone just a touch. "It's as if we've had this exact conversation before."
Before he could come up with something, she continued.
"I'd like to see one of these rejection letters you send out, sometime. There must be something interesting about them to entice the same men to keep sending proposals."
"You know that it's unwise to send outright rejections," Hubert told her, in a tone that was once again natural.
"Yes, I know," answered Edelgard. "That's what makes it interesting. I want to see what the terrifying Count Vestra puts in his coy little love letters to keep so many lords seeking my hand."
That cracked him again. The girl earned herself an exceedingly rare treat: a snort of laughter from her deathly serious advisor. Both of their reflections failed to contain smiles.
"I suppose it is rather ridiculous when you phrase it like that," he conceded, when he could keep the laughter out of his voice.
"Just a little," she agreed. And then she added "But it's also an important task."
One that he took seriously. Dealing with her torrent of political marriage proposals was a miserable affair, at heart. Likely an order of magnitude more miserable for Hubert than for any other person, too, but he still handled it professionally.
"Your services are appreciated, you know." she told him, after a moment. "All of them."
Though his reflection still nursed the ghost of a smile, she saw him shift in place. He always wore praise so poorly.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," he answered, after a moment.
Best to leave it at that.
Edelgard mulled over something, as she started to stand. And then she felt something clench inside her calf, and she decided.
"The condition is flaring up again," she told him.
A whole host of emotions flitted across his face, but concern stuck.
"Why didn't you mention this sooner, Lady Edelgard?" he asked. "We have no time to do anything about it, now."
"We wouldn't have had time to do anything about it if I'd told you when you walked in," she said. "So I thought I'd save you half an hour's worth of fretting."
She was right, and he knew it, but that did little to assuage him.
"I will be fine, Hubert," she told him. "This isn't the worst flare I've ever had. And the armor is keeping it in check, for now. I can put up with a day's worth of it."
He seemed at least partially placated.
"I'll make arrangements for... treatment tonight, then," he finally managed.
Edelgard dared to smile, at his words.
"I would appreciate that," she said, gratefully.
With something to look forward to, she clicked off her lantern, and straightened out her skirts.
She cast one glance back at the mirror, and just barely made out the two of them in the morning light.
"How do I look?" she asked, on a whim.
"Commanding," he answered as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Edelgard smiled a little wider, as she clanked towards the door. She wondered how long he'd been sitting on that one.
With no further distractions, the emperor and Count Vestra left to tackle their day.
A few hundred enemies stood between the Imperial procession and their destination. Steep, narrow enemies who seemed as though they were designed to pester women in heavy metal heels.
Edelgard took on each of them with learned care. She remembered the trouble they had given her early on in her tenure, goading her to stumble and fall and break something. Years of experience had taken most of their danger away, but the extra tightness in her legs that morning made her more cautious than usual.
She wished she had the same agility as her companion.
He glid beside her, as if he were descending a gently sloped hill and not a perilous staircase. And, despite carrying a tray laden with porcelain and silver, he produced not even the faintest clink as he went.
His smooth silent movements counted for little, though. Edelgard made more than enough noise for the both of them. Her royal clangor echoed all around the stairwell, and announced the pair's imminent arrival to those on the ground.
Those on the ground seemed to appreciate the alert. Edelgard could hear the rattle of armor that wasn't hers as she and Hubert approached the bottom.
While the emperor enjoyed a renewed appreciation for the flat, solid castle floor, her retainer pushed open the last barrier between them and the outside world.
The two-person entourage stepped out into the castle, and a pair of guards greeted them.
Tall, proud, alert guards who had certainly not been slouching until they had heard their boss coming.
"Your majesty," called one, as he snapped into a salute.
"Your highness," said his opposite, as he too struck a dutiful pose.
And then they peeled their eyes away from their liege, and exchanged panicked looks while they silently tried to determine which one had the line wrong.
"At ease, men," the emperor told them, for she cared little about such formalities.
The men offered her as much ease as they could manage. As she and her advisor passed them by, they attempted to bow, but their chestplates reduced the gesture to a pained half-lurch.
New recruits, she surmised, and not just from their awkwardness in armor. They seemed nervous around her, and they had visible purple bags beneath their eyes, which told her they were unadjusted to the night shift.
On some level, she could sympathize.
The sleepy guards had relief coming soon, though. She could hear their replacements rousing as she and her minister marched along.
The palace's personnel wing may not have been lively during the scarce hours of the morning, but it was certainly active. Amidst the crackling of tiny torchfires and through countless bedroom doors Edelgard heard the sounds of an awakening fortress.
Guardsmen buckled their shiny steel suits together, rattling sabers and spears all the while. Maids and ladies tightened corsets and zipped dresses, while diplomats and politicians practiced lines in the mirror.
And, all the while, the emperor clanked. She hoped her employees didn't take the noise the same way as she took the sounds outside her bedroom.
Eventually the pair reached the end of the personal quarters. Two massive doors opened into the castle proper, and Edelgard squinted at the sudden brightness.
Dawn had broken in earnest, showering the great windowed halls of the palace in light.
A kitchen maid met them at the door, and curtsied at the emperor. Before the stiff iron woman could so much as wave, though, the girl scampered away with the tray Hubert had held.
Heavy heels finally met a familiar red carpet. The way before them was obvious now, laid out in great plush rolls that lead to their destination. The emperor's pace quickened, as she tried to channel some of the energy that the maid had displayed.
Familiar faces started to populate the castle, as she made her way along the home stretch.
She nodded to veteran guards who simply greeted her instead of saluting or crushing themselves with attempted bows. She waved at a doddering old caretaker as he went about the business of snuffing out now-unneeded torches. She and Hubert even paused to let a master-at-arms herd a group of groggy squires towards the training grounds.
The emperor turned one last corner, and made sure her posture was perfect. Her destination was in sight, now, and so was one of the most familiar faces of all.
Flabby jowls, she saw, pinned together with a bulbous nose, and topped with creases and wrinkles. There was no mistaking the little fellow. His beady little eyes lit up when he saw who approached.
"Good morning, your majesty!" called the castle chamberlain, as he slid into an impressively deep bow for someone of his constitution. "And good morning to you too, Count."
"Good morning, chamberlain," came the emperor's curt reply. Hubert offered only a nod.
"I hope you enjoy another peaceful morning of court," said the jolly little beetle.
"You'll do more than hope," the fearsome Count informed him. "You will ensure."
For a quiet moment the fat man gathered his wits, and then answered "Of course, my lord. That is what I meant to say."
"Good," said Hubert, and the chamberlain smiled. The shorter man wore even the lightest of praise much better than his boss. "Send for me before public audiences begin."
"Of course, my lord," said the now-serious man, with a bow.
And then Hubert turned to his lady, and gave her a bow of his own. It was as smoothly executed as the chamberlain's but as shallow as the rookie guards'.
"Your Majesty, if you have no further need of me-" he began, but a red satin hand cut him off.
"You may take your leave for now, Lord Vestra," said the emperor.
At that, the two old friends exchanged one final nod. Then, the emperor's most trusted advisor turned on his heel, and strode off back the way he had come.
She resisted the urge to tell him goodnight. Both because it was broad daylight, and because she didn't want to embarrass him in front of his minion.
Her faithful retainer was heading off to "recoup personal resources" in his chamber. That was how he dressed up "sleeping off a night of paperwork and skulduggery" when people besides her were in earshot.
Her closest companion could be a strange man in private, but doubly so in public.
Leading a party that was now one minister lighter, the chamberlain ambled his way up a short set of stairs, and made a show of producing a gleaming silver key. With a flourish, he stabbed the thing into its keyhole, and slowly creaked open the throne room doors.
The emperor never had the heart to hurry along his little ceremony, for she suspected it was the highlight of his day.
Eventually, the doors opened, and he lead her in. Into the single solitary room where she'd spent so much of the last six years.
For all of its symbolic importance, the throne room was quite humble. It smelled of scroll paper and lingering snatches of perfume dragged in by its many, many noble guests. It held few decorations or frivolities, outside of the obvious one. A cushioned wrought-iron chair sat to the right of the room's eponymous golden seat. Simple torch sconces lined the stone walls, and the root of the of the castle's vast system of red carpet lay at the feet of the throne.
The brightness here was more bearable than in the surrounding castle, thanks to the room's tinted glass windows. It was quiet, too, at least for the moment. She wasn't sure if the silence owed to some special enchantment, or if it was a natural consequence of being raised off the ground and surrounded by a little moat.
It was no matter. The beetle waddled up to his place a few paces in front of the throne, and about-faced.
He arranged himself to look as serious and intense as he could, but a round little bald fellow in a suit could only pull off so much.
What an odd man the chamberlain was, Edelgard thought, as she carefully arranged herself atop her stiff golden seat.
He was a lifelong attendant of House Vestra, but he put on a terribly unconvincing Hubert impression. Some things just couldn't be taught, or imitated, and her cat-eyed protector's menacing demeanor seemed to be one of them.
She wondered what the mighty Count looked like, at this very moment. He was a swift man when he wasn't escorting short-legged, heavily-armored emperors, so he was probably in his chamber already.
She imagined him giving his blood-and-thunder routine to an empty room. Glowering down at his pillows and grappling his blanket into an easy submission under threat of a swift magical death. The thought made her smile, but she knew he wasn't doing that.
He was probably just worried. Worried about her, and her dreadful condition. He was most likely curling his long body to fit on his little cot and frowning into his pillow.
Or smiling into his pillow, perhaps, in anticipation of this evening.
No. Edelgard shook that thought from her head. That was even more ridiculous than him acting grim and gruesome for an audience of zero.
The chamberlain started to fidget, for such a jolly little man could not keep a dour visage for very long. He tugged at the edges of his petticoat and fiddled with his watch chain, and did everything he could to seem busy.
The poor fellow really didn't have much work to do, on paper. He performed only the most literal duty of a chamberlain: unlocking the door the the throne chamber. In truth he was more of a secretary, keeping her abreast of the time with his little pocket watch and announcing the names of people she already knew when they entered the room.
And he kept his master up to date on what happened during the emperor's executive audiences, but that wasn't an official function. It had value, though.
Edelgard cared little for the opening few hours of court, when the authors of losing Senate bills would come and beg her to overturn the will of the people, and the authors of winning bills would come to haggle about numbers.
It was a dull enough process to get through the first time. She couldn't imagine walking through it a second time so her spymaster would know who to keep an eye on. She supposed the chamberlain earned his keep, when all his functions were considered.
But, there was something about him that rubbed her the wrong way. Something that wasn't truly his fault, but that still nagged the emperor in the back of her mind. His stature, and his tendency to fidget, and his lack of hair reminded her of another fat little man who used to stand in the throne room and try to make himself look important.
All at once the man sputtered, and waddled his speediest waddle over to the door. He turned to face her, thrust an arm out, and bowed deeply once again. "Your Majesty," he called, "I present, Prime Minister Aegir!"
He certainly did.
"Thank you, Mr. Chamberlain," chimed the voice of someone who was happy to be there, "And good morning, Edelgard."
For a moment, the emperor watched as the second most powerful woman in Adrestia made her way down the carpet. She carried a thick portfolio of papers under one arm, and a steaming mug in her free hand. She wore a formal looking white dress highlighted in Imperial red and gold. The heavy garment flowed down to her ankles, and left her upper torso entirely to the imagination.
It was a far cry from what Edelgard remembered seeing her in, years ago, but she supposed a prominent politician and married woman was bound to dress differently than a bachelorette.
Edelgard also supposed that she was being rude.
"Good morning, Manuela," she said, as the former professor took the seat beside her. "How are you feeling?"
"Wonderful," she answered, in a sing-songy sort of voice, "Never better, even. And yourself?"
"About the same as ever," Edelgard lied.
Manuela seemed satisfied with the answer. "Did Count Sleepyhead let you know what we're in for?"
The emperor nodded gravely, as the Prime Minister handed her her share of documents. "It sounds like a fun morning," she said, allowing only a hint of sarcasm into her voice.
"Should be delightful," Manuela agreed, wrinkling her nose. "Another thrilling day at the office."
Edelgard rifled through her dossier. She pushed aside the minutes of the last Senate hearing, and the formal arguments, and the bureaucratic scorecards. Those documents could be reviewed later.
Finally, she found her executive summary and winced when she saw her fears confirmed in cold black ink.
She truly was going to listen to one of her ministers give a three-hour presentation entitled "Banditry in Southern Faerghus and How to Prevent It." And, if the summary of the conclusion at the bottom was accurate, the whole thing really would be another farcical sales pitch for his pet project.
She wanted to groan, but that was out of the question, so she found another use for her breath.
"What's the time, chamberlain?" she called.
The man, who had resumed his place near the foot of the throne, produced his watch. "7:58," he answered, happy to be of service.
Edelgard looked over, and found a sympathetic pair of brown eyes gazing at her.
"Ready?" asked the elder woman.
After a moment, Edelgard answered. "As ready as I'll ever be."
The emperor took a few moments to compose herself. To blink the dread out of her eyes, and lock her jaw into one straight regal line, and stiffen her upper lip.
When she felt particularly steely, she called to the chamberlain once again. "Send for the Minister of the Interior, when he's ready."
The little man nodded and trotted off towards the door.
And with that, another day of court began in earnest.