Agony like fire rips through Edelgard's veins with a vengeance as the Hegemon shell begins its disintegration, like so much dust in the wind. But even with the pain, there is a sense of relief - of finality. It's done, she thinks. I have lost. She doesn't scream; doesn't wail or shout at the indignity and shock of it. Instead she merely collapses, on her knees before the throne as the last vestiges of that vile power drains from her body and bleeds her energy dry, simply glad that the horrificness of it is over at last.
She knew the price of this power, when she took it on. She knew what it would cost. She would not have resorted to it, had she not been so achingly desperate to end things, to see this through and finish what she has begun. But she also knew, going into this battle, that it would be her last. No matter the play, no matter the strike, when Dimitri's army arrived at Enbarr's gates, Edelgard had been gripped with the cold, dead certainty that this was it and that she would not prevail.
And she was right.
The last wisps of the Hegemon finally fade into oblivion, and Edelgard remains still, eyes closed a moment longer. She feels oddly serene even as she kneels in defeat before them. Her earlier dread has faded into resignation, yes, but it lacks the taint of bitterness that she had expected to come with it. Instead, she merely feels… at peace. Finished. Over. Everything she has worked for over the last five years - the last decade, truly - has culminated in this battle and now she kneels upon it like a pile of broken glass, the shards digging into her flesh with the regrets of things left unfinished, though they draw no blood and leave no mark, and yet they scar her soul all the same.
Or what's left of it, anyways.
She sees it behind her closed lids like a mirage, a vision fated to be ripped out of her clutches; the world she'd been so close to creating, grasping the knife's edge between too far and not far enough. So close… she had been so close…
She hears movement, then; hesitant steps as they ascend the dais, the gentle clatter of armor accompanying every footfall. When it stops and silence resumes, Edelgard cannot help but to open her eyes and look up at the pair that now stands before her.
At the hand that reaches out to her across the space between them.
Her heart shudders with shock at the unexpectedness of it - of the gesture, both literal and symbolic.
If that is the future you hoped for, then you deserve no compassion.
His words from earlier in the battle echo harshly in her ears. They grate against her nerves like a whetstone, sand away at the dulled, blunted edges of her heart till it gleams like a sharpened blade, where it presses up against the inside of her chest and she bleeds.
"El…" Dimitri's voice is surprisingly soft as he speaks her childhood name, but she has no problem hearing him over the otherwise deafening silence of the throne room. Hesitantly, Edelgard glances up from that outstretched hand and meets his gaze, and a single cerulean eye bores deep into twin lavender. She finds him in this moment to look just as sure and steadfast as he had back in their days at the academy, before her own plans began to slither out of her control and war overtook every corner of their lives. That rage and hatred he had so resolutely targeted at her that day in the Holy Tomb - and has ever since - is nowhere to be seen. Instead, she sees…
Hope.
That, perhaps, frightens her more than anything.
"I thought–" she breaks off into a cough, hand flying to cover her mouth, body seizing violently with the strength of it even as it lasts only a moment. The Hegemon took a greater toll than she had realized - it's fortunate her gloves are red.
When the moment passes, she sucks in a shuddering breath and lifts her gaze to meet Dimitri's once more. "I thought you said I deserved no compassion." Her voice comes out far shakier and quieter than she intended, and inwardly she rages at the sound of it. How broken, how weak has she become, that even as death rattles at her bones she can no longer maintain her own strength and surety?
Dimitri doesn't flinch. The smile he wears tightens slightly, but his gaze never wavers. "I… say a lot of things, I'm sure you've noticed." The whispers of what, exactly, has been said hang off the end of his statement, as if reluctant to be heard again in the light of day. "But that does not mean I cannot change my mind, nor admit that I may be wrong."
She hears it, then; his silent plea. Edelgard may be the one on her knees, but it is Dimitri who is begging for her life. What a strange thing to realize, when only months ago they'd both been convinced all he wanted was to see her in a bloodied heap on the battlefield.
Another breath, and this one stings more than the last. Even if she lives past this moment, the remainder of her time in this world will not be long. And Dimitri will not kill her - not unless she forces his hand. His actions just now have proven that.
And she could - force him into action, make him finish things as no doubt the rest of Fodlan expects to happen. His dagger rests at her hip even now, hidden beneath the folds of her cloak and forgotten entirely until this moment. Now, its presence itches at her like an infected wound, never ceasing in its bother, in its reminder of things better left in the past.
Of the girl she'd once been, now dead and buried. Of the boy she had known, now tormented and scarred.
It would be so easy. Throw the dagger, aim for the connective area of his armor near the shoulder. Areadbhar is positioned so perfectly - he hardly needs to move at all. He would live on, a minor wound to show that he'd only done what had to be, and she…
Edelgard's gaze drifts from Dimitri to the figure standing behind him. The professor. Their gaze burns on her like a wildfire, boring deeper into her than Dimitri's one-eyed stare could ever hope to, now. In that second of eye contact Edelgard sees that they know the way in which her thoughts have gone. They might not have been her teacher, her mentor, hers to lean upon - but there has always been that odd, unspoken thread of connection. Of what if. She has always felt as though they have seen straight through to the very depths of her - and this moment is no different than any in the past.
And in the depths of their gaze, Edelgard sees it. This world that they and Dimitri are fighting for. Their vision of Foldan… and it does not seem so far removed from her own. Not really. Some differences, yes, but perhaps… if she can just make them see. With the professor at her side, Edelgard knows that there is nothing that she cannot accomplish… and Dimitri…
Her eyes flash back to him, in a mild panic now that with her delayed response he may just take action on his own regardless. But no - he has not moved from his place before her, his hand has not wavered, Areadbhar has not moved. For only moments ago having toyed with the idea of finding herself lodged on the end of its blade, it is surprising how vehemently she suddenly wishes not to be. She looks back up, into his face once more, and refuses to let that hope she sees clamoring within him take root in her own chest, too. "Things cannot return to how they were. Not ever."
"No, they cannot. But can we not attempt to move forward - together?"
"I–" she breaks off sharply into another fit, the coughs wracking her frame so harshly this time that she hardly notices when both Areadbhar and the Sword of the Creator clatter to the ground, and all of a sudden Dimitri and the professor are both right next to her, own their knees the same as she and why have they not just killed her yet? Surely they know if the position were reversed, she would have done the same. Would have regretted none of it, not with the knowledge that it had to be done.
But no. Instead of death she finds only an odd comfort as they both reach for her. Somehow she ends up pressed against the two of them, the bulk of her leaning onto Dimitri as the professor shoulders the rest, one hand clasped tightly by each of them. Such warmth… such closeness… Edelgard has not felt anything so gentle in so many, many years now, and she shuts her eyes at the sensation as it floods her to her core.
"Edelgard… please," Dimitri's voice is less than a whisper near her ear. "Together we can be stronger than we are apart. We can find those responsible for the Tragedy - for all of it - and make them pay. We can question Rhea and the Church, demand honesty from them once and for all. No more casualties. No more war."
There it is again.
His damned plea.
Live, Edelgard. Please.
The rest of her strength seems to have disappeared in the intervening time since the shell evaporated, and her breath comes now in little wisps. She tightens her hold on their hands, briefly, before she relaxes her grip and gives the slightest of nods against his shoulder.
Yes.
Edelgard is vaguely aware of the way they both tense at her agreement; can make out the intonations of Dimitri's voice as he raises it to a shout, calls for a healer to come quickly, now! They must have been close, for she can just begin to feel that familiar tingle of magic along her skin even as the rest of the world fades out to a muffled blur and eventually, nothing.
But throughout that whole time, she can feel the warmth of their hands, Dimitri's and their teacher's, and not for a single moment do they let go.