Byleth and Edelgard have not said a word to one another since their departure.
The closer to their intended meeting point they get, the more agitated Edelgard becomes. It shows in the way her hands clench and unclench at her sides. Her eyes fix on a point straight ahead as if the path they walk is the only thing around here that matters. The only sound other than their feet crunching against the snow is the short, shallow breaths she's taking to try and maintain her sense of control. She feels it keenly whenever her beloved Teacher's eyes fall on her the way one feels the burn of fire against their skin.
She feels it worse when Byleth's eyes leave her and it's like someone rips a piece of her heart away.
It's Byleth who stops walking first. Byleth who waits in that damnable silence in that patient way she has when she knows Edelgard or anyone else has something to say. And it's Byleth who always ends up with the brunt of everyone else's problems and has to come up with a solution instead of the other way around. It's always, always Byleth who has the answers she both wants and doesn't want to hear.
Edelgard wants to turn around and scream at her for being so composed. For making such detachment look so easy that all of her efforts look childish and incompetent. She wants to rail against that control and watch the mask slip and turn into something she can take advantage of, to use, and hold against her the way she can anyone else she's met. She wants her to stop being such a Goddess damned security blanket that she's much too old to crave, much less possess, and to be the flawed human being she knows Byleth has to be deep down.
She wants the security and comfort, the safety that Byleth offers, even more than the control it means giving up- and that is unacceptable.
She is Edelgard von Hresvelg: Emperor of the Adrestian Empire descended from a long line of competent and powerful Emperors in the long reaching past. She has two Crests, including one shared with Byleth. It's their secret; Claude and Dimitri know of the experiments but not the identity or existence of the second Crest. It's something only she shares with Byleth and there's nothing anyone can do to take that away from her. She's always been at the top, always the best among her peers and no one can match her when she really puts her mind to a task.
"Having second thoughts, Professor?" Good. I sound as though this is nothing. Edelgard still has control- is still in control.
It's a risk to look over her shoulder. Something about the sight of her just makes Edelgard's strength start to dissolve every time she turns her gaze Byleth's way. It's unavoidable when she turns that she feels that same gut-wrenching sense of weakness at the steadfast stare directed her way.
"Are you?" Byleth's reply is as steady and straightforward as the intensity of her eyes.
"Should I?" Edelgard counters.
Byleth says nothing and simply watches her.
"What?" There's the edge of temper in her tone as she turns to face her teacher directly. "If there is something you have to say, then say it, Professor."
She watches Byleth take the time to consider her words. The longer time passes, the worse she feels and the more her fear builds. What if Byleth believes she's being led into a trap? What if she's unable to trust Edelgard to keep her word? What if this is all just a ploy to eradicate the entirety of the dominant players in the Adrestian Empire? What if the Professor doesn't and hasn't believed a single word she's said?
"You look like you're about to cry." She finally says after another handful of unnerving seconds. Her brows draw inward and she, goddess, she looks as though she's genuinely worried. About her. Clearly and obviously and unmistakably concerned. "Are you worried about what you'll tell Hubert and the others?"
Edelgard hears every crunch of her footsteps, sees every print her boot makes as it cuts down the distance between them and merges their two paths into one. Her vision is filled with the black and grey of Byleth's attire; leather armor in haphazard pieces that make no sense and provide very little in the way of actual protection, the overcoat and silly pauldrons that hold it to her shoulders.
"No," Edelgard hears herself say in a voice she doesn't recognize. It's shaky, it's not at all calm and collected and strong the way she should sound. "I'm not worried about what to tell Hubert."
There's that strange white button-up collar and strange medallion that hangs from it. Her gaze gradually lifts up to the snip of a chin. Focuses longer than she'll care to admit on the pale pink lips that frown at her. Studies that slightly crooked nose (maybe she's had it broken before and it healed improperly?) before she looks into those damned eyes of hers that see too much and yet not enough.
She is breathtaking in every way that Edelgard loves and fears.
"Edelgard?" The worry intensifies in her voice. She hates the emotion but loves the way her name sounds and looks coming out of Byleth's mouth.
Everything in Edelgard wants to cast aside her pride, her control, and fling herself at the Professor. To unleash every ounce of fury, of sorrow, of self-loathing and the bitter, bitter hatred and envy she has stewing beneath the surface. Unload it entirely on to a target she knows fully well is more than capable of bearing such an unreasonable, unruly storm and come out of it unscathed on the other side. Wants to lay herself bare and be lain bare in every damned sense of the word by the woman in front of her so she can finally be seen as herself, as everything she is, wants to be, has become, and fears she will never be. To cave for once in her life and just allow herself to be weak and worthless and to be told she is neither in the end.
She can reach out and touch her and she won't break beneath the weight of Edelgard's sins and responsibilities. She can be the rock, the guiding light, and safe harbor in the storm that has consumed her life ever since childhood. Edelgard has never felt such a want for anything or anyone in her life. More than the war, more than the destruction of the church, and more than revenge; she needs the woman in front of her in the desperate way she imagines someone dying in the desert needs water and salvation.
Which is exactly what Edelgard does not deserve.
Not allowed. Edelgard forces her hand to drop back down to her side. To take it away from the face she wants to touch, to cradle in her hand and feel skin-to-skin and connect them as one in some small way. She doesn't recognize or feel her own feet as she backs away and puts space between them. They're too close to one another. Too close for her to be able to breathe, to think straight. She needs the cold bite of winter air and feeling of isolation, of standing alone in the world under her own strength.
"It's nothing." She sounds steadier, more like herself now. "We're going to be late."
It takes everything in her to turn her back. Not looking at her is easier and she can feel those defenses falling back into their rightful place. Each step she takes further away from Byleth both invigorates and cuts her all the deeper for her efforts.
Byleth's hand catches her by the elbow. Strong fingers, pressure, and contact are nearly her undoing. "Edelgard, wait-"
It's all going to fall apart.
"Lady Edelgard."
Edelgard has never been so happy to see or hear Hubert's voice in her entire life.