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Imperial Year 1181
Verdant Rain Moon
She is to serve in the Imperial army until further notice.
Margrave Edmund is not one to mince words, not about political affairs, not when his reputation is on the line. The Empire is strong, and united—it's easy to believe that Edelgard is winning, when even the Alliance is fracturing beneath the facade Claude continues to maintain.
He sends word with a messenger to Enbarr and he returns with a letter for Marianne. Her garrison and her rank. She'll be deployed to Garreg Mach within the week, stationed under General Sylvain Jose Gautier.
Marianne arrives with one suitcase and the clothes on her back and all the tomes she could carry in one arm, and she's directed to her quarters. Her old room. She swipes a finger through the dust on the desk and swallows around the lump in her throat, blinks back the tears stinging her eyes. The war has begun, and those who can will fight.
She just hopes she can survive to see the end of it, regardless of who wins.
Imperial Year 1181
Horsebow Moon
The professor's birthday passes without acknowledgement. They're all too busy for birthdays. Sylvain's had passed in much the same fashion before she arrived—although he told her privately later, with a little help from a rare bottle of wine, that it was a relief.
To miss the professor's, though, feels leaden. Marianne's heart sinks when she realizes. It's getting harder to remember their schooldays. She tries all the time. She only ever gets as far as recalling the names of her peers before it turns into wondering how many of them are still alive, whether or not the professor is still out there.
At least she knows her classmates are. She wonders if they're okay. She and Sylvain are getting by; he's a good general, capable, smart. But she wonders about Felix—Sylvain says he's a general as well, serving on the Brionac Plateau. And Ashe too, in Nuvelle. The rest of the former Black Eagles are stationed in their home territories, taking up the titles their parents left them.
Sylvain doesn't talk much. Neither does she. Most days, they eat in companionable silence. Today they don't.
"Felix sent me a letter," Sylvain says after too long, tearing his bread into little pieces.
Marianne watches his fingers. "You shouldn't waste food," she says instead of replying.
He drops his bread back onto the plate. "Higher-ups want him here. They're expanding the search for the professor, so they're moving a few regiments to join up with us."
Marianne frowns. "That seems like a risky move. If Lady Rhea were to attack..."
She doesn't need to continue. If Rhea were to attack the monastery a second time, they would lose much more than just a professor.
"Edelgard's orders," he says with a shrug. "There's been talk of pushing further into the Alliance, but I don't think that's going anywhere."
Marianne hums. "Claude won't give an inch until he has to, and even then it'll be part of a bigger plan."
"Speaking from experience?" Sylvain asks wryly.
Marianne tosses a pea at him.
"You shouldn't waste food," Sylvain parrots back at her, and she smiles just a little and it almost feels normal, like they're back in school.
"Why did you join up with the Empire?" Marianne asks, and the levity evaporates instantly.
"You already know why. There's nothing for me in the Kingdom. A dusty title and parents who only love me for the Crest in my blood."
"But you had friends in the Kingdom." Marianne knows she should stop before he clams up, before he goes cold.
Sylvain doesn't say anything for a long time, and when he does his voice is low and rough around the edges. "I believe in the future Edelgard wants to create. My whole life has been dictated by this power in my blood and I want to believe that there can be a world where it doesn't matter."
He looks up at her, with his pretty brown eyes colored with determination and a tiny bit of hope.
"If anyone can do it, it's Edelgard. Maybe her methods aren't the best, but they're effective. No one else was rushing to do anything."
It's relieving, hearing someone else say it.
Marianne raises her glass and tips it towards him. "To a Crest-less future," she says, and he knocks his glass against hers and they drink.
Imperial Year 1181
Wyvern Moon
Felix's regiment is the first of three to arrive, halfway through the allotted seven days, worn and weary from the journey and eager to sleep in a proper bed. He greets Sylvain with a jerk of his chin, and Sylvain responds by pulling him into a hug.
"Get off," Felix mutters, shoving him away. He spares Marianne a passing glance before he's pushing past them both into the reception hall, where Hubert waits.
"General Fraldarius," he says by way of greeting. "There will be a meeting in one week's time to discuss our plan of action in the council room upstairs. See to it that you are punctual."
"Right." With a nod, Felix is stalking past him into the courtyard. Sylvain shoots Hubert an apologetic look and chases after him, and not long after someone arrives to fetch Hubert and then Marianne is alone, left to her own devices.
Idly, she wonders, as she walks back out to the stables to visit with Dorte, who else will be arriving. She'd only known Felix was coming thanks to the letter Sylvain received. No other letters had been sent by their former classmates. Perhaps Felix will be the only familiar face to join them up here in the mountains.
Before long, her stomach rumbles and Dorte huffs at her, which makes her laugh. He's right, she should eat something. So she stands and says goodbye and leaves. Her legs carry her to the dining hall, but even from a distance the smell of cheese gratin turns her stomach. Instead of going in, she just peeks around the doorway to check on Sylvain. He's sitting at a table on the far side of the room, chatting animatedly with Felix, who seems content to sit in silence and listen.
She almost wants to go in just to socialize, but she doesn't. She can't bring herself to interrupt them, not when Sylvain looks so happy.
So she carries on past the dining hall, away from the din of the chatter and laughter of reunions and the clinking of dishes. She finds herself on the path to the cathedral.
The bridge is silent, the purple-orange brush of dusk getting in Marianne's eyes and warming her face as she gazes up at the towering spires. It doesn't look damaged from the outside, save one shattered stained-glass window over the entrance.
It's a sad sight.
The gate is still open, so she slips past it and through the open doors.
The roof is almost entirely caved in, rubble and debris piled in front of the altar. Orange light pours in through the hole and drips over the pews, just barely reaching the toes of Marianne's shoes where she stands.
"You aren't hungry either?"
Marianne jumps, pressing a hand to her chest in surprise. Mercedes smiles over at her, her eyes gentle and warm.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," she apologizes, then turns back to face the room. "The cathedral has really fallen apart, hasn't it?"
Marianne follows her gaze to the hole in the roof and hums in quiet agreement. "It's difficult to be back here," she murmurs, twisting her hands together in her skirts. "After everything that's happened..."
Mercedes sits, patting the bench next to her. Marianne hesitates for a moment, then settles beside her and looks at the floor.
"It's difficult to be back at Garreg Mach, or it's difficult to be back in the cathedral?" she asks, like she already knows the answer.
It throws Marianne for a loop and she doesn't know how to answer, so she doesn't, and Mercedes seems fine with that.
Instead, she pinches the fabric of her skirts between her thumb and forefinger and says, "I didn't know you would be here too. After you went back to Fhirdiad I thought that would be it."
Mercedes lets out a soft sigh. "To be honest, so did I. For a while, I really did try to forget about everything. The merchant business kept me busy enough, but... my whole life is here at the monastery. My brother. As hard as it is to leave Dimitri behind, I just... I can't see any other way."
She sounds a little sad. Marianne thinks she understands.
"I feel the same way. I hope one day Claude can forgive me. And Hilda..." Remembering Hilda is like a twist of a knife.
Mercedes places a gentle hand on her arm and when Marianne looks at her, she offers a tiny smile. "I'm sure they will."
The conversation dwindles a little bit, and the sun sets and the bell signaling evening mass doesn't ring and Marianne feels the empty space in her chest where it used to resonate.
"How is Sylvain?" Mercedes asks. "I saw him earlier but he seemed busy and I didn't want to interrupt."
She doesn't know, and she says as much. "He isn't really one to talk about his feelings," she says regretfully. "I saw him at dinner with Felix, though, and he seemed happy."
Mercedes's pretty face lights up. "Oh, that's wonderful. I'm so glad. I'll have to speak with him later. It's been so long."
"What made you come back now?" Marianne asks.
The smile slips off Mercedes's face. "I missed it here. But now that I'm back, it's... it's so hard to reconcile this place with the one I used to call home, back when the professor was around."
The mention of the professor brings the mood down significantly. Mercedes pushes past it.
"It's hard to be here. I... don't know what to believe. For so long, the church was everything to me." She pauses, then looks at Marianne. "You know what I mean, don't you?"
She nods. Of course. The only person who spent more time in the cathedral than herself was Mercedes. She looks relieved now, and she stands.
"For now, let's go find something for dinner. They're serving cheese gratin in the dining hall and I just can't stomach it." As if to demonstrate, she presses a hand to her stomach, then turns to Marianne and extends the other to help her up.
She accepts it.
Imperial Year 1181
Red Wolf Moon
Marianne stands at the top of the stairs, on the tips of her toes, craning to see over the caravan blocking the search party's return to the monastery. Dorte snuffs and paws at the cobbles and, from behind her, the gatekeeper blows his horn to part the wave of civilians so the stablehands can unhitch him and lead him away for a hoof-cleaning.
On his way past, Dorte presses his velvet muzzle to the side of Marianne's head and snuffles into her hair. She pats him on the neck.
"You've always had a way with horses, haven't you." Marianne startles. There's a sheepish expression on Ashe's face. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."
She's just glad he's back. The mountains surrounding the monastery are dangerous this time of year. Soon, Edelgard will have to call off the search for the rest of winter. "Any luck?"
She knows the answer before he says it; Ashe is so like the stories he loves—easy to read. "Not yet," he says. He doesn't say no. He doesn't say of course not. He says not yet, like he still believes they'll find the professor one day.
"Is Mercedes around?" he asks, turning from her to search the marketplace.
Marianne didn't see her. "Is something wrong? I can fetch her for you, if you like."
Ashe turns back to her and shakes his head. "No, it's alright. Nothing major. Just... Sylvain suffered a... minor injury." At the look on her face he hurries to explain. "He's alright! He's... unconscious. I didn't see what happened, but Shamir said he was bowled over by a startled horse and he... sort of fell. Not far! Just—far enough." His expression goes thoughtful, and he continues, "Honestly, I think she thought it was funny. It sounded like she was trying not to laugh."
Marianne lifts her skirts and starts to leave, saying, "I'll find Mercedes."
Ashe grabs her shoulder to stop her. "No! You go! They're taking him to the infirmary so just... go there, and I'll find Mercedes."
Marianne opens her mouth to protest, to tell him she won't be of any help, but he interrupts her. Gently. "You're a wonderful healer, Marianne. There's no doubt in my mind you'll do just fine. Now go."
So Marianne goes. She rushes up the stairs to the infirmary to find it empty. A note on the table reads, Out for the evening. Don't wait up. Marianne leaves it. Wherever Manuela is, it's none of her business. The woman deserves a break. Ever since the war began, she's had so many patients, civilians and warriors alike. She's allowed a day off.
Sylvain is resting on the rightmost bed, the curtain drawn to keep him from the view of passersby. His armor sits at the foot of it, caked with dirt and little pebbles, wet with melting snow.
Marianne takes to her examination with the sort of detachment that's necessary for a job like this. Granted, Ashe had said it wasn't serious, and to his credit Sylvain is still breathing, and he hasn't sustained any fatal wounds inside or out.
It seems, more or less, like a bruised rib, a sprain, scratches and scrapes and perhaps, she considers, lifting his eyelids, a minor concussion.
She straightens, intending to check Manuela's stores for the ingredients she'll need, when Mercedes puffs her way into the room, her face red from exertion.
"Is he alright?" she asks, a hand to her chest as she tries to regulate her breathing. "I got here as fast as I could. I'm sorry, I'm not used to so much exercise—"
"He's alright," Marianne assures her. "Alive, breathing. Some bruising and scrapes. The worst of it is a minor concussion. I... think," she adds, suddenly not sure.
Mercedes takes a moment to catch her breath, then straightens up and moves to Sylvain's bedside. "If you'd like I can check again, just to be sure?"
Marianne releases a small, relieved breath. "Please. I wouldn't want to be wrong."
"Of course," Mercedes replies, with a sweet little smile. "Just a moment."
She goes through the same routine Marianne had, lifting his eyelids to check his pupils, and then nods. "You were right. Bruising on his ribs and a sprained ankle, as well as a little bit of a concussion."
Marianne sighs in relief, again. Mercedes joins her at the cabinets and they quietly and expertly pick out the bottles and phials they need, working in tandem to crush and mix ingredients on Manuela's little table.
Mercedes tilts her head while they work. "I hope Manuela's having fun," she says, and it doesn't sound even the slightest bit jealous. Of course it doesn't—it's Mercedes. "I've been talking to Yuri a lot lately—ever since Byleth went missing, he's... well. You can imagine." She can. "He said Manuela has been spending time down there with a man named Balthus... I hope he makes her happy."
They lapse into silence for a while, the grinding of the mortar and pestle and the hollow thunk of jars opening the only sounds in the room.
"Do you think we'll ever find the professor?" Marianne asks, and then she feels ashamed for asking that way. She doesn't want to sound pessimistic.
Mercedes doesn't seem to notice, humming quietly to herself. "I'm sure we will," she says thoughtfully. "Edelgard isn't one to give up so easily."
She says it innocently enough but something about it bothers Marianne. "Do you think she's right?" she asks, and she knows it's dangerous given how quickly Mercedes looks up at her.
"Do I think Edelgard is right?" she echoes. "I... I don't think it's my place to say whether she's right or wrong. If the church has hurt her, who am I to decide when or how she heals from it?"
Marianne flushes. She's so insensitive. She hadn't even thought of it that way. "Sorry," she murmurs, vowing silently to keep her mouth shut in future.
Mercedes surprises her by laughing. "Don't apologize, silly. It's a fair question. Edelgard is going against everything we've ever known—it's reasonable to wonder whether it's the right path or not. I think, to Edelgard, this is the only path. Only she can decide what's right for her, regardless of how any of us might feel about it."
"But... to go against the church..." Marianne bites her lip, hard, expecting Mercedes to chide her for being so callous.
But she only nods, like she understands. Maybe she does. Marianne is starting to realize how similar they really are.
"It's hard, isn't it?" she asks gently. "I've struggled with it myself. If I hadn't seen Lady Rhea transform like that, right in front of my eyes, I—well. I'm glad I did."
"Why?"
Mercedes hums again, then stands, bringing her little bowl of medicinal paste over to Sylvain and sitting on the edge of his bed to spread it over his injured ankle. Marianne passes her a bandage to wrap it up while she thinks.
Finally, she looks at her. "I think it would've been hard for me to accept it if I hadn't. I never wanted to admit it but... even when we were younger," she says, even though they aren't that much older now, "there was something that started to rub me the wrong way about the church."
Mercedes puts her hands in her lap and looks at Sylvain, but it doesn't seem like she's actually looking at him. "Do you remember the mission in Gaspard?"
Marianne does. She remembers feeling sick watching Ashe confront his adoptive father, remembers imagining the fear she would feel if she were in his place, if Lord Lonato were Margrave Edmund. He was brave then but he shouldn't have had to be. It was the first time she had ever seen him cry and something about it had shaken her to her core. She's seen him cry since, but nothing like that first time. Never like that.
"Of course," she says.
"Ashe has always been a religious man," Mercedes confesses. "But, that night... I overheard him in the cathedral, with Edelgard. I didn't mean to, but I forgot to pray that evening because I had cooking duty, and by the time I got there it was very late." She frowns a little, lost in the memory. "He must've been having trouble sleeping. Edelgard... consoled him. By then I'd felt I heard enough so I left, but... she must have been through something terribly sad herself to do something I don't think I could've." She looks up at Marianne, a deep sort of sadness in her eyes. "It's horrible of me, isn't it? Ashe is my friend, and he was hurting..."
Marianne doesn't know what to say, so she says nothing. Mercedes continues.
"He changed that night. So did Sylvain, after—well." She clears her throat, like the conversation is treading into dangerous waters. "I can see why it's easier for them—but for me, the church has always been a sanctuary."
"How do you mean?" Marianne asks. In her experience, the church has always made her a little sad. A reminder that she is stuck here, staring at the tear-stained marble floor below her clasped hands, a pitiful prayer on her lips.
"I used to live in a church," Mercedes explains. "After my mother and I fled House Bartels, we found refuge in a cathedral in the eastern kingdom. I used to look back on those days and remember them fondly."
Marianne's gaze drops to Mercedes's hands, clenched, white-knuckled, into the fabric of her skirts.
"And now?"
Mercedes releases her skirts as though she's only just realized what she was doing. "Strangely, I feel more content now. After so long, I've been reunited with my little brother, all thanks to Edelgard."
They grow silent for a bit, and then Sylvain lets out a snore that startles both of them into laughter, Mercedes's hand covering her mouth to hide her snort.
When she sobers up, she drops her hand back to her lap and sighs. "I believe in the future Edelgard wants," she says. "My Crest has never felt like a blessing, and I don't think that's what the goddess intended."
"I know how you feel," Marianne murmurs, and then panic grips her when she realizes that Mercedes might ask about her Crest. But she doesn't. She just pats her lap with brisk finality and stands, brushing her skirt off and returning the bowl to the table.
"Come now," she says, extending a hand to Marianne. "We'll be late for dinner if we continue like this."
Marianne hesitates, then accepts the help and stands up. Her hand is warm, soft. Mercedes takes her arm and leads the way out of the room, her hand still resting over Marianne's.
"I'll come back tonight to check on Sylvain," she decides, and when Marianne tries to volunteer instead she quiets her with a surprisingly firm look. "You should get some rest, okay?"
The remainder of the walk to the dining hall is silent, and so is the actual meal up until Ashe and Felix join them, Felix muttering under his breath about how irresponsible Sylvain is and Ashe catching Marianne's eyes and rolling his own, which makes her smile a little bit, and maybe this means the day isn't lost. Maybe it isn't so bad, after all.
Imperial Year 1181
Ethereal Moon
The end of the year is fast approaching.
Marianne wakes up on the 24th day of the Ethereal Moon feeling hollow, the snow falling outside her window a grim reminder of the first winter to pass since the professor disappeared.
She can't help but recall their first winter at the monastery. Ashe had asked her to accompany him to the dining hall for lunch that day—soup, she remembers, because it was her favorite, and when she told him that he said he knew, that's why he asked, and then he flushed like he hadn't meant to say it.
On the way they'd passed the professor and Yuri, and she didn't hear what they were saying but the smile on the professor's face said far more than his mouth ever could. The ball was that night, and the next day everything changed. The professor changed, and then Fódlan, as though it were an unsuspecting child following in his footsteps.
She allows herself to wallow for a moment longer, then tosses back the sheets and dresses swiftly, in her warmest dress and a sturdy pair of boots. Feeling sorry for herself is a thing of the past—at least, she wants it to be. She hopes that, wherever he is, the professor is proud of her.
It's when she's tying the laces of her boots that the knock sounds on her door. She straightens and throws the latch to open it and Ashe greets her, hair windswept, cheeks and nose chapped from the cold and a pair of woolen gloves on his hands.
"Good morning," he says. "I hope I didn't disturb you."
Marianne shakes her head, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind her. "You didn't. I was just getting ready to leave."
Ashe looks pleased. "Oh. Well, in that case, would you like to join me for breakfast? They're serving sweet buns today."
Something in Marianne's chest grows warm. "I'd love to."
He offers his arm, just like he did so many years ago, and she takes it. It's brisk out, the wind chapping her cheeks and tugging her hair out of its careful braids.
"How is Sylvain doing?" Ashe asks, setting an easy pace.
"Much better. His concussion is all but gone. The bruising and sprain are another problem—he can't seem to sit still long enough to let them heal. I wish you could've heard the way Manuela scolded him when she found out."
He laughs a little. "I don't blame him for wanting to get back out there—I do too—but it's far too dangerous right now. Trying to search the mountains now would be suicide."
Marianne hums thoughtfully. "Perhaps Dorte was trying to help, then."
He bites his lip to keep from smiling, to no avail. Marianne finds that it's contagious. "Perhaps he was."
They've reached the dining hall by now—they're among the first to arrive, so they get their food quickly and settle at a table in the back corner to eat. Marianne scopes out the room while she tucks in, catching a glimpse of Mercedes as she comes in.
"Ah," Ashe says, making Marianne look at him. "You've got a little—" He gestures to his face, scratching his left cheek, so Marianne bashfully picks up her napkin and wipes at her left cheek. Ashe huffs a laugh. "No, the other one—hold on."
He unfolds his own napkin and leans over the table to get it for her. Her face grows even hotter. There's an easy smile on his face when he leans away.
"There." He seems to notice, then, how flustered she is, and he starts to apologize. "Ah, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"
"No, no, it's fine, I—"
They're interrupted by Mercedes's sweet voice over Marianne's shoulder. "Do you mind if I join you?"
Ashe seems relieved. "Of course not. Please, by all means."
Mercedes takes the invitation and sits beside Marianne, and the three of them continue eating in relative silence. Only when Ashe polishes off his meal and stands, picking up his plate in preparation to leave, does Mercedes speak.
"Where are you off to so quickly?" she asks.
He pauses, one leg on either side of the bench, and grimaces apologetically. "I agreed to meet Felix at the training grounds after breakfast." He doesn't sound too happy about it. "I'd really prefer not to, but—I suppose it's a good opportunity. I don't know that Felix would bother trying to train with me again if I declined."
"You don't have to go if it makes you so unhappy," Mercedes clucks. "If Felix has a problem with it, that's for him to sort out on his own."
Ashe sighs. "I know, you're right, but—I'd really rather not deal with a pissed off Felix this early in the day."
Mercedes still seems to think otherwise, but she hums and shrugs, which Ashe takes as allowance. He pulls his other leg out of the bench and takes his plate up to the counter.
"Stubborn," Mercedes muses once he's gone. She doesn't sound that put out by it, more like it's a mere observation than anything else.
"Does he not get along with Felix?" Marianne asks, and then wonders if maybe she shouldn't have.
Mercedes answers, regardless. "Not really. They have very different views about the world—or they did, back when we were in school. Gaspard changed Ashe a lot, and I think he started to understand more about Felix than he ever has. They don't hate each other, mind you," she adds. "They just... don't see eye to eye on a lot of things."
Marianne dabs at her mouth, then folds her napkin and drops her hands to her lap. The conversation is dreary—much like the weather, as it's started to snow, little flurries gusting in through the open doors of the dining hall—and she made a vow to herself that today wouldn't be spent moping.
She turns to Mercedes and asks, with very little hesitation, "Would you like to join me for a walk after breakfast?"
Mercedes seems pleasantly surprised. "I would love to."
After that, she finishes eating quickly and they bring their dishes up together, along with their napkins, to be washed and pressed before lunch. Marianne takes care to grab Ashe's, as well, since he'd forgotten it in his hurry. Then, the two of them brace themselves for the cold and step out into the courtyard.
While they walk, Mercedes hums thoughtfully to herself. "I was thinking of paying a visit to the cathedral today."
Marianne glances at her curiously. "To pray?"
She frowns. It looks so out of place on her pretty features. "I'm not sure... I feel like I just need to sit and think for a little while."
"Alone?"
Mercedes seems to mull it over for a quiet moment, and then she looks at Marianne and smiles a little, privately. "Perhaps some company would be nice, after all."