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Garreg Mach Monastery is one of the most beautiful places Marianne has ever seen in her life, but its sun-warmed stone walls and smiling professors feel no different from a prison and its guards.
"The cathedral was lovely, wasn't it?" Margrave Edmund comments as they stand in the entrance hall. All around them, parents and children are saying enthusiastic (and sometimes tearful) farewells. "And you're so devout, Marianne - those morning services will be perfect for you. Such large stables, and a wonderful dining hall...everything you could possibly need. You'll even have your own room. On the second floor with the other nobles, of course - I ensured it."
Marianne nods, eyes fixed on her shoes.
"Marianne," Edmund sighs. "Are you even listening?"
"Yes, sir," Marianne mumbles to the floor.
"This will be a good experience for you. It's time you left the nest."
Marianne nods again.
"You'll be able to form strong friendships here, and powerful alliances," Edmund continues. "I still fondly remember my own school days here."
"Yes, sir."
"You look as if I'm marching you to the gallows." Edmund sighs again. "Not taking you to one of the most prestigious - and expensive, might I add - boarding schools in all of Fodlan."
"I'm sorry, sir."
"Never mind." Edmund shakes his head, running a hand through immaculately-groomed hair. "Just...while it's important for you to learn here, try and enjoy it a little, all right? There's no need to have such a sour face all the time."
Marianne doesn't answer.
"Well...orientation's winding down." Edmund pulls out a pocket watch, checks it, and then slips it back into his vest. "It's time I headed back."
Marianne's head snaps up, protest dying in her throat.
"You'll be just fine, Marianne." Edmund pats her shoulder. It's the most outward physical affection she ever gets from him. "Go have fun. Make some friends, and look happier, for the goddess's sake."
"But…" Marianne swallows hard. "My...my Crest…"
"So long as nobody hears of it, you'll be perfectly safe," says Edmund. "And nobody will. I've already contacted the church, and ensured that no member of the faculty will be testing you. Nobody else will even have reason to inquire."
Marianne doesn't quite believe him. What do nobles like to talk about more than Crests and bloodlines?
"You're my only heir, Marianne," Edmund continues. "If you're to continue my work, you must come out of your shell a little. You've always been a conscientious student, and quick to learn. You'll do just fine." He pats her shoulder again. "Good luck. I'll write to you."
He turns and walks out of the entrance hall, and Marianne watches him go, willing tears not to come, but they do anyway, pricking at the corners of her eyes. She blinks hard, trying to force them away.
She wants to beg him to stay, but he'd never listen.
(Besides, nobody ever stays.)
"Oh, goddess, I thought they'd never leave!"
Marianne starts at the loud noise from just behind her, and whirls around to see a girl with bright pink pigtails sighing loudly, stretching her arms over her head. "So embarrassing. My brother's way too old to cry like that. It's like he thinks I can't look after myself!"
Marianne stammers, backing a few steps away.
"Oh, hey there!" The girl catches sight of her and waves. "Nice to meet you. You're a student too, right?"
"Um…"
"My name's Hilda. Hilda Valentine Goneril, but," the girl grimaces, "you can just forget about that part. I'm not the heir, anyway. My brother is. What's your name?"
"Uh - uh, Marianne von Edmund." Marianne drops into a hasty bow.
"Nice to meet you, Marianne." Hilda twirls a lock of bright pink hair absently around one finger as she looks around the room, eyebrows lifted. "Crazy crowd, huh? Get this - not only is this the year that Duke Riegan's grandson's enrolling, there's also the crown princess of the Adrestian Empire, and the crown prince of Faerghus! What are the odds? It'll be hard to keep up…"
"Keep up?"
"They're gonna raise the curve." Hilda scoffs. "My dad'll throw a fit if I don't get good grades, and with all these fancy fuddy-duddys around, I'm gonna have to actually work. Ugh."
Marianne can't think of anything to say to that.
"Edmund, you said?" Hilda continues. "So you're a Golden Deer too, then?"
"Um. Yes."
"Guess we'll be spending a lot of time together, then." Hilda stretches her arms over her head again. "I hear they haven't decided what professor's leading what house - here's hoping we get Manuela. My brother says she's a softer touch than ol' Hanneman."
"Um."
"Did you see Lady Rhea? Talk about gorgeous - but scary. I do not want to get on her bad side." Hilda drops her arms with a sigh. "Man, it's gonna be hard here. Still, Deer have gotta stick together, right? Um, hey, are you okay?"
To Marianne's horror, the tears are back, stinging at the corners of her eyes. And Hilda's noticed them, which just makes them come faster.
"Hey, hey, don't cry! I'm just goofing around," says Hilda quickly. "I bet Lady Rhea's just a big teddy bear."
Marianne wipes angrily at her eyes. Humiliation burns in her chest.
"Here, here." Hilda pulls a handkerchief out of her pocket and passes it to Marianne. "First-day jitters, huh?"
Marianne considers refusing the handkerchief. Considers turning and running back to her room and crawling into bed and never ever getting out again. Or dashing outside to the rows of carriages parked outside the monastery and begging her adoptive father to let her go back home, away from these shining halls, back to her stables and birds and quiet places she can hide herself away in. Protecting herself, and protecting everyone here from her.
It's what she should do. But she's tired and sad and lonely, and so Marianne takes the handkerchief and dabs at her eyes.
"Sorry if I scared you," says Hilda, voice low.
"It's okay," Marianne mumbles. "I'm sorry. I'm just - it's been a long day, and...and I'm not very good at talking to people...I'm sorry."
"You don't have to be sorry."
Marianne wipes her eyes again. The handkerchief has a little pink pattern embroidered on the edge. Marianne squints to see the delicate stitches are actually in the shape of dozens of tiny flowers and butterflies.
"What's wrong?"
"Oh, um...your handkerchief." Marianne worries the fabric between her fingers. "It's, um, really pretty."
"Thanks." Hilda looks a little embarrassed. "I made it myself."
"You did? That's amazing."
"Oh, it's nothing, really…you can keep it if you want."
"Really?"
"Yeah, I've got plenty. I make little accessories and things...it's a hobby, y'know?" Hilda clears her throat. "Anyway, it was nice meeting you, Marianne."
"Nice meeting you too."
As she watches Hilda walk off, back into the crowd, Marianne's surprised that her heart feels just a little lighter.
***
Sunlight filters through the greenhouse roof, bathing Marianne in warmth she can't quite feel. She idly watches flowers swaying in the faint breeze filtering in from overhead, trying to lose her thoughts, but they continue to nip at her heels despite her best efforts.
Marianne feels so out of place at Garreg Mach. The classes, the duties, the battles - it's all so much more than she's ever experienced. The other students and the professors are kind to her, but she'll only hurt them. One day, it will all end, just like everything does.
This cannot last.
"You're in the greenhouse a lot," Hilda comments, her footsteps the only warning Marianne gets before the other girl is suddenly leaning over her shoulder. "Are you good with plants?"
"Not...not especially," Marianne admits. "I just, um…I, well..."
"Are you still upset about what happened in the library?" Hilda sighs. "Don't worry about it. We all have our weak spots. I guess I shouldn't have tried to shove all that work off on you without even checking to see if you were good at it."
Following Hilda's logic often makes Marianne dizzy, so she stays quiet.
"Anyway…" Hilda looks around the greenhouse. "It's nice in here, huh? I've never been in here before. It's quiet."
"Yes…" Marianne swallows. "That's why I like it."
"Guess that makes sense. Suits you."
Quiet hangs in the greenhouse, the only sounds the rustling of leaves and the occasional chirp of an insect.
Finally, Hilda sighs. "You're pretty hard to talk to, you know that, Marianne?"
"Oh...I'm sorry." Marianne lowers her head still further, so that all she can see is the dirt below her feet. "I know I'm not very good with people…"
Hilda sighs again, rougher this time. "There you go again."
"There I go…?"
"You're always like this. Looking sad, putting yourself down...how do you expect anyone to be your friend like this?"
"I, um…"
"Look, if you want me to leave you alone...you can just say so, you know. I thought maybe you'd want a friend, but if you don't...that's fine too." Hilda shrugs. "I don't want to waste my effort on someone who doesn't even want it."
Marianne blinks, lifting her head slightly. "Hilda?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you...want to be my friend?"
"Well, yeah? I guess so. I mean, if you want to be…" Hilda's sounds more unsure of herself than Marianne's ever heard her. "But I'm not gonna chase you around and force it. And I'm not going to be all broken up if you say no, either."
"I see…" Marianne twists her fingers together. "I...I'm sorry I was so rude to you. I didn't...I didn't realize you wanted to be friends. I thought...I thought you didn't like me."
Hilda rolls her eyes. "I didn't clean up your mess in the library because I hated you, Marianne. That doesn't even make any sense!"
"Oh...I guess it doesn't…"
"So do you want to leave me alone, or not? Just tell me."
"I...I'd like you to stay, I guess. Is that all right?"
"Of course it's all right. But I don't want to just stand around, okay? I want to actually talk to you, Marianne. For real, without you staring at the floor and looking sad."
"Okay…" Marianne lifts her head. She can't quite bring herself to look into Hilda's eyes, but at least she can see her at all. Hilda's wearing pale pink lip gloss. "I'll...I'll try."
"That's good." Hilda swings her arms absently at her sides. "So...we're in the greenhouse and all...what's your favorite flower?"
"Um...the lily of the valley."
"Aren't those kind of rare?"
"There's some over this way…" Marianne points with one finger, and Hilda follows her across the greenhouse to a small, tucked-away corner. "I always thought...they were so pretty, and so delicate."
"They are pretty," Hilda agrees, leaning over for a better look. "They suit you."
Marianne's face heats. "Really?"
"Yeah." Hilda straightens up. "Deceptively simple, but beautiful if you look close."
"B...beautiful…?"
"Hilda!" a voice calls from outside, making them both jump. "Seriously, I'm not doing stable duty alone! Where are you hiding?"
"Claude," Hilda grumbles. "Guess I didn't manage to give him the slip as well as I thought...see you later, Marianne."
Marianne only sputters as Hilda slips out the greenhouse door, pigtails bouncing merrily behind her.
(This cannot last, but Marianne wants it to anyway.)
***
"Wow," Hilda comments as Marianne steps into her bedroom. "You got a full spread, huh?"
"Um, I might've gotten carried away…" Marianne shifts the basket of pastries between her arms. "I just felt really bad about all that work you had to do, so…"
"Hey, I'm not complaining! Come sit down!" Hilda beckons Marianne over to a table. "I've got tea all ready."
Marianne sets down the basket and begins unpacking desserts. "I wasn't sure what you like, so I just got a bunch of different things."
"Oh, I'm not picky." Hilda peers into the basket. "Where'd you find all these?"
"There's a stall in town…"
"I didn't realize you'd go that far. Honestly, I was kind of joking when I said I wanted pastries."
"Oh." Marianne feels her face heat. Stupid. She's terrible at noticing jokes. "Um, sorry."
"No, no. I'm not gonna say no to dessert." Hilda seats herself with a flick of her pigtails. "But you'd better help me eat all these."
"I - I guess I can do that." Marianne takes a seat at the table, smooths her skirt across her lap, watches Hilda delicately slice a croissant in half.
"Good." Hilda butters the croissant with an easy flick of her wrist. "Pastries aren't as fun alone."
Marianne takes a sweetroll from the basket. She's nervous. Being alone with Hilda, in Hilda's room, somewhere so private.
She half expects Hilda to leap to her feet and order Marianne out. Not that Hilda would, but things like this just don't happen to Marianne. Casual intimacy isn't a language she speaks. But Hilda is all casual intimacy, hands on shoulders and linked together, flippant compliments and little giggles, invitations handed out as easily as thought, and it's enough to leave Marianne dizzy.
"So," Hilda taps off a little excess butter before taking a massive bite of croissant, and Marianne is pulled from her thoughts, "what d'you think about that exam tomorrow?" Her voice is muffled by pastry.
Marianne shrugs. "I just...hope I don't fail it."
"Oh, don't worry about it. You know loads about horses, right? No way you'll fail." Hilda takes another bite. "Me, I'm more nervous about scoring too high. Don't want to raise expectations. The professor already never takes no for an answer, and I don't want to give them more ammo."
Marianne fiddles with the edge of her napkin. "Why do you...always do that?"
Hilda blinks. "Do what?"
"Hide...who you really are."
Hilda bites out a harsh little laugh, almost a scoff. "Hide? Hah, you're one to talk."
Marianne curls up a little. "I'm sor - "
"No, no, don't apologize." Hilda sets down the croissant. "I just was startled, is all. Besides, it's obvious why I act this way, isn't it? Hard work sucks, and I don't want to do it. No more, no less."
"But…" Marianne swallows. "Then why do you always help me? When we have chores together, you always help me do all the work...and even on the battlefield, you look out for me...protect me…"
There are pink spots growing on Hilda's cheekbones, the same color as her hair. "Well, so do you. You're always taking out mages for me."
"You're a kind person, Hilda," Marianne says, a little surprised at her own daring. "But you pretend that...that you aren't."
"Oh, no, no." Hilda shakes her head. "Kind? Me? Heh, no way. It's just that being mean to you would be like landing a pegasus on a puppy. I'm not a complete monster, you know. If you want to talk about pretending, then let's talk about you."
"M-me?"
"Yes, you." Hilda points an accusing cream puff at Marianne. "You're always acting like you're some kind of horrible monster. You always talk about 'confessing' and tell people they need to stay away from you...well, why's that, huh?"
Marianne can't think of an answer.
"Seems hypocritical to me." Hilda nods. "We're both pretending to be someone we're not, and we have our own reasons, right? Why not leave it there?"
"I can't tell you why," Marianne mumbles at last. "But...but I'm not pretending. I'm not...I'm not somebody you should be friends with."
"Well, too late!" Hilda pops the cream puff in her mouth. "You've bought me pastries. We're locked in now."
"But - "
"Listen…" Hilda's face softens slightly. "If I thought you were a bad person to be friends with, I wouldn't be your friend, Marianne. It's that simple. I'm a big girl. I can make up my own mind."
Marianne curls her hands together in her lap. "Um…"
"Yeah?"
"I do like...being your friend, Hilda." Marianne feels like her face is on fire. "Honest."
"Good," says Hilda. "Because it's a real honor, you know. Being my friend."
Marianne lifts her sweetroll to hide her smile. "I'm honored, then."
***
Marianne hangs back in the shadows of the dance hall. It's glowing golden, students twirling around the dance floor, illuminated by thousands of twinkling lights. And it is very pretty, Marianne has to admit, watching her peers trip over each others' feet in vague synchronization. But it's not a world she can ever be a part of.
Love is in the air, and the students at Garreg Mach have been exchanging shy glances and blushy giggles all month. But Marianne already knows, has always known, that that's one thing she'll never be able to have.
Nobody could ever love a beast. And that's what Marianne is, down at her core, where she imagines she can feel the brand of Maurice's crest, burned into her heart. A monster, a mistake, an aberration. She doesn't belong here.
Marianne shifts her shoulders. Her dress uniform itches, and her fingers feel frozen around the lukewarm cup of punch she's been nursing all night. Maybe she should just go back to her room -
"Hey, Marianne!"
Marianne's not surprised to see Hilda pop up at her side, cheeks flushed from dancing and a plate of cake in hand. "Um...hello, Hilda."
"One day you'll drop the 'um.'" Hilda licks her fork. "I gotta say, while it's kinda stuffy, the food's good. Did you try any? Want some?"
"I'm fine."
"Well, you'd have to get your own, anyway." Hilda pops another forkful in her mouth. "I'm not sharing. Having fun?"
"Sure," Marianne lies.
"Wish we could wear whatever we wanted, though. Dress uniforms are boring."
"Mmm."
"Oh my gosh, look at Raphael and Ignatz trying to dance!" Hilda points her fork across the ballroom towards the teetering couple. "Poor things. I don't think either of them know what they're doing. Wonder how Ignatz got Raphael away from the snack table." She watches a moment longer. "Well, it's cute how hard they're trying."
"Yeah."
"You feeling okay?" Hilda looks back at Marianne, squinting. Her usual pigtails have been traded for a neat updo, and there are dangling silver earrings swinging on either side of her face. "You seem more somber than usual. Even for you."
"Just tired," says Marianne.
"You stay up later than this all the time!"
Marianne shrugs.
"Marianne." Hilda's tone lowers. "What's the matter? Is it the usual 'I'm a monster, everyone should stay away from me' stuff?"
Marianne can't help the giggle that escapes her at Hilda's mocking impression of her voice. That giggle seems to boost Hilda, who stands a little straighter. The chandeliers are casting little golden lights through her hair, forming a glowing sunset.
"Well," Hilda sets down her empty plate. "I know what'll take your mind off of all that brooding stuff. Wanna dance with me?"
The warmth that had built in Marianne's chest with Hilda's presence immediately turns to ice. "Oh, I, um - I shouldn't."
"Don't tell me you don't know how to dance," says Hilda. "There's no way Margrave Edmund didn't make his daughter take dancing lessons."
"He did," Marianne admits.
"Then why 'shouldn't' you dance?" Hilda plants her hands on her hips. "If you just don't want to, you can come out and say so."
"I - " Marianne swallows. "Everyone's...watching."
Hilda glances around the room. "Nobody's watching, silly. They're all watching each other, or Ignatz and Raphael butchering the waltz, or Seteth kicking Sylvain out of the party for being a creep. Nobody will notice us."
"But…" Marianne clutches her cup of punch. "What if…?"
"Do you actually want to dance with me?"
Marianne looks at Hilda's flushed, bright face, framed by glittering lights. "I…"
She thinks of her parents, tucked away in the study, speaking in frantic voices while she listens at the door, fingers curled against the wood. She hears her mother crying when she thinks Marianne can't hear. She hears the promise her father didn't keep. She hears the shouting mob.
What right does Marianne have to drag someone into this life? What right does she have to curse somebody else?
But Hilda is bright, and warm, and it's only one dance. One dance can't hurt. Right?
"I'd…" Marianne swallows down the sudden dry pang in her throat. "I'd like that."
If Hilda looked beautiful before, she looks radiant now, her whole face lighting up at Marianne's words. "Really? Great!"
"I might not be very good," Marianne says quickly. "Is that...okay?"
"Oh, come on. You can't be worse than the professor. I still can't feel my toes." Hilda makes a face. "They're so great on the battlefield, I thought they'd be more graceful. I asked them if they'd ever danced before, and they said they 'didn't know.' Didn't know! Honestly. Anyway." She holds out her hand, and Marianne doesn't hesitate before taking it.
Marianne does know how to dance, but Hilda's picked a simple step, which she's grateful for. Hilda's hand on Marianne's waist is warm, the one holding her hand is warmer still, and they start to move slowly across the dance floor, between other twirling couples. Hilda hums softly, along to the music. Marianne can see the silver glitter around her eyes, the smear of pale pink gloss on her lips marred slightly by cake crumbs.
And as she watches Hilda, Marianne finds herself forgetting all the reasons why this is temporary, why this is wrong, why she should run.
All she wants is to stay, in this golden-hued moment, shining in the lamplight, painted with sunset. With Hilda.
When the dance ends, Hilda bows over Marianne's hand, bringing it to her lips, and leaves a pink stain behind.
***
War is coming to Garreg Mach. War with the Empire. It doesn't seem real, despite the knights' frantic preparations, Claude's maps spread across the classroom floor, the professor eschewing book work and exam preparations for hours upon hours of practical training.
Marianne finds solace in the stables, in the comfortable warmth of Dorte's stall. She leans against the wooden wall, and Dorte, having surmised that she's out of carrots, watches her with doleful eyes. Perhaps her mood is contagious.
It's silly to think this is her fault somehow, but Marianne can't help but think it. After all, she has the Crest of misfortune, doesn't she? Isn't that what happened to her parents? Isn't that why nothing good in her life has ever not been snatched away from her?
She was too happy, and now that happiness is being crushed beneath the Empire's heel. True, they haven't lost the battle yet, but Marianne can see in the knights' gray faces that the odds are dire. And if Garreg Mach falls, then -
There's a creak as the stable gate swings open, and Marianne blinks in surprise as Hilda steps into her line of view, coming up to Dorte's stall and petting his nose. "Ugh. It reeks in here."
"Hilda?" Marianne straightens up. "What are you doing here?"
"Uh, I have stable duty this week too," says Hilda. "Remember?"
"You never show up for stable duty."
"Well, you know…" Hilda pauses. "Extenuating circumstances, and all."
"I guess."
"Plus I didn't like the idea of you doing everything alone. You know."
"I don't usually make mistakes in the stables…"
Hilda shrugs. "You make me want to put in effort. Is that so wrong?"
"I guess not…"
"There you go." Hilda strokes her fingers through Dorte's mane absently. "Hey, are you all right? You look...sulkier than usual."
"I'm nervous," Marianne admits. Normally, she'd say she was fine. But in the last months, she's found herself growing more and more honest - with Hilda, with the professor, with everyone. Maybe Garreg Mach really was good for her. "About - you know. The battle…"
"Come on out of there." Hilda beckons. "I can barely see you back in the shadows."
Marianne obliges, stepping out of the stall and letting the wooden door fall shut behind her. Dorte nickers.
"You look exhausted," Hilda comments as she brushes Marianne's bangs out of her eyes. Her fingers smell like horse, although Marianne has never minded. "Have you been sleeping at all?"
"A little."
"You really must be nervous," Hilda says quietly. She's holding Marianne's hand. Marianne hadn't noticed her taking it - which is so very Hilda, that easy touch, almost absentminded, as though it's something natural, habitual. "It's gonna be okay, all right? I won't let anything hurt you."
"I love it here," Marianne confesses, the words falling pell-mell from her, Hilda's gentle tone breaking a dam inside her. "I love it so much, and I - I don't want this to end. Not like this. I don't want anyone to get hurt, not you or the others, or the professors, or the knights, or anybody…"
"I know," Hilda says, her voice even softer now. "I understand, Marianne. I feel the same way."
"This place is my home," Marianne continues. "I don't want to lose it…"
"Hey." Hilda's fingers squeeze Marianne's. "It'll all be fine. In a few more weeks, we'll be graduating together, and we'll laugh about this whole thing."
Marianne lets herself slump into Hilda's waiting arms, and pretends she doesn't notice the shorter woman shaking, and tries to believe her.
***
Graduation never does come.
The sky is yellow the day they flee the monastery, running desperately into the woods as the Imperial Army marches forward. Marianne had run along with the rest, keeping her eyes trained on the distant shape of the Seiros banner marking the start of the procession. Her heart had beat a frenzied tattoo against her ribs, crushed on all sides by the desperate march of students and teachers and citizens alike, her feet aching as they dashed down the mountain and through the trees, hearing the crash and crumble of buildings and the screaming of demonic beasts behind her, and being far too afraid to look back.
They'd come to a stop in a small cluster of villages deeper in the mountains, once it had been apparent that the Imperial Army wasn't following. The archbishop was holding them off, although Marianne wonders how a single woman, powerful or not, could have managed to slow an army of such a massive size. It doesn't matter, in the end - what mattered was that casualties had been suffered, but most of the student body had survived. Perhaps Edelgard had spared them, some nostalgia or caring left within her even if her motives had been false. Perhaps it was the goddess, showing mercy to her flock. Perhaps it was all thanks to the knights and professors. Marianne doesn't know, and can't hope to find out.
The Golden Deer had reunited as the makeshift camp was being established, and the relief that had flooded Marianne at the sight of a golden cape and pink hair had been crushed as they'd all realized that none of them had seen the professor since evacuation started.
"They're probably debriefing with Seteth and the knights," Claude said, nodding towards the tents. "Teach never would've gone down in that fight."
But only minutes later, Seteth had approached them, and it had been clear from his face that nobody had seen Byleth at all. Clearer and clearer, as hours became days and there was no trace of the professor among them. No archbishop, either.
Claude still seemed to think the professor was going to appear. Maybe they were trapped somewhere, or biding their time - but he insisted that they couldn't be dead. It was impossible, he said, and said it so convincingly Marianne almost believed him.
Almost.
Professor or no professor, life had to go on, and on the end of the first day Alois and Seteth had addressed the gathered crowds from wyvernback, confirming that the semester had come to an early end. Several noble houses were sending men to retrieve their children. The Knights of Seiros were organizing squads to take the remaining students safely home to their respective nations. Those whose only home was the monastery were less fortunate, although the knights promised that they would do all they could to find places for everyone to stay. Until then, they are all stuck in the mountains.
The camp is a handful of tents and cots, insufficient to house so many people. Rations are scarce, supplies scarcer still, and while some of the villages of the Oghma Mountains are willing to lend a hand, they can only provide so much. Claude darts through the people, a golden ray of charisma, organizing food lines and setting up tasks, stepping up as the only remaining house leader - Dimitri escaped with the rest of them, but he hasn't emerged from his tent since it was pitched, despite the apparent efforts of some of the Blue Lions. The Black Eagle students seem even more directionless and confused, as if unsure if they even belong among the monastery refugees.
Margrave Edmund was among the nobles who had sent word that he would be coming to escort home the children in his domain. His note made no mention of Marianne herself, a fact she couldn't help noticing when Seteth handed it to her, though she's hardly surprised by it.
Until her uncle's men come, Marianne tries to keep herself busy. She helps out in the stables (Dorte is among the horses who were evacuated, much to her rather selfish relief) and in the healing tent, working alongside Manuela and the other priests. There's an endless amount of work to do just to keep things running in some semblance of order, and Marianne catches herself often longing for the relative security of the monastery.
Despite all the grief that had permeated it, Marianne thinks that year was the happiest of her life. It seems unfair that it should end so harshly, that all that joy could be ripped away in a matter of days.
Still, one day Marianne finds a quiet moment between chores, and lets her aching body sag under a dry tree at the corner of camp, watching the bustle of the makeshift community. She hasn't had the time for prayer, but she clasps her hands now, closing her eyes. It feels nothing like the cathedral, but it will have to do.
The goddess can hear her anywhere, can't she? Marianne only hopes she'll listen.
Dear goddess. Please, let the professor and the archbishop and everyone be safe. Let them make it through this. I don't care what happens to me, but guide them, Goddess, and protect them....
"Hey, there you are!"
"Hilda?" Marianne opens her eyes.
"Oh, sorry." Hilda comes to a stop. "Were you praying?"
"I was, but it's okay."
"We haven't had a chance to talk in ages." Hilda flops down into the grass beside her. "Ugh, this whole mess has been so exhausting. I can't wait until my brother gets here and I can go home. I keep having to do chores, and since Dimitri's all sulky Claude volunteered me to help take his place! Me! A fragile maiden! Can you believe it?"
"You're good at this kind of thing, though," says Marianne. "Organizing and all…"
"I'm not," Hilda insists. "I just get lucky sometimes, is all. Anyway, I finally managed to get some time off, between hauling crates and stuff. I have blisters on my blisters! Look!" She holds out her hands, and Marianne squints, but can't see much beyond the usual axe calluses. "Since things are pretty rough, though, I did it all anyway. Charitable of me, I think. But Claude wouldn't stop smirking, the jerk."
"I can heal your hands, if you want," says Marianne, even though they look fine to her.
"Oh, no, it's okay," says Hilda quickly. "I mean, it's not that bad. You should save your energy. A-anyway, what have you been up to?"
"I was working too, in the stables and the healing tent," says Marianne.
"Sounds like your strengths," says Hilda, nudging Marianne with her shoulder. "Didn't drop anything, did you?"
Marianne flushes. "No."
"Sorry. I was just teasing." Hilda sighs, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "I feel so scatterbrained. It's been crazy. I feel like my brain's made of taffy. But anyway." She rummages in her skirt pocket. "I came here for a reason, after all. I was going to give you this for graduation day, but that's not happening now, so. Anyway." She pulls something out and places it in Marianne's palm. "Surprise!"
Marianne looks down. It's a silver bracelet, strung with round, clear blue beads that shimmer in the fading sunlight.
"Do you like it?" Hilda's voice is almost tentative.
Marianne finds her voice. "It's...it's beautiful."
"Isn't it?" Hilda beams. "I made the clasp myself, so it'd look pretty. It's engraved, see?"
"Yes…" Marianne nearly chokes on the wave of emotion that wells up in her, cold and warm at once, a sort of longing. "I...thank you, Hilda."
"No problem! Here, want me to help you put it on?" Hilda picks up the bracelet again and clasps it around Marianne's wrist. The glass beads feel cool against her skin, a splash of blue resting alongside the fabric of her school jacket. "There you go. Oh, good, it fits! I thought your wrists were a little narrower than mine, but it was all a lot of guesswork, y'know?"
The wave is brimming again, and Marianne struggles to force it down so she can speak. She doesn't quite succeed, no words making their way out of her throat.
Hilda pauses. "Marianne? Is something wrong?"
Marianne swallows hard. "It's just, I...I didn't get you anything."
Hilda flaps a hand. "Oh, don't be silly. Things have been crazy lately, and it's not like there's some kind of tradition to give students gifts. I just saw those beads in the market and thought of you, is all."
"Still…" Marianne curls the fingers of her free hand around the bracelet. "I should…"
"Hilda!"
Hilda freezes, the blood draining from her face. "Oh, shit."
"Hilda!" It's a man's voice, loud and booming. "Where is my sister? Find her at once! I can't even bear to think of her living in this dismal squalor - "
Marianne glances over Hilda's shoulder. There's some kind of commotion on the far side of camp. Several students, along with Seteth, Catherine, Alois, and even Shamir are rushing over to where a group of wyvern riders has dismounted. There's a great deal of shouting going on, too, centered on a very large, red-faced figure in armor.
"He brought the wyverns," Hilda moans. "And now he's making a scene. Ugh, Holst. This is so embarrassing."
For some reason, fear clenches Marianne's heart. "So you're leaving?"
"Guess so. I thought we had another week or so, but…" Hilda sighs. "I should go calm him down. Don't want him to hurt anybody out of fear for his 'poor, sweet sister.'"
"Does that mean…" Marianne swallows. "Does that mean this is goodbye?"
"Well, yeah," says Hilda. "But only for now. We'll see each other again, right?"
Will we? Marianne nearly asks, but she doesn't want to give voice to that thought. Like if she says it out loud, it will become all the more real.
Hilda dusts off her skirt and starts to stand. "Well, I'll see you around, Marianne - "
"Wait," Marianne's heart is pounding so hard she's sure it's making her chest shake, but she fights through that fear. "Wait, I - I need to give you your present."
Hilda's eyebrows lift. "I thought you said you didn't have anything - "
Marianne lets the wave of longing build and crest, turning to courage, and she leans forward and presses her lips against Hilda's cheekbone. She'd meant it to only be a peck, but she freezes in the moment, and it's a good few seconds before she pulls back again. They both stare at each other.
Hilda's hand rises to her cheek. Her face is the same color as her hair. Marianne's never seen her at a loss for words before, but now she's just gaping, pink lips hanging open, and Marianne opens her own mouth but can't find her voice either.
"Miss Goneril!" Alois's voice booms out just above them, and Marianne nearly collapses from the shock. "Here you are! Your brother's just arrived, and he's most, er, adamant that you be brought to him at once."
"Oh - oh, coming," says Hilda quickly, hopping upright. "Um - goodbye, Marianne. I'll make sure to write you letters."
Marianne swallows through a dry throat. "I'll write you too."
Hilda waves, smiles, and then turns and follows Alois into the crowd. Marianne quickly loses sight of her.
Marianne wipes away the few, traitorous tears with her fingertips.
It's not the end. She'll tell herself that, as many times it takes, and maybe eventually she'll even be able to believe it.
***
Garreg Mach in ruins is a horrible sight. Not as horrible as the sight that had turned it to ruins, but it still hurts to look. The goddess's home, turned to crumbled stone. And perhaps even more importantly to Marianne (although it seems selfish,) a place that had meant hope, and happiness, and the first friends she had ever made in her life…now nothing but a hollow shell.
"A tragedy," Lysithea intones as she looks up at the battered buildings. "Such a loss of history and knowledge…"
"Sad, seeing the old place like this," Raphael sighs.
"Mmm." Marianne wipes her hands on her skirt. Her palms are sweating.
Suppose she finds the professor and the others inside? Worse, suppose she doesn't? It had taken a great deal of uncharacteristic pleading and cajoling to convince her adoptive father to let her come here, and it had only been sheer chance that she'd run into Lysithea and Raphael along the way. Hilda had mentioned the promise a few times in her letters, but Marianne hadn't been able to keep touch with any of the others. And besides, there were so many dangers lurking on the Fódlan roads, now...just because they'd intended to come didn't mean they had actually reached their destination.
There's a shout from somewhere in the ruins, and a crash. Marianne starts.
"Hey - " Raphael squints into the gloom. "That could be the others, right? We'd better go and check they're okay."
"Bandits, I suspect," says Lysithea. Her small hands begin to crackle with dark magic. "Let us make short work of them. You can heal, can't you, Marianne?"
Marianne nods. "Yes, certainly."
"That's a much more definitive answer than I would have expected out of you," Lysithea says, raising one pale eyebrow. "Perhaps you've truly grown these last few years."
"I - "
"Less talk, more fight!" Raphael orders as he leads the way between the alleys of crumbling stone. "There's a ton of bandits here, and we've gotta get to work!"
"Understood." Lysithea darts after him. "Don't dally, Marianne!"
There really are quite a lot of bandits - though they are crudely armed and unprepared, and the trio is easily able to force their way into the heart of the ruins. However, it quickly becomes apparent they aren't alone - a golden-clad figure is soaring over their heads, unmistakable laughter filling the air in his wake, and on his heels is a flash of pale green and an whirling tornado of bone and light.
"Who knew Claude was right after all?" Raphael comments as he sends an archer sprawling. "The professor really is alive!"
"Everyone's here," Lysithea says, swiping quickly at her eyes between spells. "They all really came…"
Marianne doesn't answer. She finds she can't - warmth is filling her heart, fueling her spells, and she can't help the smile that tugs at the corner of her lips. It's silly that such a cold, desolate, violent place could make her feel this way, but Claude's arrows rain into the earth around her, Lorenz is scolding him and going ignored, Raphael is already describing the meal they'll all share when it's over, the professor commands them all with sharp jerks of their chin and solemn gestures, and it's like Marianne is at home again, moreso than she ever could be at the Edmund estate. And -
"Marianne!" A pink blur is darting between the buildings. "I knew you'd come!"
Marianne turns, feeling her grin broaden. "Hilda?"
Hilda is panting, blood and grime streaked on her rosy face, and she sheathes a massive axe as she runs towards Marianne. "About time! I was worried!"
"Why?" Marianne almost ducks her head, but stops the habit just in time. "I wrote to you, didn't I?"
"I know, but - " Hilda snatches her up in a hug, tight and high enough that Marianne actually feels her toes leave the ground. "Forget it! It's just...it's really good to see you again."
"You too." Marianne rests her hands on either side of Hilda's face. The pigtails are gone in favor of a more adult ponytail, and she looks a little broader, a little stronger than Marianne remembers. But she's still Hilda, and the laughter that is now filling Marianne's heart is proof of that.
Marianne lowers her head to bury it in Hilda's shoulder, inhaling deeply. Under the iron and sweat of battle, she can smell lilac perfume, and feel Hilda's pulse against her nose.
"Um…" Hilda's voice wavers. "Marianne?"
"Yes?"
"There's...kind of still a battle going on." Hilda pats her back. "So we should...probably keep this brief."
"Oh - oh, right." Marianne quickly pulls back, and Hilda lets her go - with reluctance, Marianne thinks, or maybe hopes. "It's just - I'm happy to see you."
"Me too." Hilda reaches up and brushes back a stray lock of Marianne's hair. "You look amazing, by the way. Love the new bangs."
Marianne feels her face color, but as she opens her mouth, Lysithea yells something distinctly displeased, and they break apart, hurrying to her side. But the warmth where Hilda touched her still lingers, somehow.
Yes, after all this time, Marianne is home.
***
The sky is yellow, the academy is still strewn with rubble and debris, and the soldiers overhead are on patrol. But Garreg Mach, despite all the changes, still feels achingly familiar, soothingly so. Sure, most of the possessions Marianne left behind were stolen, and the classes have been replaced with war councils, and the cathedral is little more than a heap of fallen rock, but…
But despite all of that, some things haven't changed, Marianne thinks as she sits in the gazebo and Hilda pours tea for them both.
"Guess even pastries feel the effects of war." Hilda weighs a jelly roll in her hand. Not iced, and very small - but the best Marianne could find in town. "Oh well. All the more reason to crush the Empire as soon as possible."
Marianne rests her teaspoon on her saucer. "Right."
"So…" Hilda bites into the jelly roll. "How're you doing? We haven't had much of a chance to talk. Claude's been keeping me crazy busy."
"I'm all right." Marianne folds her hands on the table. "I've been helping with the horses."
"'Course you have." Hilda's voice is teasing, but there's no malice in it. "Good old Marianne."
Marianne feels her face heat slightly, and clenches her fingers together more tightly, hoping to keep them from shaking.
She's had a lot of time to think about Hilda over the last five years - well, she didn't strictly have the time, moreso she took it anyway, but sometimes it was unavoidable. Every sheet of pink, perfume-tinted stationary that arrived sent her chest clenching and stomach swooping - and it hadn't taken Marianne long to realize it wasn't the ordinary anxiety of replying. That certainly wasn't the reasoning behind stashing Hilda's letters in her bedside table, and occasionally, when she couldn't sleep - though it makes Marianne's face burn with shame to admit, even in the privacy of her own head - under her pillow.
Marianne clears her throat, and it stings. "Um - how are the pastries?"
"Fine." Hilda peels off the edge of the jelly roll with one manicured nail, and Marianne finds her eyes drawn to Hilda's hands. Impeccably well-maintained, but just a bit callused across the palms and fingers - effects of gripping an axe that even Hilda's militant skincare routine can't quite wipe away. Much like Hilda herself - an unmistakable soldier, strong enough to break a table in half or easily lift another person, but wrapped up in pink and frills and lip gloss, a self-defensive diversion.
"Marianne? What're you staring at?"
"Nothing," Marianne says quickly, tearing her eyes away from Hilda's lips as she pops a piece of jelly roll between them. "Sorry. I'm still not - amazing with people."
"Eh, that's okay." Hilda sets down the remnants of her roll and picks up her teacup, and Marianne still can't quite seem to stop watching her. "You wouldn't be Marianne if you were."
Marianne brushes her bangs out of her face. "I suppose not."
"Hey - " Hilda squints. "Wait. Marianne, are you...are you wearing that bracelet I made you?"
"What?" Marianne lowers her arm, looking down at the loop of blue over her sleeve. "Oh - yes."
"That's nice of you." Hilda's cheeks are pink, pinker than her usual small circles of blusher. "But, uh - you don't have to, you know."
"I mean...I wear it all the time." Marianne curls her free hand over the bracelet protectively. "Not just - not just for your benefit. It's usually under my sleeve, but - "
"Wait, all the time?" Hilda sputters. "Marianne, that thing's so old! I can do way better now. You should let me make you a nicer one!"
"I mean, if you want to," Marianne says softly. "But I'd - like to keep this one too, if that's okay."
Hilda leans back in her chair, sighing. Her whole face is pink now. "I guess, I mean - if you want to, I gave it to you, after all, but - it's nothing special."
"It is special, though." Marianne tries to keep the hurt out of her voice. "You made it for me, after all."
Hilda nearly drops her teacup, and it sloshes as she sets it down heavily on the table, her breath coming out in a shuddering sigh. "I - Goddess, this is embarrassing."
"Is it?"
"Marianne!"
Marianne feels somewhat lost. "What's embarrassing?"
"You - you just - " Hilda has one hand over her face now, flapping the other one vaguely in Marianne's direction. "Ugh! You can't just say things like that, you know!"
"Like what?"
Hilda lowers her hand. She's gone from pink to red. "You're adorable. It's exhausting. I thought maybe, since it's been so long - but it's gotten even worse! Ugh!"
Marianne tries to decipher that incomprehensible string of syllables, but can only find one word, one that makes her own face heat. "Adorable…?"
Hilda sighs again, stretching her arms over her head. "Now that I can actually see your face, it's just way too much. I don't know how to deal with it."
"But - "
"Oh, don't worry about it. You can't help it, after all." Hilda pats Marianne's hand, and the touch of bare skin makes Marianne's throat close. "But it's tough on my fragile maiden heart."
Marianne is utterly lost, despite her best efforts. "Um…"
Hilda shakes her head, releasing Marianne's hand and leaning back. "Don't worry about it. So, what have you been up to? Is your dad being a jerk again?"
They lose themselves in conversation, about years apart and Holst and Margrave Edmund and war, but Marianne can't quite banish the thought of Hilda's blush from the back of her mind, and the imprint of Hilda's fingertips seems to linger on her skin.
***
There's blood on Marianne's hands.
It's not really there. Her hands are clean. She's washed them dozens of times since they left that horrible bridge behind. But she can still sense the blood, feel it, smell it.
It's selfish of her. She's been training to fight for years now. She's let so many people die, bandits and soldiers and rebels. So why does this one matter more? Why can't she stop shaking?
Marianne grabs onto either side of the washbasin, lowering her head. The battle's been over for hours. The patients in the healing tent are stable. Today was a decisive victory. She should be happy.
"Ah, this stallion is a fine specimen, isn't he? You have excellent taste, Marianne!"
"Stop," Marianne whispers, trying to stop her own memory, quarantine it away. But it bubbles in her throat, hot and acrid.
They hadn't spoken too much, and only about horses. He'd been the only other person who spent as much time in the monastery stables as she did. And she hadn't seen him in five years, had only barely recognized him when she'd caught sight of ginger hair under the gray skies of war. But still, Ferdinand had been her friend.
And now he's dead.
No, Marianne didn't kill him. But she watched the professor's sword cleave his chest in two, and his eyes had locked on her as he'd bled out on the stone, and it was a wound she could have healed, could have stopped. Would have stopped, had they been on the same side. But he was the enemy, so she stood, and she watched, and the gurgling sound as his last breath left him is still ringing, ringing, ringing in her ears.
She learned healing magic so she wouldn't have to fight, wouldn't use her Crest. But she's still letting people die. And isn't that just as evil of her? Does it really matter, in the end, whether it was the professor's sword or hers that sucked away that man's life?
Marianne lets go of the basin and lets herself sink slowly to her knees, curling forward, wrapping her arms around herself. The tears brimming in her eyes are burning, and how dare she cry for him, when it was her choice that let him die? How selfish can she be?
Marianne should pray for him, at least, but her lips are frozen. Will the goddess even take Ferdinand's soul? After all, he was fighting for the Empire, fighting against Her…
The hand on Marianne's back is unexpected, but it doesn't startle her, somehow. Arms wrap around her shoulders, a head leans against hers. Marianne turns her face into the offered neck there, and lets herself cry.
Hilda doesn't say anything, just holds Marianne tighter. And maybe Marianne is selfish, cold, cruel, a monster, but it's safe in Hilda's arms, and so as long as they exist, she'll stay there.
***
"Marianne?"
Marianne sits up straighter at the desk. "Hilda?"
"Yeah. I was wondering…" A breathless pause from behind the door. "Um, can I come in? I know it's late…"
"No, feel free." Marianne fiddles with the sash of her dressing gown as the door of her room opens and Hilda steps inside. "I wasn't going to bed just yet, anyway."
Hilda's taken off her armor, but she's still in her day clothes, and looking slightly off-center as she sits down on the edge of Marianne's bed. "Thanks."
"Is something wrong?" Marianne asks, closing her book and turning her chair around to face Hilda.
"Well…" Hilda bites her lip, swinging her legs. "I guess I...just wanted to make sure you were all right. After, y'know, everything that happened today."
"I'm fine," Marianne reassures her. "The monsters never harmed me. I told you that earlier, didn't I?"
"I know, but…" Hilda grimaces. "I'm still kinda freaked out about it. The sight of you, alone in that clearing, surrounded by beasts…" She closes her eyes and shudders slightly. "I thought there was no way we'd make it to you in time."
"I'm sorry I worried you." Marianne watches the soft rise and fall of Hilda's shoulders. "But I really am fine."
Hilda is looking down at her lap. She sighs heavily. "Yeah, I know. I guess I just wanted to...make sure. You know. I'd hate to lose my pastry buddy, is all."
"Of course."
Hilda glances up at Marianne, and her lips quirk in a smile. "Heh. I've never seen you with your hair down."
"Really?" Marianne reaches up to tug at a strand that's fallen over her shoulder.
"Nope, it's always been all up and braided," says Hilda. "Not that it's not pretty like that, but...it looks nice down, too."
"I just took a bath." Marianne runs her fingers through her hair, suddenly self-conscious. "I was waiting for it to dry before I braided it for bed."
"Want me to do it?" Hilda crosses and uncrosses her ankles, looking suddenly shy. "I mean, well - it looks fun to braid."
"Oh...um, sure." Marianne gets up from the desk and crosses to sit on the bed next to Hilda. "The brush is over there…"
There's a slight rustle from behind Marianne as Hilda adjusts herself. Marianne's ready for it, but she can't help the gooseflesh that runs down her neck as Hilda's bare hands collect her hair, drawing it away from her neck. The brush drags through her hair a moment later, slow and leisurely, the gentle press of bristles in sharp contrast with the smooth slope of Hilda's hand that follows it, smoothing down the flyaways the brush creates. There's something soothing in the repetitive strokes, and Marianne finds herself closing her eyes.
"Marianne?"
"Yes?"
"I…" Hilda sighs. "I guess I should just ask you. What happened back there?"
Marianne pauses.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." The brush snags slightly at the tips of Marianne's hair, and Hilda tsks slightly as she starts to work out those tangles. "I won't be, like, offended or anything."
Marianne isn't sure if she wants to. Telling the professor had been all but a necessity, and of course, that was the professor, who is never judgmental, who never really seems to care too much about anything that isn't their next meal or battle plan.
On the other hand...this is Hilda, and the idea of confiding in her does make Marianne feel like the burden in her chest could lessen slightly. That thought gives Marianne pause. Since when does talking make her feel better?
Then again, hasn't that always been the case with Hilda? That every conversation with her, no matter how hard it was to start, left Marianne feeling better than she did before it?
Even the professor doesn't make Marianne feel that way.
"You've never said anything about my Crest," Marianne says at last. "Almost everyone has...asked about it, or mentioned it. Talked about it being a blessing, or how I shouldn't let it define me, or something like that."
"Yeah, and?" Hilda's fingers stroke through Marianne's hair, just brushing against her neck. "So what? It's just a Crest. I don't really care about stuff like that. It's boring."
"That's why I feel the most ready to tell you, I think," Marianne mumbles. "Because you never asked. Because I know it won't...it won't change what you think of me."
"Yeah, I can't imagine it would," says Hilda. "One braid or two?"
"Either one is fine."
"I'll do two," says Hilda decisively, nimble fingers scooping up half of Marianne's hair and tossing it over her shoulder. "Because that'll take longer, and I like doing this."
"Oh," says Marianne, feeling her face heat. "But, um...my Crest."
"I'm listening."
Marianne takes a deep breath. "It's called the Crest of the Beast. The Elite who had it, he...he turned into a horrible monster, like the Demonic Beasts, so it was wiped from the history books. And that's...that's the Crest my father had. That I have."
"Oh." Hilda pauses. "Huh. Kinda weird." Her hands don't stop, though, still lacing Marianne's hair into a braid with careful, precise movements. "Never heard of it. Does that have something to do with where you went today?"
"Yes." Marianne lets out her breath in a rush. "There was a monster, attacking people in the forest. People were saying that...that it was me. That I did it. Because of my Crest."
Hilda does react to that, her hands freezing in Marianne's hair. "What? You should have told me! Those jerks! I told you, if anyone bullies you, you just come right to me - "
"I didn't want to drag you into it," says Marianne. "I'm used to those rumors. It's been like that my whole life. That's why...why my parents disappeared."
"Drag me into it?" Hilda huffs. "Marianne. You're exhausting sometimes, you know that?"
"But - "
"But nothing!" Hilda ties off the braid with a ribbon, twisting it like she's imagining it's the neck of the Crest scholar. "Ugh. You're just too nice, you know that?"
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize." Hilda sighs as she picks up the other section of Marianne's hair. "I'm not really mad, I just...Marianne. You know you can tell me these things, right? And I'll help you out. I'd beat that guy up, if you asked."
Marianne doesn't answer.
"So that's why we went to that forest?" Hilda asks. "To find the beast?"
Marianne nods, causing her hair to tug loosely in Hilda's fingers. "Yes. And the beast we defeated...it dropped a Hero's Relic. I think...it may have been the Beast himself. Maurice."
"So it was wandering the forest all this time? Poor thing."
"Yes, but it was terrorizing people." Marianne spreads out her hands on her lap. "I don't regret...choosing to end its suffering."
"You shouldn't. I think that was the right choice." Hilda's hands leave Marianne's hair, and she misses their presence almost at once. "There you go. All done."
"Thank you." Marianne reaches up to pat the braids as she turns to face Hilda on the bed. "For the hair, and...for listening."
Hilda waves a hand. "Always happy to help."
"Should I repay you with pastries?"
"No need for that." Hilda seems unable to look Marianne in the eye. "Hey...Marianne, I was wondering…"
"What is it?"
"No...never mind." Hilda gives a short little sigh, shaking her head. "This isn't the moment. I'll do something nicer later."
"Um..." Marianne can't make sense of that. "Okay."
"But, uh…" Hilda looks back at Marianne through the pink cloud of her lashes, and if Marianne didn't know better, she'd swear Hilda looks shy. "I'm glad you're safe, Marianne. And I'm glad you're with us...Crest or no Crest. Got that?"
Marianne smiles. "I know. Thank you, Hilda."
Hilda gets to her feet, dusting off her skirt. "No problem. And, um...if you need me, I'm always around. Okay?"
"I know." Marianne stands up too, walking with her to the door. "You too. If you need anything, let me know."
"There's one thing, I guess…" Hilda's twisting her fingers together. "Could I...I mean, could you, um...Can we hug? Please? I know it sounds silly, but I always feel better afterwards, so like…"
Marianne blinks. "Um. Certainly."
"Good." Hilda lets out a long sigh as she rests her face against Marianne's shoulder, and Marianne wraps her arms around her in turn. Hilda tightens her grip, burying her face in Marianne's neck and leaning into her. "Goddess, I needed this."
Marianne can't help giggling, and she feels the vibrations run through Hilda in turn. "I'm glad I could help."
"You could sell this…" Hilda mumbles, sounding almost half-asleep. "Line people up around the block, for a Marianne hug. But um, don't. I want it for myself."
"Better than pastries?"
"Loads better." Hilda snuggles still closer, until Marianne isn't sure where her body ends and Hilda's begins. "Less talk, more cuddle, okay?"
Marianne tries not to laugh again, closing her eyes and letting herself lean in. Hilda's perfume is strong as ever, not quite masking the sweat and tire of battle, but Marianne doesn't mind. Hilda's hair is soft if tangled, and her hands hold Marianne delicately, even as pressed together as they are, even as strong as Marianne knows Hilda is.
And that's Hilda. Harsh and rude and lazy, but warm and soft and caring. A mess of contradictions, silk wrapped around stone, a hand both strong enough to kill a man and soft enough to hold Marianne like she's more precious than all the gold in the world.
And that's why Marianne loves her, she thinks to herself, and the thought is no revelation, no earth-shaking discovery. No, it had been there all along, a soft, quiet knowledge, a candle's bright little flame, a single bead of blue glass, and its very presence fills Marianne with a warm balm the same way the person responsible for it can. Once upon a time, such a thought would have brought fear. But there's no fear now. There never could be, with Hilda.
Oh, Marianne thinks faintly as she rests her cheek against Hilda's hair, it's that simple after all.
Eventually, they disentangle themselves. Hilda sighs as she lets Marianne go, but she looks a little more steady than she did before. There's certainly color in her face, at least. "I guess I'll head to bed. I'm completely wiped."
"Do you feel a little better?" Marianne asks her.
Hilda smiles, softly, almost shyly. "Yeah. Loads."
"Good." And before she loses her nerve, Marianne leans up and presses her lips against Hilda's forehead. "Sleep well."
"You too." Hilda's fingers linger over hers, and then she slips away.
But the warmth remains, and Marianne savors it.
***
The cathedral is not what it was - it is a ruin, the pile of stone that once formed the roof having overtaken much of the chipped marble floors. Some effort has been made to clean it up, but ultimately it isn't the army's priority - not when there are living quarters and storerooms and other, more important facilities that demand repair.
Besides, Marianne thinks, prayer doesn't require anything fancy. A cathedral with no roof works just as well as one with, and the goddess's presence still lingers in the crevices here. Perhaps even more strongly - maybe it's just that Marianne is happier, but she swears that the feeling of the goddess's touch comes to her more easily than it ever has before.
Night has fallen when Marianne opens her eyes, completing her prayers. She lets out her breath slowly, and then starts at the sound of applause from one of the pews.
"Oh - sorry." Hilda looks guilty. "Was that inappropriate? It's just - your singing's really good. You're usually muttering under your breath, so I never really heard it before…"
"Oh, no." Marianne rests a hand on her chest, trying to slow her heartbeat. "I just didn't realize you were there."
"I thought I'd wait for you to finish." Hilda gets to her feet and walks over to Marianne. She's holding something behind her back. "I, uh, got you something. A present."
Marianne blinks. "Why?"
"Well, I…" It's dark in the cathedral, but Marianne still sees Hilda glance away. "I thought...it would be more romantic this way."
"Romantic?"
"I - oh, never mind. Just - just - " Hilda grumbles something, pressing one palm against her own forehead and massaging it. "Gah. I thought this would be so easy! It always seemed easy! Ugh."
Marianne is utterly lost. "Um…"
"Whatever." Hilda lets out a short breath and stands straighter, apparently steeling herself. "Anyway, um...here." She pulls out her hidden present.
It's a bouquet of delicate flowers, small in Hilda's shaking hands. Tiny, white bells framed by green leaves…
"Lily of the valley," says Hilda, sounding slightly breathless. "Your favorite. It was not easy to find these in the middle of a war, let me tell you."
"You remembered," Marianne says quietly, reaching out to brush a finger against a small bloom. "I...thank you, Hilda. It means a lot."
Hilda nearly pushes the flowers into Marianne's arms. "I was, um, reading about them. While I was trying to find them. There was a book in the library, and, well...did you know what they mean? Like, what they stand for…?"
Marianne blinks. "No."
"They mean...a return of happiness." Hilda clenches her hands together. Marianne's never seen her so off-balance, so unsure of herself. "And...and sometimes when lovers reunite...they give them to each other. I mean, it's been a few months since we reunited, but...but..." Hilda screws her eyes shut. "I mean, I'm asking if...if you'd like to…"
Marianne sets the flowers down on the pew. "Hilda…"
Hilda takes another deep breath, and opens her eyes. "You're beautiful. And you're pretty much the kindest person I've ever met. And I missed you so much these last five years, and then when I saw you again, it was like a missing piece was sliding into place, and I...I love you. That's all that I wanted to say."
Quiet falls in the cathedral.
For some reason, Marianne notes absently, she isn't afraid. She just feels warm, and comfortable. She's happy, indescribably so, but that feels like it takes a backseat to how gentle, how soft, every inch of her feels.
"Marianne?" Hilda's voice wavers slightly. "Um...please say something."
Marianne takes both of Hilda's hands in hers, dragging one thumb in slow circles over Hilda's palm. Hilda watches her, pink eyes wide and soft and hopeful, impossibly beautiful.
It's home, it's easy, it's as natural as the next breath Marianne takes. Every step of Marianne's life has felt difficult, and unfair, and cruel. But this is so familiar, a worn old sweater, a favorite cup of tea, a fairytale she already knows the ending to.
"Can I kiss you?" Marianne asks, her chest burning.
Hilda inhales sharply at that, her eyes flicking to Marianne's lips and then back to her eyes. "I, um...yes. Please."
Their foreheads touch first, and Marianne finds herself savoring the moment. Hilda's breath is against her lips, fast and fervent, but Marianne slides her eyes closed, riding the gentle wave of anticipation as it swells in her stomach, the smooth, careful roll of it all. Hilda's hands are warm in hers, the cool cathedral air not quite able to touch them. There's no need to hurry, and there's no need to be afraid.
Hilda lets out an impatient little huff. "Marianne? This is nice and all, but...please?"
"Sorry," Marianne whispers, and obliges, closing that last gap, and their lips touch, gently, carefully.
Hilda has never been patient, or cautious, and the kiss is only hesitant for a fraction of a second before Hilda releases Marianne's hands and winds her arms around her neck, tugging her in closer. Marianne holds her, trying to let that one kiss compensate for all the time apart, all the hesitation and worry, all the years of only letters -
Hilda pulls back, gasps in one breath, and then tugs Marianne down slightly to kiss her again. Her lips are little slower, a little more careful this time, and one hand cups the curve of Marianne's cheek, almost guiding her. There's an addicting quality to that press of lips, like tea or sorbet, and Marianne wonders, vaguely, why people who have done this ever do anything else.
Hilda's pink lip gloss tastes like peaches as it smears across Marianne's own mouth. Marianne had always wondered.
"I love you," Marianne whispers as they break for air again.
Hilda laughs, a bright and brilliant sound, and Marianne wonders if the goddess herself crafted that laugh with loving fingers. "Yeah, I noticed."
Their foreheads touch again, and both their laughter together makes the loveliest song of all.
***
Hilda's fingers are tracing a pattern in the small of Marianne's bare back as she lies on her stomach, resting in the quiet warmth in their bed. They share Hilda's room most nights, and Marianne will never cease to be entranced by how careful, how delicate, how skillful Hilda's hands and lips and touch can be. How she touches Marianne like there's nothing else she'd rather do, how she can be both careful and passionate, how she feels and tastes and sounds - it's an endless symphony that Marianne thinks she will never tire of learning.
"I still have the handkerchief you gave me," Marianne mumbles against the pillow, sleepy afterglow loosening her tongue. "On our first day."
"Oh my gosh." Hilda's laugh rumbles through the bed, through them both. "Seriously? I'd forgotten about that until just now."
"I washed it and kept it," Marianne continues. "It was so pretty, but it was also...a token. It was the first time in a long time someone had ever been nice to me. So it made me really happy."
"All I did was make you cry," Hilda scoffs. "Jeez. When you say things like that, it just makes me feel sorry for little Marianne."
"Don't be," says Marianne. "After all, she turned out all right."
Hilda's fingers find hers in the sheets. "I know. I'm proud of her."
It's quiet in the bedroom. The candles were put out long ago, and the only light is from the moon shining through the window.
"We're heading for Enbarr tomorrow," Hilda whispers at last, and Marianne wishes she hadn't mentioned it. Her words hang heavy in the darkened room, chasing away the soft, companionable warmth with cold reality.
"It'll be all right," Marianne says quietly, turning her head to look into Hilda's eyes, two spots of pink in the midnight sea. "We've made it this far."
Hilda sighs, propping her head up slightly on one hand. "Yeah…"
"It's not like you to worry."
Hilda brushes Marianne's bangs away from her eyes. "You make me worry."
Marianne catches that hand in her own and presses her lips to the point of Hilda's pulse, relishing the feeling of its quickening even through the anxiety swelling again in her stomach. "I don't mean to."
"It's not a bad thing, it's just…" Hilda strokes Marianne's hair again. "I don't want to lose this. I don't want to lose you."
Marianne tries to think of some word of comfort or soothing, but none come. None that seem adequate, anyway, with the knowledge of what is coming looming over their heads.
Long ago, Marianne had hoped that a mission might mean her end. It would hurt, but at least it would be over, and it would have been for a good cause.
Not now. Now, Marianne only wants to live, wants it so badly her heart seems to beat all the faster in an effort to make up for all the time it might miss.
"I don't want to lose you, either," Marianne manages at last, even though the words seem entirely insufficient to describe the longing in her chest.
"No emperor is taking you from me," Hilda mutters into the dark. "No goddess, either. Got that?"
Marianne leans across the distance, pressing her lips to Hilda's temple. "I know. And I'll look after myself. I promise."
Hilda tugs Marianne closer, until their bodies are pressed flush together, and rests her head in the crook of Marianne's neck. She brushes her lips against the pulse point there, lightly, not deep and open-mouthed as she had earlier in the night - only a quiet little moment, a tiny fragment of a gem that nonetheless makes Marianne's heart swell. "Just stay with me. Okay?"
"Always," Marianne murmurs, carding her fingers through Hilda's hair, "always, always."
***
The sky is brilliant blue, the air is filled with hoarse shouts and laughter, and the King of Liberation has been slain. The Alliance Army celebrates, decorum and battle injuries forgotten alike as a cheer goes up for the brave soldiers and the apocalypse averted.
Away from the crowd that swarms Claude and the professor, Hilda rests her head against Marianne's. Her body is warm with fatigue, and Marianne can smell blood and poison and steel on her skin, but Marianne only leans into her, breathes in the feeling of her life, the hand resting against her waist. Marianne doesn't have the energy to do anything more than hold her, and Hilda asks for no more than that, as they draw comfort from each other after a battle hard-fought and very nearly lost.
But not lost, and Marianne is more relieved than she can articulate. It's over, it's finally over. No more battle, no more pain, no more blood and grief and sorrow and death. But she's also exhausted, in a way that makes every one of her bones ache. She can't bring herself to join in the merriment, not after so much battle, so much pain, so much loss (she still hears Ferdinand's last breath in her ears.)
They've made it to this day only through sacrifice, only by taking the lives of those they once considered friends and classmates, and that burden is still there, heavy in Marianne's chest even as the warm glow of peace is only a fingertip's length away.
Hilda understands, though. Hilda has never struggled with taking lives, not the way Marianne has. Even on their first day, fighting bandits in the Red Canyon, Hilda had only beamed as her axe tore through her foes. She's strong, impossibly strong, and she can bear burdens on those broad shoulders with ease. But she's tired and hurting still, even though the smile rarely falls from her face. Marianne has learned to sense that hurt, even if she can't see it, even if all she can do is be there. And in turn Hilda has learned to let her walls fall, if only for moments. If only with Marianne.
Here in this quiet corner, alone with Marianne, Hilda lets herself be vulnerable, lets her tears fall against Marianne's dress while neither of them speaks a word, while they celebrate and grieve and reassure themselves that the other still breathes despite all the loss and pain.
"Where will you go?" Hilda asks at last, the words small and still in the chaos of celebration. "Now that all of this is over?"
"Back to my adoptive father…" Marianne doesn't really want to speak, to upset the peace in their tiny corner of the world with the harshness of sound, but questions require answers, and so she gives one. "He wrote to me after Enbarr fell...he wants me to continue learning diplomacy as his heir. I think I can...I can do some good. For the Alliance, and for Fódlan."
"Oh…" Hilda closes her eyes, tucking her face into Marianne's neck, her breath warming Marianne's throat. "You know...I'm not the heir of anything."
"Yes…" Marianne tries to follow Hilda's path of thought, and fails. "And…?"
"I mean, I don't have to go anywhere," says Hilda softly. "I can go wherever I want. And, if you want me...I...I could come live with you. In Edmund."
Marianne's heart stops.
"I'm not asking you to marry me." Hilda huffs out a laugh into Marianne's collarbone. "Not here, not now. For one thing, I haven't finished the ring yet. But...but after I've settled things with my family...I'd like to come to Edmund. If you would...if you'd want me there."
Heavy quiet falls again, and despite Hilda's nonchalant tone, Marianne can feel her heartbeat hammering against Marianne's breast.
"I…" Marianne swallows hard, trying to force feeling back into her lips, to move her traitorous tongue. "I...want you there. I want you...wherever I am. For...for forever, if that's...if that's okay."
"...Good." Hilda's arms tighten around Marianne as she curls against her still more tightly. "Because that's how long you're getting me."
Marianne lowers her face into Hilda's hair, not speaking a word of response or anything at all. But Hilda understands her joy, all the same. She has always understood.
Marianne knows that if anything ever lasts, then Hilda will.