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Marianne bows her head in prayer, hands clasped tightly enough to keep them from shaking.
Dear Goddess, she thinks. Please send us your wisdom and grace.
Oh, and mercy. Please. If that's not too much to ask. I know I haven't asked for it before, but—
The choir’s singing interrupts her thoughts. Usually she finds it soothing to pray while others worship in song. It's a way for her to be both alone and with others. Small steps, but steps nonetheless.
Sometimes having the choir so nearby is a bit more…challenging. Every so often, the professor sees fit to suggest that those who do not often join in song add their voices to the chorus. It can be quite noticeable. She doesn't like noticing. It feels mean-spirited to focus so much on someone's voice just because they aren't as practiced as the rest. It's none of her business if they aren't very good.
It's a small comfort to know that Linhardt is well aware he isn't a skilled singer. In his own words: “I may sound terrible, but you won't notice when everyone else sings too.”
If only that were the case.
Marianne struggles through the singing, doing her best to focus on the group as a whole. But no, she should be focusing on her prayers. Oh, what a mess. This should be easier for me. How can I ever be a Holy Knight if I can't even pray right? The professor should just give up on me now. There's no way I'll ever be able to—
“Marianne, it's so lovely to see you!”
Marianne snaps her eyes open and whirls around, startled nearly out of her wits. Most of the choir is filing out of the cathedral or going to pay their respects to the Saints. When did they finish singing? How did she not notice?
At least that explains why her tension headache is fading. Except—oh dear. Maybe it will come back shortly.
“Mercedes,” Marianne says, tongue feeling clumsy and thick. “It's nice to see you too. Um, and you, Linhardt.”
Instead of continuing on her way, Mercedes stops in front of Marianne. Oh no. Is she hoping to chat? They've barely spoken before, even though Mercedes is so nice, and it's really not appropriate for Marianne to be intimidated by her just because she's better at being devout than Marianne will ever be.
She feels less bad about wishing Linhardt would go away. It's still unkind, but he's earned at least a little wariness. Unless Marianne is supposed to be charitable and believe that he's not going to harass her this time.
Sometimes Marianne almost wishes she didn't want to keep living. Everything's just so complicated.
“I hope the choir didn't distract you from your prayers.” Mercedes smiles gently and doesn't react when Marianne flinches at the sound of her voice. She'd nearly forgotten they were still here.
“Well, I'm the one who decided to pray during choir practice,” Marianne says, trying for diplomacy.
Linhardt makes a sound somewhat like a scoff that hasn't gotten a full night's sleep. “I told the professor that there aren't enough other voices to drown me out during practice. I only showed up under duress.”
Mercedes laughs. “Oh Linhardt, you weren't that bad.”
(So maybe it is okay for devout people to lie?)
“Did the professor threaten you?” Marianne regrets the question even as she asks it. It's not her business what Linhardt and the professor get up to. Besides, the professor wouldn't actually harm any of them. Not in a lasting way, at least.
Linhardt sighs, as close to frustrated as Marianne's ever seen him. “Worse. They keep insisting that coming here and singing will make it easier for me to learn Warp. Obviously that's complete nonsense, and usually I wouldn't entertain it at all.”
“So why are you?” Mercedes asks, eyes gleaming with humor.
Linhardt shrugs. “Lysithea leaves the library when I walk in, and I'm not about to repeat the mistake of asking Manuela about it.”
Marianne wants to laugh, even though she's pretty sure Linhardt wasn't trying to tell a joke, and laughing at him is probably rude.
Mercedes giggles without hesitation, and Linhardt doesn't look bothered. Maybe it is okay, then…?
“Well, that's certainly a new reason for joining practice. I hope it does help you!” Mercedes turns to Marianne, even though Marianne very much wishes she wouldn't. “I haven't seen you join us often. Do you prefer to pray alone?”
She says it without judgement, but Marianne can't help wincing. “Yes, I do. Not that there's anything wrong with the choir, I just…”
“Plenty of people find it easier to lift their voice to the Goddess without others hearing.” Mercedes smiles gently. “Some prayers are too personal for song.”
Marianne nods, glad for the out, even if it's not quite true.
“Hm…no, I don't think that's it.” Linhardt stares at her in the way he has of making her feel like a bug beneath a magnifying glass. “What do you pray about, Marianne?”
Marianne looks at Mercedes. Maybe it's presumptuous to hope Mercedes will save her, but it's her only real chance.
“Linhardt, that's none of our business,” Mercedes chides, in a tone a little too mild for actual scolding. “Marianne should only share with us if she feels comfortable doing so.”
Marianne is feeling a lot of things right now, none of which come close to comfort. And yet, the little spark at her core that says things like I want to live and I'm not worthless seems to whisper again.
I don't want to be alone.
“I'm not really sure what to pray for.” It's terrifying to admit, but Marianne wants to be brave. She's not very good at it yet, but that's what practice is for, right? “I used to pray all the time, but I…don't really want those things anymore. I haven't figured out what to ask for instead.”
Linhardt doesn't miss a beat. “What did you want before?”
Oh Goddess. Is she really going to say this? She barely knows Mercedes, and Linhardt's so pushy. Are these people she can trust with this?
You trust them with your life on the battlefield, the little spark reminds her. Besides, even if Linhardt's rude and pushy, he's never told anyone about your Crest. And Mercedes seems so kind and gentle. You won't learn to trust anyone if you don't ever try.
It's reasonable advice, even though it's hard to believe, given that it comes from within herself. Still, maybe it's worthwhile just to try.
Marianne takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, closing her eyes. “You both probably remember that I wasn't a very happy person when we were younger. It was…not good. Um. I used to pray for the Goddess to kill me.”
She keeps her eyes tightly shut, unable to stand even the idea of looking at their faces and the judgement she just knows will be there. Mercedes gasps, quiet in the vastness of the room, but loud in Marianne's ears. She can hear Mercedes open her mouth to say something kind and gentle and more than Marianne deserves.
“Well obviously that wasn't going to work.”
Marianne’s eyes snap open. She can see Mercedes staring at Linhardt, eyes wide. Linhardt looks as unbothered as ever. Marianne feels a little hysterical. How does he say these things with a straight face?
“Um,” Marianne says, which she thinks is rather impressive.
Mercedes clears her throat. “What do you mean by that, Linhardt?”
He yawns. It's a small yawn, but it's a yawn all the same. A yawn, after Marianne said…after he said…! “If the Goddess doesn't kill the Church’s enemies, obviously she wouldn't kill her own followers. Assuming the Goddess even exists, of course.”
Being speechless is a familiar experience for Marianne, but this is a new degree entirely. Her mouth opens and closes. What could anyone possibly say to something like that?
“I suppose that's a reasonable point. I'm not sure I completely agree, but whether the Goddess exists doesn't truly matter.” Mercedes hums, turning to Marianne more fully. “What does matter is that you're still here with us. I'm very glad about that, Marianne. I hope you want to keep being here.”
In the world, still alive? Yes. In this room? Not really.
“Um,” Marianne says. “Yes?”
Mercedes looks so sweet and kind and gentle and not at all like a deeply devout woman who doesn't seem bothered by whether the Goddess actually exists. Linhardt looks completely at ease, the way he almost always does.
Do these two have life all figured out? Marianne wonders. Or have they lost their minds entirely?
It's not like she'd be a good judge of that.
“Wonderful.” Mercedes reaches out a hand, slow like she's trying not to spook Marianne. It's a little comforting to feel like a horse right now. “It really is such a shame that we haven't spent more time together. What sorts of things do you enjoy?”
Marianne speaks without thinking. “I like the stables. Taking care of the animals is very calming.”
“That sounds lovely,” Mercedes says, laying her hand on Marianne's arm. It's…nice. “We should all go there sometime and do some work together.”
“That sounds like a lot of effort just to wind up smelling like a barn. I'll pass.” Linhardt doesn't say it with true judgement, but his tone still comes across with unusual firmness. This is a man who will brook no argument.
“Oh, nonsense. It's always enjoyable to spend time with friends.” Mercedes loops an arm through Linhardt's elbow at the same time she pulls Marianne closer. Both of them look down, startled. Marianne doesn't remember Mercedes winding their arms together, but somehow the three of them are linked together. Mercedes glides along the floor, tugging Marianne and Linhardt with her, gentle and sweet and utterly uncompromising. “Why don't we go there right now? You can show us around, Marianne. I'm afraid I don't know any of the animals personally, but I'm sure you can introduce us. Do horses like biscuits? I have a few with me, though they do have sugar.”
“Horses can have sugar, so long as it isn't too much.” Marianne replies automatically. “Um, are you sure both of you have time to—”
“There's always time to enjoy each other's company,” Mercedes says, like someone who has never been late to lectures, training, chores, or on one memorable occasion, an actual battle.
Linhardt sighs, but he doesn't stop walking. “I suppose I didn't have anything else planned for the day.”
“That's the spirit!” Mercedes sounds so cheerful. How does she manage it this consistently? “I'm sure we'll have a wonderful afternoon.”
Marianne doesn't have the same degree of confidence, but there's something about that stubborn sweetness and the way Linhardt's letting it happen that makes her think—maybe. Maybe this will be nice.
Maybe Mercedes means what she says just as much as Linhardt does. Maybe Mercedes will coo over Dorte and feed him biscuits. Maybe Linhardt will grumble about it, but still help her brush the horse's manes. Maybe the creatures closest to Marianne's heart, whose judgement she trusts much more than her own, will like these two, no matter how odd they are.
Maybe, just maybe, Marianne has more friends than she realized. Maybe her hard won bravery really will pay off.
Marianne smiles, even as she nearly trips over a stone. She's still not sure what to make of these two, but the idea of figuring them out doesn't sound bad at all.