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Chapter Text

The bishop was ancient. He was maybe the oldest man Mercedes had ever met. He walked slowly and spoke slower, and he was as bald as an egg and as wrinkly as a walnut. Mercedes liked him immensely.

He walked to the breakfast table of the tiny vicarage, balancing two bowls of porridge in his hands, and it was the longest and most suspenseful journey that Mercedes had ever witnessed. She longed to dash across the tiny kitchen and help him carry the porridge, but even after three days she knew that he would only be offended by such offers of assistance, so she clasped her hands around her mug of tea and took a sip. She gave the bishop a warm smile as he set her porridge in front of her, and it didn’t feel like helping, but it was what he wanted, so Mercedes supposed that was good enough.

“So, Miss Martritz, are you off today?” he asked, settling across the table from her and slowly reaching for a spoon for his own porridge. “I’m sure the children in town will be sad to see you go.”

Mercedes smiled. “I’ll miss them, too, Father Athos, but I’m afraid I must get on the road,” she said. “I do thank you for putting me up this week.”

“Ah, well, the goddess smiles down on those that smile on strangers,” Father Athos recited. “And I would never turn away a fellow daughter of the church.”

Mercedes took a hasty sip of tea, but gave him another smile as she set her mug down on the table.

“They’ll be lucky to have you, in Fhirdiad,” Father Athos continued. “You said they’re expecting you?”

“I believe so,” Mercedes said. “Well, not me specifically, but they’re sending several priestesses from Garreg Mach monastery to the northern churches. I’m not entirely where I’ll end up, but I know it’s at one of the churches in Fhirdiad.”

The old bishop nodded. “That makes sense, what with all that ugly business against the poor prince last year – or I suppose, he’s king now.” He shook his head and clucked his tongue. “The poor lad will need all the help he can get.”

“I hope I can be of use,” Mercedes said quietly.

“Ah, we will miss you, all the same,” Father Athos said. “Still! You’d best get on the road sooner rather than later. Sun sets early that far north, but as long as the weather stays good, you should get to Fhirdiad by nightfall.”

“I suppose I should go get my horse ready,” Mercedes said, putting her spoon down and looking longingly at the last bites of porridge.

But Father Athos was already slowly tottering to his feet and waving his hands at her. “Nonsense, nonsense! You finish up that breakfast and meet me out back when you’re ready to go,” he said.

Mercedes watched him go with a faint smile. He’d been ever so kind to her this week, taking her and her horse in, repairing horseshoes, offering shelter, giving her careful directions to Fhirdiad, helping her make preparations for the journey north. Once he’d found out she was a priestess in training, he’d let her help in his own small parish and regaled her with stories of when he was a young priest in a busier town just south of the Imperial border. Mercedes was the type to trust too easily and love too readily, but she truly felt that even after a few short days, she’d found a dear friend in Father Athos and a second home in this small village parish.

It was a real shame, then, that not a single word she had told him was true.

*

Mercedes’s lie was born out of necessity, but it was crafted from the hopes and dreams that had followed her for her entire life and that she had never achieved. For as long as she could remember, she’d wanted to work in a church, to surround herself with people that she could help and feel close to the goddess that she knew loved her. It didn’t have to be the grandeur of Garreg Mach; she had no need to travel as far as Fhirdiad. A church in a tiny town in the Empire, close to her mother and brother, would have been an ideal life for Mercedes.

Her stepfather wouldn’t hear of it. And in the last year, tensions between the church and the Empire had grown so that Mercedes gave up hope of ever convincing her family that there was respectability in a humble parish, even for a daughter with a Crest.

And House Bartels was the pinnacle of respectability. That had been drummed into Mercedes from a young age.

It was a desperate, lonely life, growing up as part of House Bartels. Her former family name and minor Crest set her apart from other members of her family, and Mercedes had few friends of her own. Her stepfather forbid her from traveling for school or finding a profession, but he also found fault in any friends or suitors that asked for her attention. When her brother left to enlist as an officer in the Imperial army, Mercedes had no one to talk to but her mother and the goddess, and even her mother seemed far away from her on most days.

Still, she had never planned to leave House Bartels. No matter her unhappiness, she was not so selfish as to leave her mother. She had little to gain but personal happiness by leaving, and personal happiness meant nothing if it would leave someone else unhappy.

That had all changed three weeks ago.

Mercedes hadn’t meant to eavesdrop when she walked by her stepfather’s study. She had a question for him about that evening’s dinner menu; she had not realized that he was meeting with guests.

She originally had stayed out of sight because it was rude to barge in on a conversation. And she had only listened in because she was curious about their strange costumes and behavior – furtive glances, long black cloaks, hoods that covered their faces. Mercedes listened in to find out where they were from, to wear such strange outfits to a formal meeting.

What she heard was more horrifying than she could have possibly imagined.

And so, when her mother announced an upcoming trip to Enbarr, Mercedes made an excuse to stay behind. And she paced the cloying, claustrophobic halls House Bartels, biding her time and making a plan. Not a very good plan – steal a horse, leave at night, ride north until they cannot find you – but a plan all the same.

She’d stumbled into Father Athos’s parish cold and tired and lost, and when he’d asked her what her horse’s name was, she hadn’t known the answer.

She knew what to call herself, however: Mercedes von Martritz. The name of Bartels would only serve to drag her back to the Empire, and she knew she could not return. Not knowing what she knew now.

Mercedes set her spoon down in the porridge bowl, now empty. She sighed. On some level, she would have loved to stay here, to live as an obscure priestess in a tiny town just north of the Imperial border. To sing in the church choir. To help. But her stepfather was no doubt already searching for her, and she wouldn’t bring the wrath of House Bartels onto this tiny town for all the happiness in the world.

Father Athos stood by her horse, gently patting its nose, and he smiled at Mercedes as she walked up to them. Mercedes felt a pang of guilt, wondering if he would smile so kindly if he knew the horse was stolen, if she knew she had lied. She was grateful she would never find out.

“I wish you’d packed a more sensible cloak, Miss Martritz,” Father Athos said as he helped her onto her horse. “It’s cold up in Faerghus; spring arrives late in the north.”

“I’m sure there will be a lovely fireplace at the monastery in Fhirdiad,” Mercedes said. “And it’s only a day’s journey, goddess willing.”

“Goddess willing,” Father Athos echoed.

It was a goodbye and a blessing both, and Mercedes held them both in her heart as she rode away from the parish. She felt greedy to take such kindness under false pretenses. But she hoped the goddess would spare her – she had little kindness to hold onto otherwise.

***

Father Athos was right; it was cold in Faerghus this time of year. The sun rose above the trees and traveled across the sky with no discernible change in temperature, and by the time it reached late afternoon, the air was well and truly cold.

Still, it wasn’t until the rain started that Mercedes felt any reason to complain. And even then, she tried to think of it as a light spring rain, cleansing and healing and just what the earth needed.

It might have been, for the earth. For Mercedes and her horse, however, it was mostly miserable. The first hour was more drizzle than downpour, but as the sun disappeared behind the trees, the storm increased, until sheets of water were battering Mercedes, soaking through her riding shawl  and plastering her clothes and hair against her skin.

The horse was fine, or at least resigned, until the lightening and thunder started. It started back at the first clap of thunder, and for a brief moment of terror, Mercedes was sure the horse would bolt in some unknown direction. She guided it under control with some difficulty, then urged it forward, whispering calming nothings in its ear as it trotted along cautiously.

The mud made travel difficult, as did the downpour. And the increasing dark made it difficult to see, even as Mercedes traveled along the main road. Mercedes had never prided herself on a particularly strong sense of direction, but the townsfolk and Father Athos had been clear enough – follow the main road, and it will take you to Fhirdiad. She worried, as the night dragged on, that she had somehow misheard them.

Shivering and alone, the darkness crowding around her and her home far behind, Mercedes took the only path forward that she’d ever known: she closed her eyes and asked the goddess for guidance. She also asked the goddess to make it stop raining and to comfort her horse.

As she rounded the next hill and light overtook her, Mercedes smiled to herself. One out of three answers was, in her opinion, a fairly good response. And unless she was very much mistaken, the royal castle of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, the center of the kingdom and the edge of Fhirdiad, lay at the foot of that very hill.

The  lights of the castle were still a far way off, a hazy golden glow shining through the downpour and the darkness. If Mercedes unfocused her eyes, the lights blended together like stars on the horizon, rising higher and higher above her as she rode closer to the palace itself.

A flash of lightning crashed across the sky, briefly illuminating the castle. It seemed, to Mercedes, to be almost impossibly large, taller and more imposing than she’d pictured in her head at any point along her journey. The castle was a cold, shadowy silhouette compared to the warm lights in its windows, and the turrets and towers seemed stretched towards the sky like disjointed fingers.

For a moment, Mercedes faltered. Thunder rolled around her as she contemplated the hazy lights, closer than ever now. The castle, the king, this entire country – it all was unknown and unfamiliar, and it was difficult to view it as welcoming.

Still. She remembered the men in cloaks, talking to her stepfather in raspy whispers. She couldn’t go back home. And her stepfather was surely looking for her; if she stayed in one place, he would surely find her.  The only way to go was forward.

She urged her horse forward.

It seemed to Mercedes that the rain picked up as she rode down the hill leading towards the front gates of the castle. Her riding cloak was ill-prepared for such weather, and she was certain her dress was completely soaked through, freezing cold water seeping against her skin. Her hair was plastered against her neck, and she suppressed an involuntary shiver. It rained frequently along the Adestrian coast, but it was often midday rain, warm and light, like sunshine against your shoulders. This rain came down in sheets, cold and harsh, so that Mercedes could hardly see the road ahead of her. She kept her eyes focused on a light in the top turret of the castle, a guiding star that she could barely make out against the darkness and the downpour.

The low visibility made it difficult to gauge how far she was from the castle gates, even as her fixed window rose higher and higher above her as she approached. When a sudden flash of sheet lightening lit up the castle in its entirety, Mercedes was surprised to see the castle gates rising directly before her.

Even more shocking, perhaps, was the looming silhouette of a guard striding towards her, practically within striking distance.

Mercedes’s horse reared backwards, terrified by the figure or the thunder or both. Mercedes could barely bring it to a standstill, and she momentarily feared she would lose control of the panicked animal. As the horse finally settled, Mercedes scrambled to the ground, holding tightly to the reins and cooing comforting whispers to try to calm the frightened beast.

A clank of armor caught her attention, and she looked up just as another flash of lightning illuminated the sky.

He was possibly the tallest man Mercedes had even seen, his broad shoulders and muscles matching his height. She took in as many features as she could before the world was plunged into darkness, but she could only really make out a scar across his cheek, a shock of pale hair, and the official crest of Loog emblazoned across his cloak.

And his grim expression, of course. That was probably what was most prominent, as he looked down at her – an unreadable, unfeeling frown that masked his entire face.

Mercedes’s horse reared back onto its hind legs once more, and her arms were yanked backwards and upwards as she tried to hold onto the reins. Mercedes turned away from the guard and towards her horse, but she was certain her attempts at comforting clucks were lost in the rain and the thunder. The poor beast was terrified, and Mercedes could barely keep hold of the reins as the horse jerked its head back again.

A large, strong hand grabbed the reins, covering Mercedes’s hand easily. The guard seemed more experienced with horses than Mercedes, and he firmly but carefully pulled down on the reins, until the moment of panic passed and the horse stood, wary but unmoving, waiting beside them.

Mercedes realized how cold her hands were when the guard stepped away and looked at her.

“What is your business here?” he asked. His voice was low and solemn, and his tone was as unreadable as his face.

“Th-thank you for your help,” Mercedes said, clenching her jaw together as she swallowed, trying to get her bearings and find her voice and not shiver her way through a first impression. “I’m sorry – I’m not used to riding, you see, or at least, not at night, and I’m afraid I –”

“If your business is not urgent, you should return home,” the man interrupted. “It’s dangerous to travel alone at night, and in a storm such as this.”

“Oh, please – I can’t – I need to speak with the king,” Mercedes said. She didn’t think the man would be particularly interested in the longer story – that she had no home to go to, that from here on out, she was alone no matter what she did. It was best to skip to the point.

The point, however, did not seem to impress the guard. His eyes narrowed, his eyebrows drawing together to complete his impressive scowl. “His majesty is no longer receiving visitors today,” he said, and to his credit, he didn’t add any snide remarks about the late hour. “If you would come back next week, he meets with territory representatives and townsfolk –”

“I’m not from his territory,” Mercedes interrupted. “I don’t – I don’t have an appointment or anything like that. I’m from the Empire.”

The guard’s expression went blank, except for a flash in his eyes as he looked at Mercedes again. Mercedes realized, with horror, that his eyes were suspicious now, as well as evaluating. The relationship between the Empire and the Kingdom was on shaky ground. Mercedes had always figured that was a disagreement that she needn’t be a part of. The guard clearly did not agree.

“You don’t wear the clothes of an Imperial messenger,” he said sharply. “And we’ve had no word from Embarr of any visits from diplomats or nobility.”

Mercedes could have laughed if it wasn’t so awful. Her dress was soaked through and sticking against her, her horse was ready to bolt at any moment, she couldn’t get five words out without her teeth chattering. She looked as far from nobility as she had ever looked, and certainly no one would trust her with a royal message.

“No one sent me,” she said, shaking her head. “The Emperor does not know I’m here. But please, I must speak with the king –”

“You still haven’t told me your business here,” the guard reminded her with infuriating calm.

“I’ve told you, I must speak to your king. I have – he needs to hear this.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Please! They’re planning to murder him!” Mercedes cried, her voice finally cutting through the rain and the wind and the constant interruptions, so that she knew she would be heard.

Thunder clapped, more distant now, and Mercedes and the guard stared at each other in silence as the rain poured down around them.

Mercedes flinched as the guard reached towards her, but he only took the reins from her hand and pulled her horse forward slightly.

“I think you had better come with me,” he said. He was already turning to go through the large iron gates. He pushed them open as if they were no more than gauze and air.

Mercedes followed behind him silently, and he let her walk past him before swinging the gate behind them with a loud clang. For a moment, her heart dropped at the realization that she could not turn and run, even if she changed her mind, even if she wanted to. But there was no home she could go back to, not anymore. And so she turned and followed the man through the rain and the darkness and into the heart of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus.

Chapter Text

The king was young. Mercedes supposed she shouldn’t have been so surprised. After all, she’d spent most of her life referring to him as the Holy Kingdom’s prince; he had only taken the throne in recent moons. Still, she looked at him, sitting across a long and imposing council table with an unreadable expression, and she felt a strange pang of familiarity, like she was sitting across from her brother at breakfast. The ribbon holding back his hair was too brilliant a shade of blue; the creases around his eyes when he frowned looked too foreign on his face. He didn’t look like a king. He looked like a person.

“I understand you’ve told your story several times tonight,” he said. “But I’d appreciate hearing it one more time.”

Mercedes nodded and looked nervously around the table. Most of the men sitting around Dimitri had heard the story already, some several times. They looked at her unsmilingly, making the king’s offered warmth all the more surprising. The guard she had met at the gate had heard the story most often, and his expression was the most unreadable of all. He did not sit at the table, instead standing a few feet behind the king, carefully surveying every movement in the room. He met Mercedes’s eyes for a brief moment, and she was the first one to look away.

She began to tell what she knew for one more countless time.

“Until very recently, I’ve resided in House Bartels,” she explained. “My mother married Baron Bartels when I was very young. I have little say in the business within the family, but I am generally allowed to come and go as I please, provided that I do not leave the estate.”

King Dimitri nodded slowly as she talked, and Mercedes caught an expression flash across his face. Pity, she thought. She didn’t much like being pitied; it made her feel more helpless.

“Last moon, I happened to be walking by Baron Bartels study while he was in conversation with men I had not met before,” Mercedes continued. “I had a message to deliver to him and did not wish to disturb them, so I lingered outside the study for their business to conclude. I . . . what they discussed was concerning.”

“You said you hadn’t seen the men before,” the king said. “What did they look like?”

Mercedes had described them enough times that she felt less foolish as she spoke. “They were all wearing long black robes. I couldn’t see their faces; they were covered with unusual masks.” She paused, then added something she hadn’t mentioned before. “They had an . . . unsettling aura about them. It’s difficult to describe. They made me feel uneasy.”

“What was the message?”

“Hm?” Mercedes asked.

King Dimitri nodded to the notes he had been taking. “You said you were delivering a message to your stepfather. What was the message?”

“Oh,” Mercedes said. She was somewhat surprised he’d even listened to that part. “Chicken or fish for dinner. I told the kitchens he wanted fish.” She looked away. “He didn’t seem to notice, either way.”

“I see,” the king said quietly. “And the conversation that you overheard?”

Mercedes had trouble looking at him, now. It was one thing to tell advisor after advisor. It was another thing to say it to his face.

“They said they had plans in place to assassinate the newly-crowned king of Faerghus by the summer,” she said. “Multiple plans. They mentioned spies working within the palace as well as potential points of weakness that an outside mercenary could exploit.” She looked up, and the king’s face was unreadable. “They plan to pin blame on strife within the kingdom,” she explained finally. “They mentioned a personal guard to the king that would be . . . they seemed to think people would be suspicious of him.”

The air in the room seemed to change; Mercedes felt a tension sweep over both the king and his advisors. Ever so slightly, the king glanced over his shoulder, and Mercedes followed his gaze. The guard returned the king’s stare without looking to Mercedes at all.

The king turned back and gave Mercedes a surprisingly sympathetic smile, given what she’d just told him.

“I can see why you’re upset, Miss Bartels,” he said. “I must ask – do you have any proof of what you overheard? Any papers, documents – things like that?”

He was not the first to ask her this. The very first advisor the guard had spoken to had demanded such papers from Mercedes, much more angrily. Mercedes had stumbled over her words with increasing uncertainty until the guard intervened. She spoke more clearly now, though she felt more shameful.

“I’m afraid I don’t. I put my time into trying to leave House Bartels unnoticed. I did not think – it did not occur to me to try to acquire such documents, and indeed, I do not know if such letters exist.” She looked up nervously, but though the king looked disappointed, he didn’t look angry. She added, “I think I can remember names of people they mentioned – Thalis, maybe? Cornelia?” Mercedes frowned. “I might have gotten those wrong. I’m so sorry.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” the king assured her. “And if what you say is true, I am very much in your debt for the risks you took to travel here.”

He looked around the table, angling his body away from Mercedes and towards the gathered advisors. “I think it would be in our best interest to continue this conversation tomorrow,” he said. “Lord Gautier and Lord Fraldarius have recently returned to the capital; I would hear what they have to say on this matter. Besides, Miss Bartels has traveled a long way; she deserves a night’s rest before we continue the conversation.”

Mercedes could have cried, hearing such words. It had been late when she’d arrived at the palace, and that was hours ago. She was no longer soaking wet from the storm, but she was still cold and tired, and she was fairly sure her answers were increasingly incoherent. She said none of this. She already suspected that few at the table believed her story – she could scarcely tell whether the king believed her.

The advisors were shuffling out of the room, by themselves or whispering in pairs, but the king remained seated at the table across from Mercedes. Mercedes realized he was staring at her. She looked back, tilting her head slightly in curiosity.

“I must ask you, Miss Bartels,” he said. “Why did you bother?”

Mercedes thought she heard him wrong for a second. “I’m sorry?” she asked, shaking her head a bit to clear it.

“You’re not from the kingdom, you have no ties here that I know of,” King Dimitri said. “Your journey could not have been an easy one, and I’m sure Baron Bartels did not approve of what you did.”

Mercedes gave a rueful smile, “No, I’m sure my stepfather would be most displeased to know we are speaking,” she said. “I’m sure he’s displeased that I left at all.”

“Then why?” Dimitri repeated. “An awful lot of trouble for a stranger, even if that stranger is a king.”

Mercedes looked at the table, though she had no notes in front of her to consult. She toyed with the edge of her riding shawl, the tassels around the edge still damp, even as the rest of her clothing had dried. It was not a simple question.

“It just seemed so cruel,” she said finally, wrapping a tassel around her finger and twisting it, damp fabric against her skin. “Not just to you, although of course that was awful. But to the people around you, the people that you trust. To frame someone because they cared about you – I didn’t like to hear them talk about it. But at the same time, I couldn’t walk away.” She looked up at the king a little more confidently, a little more certain in her answer. “The goddess does not wish for us to overlook injustice. Not when it is in our power to stop it,” she said with a nod.

It didn’t cover everything, but it was close enough. In truth, Mercedes had always felt the need to put things in order, to ensure that things were right again. This was just a slightly more complicated mess than she was used to. That didn’t change what she needed to do.

“The goddess?” King Dimitri asked, raising an eyebrow. “An unusual answer. Still, I am grateful to you.” He stood, sweeping up the various notes left on the table in one smooth motion. “But I was not speaking insincerely when I suggested that you rest. Any discussion can surely continue tomorrow.”

“Ah, yes,” Mercedes said, getting to her feet and smoothing her dress. “If you could just direct me to my horse, and perhaps the closest church – I’m a bit hopeless with directions, but I’m sure the castle must be close to the city proper.”

King Dimitri looked at her as if she’d started speaking ancient Adestrian. “Miss Bartels, we wouldn’t ask you to seek shelter elsewhere,” he said, sounding almost offended. “We have numerous guest quarters available. It may be some time until I’ve managed to brief my defense advisors on the situation, but I can assure you that your stay here will be most comfortable in the meantime.”

“I don’t want to impose,” Mercedes said, but her protest was cut off by a yawn that she could not suppress, and she hid behind her hand long enough for Dimitri to consider the matter settled.

“Tonight and tomorrow, at the very least,” he said, nodding firmly. “I’ll fetch a servant to show you to the guest quarters.”

“Your majesty, I can show Miss Bartels to her room.”

Mercedes looked towards the voice in surprise. The majority of the advisors had left the room, but the guard she’d met earlier that night still stood against the back wall, arms crossed as he looked at them both.

“Ah, Dedue, that’s kind of you,” King Dimitri said, turning to the guard and smiling. “But surely you’re heading to bed yourself soon, no? I understand you were on night watch tonight.”

The man – Dedue – shrugged. “It is no trouble,” he said. “I am already here.”

“Ah, well – if you insist,” the king said. He turned back to Mercedes. “Mercedes, I understand you’ve already met Dedue? He’s my right hand man in these matters; I am glad that he found you first tonight.”

Mercedes smiled at the guard – no, she realized, that was the wrong term. He must have been another advisor for the king to speak to him so companionably. Dedue nodded to her briefly, without smiling.

“I thank you for your kindness again, Dedue,” she said, inclining her head. “If it’s too much trouble, I’m sure I could find my way.”

“I don’t think that is advisable,” Dedue said. He gestured towards the door. “Let us go, then. Good night, your majesty.”

The castle hallways were empty at this time of night, the candles on the walls lit by a dim magic that cast the corridors in amber and gold. Dedue walked quickly, but Mercedes suspected that was more to do with his height than any particular hurry. At any rate, he seemed to be aware of her own pace as she followed behind him, even if he rarely turned to look at her.

Mercedes couldn’t help but look at him, however. If he wasn’t walking next to her, she might have concluded that she’d imagined how tall he was, but he towered over her in a dimly lit hallway the same way he did in a rainy castle courtyard. His hair was swept back from his face, and even by candlelight Mercedes could make out numerous scars running across his face and neck. He was certainly someone who had seen battle and certainly someone she would not want to face on a battlefield. And even in the safe confines of his kingdom’s castle, he seemed on alert, his eyes sharp and focused even as his gaze was straight ahead.

He didn’t try to make conversation as they walked, and though Mercedes was at first relieved to have a moment of silence after the past few hours, she found her curiosity soon got the better of her. She snuck another shy glance at Dedue, just in time to see him turn his eyes away from her. She offered him a hopeful smile, but he didn’t appear to notice.

“Thank you for walking with me,” Mercedes said, perhaps more to break the silence than anything else, but also because she wanted to thank somebody for something, and this seemed like a good place to start. “I know you must be tired after such a long night.”

“It is nothing,” Dedue said, barely looking towards her before turning back to stare ahead again. “It is a short walk, and I am the one who is responsible for bringing you into the castle.”

“You’re kind to worry, but I’m sure I would have been able to find my rooms on my own,” Mercedes said, beaming up at him.

It was a lie. She had a terrible sense of direction, and she would have surely gotten lost. But Dedue didn’t seem to notice the lie or the smile, and he didn’t reply as they walked up a set of stairs and turned down another corridor.

“Do you live in the palace?” she asked Dedue. He looked at her again, a faint expression of surprise crossing his features once more. She wondered if it was a rude question; perhaps she wasn’t supposed to be addressing him so directly.

But he answered after a moment. “Sometimes,” he said simply. Then, after another moment. “His majesty has kept increasingly late hours, as of late. It has often become impractical for me to return to the knights’ quarters.”

“I’m sure working as an advisor requires all manner of late nights,” Mercedes said thoughtfully. Secretly, she thought it was unfair to ask an advisor to work as a night watchman, but she kept this to herself.

Dedue must have sensed something, however, because he corrected her. “I would not call myself an advisor,” he said. “I’m Dimitri’s personal retainer and guard.”

Mercedes looked at him quickly, and she noticed, for the first time, a break in his expression – the way a muscle in his jaw twitched when she turned her eyes on him. “His personal guard?” she repeated. “So that means –”

“It’s entirely possible your father was referring to me as someone the members of the court would be unlikely to trust, yes,” Dedue said. “Probable, even. That concerns me less than his majesty’s safety.”

Mercedes had a million questions, but something in his expression seemed even more guarded than before. So instead, she offered him a smile and remarked, “You must be something of an advisor, regardless – all those meetings you have to attend!”

“He does not require me to be present when he meets with trusted advisors,” Dedue said. “But I often accompany him for diplomatic meetings with  . . . unknown persons.”

“Oh,” Mercedes said. She frowned, taking this in. When she looked over at Dedue, she realized he was observing her carefully. “Like me,” she said.

Dedue met her gaze impartially, his expression unchanging. But he soon looked away, leading her down a long corridor with many doors.

“But I’m not – there’s nothing threatening about me,” Mercedes protested as she followed after him. “I’m trying to protect the king. We’re alike, in that way, are we not?”

“His majesty certainly seems inclined to hear your story,” Dedue said. He didn’t look back at her as he strode towards one of the doors at the far end of the hall.

Everything clicked into place suddenly, and Mercedes felt her stomach drop.

“You don’t believe me,” she said, and as she said it, she was certain it was true.

Dedue stopped walking, at this point, and turned, looking down at her with a frown.

“It is a difficult thing to believe,” he said finally. He began to gesture towards the door beside him – which Mercedes realized must be the door to her room – but she cut him off before he could change the subject.

“What reason would I have to lie?” she said, crossing her arms and peering up at him.

Dedue’s frown deepened. “Any number of reasons,” he said, his voice almost infuriating in how calmly he spoke. “What reason would your father have to kill his majesty?”

Mercedes opened her mouth, but no words came out. She closed it and looked away, suddenly more tired than angry.

“I . . . I don’t know,” she finally admitted. “But you don’t even know me yet. And I know my stepfather. That’s the difference.”

Silence filled the space between them, and when Mercedes finally looked back, she realized Dedue had been staring at her carefully. He was still frowning, but it seemed less angry and more thoughtful. She wondered what he saw, what he thought. She didn’t ask.

Finally, he spoke.

“It is my duty to protect his majesty from any threats,” he said, his voice low and deep, like wheels on a gravel path. “I do not consider him naïve, but . . .  his duty is to listen to those who need help, and to act with charity and grace. I do not blame him for extending such grace to you. But that does not change my duty.”

It was the most words she had heard from him all evening, and he spoke with such force and confidence that he might have been delivering the final oratorio of an opera. He looked down at her, defiant, and Mercedes realized he was waiting for her to reply, some defense or criticism against him.

She smiled at him.

“I think I understand,” she said. “And I thank you for the kindness you’ve shown to me tonight, Dedue.”

Dedue raised an eyebrow at her. “I have done nothing that was not required of me,” he said. “And I still have no reason to believe your story.”

“All the same,” Mercedes insisted. “You brought me to someone who would believe me. And I’m in your debt for that.”

She reached up and touched his arm gently, because a curtsy seemed too formal but a hug seemed too familiar. She felt his forearm tense under her fingertips, but he did not pull away.

“I hope your stay here is a comfortable one,” he said. Sadly, she realized, it seemed like a goodbye.

She patted his arm, then pulled away, already reaching for the door behind her.

“I’m sure it will be,” she assured him. “Sleep well, Dedue.”

She watched him walk away down the long corridor of guest rooms. He did not pause or look back, and when he turned the corner, she was left alone.

* * *

It was a comfortable room, and Mercedes had no doubt that she would have a comfortable stay. Within an hour, a maid brought her a freshly washed nightgown and some tea, and a footman delivered the meager belongings that she had hastily packed in her horse’s saddlebags. Mercedes would have dwelled on the shocking efficiency of a royal castle if she had the energy, but within the next hour, she was fast asleep.

So fast asleep, in fact, that the sun was quite high in the sky when she finally awoke the next day. Mercedes blinked sleepily at the sunbeam shining through her window, then sat up quickly. She didn’t like to think of herself as lazy, and she certainly didn’t want the entire kingdom of Faerghus to think she was lazy. But she had been so tired last night, and the blankets and pillows had been so warm and comfortable, and now it was at least two hours past breakfast and Mercedes had to admit that it was very likely that everyone in the palace was going to think she was very lazy, indeed.

But in reality, no one in the palace seemed to care much about what time Mercedes got out of bed, or even who she was, really. A polite young maid greeted Mercedes as she stumbled out of her room and informed her that breakfast was still being served in the “east parlor,” then continued on her way without seeming to think much of their conversation beyond that.

Mercedes adjusted the collar on her dress and wondered where the east parlor might be. East, she supposed. That was a good start.

But half an hour later, Mercedes was beginning to realize that she had grossly underestimated the size of the palace. It was one thing to follow after Dedue, bleary-eyed and exhausted from her journey, as she had the night before. It was another thing to navigate the many halls and staircases of the palace on her own, when she wasn’t quite sure where she was going, and she definitely did not know where she’d been.

Mercedes was just pausing to wonder how it was possible to go down so many stairs and still not be on the ground floor when she rounded a corner and walked firmly into an end table.

The end table squeaked and stumbled back, and Mercedes realized it wasn’t an end table at all, but in fact a very short, very hurried, very flustered young lady, only a few years younger than her. She had fiery red hair that contrasted sharply with the black robes of her traditional warlock uniform, and she let out a shriek as she collided into Mercedes. Papers and books went flying, and Mercedes and the young woman dropped to their knees at the same time to pick them up, apologies flying along with the parchment.

“I am so, so sorry,” the woman said, cutting Mercedes off mid-apology. “I wasn’t looking where I was going, and now I’ve gotten ink all over you – I do like your dress. Did you do that embroidery yourself? I’m so sorry; I really need to watch where I walk.”

Mercedes tried to answer any, or all, of the protests and questions, but they came too fast to really adequately respond to anything, and so she simply had to wait for the woman to stop talking long enough to breathe. When she spotted such an opening, she held out the papers she’d gathered and smiled.

“You don’t need to apologize. It was my fault, really – I’m afraid I don’t quite know where I’m going,” she said with a sympathetic wince. The woman responded with a beaming smile, and Mercedes decided to take her chances. “I don’t suppose you know where the east parlor is?”

The woman brightened even more visibly at this. She seemed pleased to know the answer. “Oh, are you on your way to breakfast?” she asked. “I can show you where that is. I’ve already had breakfast, but they might have scones. The palace cook has a divine scone recipe, have you had one yet?”

And with that, she was on her feet and flouncing away towards yet another set of downward stairs. She looked over her shoulder and smiled. “I’m Annette, by the way. We haven’t met before, have we? Are you visiting Fhirdiad for long? How do you know Dimitri? What was your name again? I do like that dress.”

Mercedes soon learned that it was easier to let Annette talk than to try to answer every question she asked, and that the girl didn’t seem to mind how many questions she answered and how many she avoided. By the time they reached the east parlor, Mercedes had learned that Annette was a recently appointed court mage, that she had known the king when he was at the Officer’s Academy (which explained the shockingly informal first name basis), that she’d studied at the School of Sorcery and was considering going back for advanced courses, that she preferred blue to pink unless she was wanting to wear pink that day, and that there were at least seven dishes that were usually laid out for breakfast in the east parlor. She also helpfully provided a ranked list of which of those dishes to seek out and which to avoid, and she was moving on to a list of which people to seek out and which to avoid when they finally arrived at the east parlor.

“But I’m so sorry, I haven’t even asked about you!” Annette said as she flopped into a seat across from Mercedes. As promised, she’d piled her plate with no less than three scones, and she set to work adding butter and jam to them with an enthusiasm Mercedes found inspiring. “Mercedes, right? What brings you to Fhirdiad?”

“Oh! Yes, Mercedes,” Mercedes said. “I’m, um – I have business with the king. I’ll just be here until that gets cleared up.”

“Aw, I was hoping you were a new advisor or something,” Annette said, puffing out her cheeks in disappointment. “Still!” she said brightly. “It makes sense that Dimitri would need special consultations on magic. He was terrible at it at school, you know.” She lowered her voice on this last sentence, as if they were sharing a delightful secret.

Mercedes loved delightful secrets, but she was too surprised by Annette’s assumption to process this one. “Magic consultations?” she asked. “I don’t – I mean. I’m no specialist in magic, Annette. That sounds more like your sort of thing.”

“What?” Annette looked legitimately surprised, letting half a scone drop to her plate. “But it’s – well, you just kind of radiate healing magic, don’t you? Your whole aura, like?”

Mercedes raised an eyebrow and took another bite of toast. “My aura?” she repeated.

“One good mage can always tell another,” Annette said primly, giving a proper little nod before stuffing the rest of the scone in her mouth. “You must have some training in Faith magic, right?” she asked.

Mercedes winced. It actually wasn’t the first time she’d heard this. Her family tutor growing up had insisted she had a knack for Faith magic and encouraged her to practice it, but . . .

“Very little formal training,” Mercedes said, hoping she didn’t sound too wistful. “I help out at my family’s church sometimes; the bishops there have taught me some basic healing. And I had a tutor when I was younger, who taught me the basic incantations. She was very kind. I would have liked to attend school for it, but my stepfather didn’t think it was a good idea.”

Annette was frowning as if Mercedes had told her St. Cethleann’s Day festivities were canceled. “I can’t believe that!” she said. “You just kind of have, like, a –” she waved her hands wildly in front of Mercedes, approximating nothing. “About you. You know?” she asked.

Mercedes stared at Annette for a moment, then covered her mouth to hide her laughter. “Well, thank you! I think,” she said through another giggle. “I’ve never thought healing was difficult, but I do find it interesting.”

“There, see, that’s exactly my point,” Annette said. “I’m dreadful at it, compared to reason magic. You’ll have to teach me some tricks before you leave.”

“I’m really not that good,” Mercedes started to say, but a clock tower chimed in the distance, and Annette gave a small yelp.

“Aw, saints, I told Felix I’d meet him at the training grounds ages ago,” she exclaimed. “He just got back into town, you know. Will you be alright finding wherever you’re going next?” she asked, giving Mercedes a worried look.

Mercedes had no idea who Felix was, or what time it was, or where she was supposed to be going next. She gave Annette a reassuring smile anyway.

“I think I’ll be alright,” she said. “It was awfully nice to meet you.”

“I completely agree!” Annette sang, grabbing the last scone and stuffing it into her bag, crumbs flying everywhere. “We’ll have to chat again before you leave. See you later, Mercie!”

She dashed out of the east parlor, all crumbs and papers and smiles, and Mercedes took another thoughtful bite of toast as she watched her go. She’d nearly finished her breakfast when she realized what felt unusual – for the first time since she’d arrived in Fhirdiad, she couldn’t stop smiling.

***

Mercedes stared up at the stained-glass mural of St. Cethleann and wondered what it would have been like to know her in real life. The chapel in the castle was small, tucked away in a western wing and only large enough for a few dozen people or so, but no expense had been spared for the décor. Stained glass windows on all sides depicted the four saints, and a triptych depicting Saint Seiros in battle was mounted behind the front altar.

Mercedes didn’t particularly care for much grandeur in churches, herself, but she supposed it would make sense that the holy kingdom would spare no expense for the goddess. And she was sure the goddess would hear her prayers just as well here as she did in the humble churches where Mercedes had grown up. And Mercedes had a lot to pray for today, with her harrowing past nipping at her heels and her uncertain future spiraling out in front of her.

She heard the footsteps echoing through the chapel, but she paid them little mind – it was likely that many people used the chapel during the day. It wasn’t until the steps drew very close that she looked up. She saw Dedue standing at the edge of the pew. She smiled at him, and he nodded in return.

“Mercedes,” he said simply.

“Hello, Dedue!” Mercedes said. “Have you come to offer prayers to the goddess as well?”

Dedue shook his head, slightly. “I have been looking for you,” he said. “His majesty is meeting with two of his most trusted aides, and they wish to speak with you.”

“Oh no!” Mercedes said, covering her mouth with her hands. “And I didn’t tell anyone where I was going! I hope you haven’t wasted too much time trying to find me.”

Dedue inclined his head, but Mercedes was unsure if that was agreement or not. “I knew who to ask,” he said.

“Well, I won’t keep you a moment longer,” Mercedes insisted. She rose to her feet and shuffled sideways towards the end of the pew. “We can head out right now!”

She reached the end of the pew, but Dedue didn’t move away. He looked down at her, almost seeming concerned.

“I did not mean to interrupt your prayers,” he said, frowning. “There is much for Dimitri to discuss with his advisors. I am sure they can spare you an extra few minutes.”

“Oh no, it’s fine!” Mercedes smiled. “I’ll just pick them up after the meeting! I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with praying for the same things twice.”

“Fódlan’s goddess is more flexible than I had imagined,” Dedue said, his expression still solemn. “I would have thought one so devout would have stricter requirements for her prayers.”

He stepped back to let Mercedes step into the center aisle, and they began walking out of the church. Mercedes gave a small hum, considering his words.

“I don’t know if I’d call it a requirement – praying is something I enjoy,” she said. “But Dedue, does that mean you’re not originally from Faerghus?”

“I am not,” Dedue said. “I was born in Duscur.”

“I didn’t know!” Mercedes said. “How interesting!”

Dedue didn’t reply immediately. He easily stepped in front of her as they reached the doors of the chapel, and he shepherded her through the doors with a silence that contrasted with how both of their footsteps echoed through the space. The sunlight was bright, the storm from the previous night forgotten, and Mercedes blinked as her eyes adjusted to being outdoors. When she looked back up at Dedue, he was steadfastly looking forward as he walked.

“I assume you are familiar with the history of Duscur?” he asked. He kept his eyes straight ahead If he hadn’t spoken directly to her, Mercedes might have thought he had forgotten she was beside him.

It was Mercedes’s turn to consider the question in silence. She knew of Duscur, vaguely, although she had never been. And she had heard of the Tragedy of Duscur, where the former king had been killed, although she had been fairly young at the time. She could remember her stepfather speaking about the tragedy, about the death of the king. The things he had said – both about the king and about the men of Duscur – had been extremely unkind. But then, most things Baron Bartels said were unkind.

“I’m not, not really,” she said, frowning. “I know a little, but I don’t feel like I know enough.” She looked up at Dedue and offered him a smile. “I would love for you to tell me about it. Maybe you can tell me about your goddess – since she’s different from Fódlan’s, I guess.”

Dedue’s lips twitched for a moment, and Mercedes was sure he had something he wanted to tell her. But he didn’t say anything for a long moment.

“Why?” he asked eventually. “There is nothing about Duscur that would be of interest to you.”

Mercedes felt her smile fade away. Concerned, she reached for Dedue’s arm, resting her hand lightly against him. “I don’t think that’s true at all,” she said. “You’re from Duscur, are you not? You’re of interest to me.”

She glanced up to meet Dedue’s eyes, smiling softly again, but his gaze was focused on her hand on her arm. He said nothing, but he didn’t move to pull away. After a moment of silence, he shook his head slightly, then turned away from her.

“We should not keep his majesty waiting any longer,” he said. “If you would follow me.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

Chapter Text

Dedue took Mercedes to a much smaller meeting room this time, one that felt more like a private study than an impersonal meeting hall. The furniture was mahogany and teak, with rich cushions and curtains in a deep blue that offset the wood paneling and bookshelves. It felt uncomfortably similar to her stepfather’s study, and Mercedes suspected that someone else had done the decorating, as King Dimitri looked almost as uncomfortable as she felt, sitting in the high-backed chair behind the desk.

He was flanked by two men she hadn’t met the night before.  He must have trusted them, for Dedue left soon after introductions were made, evidently not considering the king in need of protection. The taller man, introduced to her as Lord Sylvain Gautier, was impossibly handsome, with a smile that indicated he knew this to be the case. Lord Felix Fraldarius, introduced right after, was sharp and pointed and frowning, and his scowl prevented Mercedes from exclaiming that he was the Felix she’d heard so much about. She suspected he wouldn’t appreciate the recognition.

Mercedes repeated her story once more, to Sylvain’s encouraging nods and Felix’s less-than-encouraging scowls. She was beginning to feel more comfortable with the retelling, but that made her nervous – she couldn’t help but feel that she was forgetting some details, or embellishing others, each time she told the story.

Dimitri listened with the same thoughtful intensity as he had the night before, nodding at many of the same points in the story. When Mercedes had finished, he turned away from her wordlessly, looking to his companions and raising his eyebrow slightly.

Sylvain spoke first.

“An extraordinary tale, Miss Mercedes,” he said, giving her a dazzling and well-practiced smile. “You’ve shown great bravery to make the journey here, and against the wishes of your father, as well. We here in Faerghus have always valued protecting the brave and the beautiful, and hearing your story from one such as you, well, it moves me to –”

“Get on with it,” Felix muttered, barely looking up from his own notes to glare at Sylvain.

“Ahem. Yes,” Sylvain coughed slightly, then smiled again. “Tell me, Mercedes, these men that were with your father – did they seem to be connected to the imperial army? Does your father often meet with imperial generals and such, I mean?”

Mercedes wrinkled her nose slightly, thinking the question over.

“I can’t say for certain,” she admitted. “But I wouldn’t think so. My stepfather is quite well-connected in Enbarr, but he’s entertained dignitaries less of late. I don’t think the new Emperor cares for him very much.”

“Good for her,” Felix snorted.

“Ignore him,” Sylvain said.

“They didn’t look like members of the army,” Mercedes said with a frown. “Emile – my brother – he’s an officer stationed at Merceus right now. These men seemed . . . quite different.”

“You said masks and robes, like the doctors from the great plague?” Felix asked. His question was clipped and quick, and he tapped his quill against his notes as he spoke, gesturing to a reference Mercedes couldn’t see. She nodded, and he continued. “You mentioned a Thales. Did you hear any other names? Kronya? Solon?”

“Um – it’s possible,” Mercedes said, looking desperately over to Sylvain to get his colleague to slow down. Sylvain gave her another dazzling smile and did nothing. “I can’t entirely remember – I don’t think I recognize those names?”

“You also mentioned Cornelia,” Felix said, tapping his notes again. “Does your father have other connections in the kingdom? Were the men with him from the kingdom?”

“I’m not sure –” Mercedes began.

“If we’ve any chance of preventing an attempt on the king’s life, we need to assess our weaknesses,” Felix interrupted. “Is the threat internal or external? Think, Miss Bartels.”

“Please – I don’t know!” Mercedes exclaimed. Felix fell silent, but continued to glare at her. She continued, a little more quietly, “I wasn’t in the room; I merely overheard the conversation. I’m so sorry – I wish I could be of more help.”

“You’ve been an enormous help,” Sylvain cut in. “Don’t let Felix’s sharp tongue get to you, Mercedes – he’s appreciative of the sacrifices you made to get here.”

“I’d be appreciative,” Felix snarled, “Of some solid intel. We can’t address threats on hearsay and gossip. If her story is to be believed at all.”

“Felix, you mustn’t say that sort of thing while Miss Bartels is sitting right there,” Sylvain said, saying the last part through gritted teeth, although Mercedes could clearly hear him. “You’re supposed to be a diplomat now.”

“And you’re supposed to be concerned about the defense of the kingdom,” Felix snapped. “The way you’re carrying on, you would think we were back in –”

King Dimitri cleared his throat loudly, and both men fell silent. They glared at each other, then looked to the king, then, slowly, turned their eyes to Mercedes.

Mercedes had no idea what to say, so she gave Dimitri a pleading look. He took pity on her.

“Well, Miss Bartels,” he began.

“Mercedes. Please,” Mercedes said, and to her surprise, the king listened to her, giving her a smile.

“Mercedes,” he repeated. “I suppose it’s difficult to know how to move forward from here, although we are appreciative of your warning. Are you sure you don’t have any further information? Even small details might be helpful.”

Mercedes thought the question over, trying again to recreate the conversation she’d overheard outside her stepfather’s study. Finally, she shook her head.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I wish I could be of more use to you.”

“Not at all,” Sylvain interrupted. “Your bravery is admirable. Faerghus will never turn down the offer of assistance from a woman as poised and beautiful as –”

Felix interrupted whatever Sylvain was going to say with a swift kick to his ankle, and Dimitri took over.

“At any rate, I imagine it will be difficult for you to return to the Empire,” he said. “Do you have plans for where to go next?”

“I . . . I don’t,” Mercedes said. “I might try to find a church in the area. I just want to help people, I suppose. Where I go doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to us,” Dimitri assured her. “Tomorrow, Sylvain can take you around to the local churches and get you settled.”

“It would be an honor,” Sylvain said with a wink that Mercedes did not interpret as entirely holy.

“And for tonight – please, do dine with us,” Dimitri cut in, giving Sylvain a look that was as sharp as Felix’s kick. “It will be a smallish affair, but I would be honored to have you join us for dinner.”

Mercedes looked up, surprised. “I – that’s very kind of you, your majesty, but you don’t need to feel obligated –” she started, but Dimitri waved a hand at her protests.

“It’s no obligation, I promise you,” he said. “You’re a guest in Fhirdiad. And besides,” he added, his eyes darting towards the door as if someone might appear there. “Annette cornered me at lunch and insisted I invite you. You’ve made quite an impression on my best court mage, it would seem.”

Mercedes smiled. “That would be nice,” she said.

“Where are you headed now?” Sylvain asked. “I would happily escort you there – I know the palace can be difficult to navigate.”

“I want to go over the reports from Ordelia, Sylvain,” Felix said, giving him a pointed glare, which Sylvain ignored as he leapt to his feet.

“That’s a great idea!” he said cheerfully. “You tell Dimitri all about them, and he can fill me in on the short version when I get back.”

Mercedes offered Felix an apologetic smile as Sylvain ushered her out the door. It was unreturned, but the scowl he gave her instead was almost petulant enough to be adorable. Mercedes decided not to mention this.

She followed Sylvain down the long hallway, wondering if he had a particular location in mind, given that she had not actually clarified where she was going next, nor did she have any plans. But Sylvain stopped after they’d passed only a few doors, turning and leaning against the wall as he looked down at Mercedes.

“Not the most pleasant start to our acquaintance, I’ll admit,” he said. “You doing alright?”

“I hope I didn’t upset your friend,” Mercedes said, glancing back towards the door.

Sylvain snorted. “Felix? Nah, he’s always like that. The guy’s allergic to smiles.”

“Even so. I get the feeling he didn’t really believe me,” Mercedes said.

“Ah, well,” Sylvain said with half a laugh. “It’s his job to be suspicious, you know? Felix is just like that.”

Something in his voice, or perhaps his laugh, made Mercedes look back at him quickly. He wasn’t looking at her anymore, his hands behind his head in a stretch as he rolled his eyes cheerfully. And in that moment, Mercedes realized something.

Sylvain Gautier was a terrible liar.

"You don’t believe me either,” she said, trying out her theory. His momentary wince confirmed everything she needed to know.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, Mercedes,” he said with a shrug, crossing his arms again. “It’s just, well, we don’t know details, right? Even you don’t entirely know – listen, I’m just saying, we can’t jump to conclusions until we know the full situation.”

“I’ve told you everything I know,” Mercedes said. “I wasn’t well-regarded in my stepfather’s house; I’m not an army officer or even much of a noble. But I am telling you the truth.” She looked back at the closed door again. “I don’t want him to get hurt if I could have stopped it,” she said softly.

“Hey. We all want that,” Sylvain said. “It’s not been the easiest transition of power, and we’re all on edge right now – I’m sure it’s the same in the Empire.” He gave her another reassuring smile, and this one seemed more sincere. “But we’re not just going to turn you away, okay? The Fhridiad churches will be lucky to have you. I mean that.”

Mercedes frowned, although she did believe Sylvain’s words. Perhaps she should have been more concerned for her future – she was certain she could not return to House Bartels, not now. But in truth, she was more concerned of her words being ignored, that she would not be believed until it was too late. Her sacrifice mattered little, as long as it was for something. But to give up her home and still watch unnecessary suffering was more than she could bear.

Sylvain patted her on the shoulder. “Chin up, Miss Bartels,” he said, not unkindly. “Do you want me to show you the gardens? They’re lovely this time of year.” She was fairly sure he said that at all times of year.

“Mercedes,” Mercedes corrected. She shook her head. “I think I will return to the chapel. It’s a lovely place to pray.”

“Then I will see you at dinner,” Sylvain said with a small, formal bow and an exaggerated, less formal wink. “We could all use an excuse to relax tonight, I think.”

***

Mercedes realized about thirty minutes into the dinner that she and Sylvain had very different ideas about what constituted a relaxing dinner. The dining room they met in was small and, as Dimitri had promised, there were only a handful of people there, mostly people she had met that day and all former friends from the Officer’s Academy. But if Mercedes had expected an evening of polite exchanges and introspective conversation, she was sorely mistaken. Clearly old friends, no one at the table bothered to wait for anyone else to finish their sentence before starting a new one, and they argued back and forth, or argued all at the same time, in a loud, cheerful chaos.

Mercedes found herself seated across from Sylvain and next to Annette. On the other side of her was a knight she hadn’t met before, introduced to her as Ingrid Galatea. Ingrid was one of the most beautiful women that Mercedes had ever seen, but everything in her manner indicated that she either did not realize this or did not care. She wore no makeup and sensible clothing, and she clearly preferred to spend her time invested in chiding Felix for not finishing his food and Sylvain for basically everything else.

Mercedes suspected Sylvain would have liked to spend the dinner giving her charming smiles and insincere compliments, but he had little opportunity to. He was dragged into every debate Felix and Ingrid managed to think up, from the rise of a wheat tax to who would win in a fight between Loog and a Faerghan warrior Mercedes had never heard of.

Mercedes was instead pulled into conversation with Annette, who had developed an entire new set of conversation topics to get through that evening, and who seemed legitimately disappointed they didn’t manage to cover them all. She eagerly involved Ingrid and Mercedes both in multiple conversations on fashion and makeup, and seemed delighted by even the most mild answers Mercedes gave. Ingrid answered with mostly bewildered and polite smiles, but seemed sincere when she complimented Mercedes’s lipstick, and only partially terrified when she agreed to Annette’s suggestion that Mercedes teach her how to apply lip-liner sometime in the near future.

“Hilda always used to complain that we never had time to be dressy at the academy, but there’s no reason we can’t now that we’ve graduated!” she told Mercedes. Mercedes nodded cheerfully and took another sip of wine. She had no idea who Hilda was. Annette beamed at her and turned, grabbing Dedue’s arm excitedly. “Have you told Mercie yet about the time I nearly burnt the kitchens down our first week?” she asked.

Dedue shook his head solemnly. “I would not take that joy from you,” he assured her.

Mercedes listened politely to Annette’s story, which involved a poorly-timed wind spell and a severe misunderstanding about how boiling water worked, but she watched Dedue carefully as the young mage was talking. Unlike the meeting the night before, where he seemed to act more as a guard than a participant, Dedue joined them for dinner that night, sitting next to Annette and across from Dimitri. He seemed more aware of every conversation than anyone at the table, and he was constantly intervening in small ways – catching a wine glass before it was knocked over, subtly catching Annette’s before she fell out of her chair leaning over to say something to Ingrid, grabbing Felix by the wrist before he could procure a steak knife to use against Sylvain.

It was a strange combination of aloofness and involvement. Dedue didn’t say much during the meal, giving short answers or simply nodding or shaking his head in response to questions. But at the same time, he seemed to calmly observe every interaction around the table, and his eyes also frequently glanced towards the doors and windows around him. He was painstakingly aware of the world, even as he seemed to avoid it.

Once, he glanced over Annette’s head and locked eyes with Mercedes, catching her obviously staring. Mercedes smiled at him, hoping he’d say something or smile back or even blush. He kept her gaze for a moment, and then he looked away.

The dinner lasted late into the evening, and by the time Ingrid and Sylvain had taken their leave for the evening, both complaining of early morning councils that Dimitri had pushed them into, Mercedes was having trouble keeping her eyes open. She was evidently not alone, as Annette hid a yawn behind her hand while mid-story about a cookie recipe she wanted to try.

“Is your father picking you up?” Felix asked, his eyes sharpening as Annette’s jaw practically cracked from the yawn.

“He’s sending a carriage,” Annette said, frowning at Felix with more annoyance than the question seemed to call for. “It’s probably getting here now, actually. I should be going.”

Felix frowned back. “Do you want me to walk you out, or –?”

“Nope! Mercie’s going to walk with me,” Annette said, pulling on Mercedes’s arm as she jumped up from the table. “She still has to explain to me how to brown butter without setting anything on fire.”

There was a flurry of goodbyes and good evenings and polite nods as they left the room, Annette still hanging off of Mercedes’s elbow and now humming a song to herself, brown butter cookie recipes forgotten.

“Your family lives in Fhirdiad?” Mercedes asked. She was fairly certain Annette had mentioned living in the western part of Faerghus at some point earlier.

Annette wrinkled her nose. “Just my father, right now. And me. My family’s always had a house in town, but it’s only recently that my father has returned to – oh! Hello, Dedue.”

Mercedes, turned, surprised, and then had to crane her neck much more than she was expecting. She kept forgetting how tall Dedue was.

“Hello, Annette,” he said.

“You don’t need to worry about escorting me anywhere, you know,” Annette said. “Mercie is going to walk me to my carriage.”

“Does Miss Bartels have any idea where that is?” Dedue asked, raising an eyebrow. He took one step for Annette’s three, and Mercedes had trouble finding a pace between the two of them.

“Hm. Maybe not. Don’t ask me difficult questions; I’ve had two glasses of wine,” Annette protested. She tugged on Mercedes’s sleeve. “Do you know where we’re going, Mercie?”

Mercedes laughed. “I didn’t think I needed to!” she said, holding her hands up in apology.

“I was planning to complete my evening patrol of the castle tonight regardless, Annette, if you would like me to walk with you,” Dedue said. He raised an eyebrow. “Unless you were hoping Lord Fraldarius would be the one following after you.”

“Ugh! Don’t bring him up; we’re in a fight,” Annette said, crossing her arms and pouting. “I was five minutes late and accused me of loving sweets more than self-improvement. And that was after I won the sparring match, too!”

“How dreadful,” Dedue said evenly. “I hope the argument will not last long.”

“It will last forever and – you’re teasing me!” Annette exclaimed, her ears turning red as the realization dawned on her. “How dare you, Dedue, you’re supposed to be my friend! And you’re smiling at a time like this!”

And Mercedes realized, with shock, that he was. Or at least, that he was frowning marginally less than his usual expression. Dedue looked away from them both, possibly to hide this.

It was dark as they exited the palace and made their way towards the front gates, but it was a beautiful evening. It was warm enough that Mercedes thankfully did not miss her shawl, and the air smelled fresh and clean, the thunderstorm from the previous evening now behind them. The moon was bright enough to light their way even without the help of the magical lanterns that lined the path, and Mercedes could see constellations she didn’t recognize dotting across the sky.

There was a carriage waiting for Annette, although the coachman assured Annette between her numerous apologies that he had not been waiting for long. Dedue handed Annette into the carriage following a whirlwind of heartfelt goodbyes and several hugs, and Mercedes found herself smiling again as she waved goodbye to the carriage as it rolled away past the gate.

“It was nice of you to walk with us,” she said to Dedue, her eyes still on the carriage as it disappeared into the night. “I’m sure Annette knew where to go, even if I’m still hopelessly lost here.”

“I regret that Miss Dominic is a rather clumsy young woman,” Dedue said. “She made good use of your arm for support this evening, but I do not like to leave her to fend for herself, in general.” He turned away from the gate. “And as I said, it was not much out of the way of my nightly patrol.”

“It seems a shame that you have to end your evening early for such things,” Mercedes said, frowning slightly. She thought again that it seemed Dedue was constantly doing the work of three people, and that nobody took much notice of it.

But Dedue merely shook his head slightly. “It is not a matter of having to do anything. I prefer it,” he said simply. “Besides,” he added, glancing towards the gates with another frown. “Your news from Enbarr makes me uneasy. I feel safer knowing that the grounds are secure.”

“Would you like company?” Mercedes asked.

Dedue looked back at her sharply, almost surprised. “You do not need to trouble yourself,” he replied. “You seemed to grow tired by the end of the meal; I would not keep you up further.”

Mercedes was surprised. She had been tired, it was true, but she hadn’t thought anyone had noticed her attention drifting or her eyes losing focus – they all seemed so caught up in each other. She supposed Dedue made a point to notice what was going on; it was foolish to think she would be an exception.

The night air and the walk to the carriage had been invigorating, and she didn’t feel as sleepy as she had at the dessert course. Still, she had an unhappy suspicion that this was Dedue’s polite way of telling her that he did not wish for her to join him. She hoped the smile she gave him in return wasn’t too pathetically melancholy; she rather enjoyed his company and it was a shame he didn’t feel the same way.

“I am a little tired,” she said, nodding. She gestured towards the castle. “I guess I’ll bid you goodnight and head to bed, then.”

Dedue’s expression was once again unreadable as he looked at her. Then he slowly pointed in the opposite direction, towards the left side of the castle rather than the right.

“The guest rooms are in that direction,” he said. He sounded almost kind, which made it worse.

“Oh dear,” Mercedes said. “I’m afraid I’m still a little turned around here. I’m usually following people.”

“Perhaps,” Dedue said. “I can adjust my route to show you the way.”

Mercedes frowned. If he was pointing in the correct direction – and she suspected he was – then he would have to double back the way he came.

“Are you sure that you –” she started.

“It is not a problem,” Dedue said. “If you would follow me, Miss Bartels.”

He led her down a side path alongside the outside of the castle. On one side, Mercedes could see the lighted windows of the castle, including the curtained windows of the dining room where they had eaten earlier that evening. On the other, neatly trimmed hedges and flowers lined the path. Mercedes could only make out muted colors in the dark, but the spring flowers were beginning to bloom, and she had no doubt they would be beautiful within the week.

“I wish you would call me Mercedes, you know,” she said as they walked. “You have before.”

“I apologize,” Dedue said. “It was not my intention to be disrespectful. You’re a guest of his majesty, even if –”

He looked away and didn’t finish the sentence. Mercedes frowned, because he had apologized for the wrong thing.

“Even if I’m from the Empire?” she asked quietly. He might as well say it.

They walked in silence past another set of windows.

“Even if it’s easy to think of you as a friend,” Dedue said.

Mercedes looked up at him in surprise, but he was looking away, his eyes narrowed on the windows of the castle. She instinctively reached out for his arm, but she pulled away quickly, clasping her hands together. Still, she looked down at the ground between them and smiled.

The explosion cut her off before she could reply.

Mercedes saw it before she heard it, which was a strange sensation. Blindings, brilliant light lit up at her peripheral vision, and as she turned, she saw the dining room windows illuminate, a sickly-green light filling the space. Mercedes blinked instinctively, then the sound of the explosion washed over her.

It all happened within the space of a second, before Mercedes could process it or even cry out. She turned towards the light and sound of the explosion, but before she fully knew what was happening, Dedue collided into her, pushing her away from the building and down onto the ground.

Mercedes hit the ground hard, the soft grass beneath her only somewhat breaking her fall. A gasp escaped her as she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to will her heart to stop pounding so fast. She finally pushed herself up onto an elbow and opened her eyes, fighting the wave of dizziness that washed through her.

Dedue was hovering over her, balanced on the palms of his hands, but still so close to her she could practically feel his own heart beating next to hers. He wasn’t looking at her, instead scanning the gardens frantically with the same practiced observational skills he always relied on. Dazed, Mercedes reached up towards him, brushing her hand against his jaw if only to find something solid to anchor herself.

“Dedue,” she whispered.

He flinched, turning back to her.

“You need to stay down,” he said, his voice low and soft and urgent. “We do not know if there will be another –”

Another explosion came from the  dining room, cutting him off mid-sentence. This time, it was accompanied by the sound of shattering glass, as the windows of the room shattered outward.

Dedue dropped down, shielding Mercedes as grisly aftershocks of dark magic rippled through the air. Mercedes could feel the hairs on her arms standing on end. She thought back to Annette’s remarks, earlier that day, that she could tell Mercedes was gifted in magic just by sensing it off her. Mercedes had laughed it off then, but she had no doubt there were powerful dark mages nearby, and the energy of the dark magic made her feel slightly nauseous.

She buried her face against Dedue’s shirt, and it was only when he pulled away from her that she realized she’d wrapped her hands around the back of his neck, clinging to him as the world around them shook. She let out an involuntary whimper as he pulled away from her, and he pulled her up into a sitting position, leaning in so his face was centimeters away from hers.

“If you retrace our steps, it will lead you back to the front steps of the palace,” he said quietly, quickly, urgently. “From there you can find the guards at the front gates. They will get you to shelter. Do not look back.”

“I want to help,” Mercedes said, but Dedue was already getting to his feet.

He turned towards her, looking down at her with the calculating expression that Mercedes had come to expect from him. But he didn’t seem to hear her, or at least, he didn’t reply. Instead, he seemed hesitant, as if for a moment he was unsure what to do with her.

Another crash sounded behind them, and Dedue turned and ran in towards the dining room. Smoke was now pouring out of the windows. 

Dedue moved more quickly than Mercedes had expected, and she suddenly had no trouble imagining him as a formidable opponent on the battlefield. His movements were as carefully calculated now as his gaze had been earlier that evening, and he ran with both precision and power. Still, he had no weapon, and the dark magic radiating from the dining hall turned Mercedes’s stomach – it must have been very powerful, indeed.

Mercedes shifted, glancing behind her. The path they had been walking on was straight and paved. She could see the lights of the front gate in the distance. They would take care of things. If she made it to the gate, Mercedes had no doubt that they would take care of her.

She had no obligation to put herself in more danger. She had been told to find safety, been ordered to run away.

Another explosion of dark magic sounded from the dining room, and Mercedes saw greenish-white as a wave of nausea rushed over her. She turned back in time to see Dedue disappearing into the smoke. He didn’t hesitate.

She remembered, then, that King Dimitri was not the only intended victim of her stepfather’s plan. She could remember those details of the conspiracy, even if she was useless for anything else worth knowing. They had seemed almost gleeful in their plan to frame the king’s most trusted friend for his murder. Surely that was just as wicked as regicide. Surely she had traveled here to save the guard as well as the king.

Mercedes stumbled to her feet, smoothed down her skirt, and prayed the goddess would keep her safe. Then she ran as fast as she could into the smoke and the magic, where she had last caught sight of Dedue before he disappeared.

Chapter Text

Mercedes stumbled her way through the greenish-grey smoke, choking back a cough. The smoke of dark magic was always unusual. It didn’t have the fiery burn of smoke and ash, nor the watery coolness of mist. It was dispersed decay, a rot that clung to your skin and hair and threatened to choke you if you breathed it in. Mercedes hated it. It only seemed to grow more concentrated as she pushed forward.

The windows to the dining room ran almost from floor to ceiling, and the magic had shattered the glass outward, so Mercedes was able to scramble through the window and into the room with relative ease. At the very least, she reminded herself as glass cut at her hands and caught on her dress, things could have been much worse.

She rushed into the dining room, waving her hands to try to clear the smoke from her eyes, and stumbled into the much worse.

There were bodies on the floor. They didn’t move. Mercedes gasped, covering her mouth and stumbling back a few steps, but there was a kind of shameful relief with the realization that they were not people she knew. They wore the same long robes and strange masks as the men her stepfather had been meeting with, although she had no way of knowing if they were the same men. They also wore robes with intricate patterns that Mercedes did not recognize or remember.

A few feet away from Mercedes, Dedue knelt over the body of a mage, clutching his shoulder. His sleeve was torn, and Mercedes could smell the acrid scent of dark magic, and she had no doubt the mage had gotten in a hit against him before he had taken them down.

Across the dining room, on the other side of the table, Mercedes saw Felix and Dimitri fighting off the remaining two mages. They were bruised and disheveled – Dimitri had a bloody nose and Felix had a black eye – but they somehow, miraculously, were armed. Mercedes had assumed the swords Felix carried with him at dinner were for show, but she had clearly been wrong.

Still, they were at a clear disadvantage. The mages were able to fire at a distance, and as Felix tried to climb over the dining table to attack the nearest enemy, the mage opposite him flung another greenish-grey sphere of dark magic directly at his head. Felix ducked, the magic barely missing him, and he dropped behind the table once more.

The mage gathered another spell in his hands and flung it at the table. When she’d seen it at all, Mercedes was used to dark magic that sizzled and sank and burrowed, a kind of insidious ooze of magical properties. This was something different entirely. The table exploded, splintering outward in every direction, and both Felix and Dimitri stumbled backwards to avoid the shrapnel. Before they could recover, the mage threw another sphere of magic at Felix. It hit him square in the shoulder.

“Felix!” Dimitri cried, turning towards his friend.

“Look out!” Mercedes yelled, pointing towards the second mage, who was now charging towards an unwitting Dimitri.

“Your majesty!” Dedue called, pulling himself to his feet and rushing towards the mage.

It was a chaos of magic and steel, and Mercedes could scarcely keep track of the battle in order to know where to run, or who to help.

Dedue reached one of the mages just as he was about to fling another spell. He caught him by the arm and jerked him backwards. The spell went wide, spinning in a wide arc above Dimitri’s head and slamming into the wall behind them. Dedue twisted the mage’s arm and flung him backwards towards the back of the room.

At the same time, Dimitri violently struck the mage who had been firing spells at Felix. The blow was fatal, and the mage crumpled at his feet. Breathing heavily, Dimitri locked eyes with Mercedes, then glanced at Dedue, then turned his attention to Felix, who was collapsed on the floor behind the table. Dedue hurried over to them both, hovering over Dimitri as Dimitri knelt beside Felix.

None of them noticed, then, as the mage that Dedue had thrown back rose to his feet and stalked towards them, magic glowing at his fingertips.

“No!” Mercedes screamed. She rushed forward as quickly as she could.

She grabbed the mage by the wrist and yanked it backwards. She wasn’t strong, certainly not a trained fighter like everyone else in the room, but it was enough to throw his spell off balance and redirect the magic away from Dedue. Sparks of dark magic rained down on her instead. The spell was only half formed, but Mercedes gasped in pain as the magic burned into her skin. Already, large welts began to appear across her arm as the magic sunk into her with a sickening hiss.

The mage twisted out of her grip easily and grabbed Mercedes by her wrists. She stumbled back, trying to break free, but his grip was painfully tight. Mercedes winced, bracing herself for another dark magic spell, but the mage instead threw her to the side violently.

Mercedes stumbled backwards and lost her balance, falling back onto the marble floor below her. Frantically, she pushed herself up and threw her hands out again.

“Please – stop!” she said. “Can’t you see you can’t possibly win this fight? You needn’t die for no reason!”

It was impossible to read the mage’s expression behind the mask, but he hesitated a moment as he looked down at her, perhaps expecting her to cast magic at him rather than words. Then he brought magic to his fingertips again, an iridescent purple light that glowed malevolently and began forming a spiky, amorphous mass of magic.

Mercedes curled in on herself and braced for the impact of the magic. Instead, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Mercedes looked up hesitantly. Dedue crouched behind her, one hand wrapping around her back. In his other hand, he now carried a sword. He was tense, ready to rush forward at the slightest provocation.

“The lady is correct,” he said, and Mercedes could feel the muscles in his forearm tense against her as he pulled her back slightly. “Surrender now and the king may be merciful. Move one inch and I will not be.”

The mage faltered for a moment, or at least paused. He looked around the room, then up at Dedue, carefully assessing the situation.

And then he looked down at Mercedes. And although she could not see his face behind his mask, she felt something change in his posture when he looked at her.

He actually laughed, low and menacing. 

“So this is where the baron’s wayward daughter has flown to,” he said, his voice slippery and softer than Mercedes was expecting. He tilted his head, and she was certain he was looking directly at her. “You’ve found quite the protector. I’m sure Baron Bartels will be glad to know the company you’re keeping.”

“Step down. Now. I will not ask again,” Dedue said.

The magic faded from the mage’s fingertips. Mercedes felt Dedue’s hand relax ever so slightly from where it rested on her shoulder.

“I’ll give him your regards,” the mage said. Shimmering light began appearing at his feet, rapidly wrapping its way up his body.

“No – stop!” Dedue shouted, dashing forward. But it was too late. By the time Dedue reached the mage, he was gone – warped away from the castle and the battle.

Dedue muttered something under his breath, grabbing at empty air even as he knew that the mage was gone. He turned slowly and looked down at Mercedes.

“A friend of your father’s,” he said, walking back over to her. He held out his hand. “But, it would seem, no friend of yours.”

Mercedes took his hand, but stumbled as he pulled her to her feet. Dedue quickly caught her by the elbow to steady her, his hand skimming over her arm to avoid the cuts from broken glass and welts from dark magic. He frowned as he looked at her arms.

“You’re injured,” he said. “Can you walk?”

Mercedes’s answer was cut off by a low groan from the other side of the now destroyed table. They both turned quickly towards the sound.

Felix lay on the ground, having not risen from the earlier attack. His eyes were shut and his face was very pale. Shrapnel and dark magic had ripped through his jacket, and the welts scattered across his exposed skin looked very familiar to the ones on Mercedes’s arms. Dimitri kneeled over him, a look of panic on his face.

“He’s barely breathing,” Dimitri said, looking up to Dedue. “He took a direct hit.”

“I’ll find a healer,” Dedue began.

Mercedes gently pulled out of his grip and turned towards Felix and Dimitri. She swayed a little to stand on her own, and she felt Dedue reach for her again, but she stepped away.

“Mercedes,” Dedue said. “You’re injured, too. I’ll fetch a healer for you both.”

“Please – I know a bit of magic,” Mercedes said. “Let me try to heal him.”

Dedue frowned and looked like he was going to say something, but after a moment, he nodded and stepped back. Mercedes hurried over to Felix and knelt beside him. The injuries were extensive, and she knew from her meager healing lessons that dark magic could burrow beneath the skin quickly. It was perhaps beyond her capabilities, but time was of the essence.

The spells for healing magic required a fair amount of memorization and skill, but Mercedes’s tutor had always insisted it came down to a simple enough concept: ask the goddess for her blessing, and let her love guide you. The actual incantation was rote action; it was blessing and belief that made the body whole again.

Mercedes knew that such a framework was contested by higher level magic scholars, but in the moment she clung to it. She stumbled over the words, and her hands shook as they hovered over the torn shoulder of Felix’s jacket. But if she doubted herself, she would never doubt the goddess. And that would have to be enough.

White light glowed from her hands, and she pressed her fingers against Felix’s skin. The healing was slow but steady. Mercedes did not have the training of an experienced battle mage, but her tutor had been right about one thing – once she began a healing spell, it felt intuitive, almost logical, to follow that spell to its conclusion. The welts across Felix’s shoulder began to rescind, collapsing in on themselves, replaced with smooth skin. As Mercedes moved to the injuries across his arms, she could almost believe his breathing was growing steady.

But her own breathing stuttered, and for a moment, the world in front of her eyes whited out. Mercedes squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head to try to clear it. This was more intense healing than she had ever had to contend with, and magic always took as much as it gave.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, steadying her, and she opened her eyes to see Dimitri looking at her with concern.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice hoarse and low. “Your magic seems to be working, but if your injuries are more than you can –”

He cut off with a gasp, but he was looking at Mercedes, not Felix. Mercedes glanced down at her own arm to see what shocked him so – only to realize that the injuries from before were gone.

Mercedes was less surprised than the king. She could only partially keep up with the numerous injuries across Felix’s body, but as she healed him, the injuries across her own arms began to fade. Cuts sewed themselves shut, turning pink and then disappearing entirely in a mirror image of Felix’s recovery. Mercedes had seen it before in smaller moments – bruises and hangnails gone when she healed a child’s scraped knee or set a farmer’s broken finger. She had felt it to some extent, like the magic was circling back on itself and enveloping her. It made her feel stronger. It made her feel lightheaded.

Mercedes shook her head to try to clear it and refocused her efforts on the injuries in front of her. Felix’s breathing was evening out now, stronger than before, but the injuries were still ugly and painful.

She redoubled her efforts, repeating the basic incantation yet again, but the light from her hands flickered even as Felix’s injuries faded under her fingers. Another wave of dizziness rushed through Mercedes, but she tried to ignore it. There was still so much work to be done.

Felix coughed, suddenly, surprising Mercedes. He blinked, his eyes opening, though his gaze was still glazed and unfocused. Mercedes heard Dimitri say something, but he sounded far away – further away than he should have been. For a brief moment, Mercedes smiled. She went to move her hand to heal a cut above Felix’s eye.

Her hands didn’t move. Mercedes’s smile faded. Her arms felt so heavy, and everything in the room was too hot and the voices were too distant.

Someone caught her as she fell forward. She heard Dimitri’s voice again, even further this time. She heard Dedue, much closer, calling her name, and she wanted to tell him not to sound so worried. She couldn’t find the words.

Then everything went black.

***

The first seconds of waking up were normal – peaceful, even. After that, it was rather awful.

A wave of nausea washed over Mercedes as soon as she attempted to move her head, and dizziness followed. Somewhere above her, she heard someone clucking and adjusting her pillows, which made the dizziness worse. Mercedes squeezed her eyes shut and tried to remember where she was, and why.

It came back piecemeal – the mages in robes, the horrifying dark magic, the king’s advisor breathing shallowly when Mercedes took his hand. No wonder her head was throbbing and she saw stars when she tried to open her eyes. Magic exhaustion afflicted even the most experienced mages if they pushed themselves too hard, and Mercedes was generally only asked to heal minor scrapes and bruises and the occasional twisted ankle. Her injured arms and shoulders felt surprisingly fine – a bit achy, perhaps, like she had run a long way the day before, but nothing out of the ordinary. But there was no cure for magic fatigue. The bishops of old called the after effects of magic “hubris,” a punishment from the goddess for vanity. Mercedes was tempted to call it a good, old-fashioned hangover.

She remembered, now, the screams for a healer – an, actual, trained, talented healer – and Dedue pulling her away, and her horror at the extent of Felix’s injuries. She remembered the grimace of pain on Felix’s face as he opened his eyes, because her magic couldn’t save him. She remembered the masked mage almost laughing as he spoke to her, and the way his laugh echoed in her memory as she collapsed.

Hands brushed against Mercedes’s hair, and she opened her eyes with a start, gasping for air.

Annette Dominic jumped back, nearly falling off her chair. Then she leaned forward with equal parts excitement and concern, grabbing both of Mercedes’s hands in hers.

“Oh, Mercie, you’re finally awake! How are you feeling? Are you feeling okay? Please say you’re feeling okay; I’ve been quite cross at you all morning and it’s hard enough being cross at your friends without the extra guilt of knowing they’re feeling bad on top of it.”

“Annette?” Mercedes asked, blinking in confusion as the questions rushed over her without making an impact. “I thought you went home . . . already . . .”

She trailed off as a beam of sunlight hit her eyes, and she looked around the room, realizing quite a bit of time had passed, indeed. Whatever day it was, it was late morning, or even full noon. She was in an infirmary of some sort, with healers hurrying to and fro in the hallway outside of her room. Annette had jumped up from her perch beside Mercedes’s bed and was yelling out into the hallway.

“She’s awake! Yes, go tell his majesty. He’ll want to know.” Annette returned to her spot and settled next to Mercedes again. “Do you want some water or anything? I really am quite cross with you, you know.”

“I don’t see why,” Mercedes said, watching Annette busy herself with pouring water from a pitcher. “We left on rather good terms, when we saw each other last.”

Annette pushed the glass of water into her hands. Mercedes accepted it gratefully, surprised at how weak her grip around the glass was. She took a small sip of water, then a greedier, larger sip. It made her feel a little more human, she had to admit.

“We left on perfectly wonderful terms,” Annette said. “Then you went and threw yourself in front of multiple mages and brought Felix back from the brink of death and almost died yourself.”

“I don’t think that’s what happened,” Mercedes said mildly.

“And you didn’t tell me that you were on the run from the Empire, or any of the things you knew about Dimitri’s whole – I don’t know – assassination thing.” She sighed. “I had to get the whole story from Felix this morning; he’s a terrible liar and he couldn’t leave the infirmary to avoid my questions. I’m always the last to know everything.”

Despite Annette’s pouting, Mercedes brightened slightly at this. “Is Felix alright, then?” she asked. “I was awfully worried about him.”

“He’ll be okay,” Annette said, casting a worried look towards the door. “It’s a good thing you got to him so soon after the fight – dark magic can really mess you up, and he’s always been more adept facing physical weapons than magical ones. There might be some scarring, but –” she turned back to Mercedes, wiping the corners of her eyes with the heels of her hands. “– well! I guess that’s just another reason I can’t really be cross with you, can I?”

She gave Mercedes a brave smile, and Mercedes smiled back.

“I didn’t really know what I could tell anyone,” Mercedes said. “But I’m glad you know now. I suppose I didn’t do much good, in the end.”

“Not much good? Are you joking?” Annette said, sounding almost outraged. “They were prepared for the attack because of you! Felix brought his favorite sword to dinner and everything. You’re a hero.” She leaned forward and took Mercedes hand in what Mercedes initially thought was a gesture of comfort, but Annette instead quickly pulled it towards her, looking at Mercedes’s arm. “And did I hear you’re a sympathetic healer? They said you healed your own injuries while you were healing Felix. That’s really rare! Did you teach yourself?”

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Mercedes glanced up quickly towards Dedue’s voice. He stood in the doorway. Mercedes couldn’t be certain, but she worried he was wearing the same clothes as the night before, and she wondered if he'd gotten any sleep at all.

“Dedue!” Annette exclaimed, jumping to her feet. “Mercedes is awake! Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Indeed,” Dedue agreed. He looked over Annette’s head at Mercedes. “His majesty would like to speak to you, if you are feeling able.”

“Oh! I’m happy to,” Mercedes said. “I’m glad to hear he’s feeling – well, I’m glad he wasn’t harmed in the attack.”

Annette fussed over Mercedes as she helped her climb out of bed and lace up her shoes. She unsuccessfully tried to convince Mercedes to take another drink of water before she left, and offered her use of her shawl in case the meeting room was drafty. Annette’s bedside manner was more enthusiastic than anything else, but Mercedes appreciated the the effort, all the same.

To assuage her new friend’s concerns, Mercedes gave her a bright smile and walked confidently towards the door. She regretted refusing that final sip of water as a wave of dizziness hit her a few steps later. Her knees buckled underneath her, and she stumbled forward as her vision went white for a moment.

Dedue caught her arm and held her upright. Mercedes opened her eyes carefully. His face slowly came into focus, his eyebrows drawn together in either concern or evaluation.

“You do not have to talk to him right now,” he said. “If you still feel unwell.”

Mercedes tried laughed lightly, but it came out more strangled than she meant. “Don’t be silly!” she said, patting, Dedue’s arm. “I’ll be fine, and I’m sure his schedule is busy. And anyway, you caught me, didn’t you?”

Dedue frowned, then looked over Mercedes’s head this time. Mercedes followed his gaze. Annette was standing with her hands clasped over her mouth, evidently horrified from Mercedes’s near-fall. She gave a small squeak when she realized they were staring at her.

“I’m going to make sure Felix isn’t challenging anyone to any duels!” she said, hastily grabbing her bag and the water glass on the table and giving them both a big smile. “You take care of Mercedes, alright Dedue? Make sure you both get some rest – and Dimitri, too.”

Dedue nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”

The infirmary was in yet another part of the sprawling castle, but Mercedes was becoming accustomed to following after people while she tried to get her bearings. Dedue seemed more hesitant to walk ahead of her than he had before, perhaps because of how she had stumbled. Mercedes settled into holding onto his arm with both of her hands, and they slowly but surely made their way through the once-more unfamiliar corridors of the castle.

“How long have I been . . .sleeping?” Mercedes asked tentatively, unsure what to call it.

“The attack on King Dimitri happened last night. You have been unconscious since then,” Dedue said. He glanced down at her, searching her face for something, but he looked away soon enough. “Annette tells me that you appeared to have the symptoms of magic exhaustion, rather than physical injuries,” he said. “When you helped Lord Fraldarius – I was not aware that healers were able to apply magic to themselves.”

“It’s not that, exactly,” Mercedes said, but she stopped mid sentence, thinking.

She wasn’t sure how to phrase it. Annette had called sympathetic healing, but Mercedes had never heard those terms before. The priests in Bartels had always told her it was a blessing of the goddess, but she doubted that explanation would satisfy Dedue, and if she was being honest, it had never really satisfied her, either.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” she said, somewhat apologetically. “All I know Is that when I help other people, I’m able to feel that healing myself. Like we’re connected. I’ve always thought of magic that way. It’s a blessing that brings us together, not a weapon that tears us apart.”

“Is that why you were so insistent on healing Felix last night?” Dedue asked, not questioning her explanation. “So that your own injuries could be healed?”

“No!” Mercedes exclaimed, looking up in surprise. “I didn’t think of that at all. It’s just that – well, if someone needs help, I’m going to help them, aren’t I?” She tugged on Dedue’s arm, leaning towards him. “Aren’t you the same way? You don’t like seeing people get hurt either, I’ve known you long enough to know that.”

“All the same, you –” Dedue cut off, looking away.

Mercedes pulled at his arm again. “What is it, Dedue?”

“It is nothing,” he mumbled. “The evening is over; it would be best to forget it.”

“No, tell me what you were going to say,” Mercedes said. She frowned. “I know you don’t think I should have helped him, but he was in pain, Dedue. He needed help.”

“His majesty had sent for healers,” Dedue said. “They arrived shortly after you – you fell unconscious.” Dedue stopped walking, halting outside of an ornate door that Mercedes thought she recognized from an earlier meeting. He turned to Mercedes and put a hand on her shoulder, looking down at her. “It was a failure, to lose you like that,” he said.

“Felix needed help,” Mercedes said, tilting her chin up defiantly. “And all of us survived the night. There’s no failure there. I did what I had to do.”

“It is best to leave war to soldiers,” Dedue said. He turned away, pushing the door open. “I agree with you on this much – you do not belong among weapons and pain.”

It was the same room where Dimitri had been with Sylvain and Felix the day prior, but this time, he was alone. A smattering of papers surrounded him, and he put down his writing quill as they entered the room, pushing a letter to the side. A dagger gleamed on the corner of the desk, easily within his reach. Mercedes wasn’t sure if he had other weapons on him, but it was clear that after last night, the king was not letting his guard down.

“Mercedes! I’m glad to see you awake,” he said, standing as they entered the room. “Please come in.”

“Sylvain has left?” Dedue asked as Mercedes walked into the room. He pulled a chair out for her across from Dimitri, but didn’t take a seat himself. Instead, he hovered at the far end of the table, one hand on his own weapon and the other nervously bracing against the table.

“Yes, he’s gone to talk to Ingrid,” Dimitri said, taking a seat. “They’ll leave for the Alliance tomorrow – they wanted to talk to Felix first, I think.”

“Of course,” Dedue said.

Mercedes felt a bit like she’d wandered into a conversation without knowing most of the context, but neither the king nor his guard felt obliged to fill her in. Dimitri did give her a reassuring smile as she sat across from him, however. It was less warm and more somber than his smiles the night before, but Mercedes did her best to return it with the same sense of friendship.

“Well, Miss Bartels – Mercedes,” he corrected. “It seems that your story has been confirmed in a most dramatic fashion. We’re all grateful to your bravery – both last night and in traveling to warn us of the plot at all. I have no doubt lives were saved last night because of your information.”

“I thank you,” Mercedes said. She frowned. “And yet – it hardly seems enough. You were hurt in the fighting, and – those mages, they died, all because I didn’t know enough to really help.”

Dimitri shook his head emphatically, cutting her off. “You told us what you knew, and at great expense to your own safety,” he said. “And you confirmed a surprising number of particulars regarding the attack.” He nodded towards Dedue. “You were right that they were clearly intending to pin the blame on Dedue, for example. Some of the assailant mages were wearing cloaks from Duscur, no doubt to throw suspicion on him.”

“That’s terrible,” Mercedes said.

“An obvious and simplistic trick,” Dedue said. “They wore outfits for religious celebrations, not ones that are used by soldiers or battle mages.” He frowned. “Not that many in Faerghus have the expertise to know the difference.”

“The important thing is that their plan was foiled,” Dimitri said. “And we’ve taken pains to ensure that news of this attack does not reach the general public.” He looked back to Mercedes. “I’m sure you realize that this is an uncertain time for the Kingdom, Mercedes. Rumors of another attempted coup, and especially anything that might implicate Duscur, no matter how flimsy the evidence – we would prefer to reveal the details of this attack to only the most trusted members of the court. At least until we know more information about who was behind the attack, and why.”

Mercedes nodded emphatically. “Of course! Of course. I completely understand that this isn’t the sort of thing you shout in the streets,” she agreed. “You don’t need to worry about me. Besides, I doubt anyone goes to a monastery to find out idle gossip. I really will be the perfect person to keep a secret!”

Dimitri paused and took a deep breath. His eyes flickered over to Dedue for a moment, and he sighed as looked back at Mercedes.

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about, Mercedes,” he said. “Dedue says one of the mages – the one who escaped – that he recognized you? He knew you were Baron Bartels’ daughter?”

“Stepdaughter. Yes,” Mercedes said. “He seemed to know who I was. He mentioned my stepfather, but – well, I guess I’m not surprised he was looking for me. It was only a matter of time until word got back to him.”

“But that’s just it,” Dimitri said. “Word certainly has got back to him now that you’re in Fhirdiad. It wouldn’t be safe to send you to a monastery now that your father knows to look for you here. And I can’t offer you the same protection outside of Faerghus, so sending you to the Alliance seems risky, as well.”

“Risky?” Mercedes said. She looked between Dimitri and Dedue, surprised. “But I’m not important! There’s no reason to chase after me; I’ve already told you everything I know.”

“Yes, but they don’t know that,” Dimitri said. “They have no idea what you overheard, or who you can identify, or how you can help us. And you’ve already foiled their plan once.” He reached across the table and took her hand gingerly, as if he was afraid she’d shatter at the contact. “Don’t you see, Miss Bartels? They have a vested interest in seeing you silenced. And they were able to breach the walls of the royal palace – what hope does a local church have of protecting you?”

“Mercedes,” Mercedes corrected. Still, Dimitri’s touch, however hesitant, was comforting, and she grasped his fingers a little more tightly than she meant to. She felt the corners of her eyes burning, threatening tears, and she swallowed to avoid embarrassing herself. “I have nowhere else to go, your majesty,” she said. “No friends to offer shelter, no home to return to. The church is my only option. And I think I could make a life there.”

“I’m sure you can – and will,” Dimitri said. “And I’m not asking you to go anywhere, I promise. But please, stay here in the palace for the next few weeks. Sylvain and Ingrid are traveling to the Alliance to follow some leads on the mages who attacked last night. We’ll have this all sorted out soon, and once we know it’s safe, you can join a monastery in Fhirdiad.”   

“You’re very kind,” Mercedes murmured, drawing her hand away and looking down at her feet. It was a lot to take in. She certainly didn’t think of herself as worth this kind of caution – but she also didn’t think of herself as worth attacking, and that had all changed when the mage locked eyes with her the night before.

“Is it so unusual?” Dimitri asked. “The daughter of a noble family, visiting the royal court for a few weeks. Perhaps in another lifetime, such a visit would have happened under happier circumstances.” He paused, waiting for Mercedes to look back up at him before he continued. “I won’t force you,” he added quietly.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate your hospitality – I really do,” Mercedes said. “It’s just, well . . . up until last night, no one really seemed to notice me at all. It’s a strange feeling, to know that someone wants you dead.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Dimitri said. Wryly, but not unkindly.

Mercedes blushed anyway. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“But regardless – your safety is a priority, especially for the next few days.” Dimitri said. “Last night’s attack was bold; this doesn’t seem to be a group that will bide their time before they strike again. We can arrange for a guard for you, someone to make sure no harm comes to you in the event of another attack.”

“Your majesty,” Dedue said, speaking for the first time. “If I may –”

“Of course, Dedue, your counsel is always valued,” Dimitri said, turning away from Mercedes and leaning forward with interest.

“We should be careful of which palace guards we involve in this,” Dedue said. “Many know something happened last night, but the details have been fairly contained. But to explain the situation to any of them might invite more rumors, and to effectively guard Miss Bartels, they would need to know the particulars of the attack.”

“That’s a good point,” Dimitri said, frowning.

“I don’t mean to cause you any trouble,” Mercedes said.

“It’s not trouble; we just need to think things through a bit,” Dimitri said, trailing off. He sat up a bit straighter, suddenly. “Ah, but the solution is right in front of us, isn’t it? Dedue, you can act as Mercedes’s personal guard for the time being.”

“What?” Dedue asked.

“What?” Mercedes echoed.

“There’s no one I trust more than Dedue,” Dimitri said to Mercedes, looking quite pleased with himself as he explained. “And you two already know each other, so I’m sure the arrangement will be easy to adapt to.”

“Your majesty,” Dedue said. “With all due respect, I cannot be a personal guard to two people at once. The attempt was on your life, I will remind you.”

“And I am prepared to defend myself, when danger strikes again,” Dimitri said. “Mercedes should not be asked to do the same.”

“I . . .” Dedue said, trailing off as he looked over to Mercedes.

“Do you disagree?” Dimitri asked.

Dedue looked to Mercedes for a long, hard moment. His eyes were searching, though Mercedes could not tell what he was calculating. Finally, he looked back to Dimitri.

“It’s not my place to disagree,” he said.

“Excellent!” Dimitri said, clapping his hands together. “Mercedes, I do hope you can feel like a guest here, although I realize the circumstances are unusual. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask a servant, and I’m sure that we can –”

He was interrupted by a knock at the door. It swung open before Dimitri could say anything, and Sylvain walked in, followed by Ingrid.

“Ingrid’s received a reply from Claude; we’ll be ready to head out by – oh, hello Mercedes!” Sylvain said, pausing halfway into the room, so that Ingrid slammed into him. He gave her another beautiful smile. “I’m glad to see you’re not too shaken up from last night’s attack. I understand you were quite heroic.”

“Sylvain, now is not the time to flirt with anyone you come across – and no one wants that right after they’ve almost died, anyway,” Ingrid said, punching Sylvain in the shoulder. She turned to Mercedes and added much more kindly. “We are glad you’re doing alright, Mercedes. I hope we haven’t walked in on an important conversation.”

“We were just finishing up our chat, thank you, Ingrid,” Dimitri said, shooting Sylvain a pointed glance. Mercedes suspected he had a habit of wandering into rooms unannounced. Dimitri patted the table nearish where Mercedes’s hand had been earlier. “Do let us know if there’s anything you need, Mercedes,” he said, but he was already reaching towards a letter that Ingrid had in her outstretched hand. It was clear that the conversation, and any debate on Mercedes’s next move, was concluded.

Dedue followed after her as she left the meeting room. He closed the door behind them firmly before turning back to Mercedes.

“I hope I’m not taking you away from anything important,” Mercedes said, casting a worried look at the closed door.

“My duty is wherever his majesty needs me,” Dedue said, his expression as unreadable as ever. He began walking down the hallway. “If you’ll follow me, I can show you to your new rooms.”

“New rooms?” Mercedes echoed, following after him. “My room is quite comfortable, you needn’t trouble yourself to find something else just because I’m staying a bit longer.”

But Dedue was already shaking his head. “If I am to act as your personal guard, Mercedes, your current quarters are quite remote. There are guest quarters next to my room in the palace; guests who need particular security or attention often stay there.” He paused, then seemed to think it necessary to add, “They’re quite comfortable, from what I understand.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Mercedes promised him. “If you think that it would be easiest – I’d be happy to see them.”

The room was nearer the front entryway of the castle, and Mercedes could almost imagine that she was beginning to recognize some of the staircases and hallways as they made their way there. She had visited the palace in Enbarr only twice in her life, once when her family accompanied her stepfather on a business trip and once when they had been shuffled off to some dinner for powerful people in an obscure wing of the palace. Then, she had only seen the spaces meant for guests, the tapestries and architecture designed to impress. Dedue was leading her somewhere entirely different – the paintings were of slightly lesser quality, but the portraits seemed more likely to smile, and there were babies and dogs amongst the families in addition to crowns and swords. The rug under her feet was more worn, but more comfortable. She could almost believe someone would live here.

“His majesty often worries that these rooms are not as extravagant as the formal guest quarters,” Dedue said, seeming to read Mercedes’s mind as she lingered over a portrait of a much younger Dimitri holding a slightly bent training sword. He added, “But I hope you’ll find them just as comfortable.”

It was a lovely room – if it was smaller, Mercedes could hardly tell. And the furnishings seemed more lived-in, with mismatched pillows on the bed and an ink-stain on the writing desk. Large windows looked out over the palace gardens, and fresh flowers were growing in boxes on the ledge outside the window. It was altogether too bright and sunny a room for anyone to be apologizing for it.

“His majesty usually asks that this room be kept open for his personal acquaintances,” Dedue said, watching from the doorway as Mercedes pulled back the curtain to peer out the window at the garden paths. “Rather than the more official dignitaries that visit the castle. Annette stays here, sometimes, when her father isn’t in town.”

Mercedes caught his eyes flickering over to the desk as he said this. That accounted for the ink stain, then.

“They’re lovely rooms,” she said. “I’m sure I’ll be very happy here.”

“My room is next door,” Dedue said. He pointed to a door at the far end of the room. “That door connects the two rooms, though it’s usually left latched. I can promise you all the protection the kingdom can offer you, no matter what House Bartels attempts.”

Mercedes looked over at him sharply. “You’re worried,” she said. It wasn’t neither an accusation nor a question; it was just the truth.

Dedue’s mouth twitched, not quite forming a frown. “I’m on my guard,” he said. “If you consider that the same thing.” Mercedes tilted her head, not answering, and he sighed. “The mage in the mask, the one that got away – I do not like the way he spoke to you,” he said. “As if you belong to the baron, and not to yourself. It was . . . distasteful.”

“Yes, well. My stepfather is a distasteful man, I’m afraid,” Mercedes said, but even she could hear that she didn’t quite deliver the line with any levity. Bitterness crept in, even now. She shook her head and changed the subject. “But I really don’t mean to be a bother. Will guarding me interfere with your duties? You seem to have so many.”

Dedue considered the question. “I worry for his majesty,” he said finally. “By your own report he is in the most danger, and . . . it would be unbearable, to lose him, if I could have saved him.” He shook his head, then added. “But he is correct. I do not know anyone else that I would trust with your story. And you need a guard. If I am the only option, I will not complain.”

Mercedes smiled, almost without meaning to. He was certainly blunt, this king’s guard. It was hardly a compliment, but he didn’t seem to mean it as an insult, either.

“I just don’t want you to feel resentful,” she said. “I know you didn’t ask for this.”

Dedue gave her a look that was becoming familiar – searching, but neither angry nor approving. Mercedes wondered if she’d ever be able to parse what it meant.

“Miss B – Mercedes,” he said. “You didn’t ask for this, either.” He straightened, stepping away from the doorframe and reaching for the doorknob. “I’ll find a servant and send for your belongings. I imagine you’ll need some time to get settled. Doesn’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything.”

He gave her a formal nod before swinging the door closed, leaving Mercedes alone in the room. Mercedes sighed, then returned to the windows, opening the nearest one slightly to better examine the flower boxes. Spring felt far away this far north, but the shoots were tall and strong, and she could already spot the colors at the top of the blossoms. When it was warm enough, when it bloomed, they would be truly beautiful.

Mercedes envied their resilience.

Chapter Text

The goddess seemed fiercer in the palace chapel in Fhridiad.

Mercedes had grown up near smaller churches, with modest budgets for stained glass and statues. Their paintings of the goddess and the saints had always seemed beautifully familiar – a bit distant, perhaps, too beautiful and serene for the world, but still loving. She had visited the cathedrals in Enbarr, towering and powerful. The art there had seemed impossibly old and important. Mercedes admitted to preferring the smaller churches, but even in the grandeur of Enbarr, the goddess’s ancient lineage had given her a sense of serenity, like she was part of something greater than herself.

She had trouble finding that serenity as she prayed this morning. She was not short on reasons for her unease, but somehow, she couldn’t help but place some blame on the unusual chapel in Fhirdiad. There was no statue of the goddess, just stained glass of the four saints surrounding her and a mural of St. Seiros at the front of the chapel. They felt strangely ferocious to Mercedes. Each saint wielded a weapon or a staff, drawn from sacred texts and lovingly detailed in the glass. Seiros herself held a sword aloft as she charged into battle. Mercedes couldn’t imagine having a conversation with any of them. They all seemed like the sort who could offer you protection, but not guidance.

Of course, Mercedes had plenty of reasons to pray for protection these days. And so she tailored her prayers to the atmosphere of the chapel, and she asked for the goddess’s strength rather than her gentleness. She prayed for her own protection, to keep her safe and sheltered in a strange new city. She prayed for the goddess to protect the young king, who had more enemies than he deserved, and who had so few people he could trust.

Mercedes glanced over to the other end of the chapel, where Dedue sat quietly surveying the room. She prayed for his protection as well, of course. Was it ungrateful to turn an answered prayer into yet another supplication? Mercedes wasn’t sure. But she worried for Dedue, as much as she worried for herself. Perhaps more.

Dedue was a strange shadow to have. These past few days, he had accompanied her to prayers and on morning walks, to dinners with Annette and the occasional meeting with Dimitri or his advisors. He kept a respectful distance, both in how he would find a place in a corner across the room and how he would rarely participate in her conversations or activities on his own volition. And yet he was hardly detached from the situation. Annette could draw him into conversation, and advisors would corner him after meetings despite his protests. When they would walk together, he would answer Mercedes’s questions – about Faerghus, about the palace, about the plants and animals in the gardens that lined the outdoor paths. He rarely spoke about himself. He seemed to remember everything about her.

It was an adjustment, to always have him nearby. Mercedes was used to being lonely. She didn’t mind the company, but she couldn’t help but worry that Dedue resented the responsibility.

His footsteps approaching her were not an unusual sound now, and Mercedes looked up at Dedue with a smile that almost felt like a greeting, although he’d been with her all morning.

“Miss Dominic will be expecting you shortly,” he said. He glanced at the mural of Seiros and added, “I do not wish to rush you.”

“No, that’s fine Dedue! We can go now,” Mercedes said.

The palace was easier to navigate, after a week of staying there, and Mercedes prided herself on knowing the turns and stairways without Dedue’s subtle nod in the right direction or hand on her elbow when she really got turned around.

“Annette said we were meeting with a research group of some sort,” Mercedes said as they walked. “Do you know who will be there?”

Annette was not the only person that had asked to sit down with Mercedes and discuss her knowledge of the conspiracy against the king. Mercedes had met with specialists in defense and foreign policy, as well as a handful of figures whose names she never quite caught that Dimitri explained worked in “information.” But Annette had an angle Mercedes had not considered – she wanted to talk to her about the magic the mages used. Mercedes supposed that a court mage would be interested in those things, although she wasn’t entirely sure how one glowing sphere of destruction was different from any other glowing sphere of destruction.

Mercedes had agreed happily to Annette’s request for a meeting. But she had expected it to be like their dinnertime conversations – friendly, perhaps with desserts. A research council sounded somehow intimidating. 

Dedue shrugged nonchalantly enough in response to her question, however. “It’s a small group of court mages, like Annette, that specialize in researching unknown and ancient magic,” he explained. “Some have been serving before the king’s coronation, but I know a few moved to Fhirdiad more recently. This is not the first encounter we’ve had with mages like this. I believe his majesty is eager to understand more about their magic, to better our kingdom’s defenses.”

“You’ve seen them before - the mages that attacked?” Mercedes asked. “What do you know about them?”

Dedue scowled. “Frustratingly little,” he said shortly. He sighed, and added. “I know they are not our friends. I’m hopeful that you can help us figure out more. I’m sure Annette feels the same.”

Mercedes recognized the door to the meeting room as they walked up to it, but Dedue was faster to reach out and open it for her. He shepherded her into the room with a careful hand on her back. Mercedes momentarily wanted to laugh and remind him that she was becoming much more competent at finding her way places, but as she walked into the room and saw the many unknown faces gathered around the meeting table, she suddenly felt both too solemn and too nervous to tease anyone.

Mercedes took a seat at the table, surrounded by half a dozen or so court mages. They all wore robes in a variety of colors and styles, none like the cloaks from the mages that attacked the palace, but many that Mercedes recognized as denoting various achievements in magical study. The mage at the head of the table wore the fur-lined dress of a gremory, and introduced herself as Iris. Her dark hair was swept dramatically up in a complicated set of curls, and the other mages at the table, including Annette, clearly deferred to her expertise as she led the conversation.

“Annette has no doubt already explained our goals to you,” Iris said. “But any information you can give us on the magical theorems employed against his majesty would be of utmost use to our research.”

Mercedes glanced behind her for a moment. Dedue stood against the wall by the door, his arms crossed as he kept a careful eye on the room. No one at the table seemed to pay much attention to his presence. Mercedes supposed he didn’t have much interest in magical research. Still, she wished he’d taken a seat next to her, if only to have a familiar presence amidst a sea of strangers.

Mercedes turned back and caught Annette’s eye from across the table. Annette grinned at her brightly and knocked over an inkwell with her elbow. Iris raised her eyebrow apathetically as Annette disappeared underneath the table to retrieve it, and Mercedes hid a smile. It made her feel less alone, at least.

“Let us begin with the magic itself,” Iris said, ignoring Annette as she pulled herself up from underneath the table. “You said you witnessed the mages on two separate occasions. How would you describe their magical properties?”

“The magic they used?” Mercedes said. “I remember it being  . . . blackish-purple, I think? And it burned when it settled into your skin – I can describe the injuries more easily than the magic itself, if that helps.”

But Iris was already shaking her head. “No no, Miss Bartels, you misunderstand me,” she cut in. “That’s a standard offensive spell, yes. But what of the mages themselves? How did they make you feel?”

“Oh,” Mercedes said. She frowned again, thinking back to the moments outside her stepfather’s study, and then to the moments before she ran after Dedue the night of the attack.

Thinking about it, she could almost feel it again. The effect was so horrid that Mercedes understood why she didn’t try to think about it, when possible.

“I felt . . . nauseous,” Mercedes said finally. “A little bit like – have you ever been seasick? I suppose we aren’t near the coast.” The panel of mages looked at her blankly, and she pressed forward. “It was like when you’re seasick, but also like when you get caught in the rain and are still wearing your wet clothes hours later. Everything was close and clammy and unpleasant.” She shivered. It was easier to imagine it, as she described it. “Is that closer to what you wanted?” she asked.

“That’s very interesting, yes,” Iris said, looking down at her notes. “And quite in line with the reports we’ve had from Remire . . .” She drifted off, shuffling a few notes back and forth, before snapping her head up efficiently and looking across the table. “We have some sketches we’d like you to look at. If you could identify any clothing that seems familiar, particularly in terms of the cloaks and masks you described.” She snapped her fingers impatiently as a fellow mage pushed a folder into her hand, and she slid a portfolio of drawings across to Mercedes. “Many look similar, so try to be precise,” she advised as she pointed to the first drawing of a masked figure.

Mercedes feared that she wasn’t particularly precise, but Iris’s face remained remarkably impassive throughout the meeting. The other mages weren’t much more expressive, other than Annette, who smiled at her broadly whenever she looked over and nodded vigorously at all of her answers. Despite this, Mercedes couldn’t help but feel that her answers were lackluster, or at least, not really what Iris was looking for.

Still, she stumbled her way through a battery of questions about the mages and the magic itself. Dress, speech, general impressions – and something that Iris never quite defined that she referred to as “aural patterns.” The actual description of the magic seemed to interest them the least, and their follow-up questions for clarification were so dense and technical that Mercedes felt she knew less after answering them than she did before she walked into the room.

Iris still gave her a tight-lipped smile at the end of the meeting, although Mercedes had trouble reading it as particularly sincere. “That is probably as far as we’ll get today,” she said, already standing as she spoke. “But I’m sure we can contact you if we have additional questions.”

The mages filed out of the room with polite goodbyes and solemn nods, leaving Mercedes alone in the room with Dedue and Annette. She looked over at Annette nervously. The young mage gave her a reassuring smile.

“That went rather well, I feel like!” she said cheerfully, sweeping her papers together messily. She frowned at an ink spill on the table and unsubtly began scrubbing the table with the end of her sleeve.

“I don’t think I understand a single thing that woman said to me,” Mercedes said glumly.

“Who, Iris?” Annette asked. “Don’t worry about her. She’s one of those real traditional mages – all technicalities and textbooks. I think she’s been working here since Dimitri’s father was king.” She scowled at the stubborn ink stain on the table, then looked up at Mercedes and grinned. “I think your descriptions were really useful, though! That absolutely tracks with the mages we saw while at the academy, doesn’t it, Dedue?”

“At the academy? Was that when you saw them before?” Mercedes asked, looking over at Dedue, who had walked over closer to the table.

He frowned as he took a seat next to her, nodding towards Annette. “I never felt sick the way you described,” he said, shaking his head. “It felt to me more like . . . pricking underneath your skin. The way you might feel before a thunderstorm.”

“I mean, it makes sense,” Annette said. “Mercie’s a lot more sensitive to magic than you are – no offense, Dedue!” Dedue inclined his head, unconcerned, and Annette turned to Mercedes again. “I feel the same way you do – cold and clammy and oh! It’s awful.”

“Who are they, though?” Mercedes asked. “What were they doing at Garreg Mach Monastery?” She’d always thought of the monastery as such a place of peace and protection. It was a hard image to reconcile.

Annette shrugged. “Dunno. No one does. That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” she said. “We also think they might be connected to – well, there was a plot to overthrow Dimitri a few moons before his coronation. I wasn’t in Fhirdiad when it happened, but the descriptions of the warlock who led the coup – it’s similar.”

Dedue nodded as Annette looked over to him for help. “Cornelia was a specialist in healing,” he said. “But her offensive magic – it felt similar,” he said. He scowled, looking down at his hands, and Mercedes caught him running his thumb along a jagged scar across his wrist. “The battle was a harsh one. She died before we were able to question her,” he said, bitterness creeping into his voice.

“What I don’t understand,” Annette said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “Is what they’re doing in Empire territory. All our evidence points much further north – and east, honestly. Sylvain and Ingrid are in Ordelia right now following some leads. Are we looking in the wrong place?”

“If they do have tendrils in the Empire, it will be difficult to track them, regardless,” Dedue said. “The relationship between the Kingdom and the Empire is hardly on good terms as it is.”

Annette pouted slightly. “That’s true.”

“I wish I could be more help,” Mercedes said. “King Dimitri has been so kind to allow me to stay here, but I feel like every time I think I’ll be of use, we just end up at the same dead ends and with the same unanswered questions.”

“It does seem we’re going in circles without getting anywhere, doesn’t it?” Annette said with a sigh. She brightened, however, optimism quickly taking over. “But enough about that – the meeting is over, isn’t it? And I have a question for you.” She leaned across the table, reaching out for Mercedes’s hand. “If you’re here a little longer, it means you’ll be at the ball at the end of the moon, right?”

“A ball?” Mercedes echoed.

Annette nodded vigorously. “I’m sure you’ve seen the preparations around the castle and such. It’s to celebrate . . . the founding of the kingdom? The coronation of Loog?”

“I believe it’s the anniversary of Fhridiad being officially declared the capital city of Faerghus,” Dedue said. “A celebration of both the crown and the city itself, from what I understand.”

“That sounds right!” Annette said cheerfully. “It’s supposed to be terribly important; diplomats from all over Fódlan and all that.”

“I’m a bit surprised it’s still – well, it just seemed a bit unsafe, the timing,” Mercedes said. Her eyes darted from Annette, who looked at her in wide-eyed surprise, to Dedue, who nodded in solemn agreement.

“The timing is not ideal, I agree,” he said. “But you must understand, Mercedes, his majesty is not hosting this ball simply for a celebration. We must consider political appearances, and it is in the palace’s best interest to appear as if peace is easy and stable.”

“I’m surprised Dimitri hasn’t mentioned it to you,” Annette said, pouting slightly. “I’m sure you’re invited. Why wouldn’t you be?”

“Well, in his defense, he’s had a lot on his mind when he’s spoken to me recently,” Mercedes said.

“His majesty made it quite clear that you’re a guest of the royal family while you’re here,” Dedue said. “There is no reason to think you would not be welcome.”

“What about you, Dedue?” Mercedes said, tilting her head and trying to read his expression. He would no doubt be polite, but she wondered how he really felt. “I wouldn’t want to drag you to a party like this just because you have to keep an eye on me. You usually have evenings to yourself, after all.”

Dedue shook his head, however. “You are kind to think of me,” he said. “But an event like this . . . I think it would be good if I was there. There will be plenty of soldiers present, but –” he frowned, thinking of what to say next. “It seems prudent to attend,” he said finally.

“I’m sure it will be safe – These are people who move in shadows; who don’t want to be seen.  So many people will be there; it would be too risky to try anything,” Annette said. She brightened. “But of course you need to attend, Dedue! You both do!” She turned to Mercedes. “Dedue is a wonderful dancer – he helped me practice for the dancing competition at the Officer’s Academy!”

“Ah, but I didn’t win the competition,” Dedue said, almost smiling at the memory. “That was you, I believe.”

“Only with your help!” Annette insisted. She grabbed Mercedes’s hand eagerly. “So you’ll come, then, right?

Mercedes laughed as Annette swung their hands back and forth slightly. “I suppose we’re all in agreement that we should attend,” she said. She glanced towards Dedue, and he nodded.

“Oooh, I’m so glad to hear it!” Annette said. She grabbed Mercedes’s other hand. “Be sure to get there on time so I can give you information on everyone before you’re flooded with invitations to dance. How are you doing your makeup?” She gasped, an idea hitting her. “Should we get ready together? I can come by your room before it starts.”

“That sounds – that sounds awfully nice,” Mercedes said. She’d attended balls before, of course, but she associated the preparation with unsmiling servants braiding her hair and her mother’s worried face in the mirror’s reflection.

Annette evidently had much more pleasant memories. She laughed delightedly, clasping her hands together. “Oh, this will be fun! Tell me what dress you’re wearing; I have several palettes I can bring but I want to match the colors.”

“Annette, aren’t you meeting with the king’s advising council soon?” Dedue asked. The question was gentle enough, but Annette covered her mouth in horror.

“Oh no, that meeting started twenty minutes ago!” she said. “Dedue, I think you might know my schedule better than I do, sometimes.”

“Possibly,” Dedue said, but Annette was already busy stuffing papers into her bag once more.

“We’ll talk later – but don’t forget, I’m your date for the ball,” she said, flashing a brilliant smile to them both and rushing out the door. The room felt strangely silent when she was gone.

Mercedes looked up at Dedue, who was watching Annette hurry away. His expression was calculating as always, but something in his eyes was distant, almost worried. Mercedes doubted he was worried about Annette making her meeting on time.

“So,” she said, bumping Dedue’s arm with her elbow, so he looked down at her. She smiled up at him. “I didn’t realize you were a part-time dance instructor at the Officer’s Academy.”

“Annette exaggerates, I assure you,” Dedue said. “She was . . . rather lonely, at the Academy, I think. I was not particularly talented so much as willing to help out.”

“That was kind of you,” Mercedes said softly.

Dedue shook his head. “I wouldn’t say that,” he said. “I was also often alone. It was easy to sympathize.”

He looked away again, drifting back into his own thoughts. Mercedes touched his arm again, pulling him back to the present.

“Are you worrying about the ball?” she asked. There was no sense in trying to change the subject if it worried him so. “Annette’s right – there’s every reason to believe we’ll be safe.”

Dedue nodded, although his arm remained tense under her hand.

“There’s so much we don’t know, about our enemies, and their plans,” he said finally. “That remains the same whether there is a ball or not.” He turned towards her more, and Mercedes dropped her hand, feeling suddenly presumptuous. But Dedue reached out in a mirror image of what she had done, resting his hand on her shoulder with great care. “But whatever happens, wherever you go, you will be safe,” he said. “I promise you that.”

Mercedes considered protesting. She’d been trying to make him feel better; he didn’t need to worry about her so much. But, she realized, Dedue’s promise to protect probably did help him feel better, in his own way. And she had to admit, his hand on her shoulder was comforting in a way she hadn’t realized she wanted.

So instead, she smiled up at him. “I believe you,” she said.

And she did.

***

Mercedes let out a small yelp as the thorn pierced her thumb. She jerked her hand back on reflex and realized her mistake immediately as a whole army of thorns scratched against her hand. She held her hand up in the sunlight, frowning. A droplet of blood glistened at the center of her thumb.

“I can find you some gloves,” Dedue said. He was kneeling a few paces away, and Mercedes hadn’t realized she’d yelped loudly enough to be heard. She glanced at him, but his attention was on the flower bushes in front of him.

“You said the work was too delicate for gloves,” Mercedes protested. She squinted at his hands, trying to see if he was similarly scratched, but Dedue’s hands were clever and deft when it came to gardening.

Dedue paused in his work and looked over at her. “I do not wear them for these flowers, it’s true,” he said, considering her point. “But your hands are very . . .”

“Easily scratched? Clumsy?” Mercedes guessed.

Dedue shook his head. “Very small,” he said finally, returning to his weeding. “If you wore gloves, it would not harm the flowers.”

It had taken Mercedes days to cajole Dedue into choosing an afternoon activity. He insisted that his orders were to accompany her, not the reverse, and that he had no pursuits that would be of interest to her. When Mercedes had finally tricked him into admitting that he enjoyed tending to the palace flowers on his afternoons off, she could have thrown a pair of gardening shears at his head. An afternoon in the palace gardens sounded perfectly lovely, as she told Dedue in no uncertain terms. If she mentioned any garden-shear related threats to get her point across, Dedue still agreed to spend the next afternoon in the gardens. Evidently, he was confident he could dodge.

It was a bright, sunny day, despite the persistent chill every evening. Mercedes could finally imagine what spring was like in Faerghus. She kept her shawl on and borrowed a wide-brimmed hat from the gardeners, but sunshine still soaked into her arms, and it was pleasant work.

“Are these the same flowers that are growing in the window boxes outside our rooms?” Mercedes asked. If she turned and looked upwards, she’d be able to see her bedroom window – it looked out over the flower beds where they were kneeling.

Dedue shook his head, however. “They are not,” he said. “The ones in the window boxes are marigolds. They do look similar this early in the season, but once they bloom you will easily spot the difference. Marigold is native to this region of Faerghus; it grows quite prolifically and thrives in sunlight.”

“How interesting!” Mercedes said. She tried to imagine what marigolds looked like in bloom, but she couldn’t remember. She frowned, reaching in through the thorns to grab at a weed that stared up at her impertinently. “Does that mean these flowers aren’t native to the region?”

“They are not,” Dedue said. Then, after a pause, he added, “They are from Duscur. I have had luck with them in greenhouses; we will see if they survive the spring rains.”

“Duscur,” Mercedes repeated. She glanced over at Dedue, who was steadfastly staring at the weeds. “Did you plant them yourself?”

“I did,” Dedue said.

“No wonder you enjoy tending to them!” Mercedes said. “They must remind you of home.”

Dedue pulled a longer stem aside to reach the weeds at the back of the plot. He did not answer.

Mercedes watched him for a moment. He pulled at the weeds so deftly and with certainty, but he held the wayward flower in his other hand with impossible gentleness. She wondered if his care would pay off, with these flowers growing in a climate they weren’t suited for.

“What will they look like?” she asked, quietly enough that he could pretend not to hear without it being too rude. “When they bloom?”

For a moment he didn’t answer, and Mercedes thought maybe he’d taken her up on working in silence. When he spoke, he kept his eyes on the flowers.

“They’re vibrant. Red, a deeper red than you’ve seen. Their centers are gold, with black flecks across them,” he said. He cradled the green shoot of the flower as he looked down at it, almost as if he could see the blossoms in front of him now. “The red bleeds into the gold so that the edges of the center are molten fire. Sometimes the fire spreads to the very edges of the petals.” He dropped his hand, and the stem flopped over slightly, not particularly strong on its own. “They are unlikely to survive the spring. But I would like to try.”

“They sound beautiful,” Mercedes breathed.

Dedue shrugged. “You would like them, I think,” he said, his voice as even as always. “I would like you to see them.”

“I’m sure I would like them!” Mercedes said, She ran her hand over one of the stems, suddenly nervous that she had ruined something precious with her imprecise weeding. “If I’m at a church in Fhirdiad, I can come visit to see them,” she said, nodding to herself. “I can help you water them!”

“I would like that,” Dedue said. He gave her a small, sincere smile, and it felt as warm as the sun.

Mercedes smiled back at him as she reached to pull another weed. She gave a small squeak of surprise as her hand scraped against the thorns of the stems, and she cursed her momentary distraction. She ducked her head back towards the flowers, hoping that maybe Dedue wouldn’t notice, but she had no such luck. He shifted towards her, pulling the thornier stems to the side with one hand and grasping her hand with the other.

“I fear I chose a plot with many thorns,” he said. He held her wrist in his, away from the flowers and in the sunlight, and he frowned at the scratches alongside the back of her hand.

“I’m just clumsy, is all!” Mercedes assured him. Dedue flipped her hand over, running his thumb alongside hers. “It’s no worry, I promise,” she said, more quietly as he pressed against the cut at the center of her thumb.

“I’m a poor guard if I allow flowers to harm you,” Dedue said, frowning.

Mercedes laughed. “It’s unreasonable to ask anyone to protect me from my own clumsiness,” she insisted. She grabbed the edge of his hand and turned it towards her. He had his own share of scratches and scrapes along his lower knuckles. “Besides, I could worry just as much about you. Are these cuts from last week’s battle?” she asked.

Dedue started to pull his hand away, but Mercedes didn’t let go. He sighed. “It’s possible. They will heal on their own. Our healers had enough to worry about, that night.”

Mercedes did not like to think about that night, really. She frowned at the marks on his knuckles, which looked to be the remnant of the dispersed dark magic that had scattered on them like ash. He didn’t deserve the reminder, even if time would heal it eventually.

Dedue opened his mouth to protest as she brought her other hand to cover his, but Mercedes clicked her tongue at him before he could argue. This healing spell was easy; the kind she had experience with for scraped knees and bloody noses. Still, she felt oddly lightheaded as the cuts disappeared underneath her fingertips, her heart beating much faster than she was used to. Perhaps Dedue noticed this as his other hand grasped at her elbow, steadying her.

“There was no need,” he said as she pulled her hands away. He held his hand up in the sunlight, carefully examining the newly healed skin. “I’m used to such injuries.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have to be!” Mercedes said. “That alone is reason enough – and besides, look!” She waved her other hand at him, the scratches from the thorns now gone. “It was helpful for me, as well!”

Dedue caught her hand as she waved it, turning it carefully until her palm was facing upward. He frowned down at her fingers, running his thumb along the newly formed skin at the center of her thumb. His own hands were calloused and rough, but his touch was so light that it sent a pleasant shiver down Mercedes’s spine.

“An extraordinary talent,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on her healed hands. “I have never had much aptitude for magic. To be able to heal, to sustain life – I envy it.”

Mercedes’s eyes flickered up to Dedue’s face, but his gaze was downcast, carefully examining their hands for the ghosts of injuries. She glanced back downward, and she caught his fingers as they wandered.

“I don’t think that’s true,” she said. Her hand was scarcely half the size of his, but he stilled as she took his hand in hers. “Are these flowers not proof of your – what was it? – your aptitude for helping them grow?” She smiled up at Dedue, who met her gaze now, his own eyes widening slightly. “The goddess gives us different gifts, it’s true, but the ability to heal and to help – we all have that, I think,” she said. “You’re awfully good at it in your own way. I’m sure the flowers are grateful, at least!”

“I do not think they will survive to the summer,” Dedue said, his voice soft and brittle.

“Of course they will,” Mercedes said. “You’re going to show them to me when they bloom. We’ve already agreed on that.”

Dedue raised an eyebrow at her, surprised by her answer. Then, he surprised her, by smiling ever so slightly and laughing. It was a soft laugh, and more to himself than anyone else, but it was a lovely sound to hear.

He glanced over at the flowers, much more cleanly weeded on his side than Mercedes’s. He shook his head. “Then I suppose . . . I should get back to tending to them.” Slowly, he pulled his hand away. “Since I’ve evidently made you a promise.”

Mercedes watched as he turned back to his work, and she brushed a piece of hair behind her ear absently. Her cheeks felt awfully warm, and she scowled up at her large sun hat – it apparently wasn’t doing a very good job of keeping the sun off her face.

She glanced away from Dedue and her eyes alighted on a nearby garden path. Gardening had been pleasant work, but work all the same. Perhaps a walk would help clear her head a bit.

Dedue nodded solemnly when she told him her plan for a walk.

“That walkway is a favorite of visiting guests, I’ve heard,” he said. “I recommend the paths that branch to the left – those flowers are most in bloom right now. I should be done with this work by the time you return.”

Mercedes could see why this particular walkway was much loved. The garden path was wide and well-kept, but the route was surprisingly sprawling, leading past a variety of topiaries and flower beds. As Mercedes made her way deeper into the garden, she could see the edges of a forest above the hedges – no doubt in the summertime, hunting parties and picnickers could leave directly from the castle to wander through the wilder woods, and this path skirted along the edges of those grounds.

Still, the path Mercedes stayed on was more maintained than the canopy of trees just beyond her. And Dedue was correct – the flowers were fully in bloom, and a Mercedes walked past a dizzying array of colors at her feet. She could name several from the gardens in Enbarr, but others seemed unique to northern climates, and she was delighted by the unusual shades and shapes of petals.

About a quarter of an hour into her walk, Mercedes slowed, content to meander rather than to continue deeper into the gardens. A trellis along the right-hand side of the pathway caught her eye, and she turned away from the woods to examine it closer. White and red roses grew together on the trellis, and Mercedes approached it, curious to see if it was the same plant or two varieties intertwined.

The roses were beautiful, bright white and deep red in color and almost comically large. They reminded Mercedes of flowers in a children’s storybook. Smiling to herself at such a mental image, Mercedes wandered over to the trellis. A large burgundy rose was just below eye level, and Mercedes cupped it carefully with one hand, leaning in to smell the rose. The scent was earthy and familiar, like the rose bushes her mother tended to in the corner of the Bartels estate.

It was as she was leaning over to examine the roses the Mercedes realized something felt wrong.

She noticed it slowly, a creeping sensation rather than a sudden change. It started at the back of her neck, uncomfortable pinpricks that were more memory than actuality. For a moment, she simply thought it was the bittersweet nostalgia of the smell of roses – the unpleasant memories of House Bartels intruding into even beautiful associations. But the sensation became stronger, spreading from her neck down her arms until it settled in her chest.

It felt as if there was someone else in the garden with her. And whoever it was, their magic felt familiar. It was the sickening nausea she remembered from the night the king was attacked.

Mercedes whirled around, looking behind her. Her hands felt cold and clammy but her face felt far too hot. The garden was empty – there were no hooded figures standing in the clearing behind her, no masked assassins sneaking up on her. How could there be? Dedue was working by the entrance to this garden path. No one could have followed her in.

And yet Mercedes couldn’t help but look at the treeline just over the garden hedges and the way the paths branched out of sight. Someone could be watching her, but staying hidden. She shivered, despite the warmth of the sun. Her heart was beating faster and she was having trouble drawing a full breath. She closed her eyes to try to steady herself, but she felt so strangely dizzy.

She heard a distinct crack, a footstep breaking a stick, and she hurriedly opened her eyes again. She was still alone. She couldn’t see anyone in the surrounding trees.

She needed to leave.

Mercedes tore away from the trellis and hurried back to the walkway, stumbling a little over the hem of her dress. She could feel sweat pricking at the back of her neck as the uncanny feeling intensified. She started to glance over her shoulder, then stopped, deciding to keep her eyes focused on the path in front of her. Whether it was actually the sensible thing to pretend she didn’t notice anything or she was just too frightened to turn again, Mercedes wasn’t sure. But she knew enough about ghosts to know better than to look for trouble.

She tried to keep her pace steady and unhurried, but as she walked away from the trellis, Mercedes could feel herself walking faster and faster. She kept her eyes on the ground, trying to retrace her steps back to the entrance of the walkway. She felt another rush of nausea, bile rising at the back of her throat, and she stopped caring about looking calm and broke into a run down the garden path. The pebbles of the pathway shifted under her feet, and she lifted her skirts to get better footing, with little success. Mercedes tried to focus ahead of her, but her footsteps on the path seemed strangely amplified, and there was an uncomfortable ringing in her ears. Mercedes closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to clear it of the dizziness and the ringing and the footsteps closing in behind her.

Mercedes slammed into the figure on the path before she even realized they were there. She raised her hands to her mouth to stifle a scream. Large, strong hands caught each of her arms, holding her upright as if she weighed nothing at all. Mercedes twisted away reflexively, but although the grip on her arms loosened slightly, the figure did not let go.

“Mercedes? Mercedes! Are you alright?”

Dedue’s voice came into focus slowly, sounding strangely far away at first. Mercedes looked up at him as he held her, one of her hands gripping the scarf he had loosely wrapped around his shoulders. She was breathing very hard, though she had stopped running.

Dedue’s hand tightened around her upper arm as a muscle in his jaw twitched slightly. He brought his other hand up to Mercede’s face, cupping her own chin cautiously. His thumb traced her jawline as he studied her.

“The remaining weeding took less time than expected, and you still weren’t back, so I thought it best to come find you,” he said. “Has something happened? Are you hurt?”

“I’m – I’m sorry,” Mercedes said. “I was looking at the roses, and I thought there was – I thought I saw – ”

She turned, gesturing behind her towards. As she scanned the garden, she realized it was completely empty. She stood alone with Dedue on the pathway.

Dedue’s hand dropped to her back as she turned, and she took a step back, leaning into him. She blinked, bewildered, at the empty garden and cheerful trees in the distance. Even now, that feeling of nausea was receding – perhaps it had only been a memory to begin with.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated. “It was nothing. I’m just – I’m just a little jumpy right now, I think. I’m imagining things.”

“What did you see?” Dedue asked. His voice was tense, but gentle, and the fact he sounded like he believed her just made Mercedes feel more ashamed.

“I thought I saw someone following me – or watching me – or something. But it’s nothing. There’s no one there.” Mercedes closed her eyes again and shook her head. “I think I was just remembering the night of the attack. Or home – when I first saw the mages. But no one is here. I’m worrying you for nothing.”

“Do not apologize,” Dedue said. “If I am to protect you, your instincts are valuable.”

Mercedes looked up at him, but he was scanning the horizon at the forest’s edge. His eyes were narrowed as he surveyed the scene. Mercedes glanced back towards the treeline, towards the forest just beyond the garden. It would be so easy for someone to disappear into the woods. Or perhaps they were still there, out of sight, still watching.

But if they were there – if they had even existed – Mercedes could no longer sense them. It was once more an undefinable memory. Perhaps that’s all it had ever been.

Dedue touched her arm again, bringing her back to the present.

“We should go,” he said, looking down at her. “There is no sense staying out here, even if the danger has passed.”

The gardens were quiet and peaceful as they returned to the castle. Mercedes glanced down at her hands as they walked, and she noticed a long scratch from her knuckle to her wrist. She hadn’t felt it as she tore herself away from the rose trellis, but it stung, red and furious, as she looked down on it.

She crossed her arms tightly, hiding her hand under her sleeve as they walked. She glanced up at Dedue, but he was looking back over his shoulder, frowning slightly. He kept his hand on her back as they made their way back to the palace, leaving the wild trees and manicured roses behind.

Chapter Text

In many respects, Faerghus was modest in its sensibilities. Compared to the rich history and lush landscapes of the Adrestian Coast, the Holy Kingdom was unassuming, even austere at times. Both the fashion and the architecture were designed to withstand the cold winter winds, and there was functional fur and imposing stone at every turn in Fhirdiad. In comparison, Enbarr seems almost ostentatious, a constant bustle of noble families and political maneuvers against a backdrop of sunshine and waterways.

Mercedes couldn’t be blamed, then, for assuming that the royal events and celebrations would follow suit. Even hearing Annette speak rapturously about the upcoming ball, Mercedes had expected regimented dances, polite conversation, soft murmurs behind fans as a string quarter played politely in the background.

 She could be forgiven, then, for feeling overwhelmed by the chaos and grandeur of the event.

The main ballroom was centrally located, just off to the side of the main entrance of the castle, but Mercedes had never seen it before that night. It was triple the size of even the largest dining hall in the palace, and the vaulted ceiling was at least two stories tall. Enormous windows lined two sides of the ballroom, providing a gorgeous view out into the castle gardens as the sky darkened at the start of the ball. The room itself was lit by a series of chandeliers that seemed to float above them, lit by a magic that glowed golden, reflecting off the expensive jewels on the fingers of noblewoman and the crystal glassware that their escorts carefully balanced as they spoke.

There were hundreds of people in the ballroom that night, all dressed in the finest fashions that Fhirdiad had to offer. A small orchestra of both stringed and wind instruments played loudly enough to cut through the constant hum of chatter and swarmed around Mercedes from the moment she entered the ballroom. The twirling couples on the central floor seemed almost an afterthought as people pushed through the crowds and gathered in gossipy circles and shouted to one another from across the room. If anything, dancing seemed to offer a rare opportunity for private conversation, even if you were on full display for the curious eyes taking careful stock of every partner and pairing that evening.

Annette possessed one such pair of eyes. She seemed quite comfortable in such a large crowd, eager to greet and converse with a wide variety of dignitaries present that evening. But if her conversation was light and cheerful, her eyes were quick and discerning as they scanned the ballroom, and she eagerly pulled on Mercedes’s sleeve any time she spotted something worth noting.

“I’ve heard there are some leaders from the Leicester Alliance in town, but Hilda told me she and Holst are stuck in Goneril through the rest of the spring,” she said, using Mercedes’s arm for balance as she pulled herself up to scan a new group of arriving nobles. “I wonder who else might be – oh! There’s Lorenz. What has he done to his hair?”

Mercedes wasn’t really sure who Annette was referring to, and the group of Alliance diplomats that had just walked in had such an array of fashionable haircuts and hats that it was difficult to narrow things down.

“Is he a friend of yours?” she asked pleasantly, instead.

Annette wrinkled her nose. “I guess. We were at the School of Sorcery together and he was nice enough. Don’t dance with him, though – he’ll talk your ear off about your shared sacred duty of nobility and you’ll never really be able to tell if he’s proposing or not.”

Mercedes laughed at this. “I hardly think a man I’ve never met will propose to me tonight, Annie,” she said. “Or really even notice me enough to insist on dancing with me.”

 “Don’t say that; look how gorgeous your dress is!” Annette exclaimed, seeming legitimately horrified that Mercedes would think otherwise. “I spent too long on your makeup for you to not be besieged by suitors all evening.”

Mercedes smiled and smoothed down the front of her dress. Annette had a fair point – she had arrived at Mercedes’s doorstep three hours before the ball was supposed to begin and they had still arrived to the ballroom thirty minutes late, which Annette insisted was very fashionable. Annette had not exaggerated her enthusiasm for makeup, and although she favored a much more vibrant palette than Mercedes usually went for, she was undeniably skilled at its application. She was eager to have a friend to practice her skills on, and she had practically cooed when Mercedes had shown her a handful of simple tricks of her own.

“Well, if a wildly handsome duke throws himself at my feet, I’ll have you to thank,” Mercedes said, laughing. “And I’ll make you help me write the letter where I cruelly break his heart by turning down his offers.”

“That’s the spirit!” Annette agreed cheerfully. “At the very least, you need to dance with someone. That’s the most fun part of a ball, don’t you think?” A brief look of concern crossed over her face, and she tugged on Mercedes sleeve nervously. “You are allowed to dance tonight, right?” she asked, her voice growing low and conspiratorial. “That’s – it’s safe and everything?”

Mercedes nodded. “Dedue seemed confident that there would be enough people her – and many of them trained soldiers – that it would be quite stupid to try to cause any . . . unpleasantness,” she said. “You don’t need to worry, Annie.”

 “Dedue does enough worrying for all of us, it’s true,” Annette said. “But if he says things will be okay, I trust him. I think he looks awfully handsome tonight, don’t you? I can never convince Felix to wear his formal officer’s uniform to these.”

Mercedes looked over to the other side of the ballroom, the wall opposite the large entryway. Dedue stood next to Dimitri, deep in conversation. He was dressed more far formally than usual, it was true. The high collar and carefully-fastened brass buttons of his jacket would have looked remarkably out of place in the palace gardens.  A nobleman Mercedes did not recognize approached Dimitri, and Dedue turned away from the conversation, scanning the ballroom with the same intensity and precision as Annette, if perhaps different objectives. Mercedes smiled as he looked in her direction. It was possible he could not spot her in the crowd, but she thought perhaps his gaze lingered in her direction a moment longer. Perhaps he was also eager to spot familiar faces.

Mercedes looked away as Dedue turned back towards Dimitri. She found Annette looking up at her expectedly, but she wasn’t entirely sure what Annette was expecting.

“I’m so sorry, Annie,” Mercedes said, shaking her head slightly. “What were you saying?”

Annette grinned at her even more broadly than usual. She was clearly in a good mood tonight. She grabbed Mercedes hands. “I was saying that it’s high time we find you someone to dance with,” she beamed.

“You always have the most excellent of ideas, Annette – or are you going by Annie now?”

 Annette and Mercedes turned to see Sylvain walking towards them, Felix trailing close behind and looking even more dour than usual. Annette was right that he wasn’t the type to dress up especially formally – Mercedes wondered if he’d come directly from the training grounds, his dress shirt was so disheveled. Sylvain’s tailored coat and plaid ascot was far more stylish, and he seemed both aware of and pleased by the longing glances and girlish giggles that he left in his wake as he walked by.

 Annette was less impressed. “Mercedes can call me that,” she said, looping her arm through Mercedes protectively and glaring up at Sylvian. “I must say, though, I feel you two ought to treat us a bit more formally, especially at such a grand event as this.”

“Oh, come now, Annette, we were dear friends at school together; surely you can trust me to help you both find excellent dancing partners,” Sylvain said, winking at Mercedes. “I hate to see such beautiful girls standing alone.”

 “We weren’t standing alone. We were standing together,” Annette huffed. Mercedes glanced at her friend and realized, however, that though her words were directed at Sylvain, her huffiness was almost certainly aimed towards Felix.

Mercedes smiled at Felix over Sylvain’s shoulder. “Good evening, Felix!” she said cheerfully. “Do you enjoy dancing?”

 Felix glared at her as if furious that she could perceive him at all. “No,” he said, crossing his arms and looking away. “I’m losing valuable training time by being here.”

Annette puffed up like an angry kitten at this, but Sylvain swooped in before Felix could make things worse. “He’s right – you definitely don’t want to waste your time dancing with Felix, Miss Bartels,” he said with a smile. “But don’t worry – I’m certain that every nobleman here is greatly intrigued by the beautiful and mysterious maiden that has joined Dimitri’s court this moon. I’ve already had inquiries as to your connections.”

“Oh dear, really?” Mercedes said, and Sylvain seemed a bit disappointed that she didn’t seem more pleased. She looked around nervously. “Perhaps I should not have come. I’m not sure what people will think of a representative of House Bartels being here tonight, and if word got back to my stepfather –”

“Ah, but don’t you worry!” Sylvain said, brightening at this. “I’ve started the rumor that you’re the daughter of a rich merchant! By the time the evening is over, there will be twenty different rumors about you and barely any of them will be true! But you’ll be so intriguing!”

“A merchant? Why would you say that?” Annette asked.

 Sylvain shrugged. “Why not? I could see it being true, in another life.” He looked around, and Mercedes realized he was more aware of his surroundings than he let on as he lowered his voice slightly. “And Mercedes is right – there’s no reason to directly connect her to House Bartels tonight. Some contradictory stories will keep the gossips’ attention for the night, but they won’t blossom beyond rumor.” He grinned beautifully at Mercedes. “So what do you say, Mercedes? Shall we find you someone to start a rumor with?”

Mercedes raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me to dance?” she asked.

The question must have been more forward than Sylvain was expecting, because he blushed surprisingly easily at this. “Me?” he said, with a slightly high-pitched chuckle. “I mean – I hadn’t realized – I mean if you want –”

“We don’t need your help to find people to dance with, Sylvain,” Annette said. “We were doing just fine on our own.”

“What. Who are you dancing with?” Felix cut in, glaring at Annette with interest for the first time that evening.

 Annette glared back. “Lots of people. Handsome people.”

“Which people?” Felix asked, glaring around the ballroom now. “Lorenz? I saw him looking over here.”

 “Maybe. No.” Annette had moved much closer to Felix now, so she had to crane her neck to look up at him. “I said handsome.”

“I would love to dance,” Mercedes cut in. Everyone in the group looked back at her, surprised. She held her hand out to Sylvain. “You can help me decide who to dance with next while we’re on the ballroom floor.”

The orchestra was playing a lively reel, and once they were on the central floor, Sylvain immediately led Mercedes into a series of complicated twirls and turns. It took them a few bars to find their rhythm, but Mercedes had always loved dancing and Sylvain evidently had quite a bit of practice, so it wasn’t long before they could turn to conversation while still managing the steps.

“I hope you don’t think I’m too forward, claiming a dance like this,” Mercedes said as Sylvain swung her back towards him and caught her waist with his other hand. “You seemed rather surprised.”

 “Surprised and delighted, Miss Bartels,” Sylvain said with a wink. “I’m used to ladies fluttering their fans and dropping endless hints. Never saying what you mean is a way of life in Faerghus.” He glanced over her head to where they were standing. “I must admit, though, you dragged me away from the best entertainment of the evening.”  

The dance required another turn, and as Sylvain swung them around, Mercedes looked over to see Felix and Annette arguing about something, Annette gesturing wildly while Felix crossed his arms tightly as he glared down at her.

 “Oh dear,” Mercedes said. “I was hoping if we left them on their own, they’d sort things out.” She paused, watching Annette turn several shades redder at something Felix said to her. “He does want to ask her to dance, doesn’t he?” she ventured, suddenly uncertain.

“Oh, almost certainly,” Sylvain said cheerfully. “And she wants him to. And he probably will, before the end of the evening! But not before he’s told her in no uncertain terms that all merriment is stupid and she’s replied in a variety of equally certain terms that he is unfit for polite society. Then they’ll dance three dances without making eye contact and never speak of it again.”

 “You weren’t kidding about no one saying what they mean here,” Mercedes said, frowning.

“And those two are worse than most!” Sylvain agreed fondly. “But like I said, the best entertainment you’re going to get at one of these balls.”

“I thought the entertainment was the music and dancing,” Mercedes said.

“If you’re incredibly boring. Dimitri probably thinks the entertainment is the music and dancing, for instance,” Sylvain said. “No, the real entertainment is the people, Mercedes. Surely three quarters of an hour in Annette’s company has taught you that much.”

He led her into another dramatic twirl, and Mercedes glanced around the ballroom. She focused not on the people she knew, but on the dozens and dozens of people talking and laughing and whispering and staring. Staring at the ballroom floor, much of the time. Mercedes couldn’t help but feel they were staring at her.

“I feel as though everyone is watching us,” Mercedes confessed. She glanced over her shoulder at the crowd behind her, but immediately regretted it, as the motion made her dizzy. She looked back and Sylvain and he was smirking at her.

“That’s because everyone is watching us, Mercedes,” he said. “Everyone in this room wants something – money, power, a good marriage. They’re evaluating you to see if you can give that to them.”

 “You’re awfully cynical,” Mercedes said. “Perhaps they just think you’re very handsome.”

Sylvain laughed, more bitter than Mercedes expected. “It’s lovely to hear you say that, Miss Bartels,” he said. “But I’m afraid no one in the room is that interested in my roguish good looks. They want what they can get from me, same as anyone else.”

“Can you really think so poorly of this many people?” Mercedes asked. “Do you think so poorly of me?”

 Sylvain used an upcoming turn as an excuse to not answer her properly. When they properly joined hands again, he looked down at her thoughtfully.

“I don’t see how anyone could think poorly of you, Mercedes,” he said, and Mercedes was frustrated that she couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or not. He tilted her head. “So you tell me – what do you want? You’re here at the top of Faerghus society. Now’s your time to get it.”

Mercedes bit her lip slightly, thinking. They took another turn and Sylvain led her through a twirl before she answered, but he didn’t seem impatient.

“I want to help people, I guess,” she said. “I like helping you, here in the palace. Helping the king. But after that, I’d like to go to a church. Maybe in Fhirdiad, maybe elsewhere. Wherever I’m needed.” She smiled at Sylvain. “But I’m not dancing with you because of all that. You’re far too wicked to be of use impressing any churches. I just enjoy talking with you.”

“That’s quite the speech,” Sylvain said, raising an eyebrow. “And the crazy thing is, I think I believe you. Which makes you either the smartest woman in the room or the biggest fool; I haven’t decided which yet.”

 “So much for flattery,” Mercedes said. “Or do you tell that to every woman you dance with, to make her want to impress you?”

 “No, I mean it!” Sylvain said. “And honestly, I’m jealous. Not many people in this room would be brave enough to try to actually get what they want. What people around them want, maybe. What they’ve been raised to think they want. But you’re different from them. You’re braver.”

Mercedes raised an eyebrow. “When you say people, are you talking about the people watching us dance right now, or are you talking about yourself?” she asked.

Sylvain’s ears turned rather pink, and Mercedes laughed. He was surprisingly easy to fluster and when flustered he was surprisingly adorable. She squeezed the hand that was holding hers.

“Come now, Sylvain, we’re to be friends, are we not?” she said. “Friends can be honest with each other.”

Sylvain gave her a sheepish smile. “Honesty has never been my strong suit, I’ll admit,” he said. “But I’ll do my best, for you.”

He led her into a turn and steered the conversation towards more neutral topics. Still, as the dance drew to a close, she felt much more charmed by him than any of his past attempts to be charming.

She tried to find Annette in the crowd as Sylvain led her away from the couples, but either her friend had made it to the dance floor or she was too short to spot in the crush people. Sylvain, however, brightened visibly as they returned to the crowds, waving an arm in enthusiastic greeting.

“Dedue! I’d have expected to find you closer to Dimitri tonight. Are you looking for a dance partner?”

Mercedes turned to see Dedue standing at the edge of the dance floor, and she beamed at him as she and Sylvain approached. His perpetual somberness seemed out of place amongst so much laughter and cheer, but he seemed more at ease in the crowd than Mercedes personally felt, and she was happy to see a familiar face. And Annette was right – his formal jacket suited him very well. He turned towards them both and inclined his head slightly, an acknowledgment more than a bow.

“Good evening Sylvain. Mercedes,” he said as Sylvain closed the gap between them. “I’ve found my presence can make certain nobles uncomfortable at this sort of affair. His majesty needs the opportunity to talk with them privately. And besides,” he said, nodding towards the dance floor that stretched in front of them. “I can keep an eye on the crowds much easier from the perimeter of the room.”

“Dedue, I won’t have you watching from the sidelines all evening,” Sylvain said. “You’re here as a guest, not a guard. Or, well –” His eyes darted hastily over to Mercedes. “A guest, and whatever you two have going on right now. An associate?  A particular friend?”

 “‘Guard’ is fine, Sylvain,” Dedue said, closing his eyes and shaking his head slightly. “You needn’t complicate things.”

“The point is, there has to be some cute girl that’s desperate to dance with you,” Sylvain said. “You couldn’t keep the ladies off of you at the ball at the Officer’s Academy.”

 Dedue opened his eyes but somehow looked even more tired. “That is not remotely correct,” he said, frowning.

“Oh, but Annie said you dance so well!” Mercedes said, cutting in partially to save Dedue from Sylvain and partially to tease him more. He seemed dangerously close to blushing, which would probably be delightful.

Sylvain glanced at her, his grin growing surprisingly wicked for a moment before he turned back to Dedue. “Well, it looks like we have a volunteer right here!” he said, pushing Mercedes forward as he dropped her arm. “If Annie says so, right?”

“I didn’t mean that at all – if Dedue doesn’t want to dance with me,” Mercedes protested, casting a scowl at Sylvain that just made him smirk more.

“I’m sure Mercedes has many other people who have claimed dances; I would not wish to bother her,” Dedue said at the same time.

They both stopped talking and looked at each other, surprised. There was a moment of silence while each waited for the other to speak, and then they spoke at the same time again.

“It is not that I do not want to dance with you –”

“I don’t have any other offers! And you’re never a bother –”

“Well, that settles it then!” Sylvain cut in, and Mercedes couldn’t decide if he was a blessing or a curse as he gently shoved her towards Dedue again. “I’m sure you two will have a lovely time. But be careful, Dedue – her teasing is merciless.”

Dedue mumbled something that sounded very much like “I’m well aware” under his breath, but he caught Mercedes’s hand in his as she stumbled towards him, and he led her out onto the dance floor without further protest.

Dedue was a talented dancer, though a cautious one. He did not favor any dramatic twirls or dips, but he was a confident lead, and following his steps felt as easy as walking down an unfamiliar palace hallway with him guiding the way.

But while Sylvain had been willing to jump into conversation as easily as to guide Mercedes through a twirl, Dedue was quiet, more reserved. It gave Mercedes a chance to catch her breath, socially speaking, and she looked around the ballroom with interest as they danced. It was impossible not to wonder if the ladies around the perimeter were gossiping about her behind their fans, but their eyes slid easy away to the next scandal whenever Mercedes looked in the direction. She held Dedue’s arm tighter. He had hardly been asked to protect her from rumors and idle chatter, but she couldn’t help but pull herself closer to him. Amidst the chaos of the ballroom, he made her feel safe.

Dedue led with such precision that Mercedes assumed he was watching the dancers with the same sharp observation as always, but when she glanced at him, he was looking down at her, his expression a mixture of concern and curiosity and something she couldn’t quite place. Mercedes smiled at him.

“You’re a very good lead, Dedue!” she said. “Do you dance often?”

Dedue shook his head. “Not often, no,” he said. “But it was important to his majesty that I learn the basic steps of Fódlan’s dances.”

“Ah, of course, you had the ball at the Officer’s Academy!” Mercedes said brightly. Annette had mentioned it enough times that it surely had been a meaningful evening. Mercedes smiled softly. “It sounds like it was a lovely evening. I almost wish I could have been there.”

 Dedue didn’t seem one for nostalgia, but his eyes softened at her reply, and the look he gave her was gentle.

“I am sure you – I imagine you would have enjoyed the evening,” he said. “I learned the steps before attending the academy, of course. But that was the first time I really danced at a ball I attended. There was never any reason beforehand.

“Never?” Mercedes echoed. “But you dance so beautifully! Do they enjoy dancing in Duscur?”

Dedue frowned, thinking. “We of course had celebrations in Duscur, and dancing at those celebrations,” he finally said. “But the dances were very different – you would change partners throughout the dance, there wasn’t this business of asking a specific person to dance with you. It felt more . . .like a group. Like a family.” He shook his head. “Fódlan dances feel restrictive, comparatively. I am not skilled at them.”

“I think you’re doing marvelously!” Mercedes said “You hold me easily enough.”

Dedue raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to reply – but he thought better of it. He looked out over the dance floor, over Mercedes’s head.

 “Do you enjoy dancing, then, Mercedes?” he asked.

“I do!” Mercedes said. “I wouldn’t say I’m particularly skilled at it, but –” as if to prove her words, a couple skirted by them a bit too closely, and Dedue pulled her against him with much more graceful reflexes than Mercedes possessed. She braced her hand against his chest as she regained her balance, and she smiled up at him. “Well, it can be rather exciting, can’t it?” she asked.

“Mm,” Dedue said, in agreement or otherwise.

“And even if the steps are a bit restrictive, I do think the conversation is quite pleasant,” Mercedes added. “It’s the first time this evening I haven’t felt like some stranger was carefully listening in to everything I was saying.”

Dedue nodded. “Yes, Faerghus balls can be quite . . . hectic,” he said. “It can take some time to get used to. I hope this isn’t ruining your enjoyment of the evening?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that!” Mercedes said quickly. “I’m just a bit overwhelmed, that’s all. All these people . . .”

She glanced around the ballroom again as she said it. The dizzying swirl of colors seemed a bit more manageable for a moment, but she quickly realized this was because this dance was coming to an end. Indeed, Dedue slowed their steps until they were standing in a corner of the ballroom. Mercedes kept her hand in his as the couples politely clapped for the orchestra or made their way off the dance floor. She glanced up at Dedue. He was looking at her again with the same mixture of worry and thoughtfulness.

“Perhaps a walk would be useful for clearing your head,” he suggested. “There is a walking path alongside the ballroom that is very lovely this time of year. I can show you.”

Mercedes smiled. “I’d like that.”

The orchestra was already beginning its next song as Dedue led her off the ballroom floor, some slow and dreamy waltz that Mercedes was certain she’d heard before. The legato melody faded into the distance as Dedue ushered her towards the back of the ballroom and through a side door, leaving the ball behind for quiet garden pathways.

The night air was a refreshing shift from the claustrophobic heat of the ballroom, and Mercedes breathed deeply as they stepped out onto the outside balcony. Dedue walked quickly, his height giving him an unfair advantage, and Mercedes laughed as she stumbled to keep up – the whole thing felt much more urgent and clandestine than it needed to be. Dedue slowed at the sound of her laugh and, seeing her stumble next to him, shifted his hand to her back to give her support. They walked at a much more comfortable pace after that.

Dedue pulled her around a nearby corner, but after only a few more steps, he led her to a narrow stone bench against the palace wall. Through a large window above the bench, Mercedes could see into the ballroom, where dancing couples twirled about with no notice of her. Outside, however, the path was empty and the air was still, and an assortment of overgrown plants partially hid the bench from view of anyone passing by.

“We can hardly go for a walk if we’re sitting down!” Mercedes said with a laugh, taking a seat on the far end of the bench and smiling up a Dedue.

 Dedue raised an eyebrow, and in the half-light it almost looked like he was starting to smile. “Did you actually want to go for a walk,” he asked. “Or were you just avoiding people?”

 Mercedes grinned at him, and reached up to pull him down onto the bench next to her. He acquiesced easily, settling next to her on the bench. It was too small a space to fit them both comfortably, but Mercedes welcomed Dedue’s warmth, looping her arm through his to keep him close. The cold Faerghus nights still took some getting used to.

“You’ve figured me out,” she admitted, leaning against him slightly with a playful nudge. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy being out here. Look how beautiful the sky is tonight!”

 She gestured widely above them. It was true. The moon was only a sliver tonight, but the night was clear, and the stars shone brightly against the dark velvet sky. Mercedes could see faint stars that were generally invisible to the naked eye, nestled comfortably between the brighter, bolder stars the dotted across the horizon.

“They are lovely,” Dedue agreed. “I suppose you have the same stars in the Adrestian Empire?”

“Why, of course we do,” Mercedes exclaimed. “Aren’t they the same everywhere?”

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembered a lullaby her mother sang to her as a child, about how the same stars looked down on you wherever you were, even if you were far apart from the people you loved. The lullaby was sweet, but the memory was enough to make her want to cry. She looked away from the skyline and over to Dedue, her hand tightening around his arm. He stared up at the stars thoughtfully.

“I suppose they’re the same in Duscur,” he said. “But we had different names for them. It was strange to learn that no one here knows of The Archer or The Eagle. The stars are the same, but the way people see them – it was wrong.”

Mercedes frowned, bringing her other hand to rest against his.  “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I don’t want to make you – if it’s painful to talk about –”

Dedue shook his head, cutting her off. “I don’t mind talking about Duscur,” he said. “And I’m not asking for sympathy. I’m sure you also miss your home very much.”

Mercedes pulled away, folding her hands together as she looked at her interlocked fingers rather than the sky. She could remember the constellations without seeing them – the scorpion, the cooking pot, the dancer. Her mother had taught her those, as well. Were constellations different in Faerghus? The stars were the same; she could see that clearly tonight.

“Of course I do,” she said softly, running her thumb against her opposite hand, the way her mother had when she had woken from a nightmare as a child. “Not the same way you do, of course. But it’s natural to be homesick, is it not?” She looked up at Dedue. “Which is not to say that I don’t – I really do appreciate all you’ve done for me, since I’ve arrived in Faerghus. I don’t feel lonely, when I’m with you.”

“There is nothing wrong with feeling lonely,” Dedue said, frowning.

Mercedes felt her heart sink with a suspicion that he thought she was being dishonest – or worse, that she was being polite. Her thumbnail dug into her hand as she stilled it, clasping her hands together tightly as she turned back towards him.

“There’s not, you’re right,” she said. “But there’s also nothing wrong with – finding new homes, and new people you care for, and new ways to look at the stars.” She rested a hand on Dedue’s upper arm, and she felt his muscles flex under her hand as he turned towards her. “You’ve shown me that,” she said. “Do you think I’m wrong, to say such things?”

Dedue’s eyes met hers, and there was a beat of silence where Mercedes felt like he could see straight through her.

“I’m sorry,” Mercedes said, shaking her head as her eyes darted away. “Maybe what I’m saying doesn’t make any –”

Dedue caught her chin between his fingers, gently tilting her face back towards him, and leaned in to kiss her, cutting off her apology and doubt.

A murmur of surprise caught in the back of Mercedes’s throat, but it quickly turned into a contented hum as she tilted her head and closed her eyes. She liked kissing Dedue quite a lot, she decided. His hands were calloused, but he held her so cautiously and with such care that she couldn’t help but lean into his touch, chasing his warmth in the cool night air. It was hardly different from how gently he rested his hand on her arm when they walked through the palace or how tentatively he had held her when they had danced earlier that evening. It was, in some ways, exactly what she had hoped for – and hadn’t she hoped for this?

Mercedes reached forward impatiently, blindly, bunching up the fabric of his jacket in one hand as the other grasped the edge of his collar. She pulled herself closer, reaching up to meet him. Dedue dropped his hand down to her back, pulling her against him. Some things she could have predicted and may have imagined, but the eager insistence in his kiss, the sudden decisiveness as he leaned into her – everything about him had always seemed so careful, so calculating. The desperate want in his kiss made her head spin as much as the tentative gentleness in his hands.

It was a dizzying thing, to be wanted. It was a realization so lovely it ached. But Mercedes could want things, too. At some point she had managed to get her knee up on the stone bench, and she pushed herself upwards, falling against Dedue, all but crawling into his lap as his grip around her tightened. Mercedes brought her hands up to rest around his neck, crossing her wrists to anchor herself against him, pulling away with the slightest gasp as his hand slipped lower down her back.

“Dedue,” Mercedes breathed, his name like honey on her tongue, before she leaned back into kiss him again.

And hadn’t she hoped for this? Even if she hadn’t pictured this moment exactly, even if she reminded herself that such daydreams were presumptuous and greedy whenever she strayed too close to them. Hadn’t she been drawn to Dedue’s warmth, his steadiness, the way had hands were careful and protective and assertive all at once? Mercedes mumbled Dedue’s name against his lips again, the sound of his rapid heartbeat drowning out the faint backdrop of strings and polite laughter on the other side of the thick panes of glass behind them.

It was too soon when Dedue pulled away from her. For a hazy, beautiful moment, Mercedes blinked up at him, half expecting him to pull her close again. But instead, with a sharp intake of breath, he dropped his hands and stood up from the bench hurriedly and abruptly.

Mercedes tumbled forwards, catching herself on the bench gracelessly. She craned her neck to look up at Dedue, who had his hands out to catch her, but pulled back. He looked at her with wide eyes, his usual careful assessment replaced with a look of frantic confusion.

 “That was – I apologize. That was improper of me,” he said, his voice strained and tense. “Very improper of me. I must ask your forgiveness.”

“Dedue, you don’t have to – I liked it,” Mercedes said. “I wanted it.” She pushed herself more upright but leaned forward still. She tilted her head, suddenly unsure. “Didn’t you?” she asked.

Dedue froze, staring at her in dumbfounded silence. Again, Mercedes half expected that he’d reach out to her, to pull her close again or help her stand, but instead his hands balled into fists at his side.

“Of course I –” he started, then cut off, shaking his head. “What I want does not matter, Miss Bartels."

“Mercedes,” Mercedes corrected.

“You require a protector. A guard,” Dedue said. “Not someone who lunges after you like every – every avaricious noble that you’ve come here to avoid!”

 It was Mercedes turn to stare, dumbfounded. She shook her head.

“Dedue, of course I don’t think of you like that,” she said. “You shouldn’t think of yourself like that!”

But Dedue didn’t seem to hear her. He closed his eyes, taking a breath, and he spoke with a terrible formalness that she recognized from when they’d first met.

 “I am clearly an unsuitable chaperone for you this evening,” he said, not looking at her when he did open his eyes again. “I will send someone out to you to act as an escort for the rest of the night. Annette, perhaps. Even Sylvain. I must go ensure the grounds are secure.” He looked back for a brief moment as he turned to walk away. “Forgive me,” he added again, so softly Mercedes could scarcely hear him.

Mercedes pushed herself back up on the bench and stared into the darkness. The stars flickered back at her, remarkably bright that evening. She tried, vaguely, to find an eagle in the patterns above her.

“Mercedes? Mercedes, is everything alright?”

Mercedes looked up in surprise as Annette hurried towards her. At the corner, she could see Felix lingering behind, his arms cross as he pretended not to stare after them.

“Hello, Annie,” Mercedes said. She tried to sound cheerful, but she was afraid it came out rather glum.

“Dedue asked us to escort you back to – the ballroom? Your room? He wasn’t clear,” Annette said, nudging Mercedes to the side to sit next to her. “Mercy, is everything alright? He seems awful – disheveled.” Her eyes narrowed a moment in the moonlight as she looked up at her. “You also seem awfully disheveled,” she added.

“It’s fine, Annie,” Mercedes said quickly. “I’m fine.” She looked up at the stars again and took her friend’s hand, squeezing it comfortingly. “Faerghus is just . . . a strange place,” she added.

In a moment of uncharacteristic subtlety, Annette decided not to ask follow up questions. When she gently led Mercedes back into the ballroom and the gossip and the thrush of people, Mercedes could almost pretend that she was willing to leave the night behind her.

Chapter Text

Fhirdiad’s spring was late, but beautiful.

Mercedes smiled faintly to herself as she prodded at the flowers in her windowsill, the fresh air finally refreshing and restorative rather than unpleasantly chilly. The flowers were finally beginning to open up, the vibrant yellow of their centers finally beginning to show. Mercedes pressed her finger against the dirt, cool and damp in the morning air. She nodded, both for her sake and for the flowers. In only a few days, she was sure they would bloom brilliantly.

The past few days following the ball had been beautiful, cold misty mornings giving away to sunny afternoons and blooming gardens. Mercedes could not tell whether the beauty of the season was uniquely exquisite, or if it just stood out after the cold and rain of the preceding weeks. Still, with the promise of such a spring, she could almost understand how the people of Faerghus found their winters bearable.

Such a reprieve allowed her more time to explore the grounds, and Mercedes had divided her time evenly between the church and the castle gardens. Her options were limited, but pleasant, and Mercedes would have considered the past week to be quite lovely, if only –

There was a knock at her bedroom door and Mercedes turned away from her flowers a little too eagerly, accidentally tearing a petal in her haste. She offered the flower an apologetic wince before rushing away from the windowsill. She left the window open – she did so enjoy the fresh air.

Mercedes stopped for a moment at her dressing table to have one final look at her reflection. She didn’t consider herself to be an especially vain person – on the contrary, her mother had scolded her often enough for her carelessness in appearance. But she looked nice enough today – her hair curling softly around her shoulders, her dress a pale green in honor of the new spring weather. Mercedes gave herself a tentative smile, and her reflection smiled back.

 She looked approachable, she thought. She couldn’t imagine anyone being unwilling or afraid to talk to her.

Mercedes walked to the door, took a deep breath, and practiced the gentle smile one last time before throwing the door open just as there was a second knock.

Annette smiled up at her, her expression just a bit nervous.

Mercedes did her best to keep her own smile in place – she couldn’t bear her friend to think she was disappointed to see her.

Annette might have noticed, regardless, as she began talking very fast.

“Hi Mercie! Good morning!” She gestured vaguely behind her. “Dedue said you wanted me to meet you here, so you wouldn’t have to walk to breakfast alone.”

Mercedes looked over Annette’s shoulder – it wasn’t terribly hard, as the girl was remarkably small in stature – and spotted Dedue standing in the hallway a respectful few yards away from the door. Mercedes has learned over the past few weeks that Dedue was quite good at staying out of the way and blending into the background. She wished he wasn’t quite so good at it right now.

Still, that wasn’t Annette’s fault, and Mercedes offered her a reassuring smile.

“Oh, that’s kind of you, Annie!” she said. “But I wouldn’t have been alone, of course. Dedue would be with me.”

She looked over Annette’s head as she said this, making fierce eye contact with Dedue. His expression didn’t change, and he merely inclined his head slightly by way of greeting.

Mercedes just barely stopped herself from scowling. After the ball, she had thought that Dedue would either find a way to never see her again, or he would return to her doorway, apologize for his previous foolishness, and kiss her again. Maybe several times. That is certainly what she’d imagined, at any rate.

He’d instead taken some dreadful third option, dutifully remaining as her bodyguard but pulling away, fading into the background, becoming taciturn and stern just when she had learned how soft his smile could be, and how much his smile could say.

“Did you – did you want breakfast?”

Annette’s tentative question pulled Mercedes back into the present, and she scolded herself for letting her smile slip. She took Annette’s arm, smiling again, trying to make it seem natural.

“Of course I want breakfast - and weren’t you going to tell me about that book you wanted me to read?”

Annette led the way, and Mercedes was relieved to find that her friend was happy to lead the conversation, as well. Dedue followed behind at a respectful distance. As was becoming all too usual, he said nothing at all.

***

Mercedes had a hard time reading the look on Dimitri’s face when she was ushered into his office later that day. He looked over her shoulder to where Dedue stood in the corner of the room, then turned back to her, his suddenly expression strange. It wasn’t until he began speaking that Mercedes realized he was trying to look cheerful and optimistic. It clearly was not a feeling he was accustomed to.

“Miss Bartels!” he said, shuffling his papers and looking down at them just as he said her name. “Thank you for making the time to speak with me this afternoon. I’m so sorry we didn’t have more of a chance to chat at the ball last week – I trust you enjoyed yourself?”

Mercedes was caught off guard – it surely wasn’t unusual for a king to summon an audience with whomever he pleased – but her reply was not needed, as Dimitri continued on, his eyes still on his notes.

“I’ve had a report back from Ordelia,” he said, as if Mercedes would clearly know the implications. She did not. He continued, “We’ve been able to confirm intel from them that will be very useful in my correspondence with the Adrestian emperor. It may be the proof she requires to bring more decisive questioning to House Bartels.”

“Oh!” Mercedes said. When the king didn’t continue, she added, “What does that mean?”

“It means we may finally be able to identify and take measures against those conspirators that you identified last moon,” Dimitri explained. He reached out his hand, laying it on the desk several inches away from Mercedes’s own. “Which would mean we can more confidently guarantee your safety outside of the palace.”

“That’s wonderful news!” Mercedes exclaimed. “I’m so glad to hear that you’ll be safe once more.”

She reached out and closed the distance to pat the king’s hand. It was only when she saw the look of extreme surprise on his face that she realized this was unfitting behavior towards a king. But he didn’t pull away, instead reaching up to politely hold her hand in his, like a handshake.

“I’ll be as safe as I ever can be, I suppose,” he said quietly. “I am in your debt, Miss Bartels.”

His expression struck Mercedes as incredibly sad as he spoke, and she was reminded once again how very young the king was. She watched him carefully as he pulled his hand away, but he seemed to remember himself, and his face became a polite mask once more.

“I wish I could help more than I have,” Mercedes said. “Is there anything more I can do?

Dimitri’s smile was kind, if unpracticed. “Perhaps just think of where you’d like to go after this is all over,” he said. “I don’t expect you’ll want to stay in Fhirdiad, but – you said you had interest in joining a monastery, did you not? Perhaps you could meet with some of the bishops in the city this week. See if there’s a place that interests you.” 

“That would be – really lovely,” Mercedes replied. She was surprised at her own eagerness. The last few weeks had hardly felt like an imprisonment, but the thought of leaving the castle was suddenly very appealing, now that it was suggested. Still, she hesitated. “But would it be safe to leave right now?” she asked.

“You wouldn’t go alone, of course,” Dimitri said quickly. “I’m sure Dedue would be happy to accompany you. Wouldn’t you, Dedue?”

Mercedes turned to look at Dedue for the first time since walking into the room, but if he took particular note of the conversation, he didn’t express it. He nodded solemnly, giving a slight but uninterested bow towards them both.

“If your majesty thinks it would be best to continue Miss Bartels’ personal guard,” he said flatly. “I cannot object.”

“Yes, well . . . that’s settled, then,” Dimitri said, frowning slightly as he looked between them both, a wrinkle between his eyes more prominent. “And I’m sure you’ll both enjoy the trip into town. Perhaps Annette can recommend a tea shop for you two to visit.” He offered Mercedes another formal smile. “Thank you so much for stopping by, Miss Bartels. I won’t keep you from your afternoon prayers.”  

His diplomacy was impeccable, and he showed far more politeness than he needed to, given their relative stations. Still, Mercedes couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness that the young king always wore such a mask around her. She supposed many people in Faerghus did.

Dedue followed after Mercedes silently as always, holding the door open for her to leave the room and slipping it closed quietly behind them both. For a moment, Mercedes thought she saw him reach for her arm, as he had often done when they walked around the castle grounds these past few weeks. But he quickly thought better of it, and he waited quietly for Mercedes to walk ahead of him.

He didn’t fool her; she knew what was behind Dedue’s mask, now. But he wore it all the same. And in a way, that hurt her more.

***

The stained-glass mural of the goddess and her saints in the palace chapel seemed fiercer than usual that afternoon. Mercedes wondered if this was because the goddess knew, somehow, that she was not focusing on her prayers.

She had started rather well, praying for her mother and her brother and her newfound family in Faerghus. But when she’d begun to enumerate those newfound friends, she’d become distracted.

Well, to be fair, when her thoughts had turned to Dedue, she’d become distracted.

Mercedes glanced over her shoulder to the back of the chapel, where Dedue waited silently by the door. They were alone in the chapel, beyond the murals, but they might as well have been separated by all of Fódlan, for how resolutely he avoided her gaze.

Mercedes scowled, first at Dedue, then at the mural of the goddess, then at her own clasped and prayerful hands. People in Faerghus didn’t usually say what they meant. They implied; they hinted; in the worst case scenarios, they buried. She had figured out days ago that Dedue wanted to follow this model, that he wanted her to pretend they’d never spoken, or laughed together, or kissed. Perhaps in Faerghus it was easier to pretend.

But Mercedes wasn’t from Faerghus, and she was tired of this. So there was nothing to do but to stop pretending.

Mercedes walked towards the back of the room quietly, but Dedue’s eyes darted in her direction before he resumed staring straight ahead. She stopped next to him, leaning back against the wall and folding her hands in front of her, as if to resume her prayers. But instead of resuming her prayers, she turned her attention to the man next to her, looking up at him patiently.

“Hello, Dedue,” Mercedes said quietly. “Are you ready to talk?”

Dedue kept his eyes ahead, staring at the mural of Seiros, his expression unchanging.

“I would not want to keep you from your prayers,” he said simply.

“Oh, that’s okay!” Mercedes said. “I’m sure the goddess will be patient with me.”

Dedue inclined his head slightly, barely a nod. “You would know best,” he said.

Mercedes waited for him to continue, to give some counter argument or protest. But he did not. She took a deep breath, and offered one final silent prayer after all, before continuing.

“I don’t like that you’ve been ignoring me, Dedue,” she said. She kept her hands folded, resting on the pew in front of her. “I don’t think it’s fair.”

“I am sorry if you feel that I have neglected my duties as your personal guard,” Dedue said. He still looked ahead. “Have you felt unsafe in the castle?”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it!” Mercedes accused. His expression didn’t change, but she glared up at him, all the same. “Do you regret kissing me?” she asked. “If you do, you can tell me. My feelings won’t be hurt.”

Dedue was silent for good amount of time, and Mercedes noticed the familiar twitch of a muscle in his jaw, which she often saw when he wanted to speak but did not. But he would have to answer eventually, and she had no intention of answering for him.

“I do not regret it,” he said finally. “But I still should not have done it.”

Mercedes frowned. “I don’t see why not, if we both enjoyed it.”

“I was asked to be your guard – your protector,” Dedue said. “That is what you need right now. It was selfish for me to think of anything else.”

It was Mercedes’s turn to be silent for a moment, though she felt no burden to stare straight ahead. She examined Dedue, instead – the way his jaw was set, his perfect posture, the scar across his temple she’d somehow never noticed before.  

“That may be what I need,” she said softly. She grasped her fingers more tightly together. “But what about what I want, Dedue? What about what you want?”

Dedue was silent.

 “I’m allowed to want things. So are you.” Mercedes turned her eyes ahead now, to the fierce and imposing image of the goddess. “There is nothing selfish in that. Nothing sinful. I will not pray for forgiveness when I should be giving thanks, and neither should you.”

The last syllables of her words echoed throughout the prayer chapel, and Mercedes realized she had spoken more forcefully than she’d intended. Luckily, no one else was there to glare at her, and the goddess’s expression remained unchanged. Dedue, however, finally looked down at her, studying her carefully.

“For how I have treated you these past few days,” he said softly. “Can you really say I have no need of forgiveness?”

“Perhaps not,” Mercedes said. “But if you desire forgiveness, I have already given it, gladly. So let’s not worry about that any more.”

She offered him a smile, one that wasn’t practiced or forced, because she was happy to be talking to him again. Dedue didn’t smile back, not exactly. But his gaze softened as he looked down at her, and Mercedes knew him well enough now to understand that his expression was fond.

“And what does your goddess think,” he asked, his voice still soft enough that Mercedes felt herself leaning in towards him. “That you choose such a holy place to corner me into this conversation?"

Mercedes shook her head. “She won’t mind. She loves my humanity as much as my piety, I’ve always thought.”

“Strange,” Dedue murmured, and Mercedes wasn’t sure if he meant her or her goddess. But from his lips, it seemed closer to a prayer than a condemnation.

Mercedes looked down at her folded hands and allowed herself another smile. Then she closed her eyes and began her prayers once more. There was no reason to return to the front of the chapel, and she found that she would rather remain near Dedue, now that she knew he wouldn’t move away.

It was quite some time before Dedue reached over and placed his hand on hers. He remained silent, but his hand was warm and steady, and she didn’t pull away.

 And that felt like a prayer, as well.  

***

Mercedes liked walking places with Dedue.

Even when he’d first began guarding her, when he followed behind at a distance, she’d found his presence comforting and secure, like a candle or a warm blanket on a cold winter’s night. She liked it even more when she’d finally convinced him to walk beside her, when she’d managed to draw him into conversation and hear the warmth and thoughtfulness in his voice. And when she’d first taken his arm – he’d offered it solemnly, almost shyly, insisting that the ground ahead was uneven – she really felt that they fit together perfectly, two halves of a whole making their way through an uneven world.

But none of that could compare to walking with Dedue’s arm around her waist, to the safety and warmth as she felt as she leaned into him and felt his fingers absently brushing against the fabric of her cloak. Mercedes really pitied anyone walking without Dedue’s arm around them. The world must have been so much colder, and hers so much brighter, and it was almost too unfair to bear.

 Almost.

 They had spent the morning at St. Syrene’s Chapel, a monastery in the city center of Fhirdiad. It was not the closest church to the palace, nor was it the largest in the city, but it was an established and well-respected monastery, and the head Bishop had written that he would be delighted to speak to Mercedes about living there after she left the palace. It had been a pleasant discussion and tour of the grounds, and though nothing had been decided, Mercedes was in high spirits as they walked through the center of town that afternoon.

“It was a lovely church – and so nice that Father Lucius knows Father Athos!” she said. “I was worried I would have nothing to say, but he was really so kind.”

“It would seem you already have friends here in Fhirdiad,” Dedue said. “And I am sure he was very impressed with your healing skills. Of course he would be; talented healers are difficult to find.”

His voice was solemn and steady as always, but Mercedes flushed at the compliment. She nudged Dedue playfully to hide her blush, lifting off onto one foot to bump her body against his.

“I’m not the only one who makes friends quickly,” she said with a giggle. “The children were quite taken with you.”

She caught his blush at the compliment, a rare and delightful thing. Still, he shook his head. “I suspect they were more taken with the sword I carry. They are curious at that age, even if they are shy.”

Mercedes smiled to herself, but she didn’t tease further. The church had a small school and orphanage attached, though teachers were difficult to find, Father Lucius had sadly told her. Mercedes had spoken to several of the children on their tour of the monastery, and they had indeed seemed shy, though quite intelligent and observant. She had been surprised, then, when Father Lucius led her out of the sanctuary and to the front of the monastery, and they had discovered a gaggle of children surrounding Dedue, rapt in attention as he told them a solemn, quiet story. He’d somehow managed to keep his sword away from their curious hands, though one or two children had managed to climb up on his shoulders. He had fortunately remembered to place them safely on the ground before quickly standing up to greet Mercedes as she approached.

“I am sure the children at the orphanage would be very happy, if you decided to move to St. Syrene’s,” Dedue said. “And . . .”

“And?” Mercedes prompted, pulling at his arm slightly. Dedue had a habit of trailing off right when she was most interested in what he was going to say.

Dedue took a breath. “And it would be nice to have you living so close to the palace,” he said. “I would like to be able to visit, when I can.”

His voice remained as steady and calm as ever, but Mercedes could spot the blush creeping across his cheeks. She smiled and leaned in closer to him, her fingers brushing against his again.

“I’d like that, too,” she said.

Dedue’s pace slowed slightly, and he turned towards her, looking down at her with a searching and unreadable expression. Mercedes returned his gaze and waited for him to speak. She’d learned that Dedue was a thoughtful man, but that he didn’t speak without having something he considered worth saying. She was eager, she found, to hear what that was.

A crash sounded nearby before she could find out. Dedue’s entire body tensed, such that Mercedes felt the crash before she heard it – or, at least, she felt his arm tighten around her waist, felt the muscles in his forearm flexing defensively before she even realized what was happening.

 She still didn’t know exactly what was happening when he pushed her back against the wall behind them, boxing her in with an arm on either side of her. He stood very close, shielding her entire body from the world around them as another crash rang out behind them. 

“Dedue?” she asked, or tried to, although her voice caught midway through. Her hands were pressed against his chest, and she grabbed at the fabric of his shirt. “What’s going on?”

Dedue was scanning the streets behind them, his eyes narrowed. He pressed closer against her, as if to compensate for looking away. Mercedes couldn’t see around him,  but she heard the shouts of people coming from the city center, and she felt the sense of a panic in the air.

After a moment, however, Dedue took a small step back. The tension didn’t leave his body, but he seemed more focused, more certain. Mercedes peered around him, and he dropped an arm from the wall to wrap around her waist again.

“It looks like there has been an accident,” he said. “A collapsed structure. This is is an older part of the city, and the former regent neglected the proper funds . . .”

Mercedes could see it now. An entire stall had collapsed at the far end of the street, and both merchants and customers surrounded it. From the shouting for help, Mercedes had a sinking feeling that someone was trapped underneath the collapsed wooden beams, although she couldn’t see clearly.

She took a step away from the wall, preparing the cross the street, but Dedue held his arm out, blocking her path.

“Wait,” he said.

 “Dedue!” Mercedes protested. “They might need help!”

“We do not know the situation yet,” Dedue said, his eyes flicking down the street again. “It may not be safe.”

Mercedes followed his eyes, but the street was empty, everyone having rushed towards the commotion. She wasn’t sure if he was worried about the danger of more unstable beams or if he suspected some larger attack. But it didn’t matter.

Mercedes grabbed Dedue’s arm, pulling his attention back towards her again. “We can’t just stand here and do nothing, Dedue,” she said. “You can’t do that. I know you.”

Dedue frowned, and Mercedes could see the battle of emotions playing out beneath that frown. She reached up to cup his jaw, giving him a shaky, reassuring smile.

“Go on,” she said. “I’ll be right behind you. I’ll stay where it’s safe unless I’m needed.”

Dedue nodded quickly, wordlessly, before turning and running towards the gathered crowd. He moved shockingly quickly, and Mercedes thought once again about what a force he must have been on the battlefield.

She hurried after him, though more slowly. As she got closer, she realized that the shop owner had been trapped under the collapsing stall, his leg pinned by a giant wooden beam. By the time she’d managed to weave her way to the front of the crowd, Dedue had managed to heft the beam up, and two fellow merchants had pulled the man out of harm’s way. Dedue called to the crowd to give the man space and stay clear of the rubble as he pushed the wooden beam backwards.

It took quite some time to get the crowd to disperse, to call for healers from the castle, and to ensure that no one else was trapped under the collapsed stall. The man’s leg was severely injured, though he was breathing and still conscious. Mercedes knew she didn’t have the healing skills to properly set the broken bone, but she stayed by the man’s side, healing the smaller injuries and assuring him that help was coming soon. Even after the healers arrived and the merchant was taken away, Dedue stayed behind to talk to representatives from the palace about rebuilding the collapsed portions of the market and inspecting the other buildings for similar damage.

All in all, it was past dark when they finally left the city center to make their way home.

They walked in silence for a long time. But surprisingly, it was Dedue who spoke first.

 “I am sorry,” he said. “We have missed dinner.”

“Oh, Dedue!” Mercedes exclaimed. “You know I don’t care about that. I just hope that merchant and his family will be okay.”

“I know,” Dedue said quietly.

Mercedes looked over at him, and their eyes met for a moment before Dedue looked away. She sighed, pulling her cloak around her a bit more tightly.

“You don’t need to worry about me quite so much, you know,” she said. “I’ve seen hardship in my life; I try not to run from suffering when I see it in others.”

“It is not a matter of worrying, or not trusting you,’” Dedue replied. “It is my duty to protect you. That must be my primary concern.”

“I know Dimitri has asked you to look after me,” Mercedes said. “But your duty is to everyone in the kingdom, is it not? My life is not more important than theirs.”

“I am not thinking of his majesty’s request. I am thinking of yours,” Dedue said. Mercedes looked up at him, confused, and he sighed, closing his eyes. “When we were in the prayer chapel, I mean. You said that you wanted . . . this.”

He trailed off at the end, saying the last word so softly that Mercedes could barely hear it. She reached for him, looping her arm through his, and pulled herself a step closer to him. He opened his eyes and looked down at her, assessing her as he always did.

“Of course I want this, Dedue,” Mercedes said quietly. “Of course I do.”

It wasn’t exactly what she wanted to say, and Mercedes knew that her smile must have been uncertain. She wanted Dedue for more than protection – he was worth so much more than that. She wondered if he knew that, or if he’d believe her if she told him.

Mercedes leaned her head against Dedue’s arm, sliding her hand down to interlace her fingers with his. Perhaps telling him would do no good. That didn’t matter. She could show him. They had time.

They walked back to the palace hand-in-hand.

***

The night was so beautiful that Mercedes left her window open even after she climbed into bed with an improving book and a cup of tea. She could hear a bird somewhere in the distance – an owl, perhaps. They seemed to be quite common in Faerghus. It was a comforting sound; it somehow reminded her of her childhood.

The book was on loan from Annette, and it was less improving and more salacious than Mercedes was expecting. It also wasn’t very good, but that didn’t mean that Mercedes wasn’t enjoying it. Still, she was having trouble concentrating on the (admittedly flimsy) plot this evening. She reread the same sentence for the third time, then remembered she’d read it before.

An owl hooted in the distance. Mercedes put the book down and took a sip of tea.

The book wasn’t grabbing her attention this evening, but she also wasn’t particularly sleepy. She looked around the room thoughtfully, smiling at how cozy and familiar things were now that she’d had time to settle in. Her eyes landed on the door connecting to Dedue’s room. She’d never needed to call for him, but it did make her safe, knowing he was there.

 Mercedes took another sip of tea, and picked up the book again.

She reread that same sentence two or three more times before she put the book down and sighed.

She looked around the room again, frowning to herself. Then, after a moment, Mercedes put the book down and climbed out of bed. She stepped into the pair of slippers she kept by the bed and loosely tied her dressing gown.

She glanced again at the inner door connecting to Dedue’s room, but after a moment she decided against it. It was for emergencies, after all. She didn’t want to take advantage of a safety measure.

 She went out into the hall instead, knocking quietly on the outer door to Dedue’s room.

Mercedes heard footsteps more quickly than she expected – evidently, Dedue was also unable to sleep. He opened the door slightly, then fully once he saw it was her. He was dressed for bed, and Mercedes thought his loose sleep shirt looked incredibly soft compared to the sharp lines of his daily clothing.

“Mercedes,” he said. His brow was furrowed in confusion and concern. “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all,” Mercedes said. She smiled at him. “May I come in?”

Dedue stared back at her in silence for a moment. Then he nodded and took a step back, opening the door wide enough for Mercedes to step through.

He was leaning down to kiss her before she’d fully made it into the room, but he still managed to push the door closed with one hand, locking it behind her with a decisive click.

Dedue had always been remarkably attentive to details.

***

The lights filtered into the room from a different angle, but when Mercedes awoke the next morning, she had never felt more at home. She smiled at the sunshine peeking through Dedue’s window, then shifted slightly, so she could smile at Dedue.

 He was still sleeping, one arm thrown around her waist. Mercedes had never seen his expression so peaceful; his eyes were always so sharp and assessing. She now realized that they were always filled with concern, as well. Mercedes made a slight tsking sound to herself, brushing Dedue’s hair from off of his forehead. He deserved the rest, even if he didn’t believe it. And she wished she had been there to heal his injuries before they scarred his face. She brushed her fingers against the scar across his temple. He really was a very handsome man.

Dedue stirred at her touch, and Mercedes pulled her hand away quickly. She wasn’t embarrassed, of course, but she still felt strangely shy all of the sudden. What would they talk about over breakfast? Where would she spend the following night?

 It was thrilling – the shyness, the uncertainty. Mercedes turned back to face the window again. The sun was higher in the sky than she’d realized. She pushed herself to sit up, looking around Dedue’s neat, austere room. She wouldn’t be too late for breakfast, she didn’t think – and at any rate, Annie was used to her running late to things. She would tease, but she wouldn’t find it unusual.

Mercedes supposed she would need to find new clothes before that, though. She was suddenly very grateful for the inner door connecting to her room.

“Don’t get up,” she said softly as she got out of bed and heard Dedue stirring behind her. “We’ve still some time before breakfast.”

Dedue mumbled something wordless and affirming, and Mercedes bit back a smile, walking softly to the door on the other side of the room. She unlocked the door on Dedue’s side and pushed the adjoining door open – she never kept it locked. She offered one final smile over her shoulder before stepping through the door.

She turned back towards her room and raised her hands to her mouth, barely stifling a scream.

 The wind whistled through the window, which had been shoved open so forcefully that a pane of glass had broken, shattering to the ground. Flowers from the window flower box also lay on the ground, amidst the scattered dirt, which turned into footprints tracked into the center of the room. Someone had been in her room, forcing their way through the open window and creeping towards her bed in the night.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Mercedes could hear Dedue rushing towards her, feel his hand around her as she took a desperate, frantic step backwards. She pointed wordlessly at her bed, and her knees gave out just as Dedue caught her properly.

On her pillow, a jagged, ugly dagger glinted in the morning sun.