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Hilda hates writing letters. Always has. Always will.
But with Marianne, it has always been different. Once everyone finally went home after the incident at Garreg Mach, letters were all Marianne had to feel connected to the outside world. Hilda knows this, so she tries.
She tries to take Marianne’s mind off of all the awful things. The monastery, the war, the professor. Hilda tries her best, talks about her brother instead, or about the pretty things she bought the last time she was in Derdriu, or even about how Claude doesn’t seem too bothered or too worried about anything going on around them. He’s always been carefree, she writes, but maybe that’s what we need.
Marianne sends letters back. They’re never as long as Hilda’s which surprises Holst when he sees her reading it.
“Is this what you’re sending? You could write more than that.”
“It’s what I received,” she says, and he gets a funny look on his face.
Marianne doesn’t have much to talk about. She insists this to the point where Hilda knows she really means, I don’t want to talk at all. But Hilda still sends letters, tells her at the end of hers, if you don’t reply, I will come all the way up there and give you an earful. So Marianne keeps sending them.
And they always start the same. Thank you for the letter, Hilda. She’s always saying thank you, even when she doesn’t want the letters in the first place. Hilda doesn’t need thanks. But she knows why Marianne does. She knows that she needs this.
Eventually, the letters stop. A year and a half after the fall of the monastery, the letters gradually get less and less frequent, until one day, they just stop coming all together.
Hilda waits one week, then two. There are no letters. She waits for a third and a fourth, and eventually, a month goes by and she doesn’t hear anything from Marianne at all. So Hilda keeps good on her promise to seek her out.
Hilda has never been to the Edmund estate before. It’s too far up north, so the cold comes sweeping in, even during the summer months.
The Edmund estate is big but quiet. It almost feels menacing. Hilda walks up the steps to the front door, is greeted by a single servant, and when she steps fully into the large house, the air feels dull and stale.
“Marianne—?” She begins to ask, but the servant just nods at the steps and says, In her room.
It’s a very nice house, Hilda thinks, but it’s one of the loneliest places she’s ever seen. Her footsteps echo on the heavy steps as she walks up. She doesn’t know where Marianne’s room is, and the servant has disappeared, somewhere into the silence of the house.
Hilda doesn’t need help finding it though. There are puddles of water leading from the top of the stairs to the end of the hall. Hilda’s heart jolts. She wonders if the servant has even been upstairs today.
She reaches the door at the end of the hall and knocks lightly. There is no answer. There is no sound coming from the other side. She turns the handle, holds her breath as she pushes the door open and steps into a puddle.
It’s hard to see her with curtains drawn closed, but Marianne is there, lying on her side on her bed in nothing more than a satin slip. The room is a mess. Books are spread everywhere, there’s clothes hanging off her chair and crumpled up in the corner, shoes peeking out from under the bed and scattered about. Hilda takes it all in; Marianne was never really good at cleaning, but this was something else entirely.
“Marianne?” Hilda tries, but her voice goes up at the end and cracks. The girl on the bed looks like a ghost. Lifeless. Limp.
Marianne doesn’t move, doesn’t even glance at Hilda. Much to Hilda’s horror, Marianne is soaking wet.
Hilda is glued to her spot in the doorway. “Marianne, is that sweat or—“
“It’s water,” she says, and Hilda has never been so relieved to hear that soft voice of hers. “I took a bath.”
“In your clothes?” Hilda asks then, carefully moving across room. The closer she gets, the worse Marianne looks. Sickly and pale, the dark circles under her eyes have gotten much worse since the last time she had seen her, and Marianne’s hair has always been messy but now she just looks—disheveled.
Marianne doesn’t answer her though. She stares off into the distance, at the window with the curtains closed.
“You know I’ve never been here before,” Hilda says instead, picking a few books up off the floor. “It’s a big house but—where are the rest of the servants?”
“There’s not much to take care of,” Marianne replies slowly. She blinks, as if she’s waking up. She looks at Hilda, and Hilda wants to cry. Where did the Marianne of yesterday run off to?
“Well someone needs to clean your room if you’re not going to do it.”
Marianne gives her a small frown before looking down at her arm. “No one is allowed in here.”
“Not even me?”
“I’m sure you’re allowed wherever you like. It’s hard to say no to you.”
Hilda gives her a hollow laugh, but it dies quickly as she looks at her. Marianne doesn't smile back. Marianne hardly ever smiled; she was too pretty to always be frowning.
But Hilda knows better than to ask for a smile, so instead she asks, “When was the last time you ate?”
“Yesterday...I think.”
“Do you know what time it is?”
“Some time in the afternoon.”
“And when was the last time you spoke to anybody?”
Marianne stops; her eyebrows begin to furrow.
“What do you mean?”
“You know. When was the last time you talked to anyone? You surely haven’t talked to me for awhile now.”
“Is that why you’re here?”
“I told you I would if you ever stopped. Did you think I was lying?”
Marianne sighs and closes her eyes, tilts her face further into her pillow. Hilda can see the satin slip clinging to Marianne’s skin. Her sheets are soaked through as well.
“Who do you keep in touch with?”
Marianne doesn’t answer.
“Claude? Lysithea?”
“They’re too busy.”
“Leonie?”
“She’s hard to track down.”
“Ferdinand?”
Marianne pushes her face fully into the pillow. Her words come out muffled.
“His family...after the monastery, Edelgard—he—” She shudders. She lifts her head up for a moment. Her hair clings to and covers her face.
“He disappeared,” she says quietly, and Hilda knows she shouldn’t have asked. She knows all too well that the others were not in any position to keep in contact with their Golden Deer friends.
“Where’s Margrave Edmund?” Hilda asks instead, rummaging through Marianne’s drawers. Marianne doesn’t have many clothes. “I want to speak to him.”
“On business. In Derdriu.”
Hilda frowns. “There to see Claude?”
“I don’t know.”
She pulls a clean nightgown out from the drawer.
“Get up,” she tells her, and Marianne’s eyes widen. “You’re going to get sick and die if you lay in that bed any longer.”
“Hilda—”
“Marianne.”
Hilda steps towards the bed, kicking some of the shoes beneath it. She reaches out, grabs Marianne’s hand, and pulls her up to sit.
“Take that off and put this on.”
Marianne reddens. “But—”
“I’m going to take the sheets off your bed. Just do it.”
Marianne stands unsteadily, taking the nightgown from Hilda and stepping behind her. Hilda can hear the slip drop to the floor, still heavy with water, but she pretends she can’t and pulls the sheets off, crumpling them up in her arms.
“I want you to come home with me,” Hilda says, dropping the sheets off in the hallway. She turns to see Marianne standing there, playing with the sleeves of the nightgown. Hilda puts on a fake smile. “It’s only fair you get to see what the Goneril household is like now. Have you ever met my brother?”
“You’d have to ask my father,” Marianne replies.
“That’s why I need to see him. How long do you think he’ll be in Derdriu?”
“A few days.”
“Then I guess I’ll just make myself at home until then.”
“You can’t—"
“It would look bad if Margrave Edmund’s estate turned away the charming Lady Hilda, don’t you think?”
Marianne doesn’t answer. So Hilda steps forward. Her heart beats hard and loud in her chest. It makes her dizzy trying to say it out loud.
“I know what you did, Marianne.”
She stares hard at the floor. It’s silent, but Marianne begins to break.
“Are you mad?” she asks, and her voice is so soft, so quiet.
“Yes and no,” Hilda replies, just as quiet. “Marianne...what happened?”
Marianne fidgets uncomfortably. “Everything is falling apart,” she says. “It fell apart. The monastery, Edelgard, the professor. What did we do to deserve all of this?”
Marianne’s voice cracks—she’s crying. Hilda feels her own throat start to tighten up, her own chest begins to ache. She knows—Marianne’s real question is what did I do to deserve this.
“I don’t want to leave,” Marianne says suddenly.
“I’ll stay with you then.”
“I don’t want you around.”
Hilda’s heart breaks. She closes her eyes, grits her teeth. Hilda doesn’t know how to save Marianne when she doesn’t want to be saved.
“Get back in bed,” Hilda orders. Marianne stays standing.
Hilda marches over to the chair and grabs the blanket sitting on top. She takes Marianne’s hand and pulls her along, down and onto the bed, and gently covers both of them. Marianne won’t look her in the eye. It hurts Hilda to see the tears come rolling out sideways down her face.
“Marianne,” Hilda says softly, and she pushes the wet hair off her face and behind her ear. “I miss you. We all do.”
“I don’t want to be missed. Please forget about me.”
“I can’t. I love you too much.”
Marianne squeezes her eyes shut tight. “Please don’t.”
“If we get hurt, who will patch us up? Do you really trust Claude with any of that stuff?”
Instead of laughing, Marianne covers her eyes. She begins to sob into her hands, and Hilda feels a tear slip out. She wraps an arm around Marianne and pulls her close.
Hilda wonders if Marianne can feel her heart beating, how hard it pounds. Hilda is scared. The way Marianne talks scares her. She’s never felt a fear like this.
“It’s just a few days,” Hilda whispers into her wet hair. “I’ll talk to Margrave Edmund, and then I’ll leave.”
Marianne sobs into her chest. There is a strange comfort in knowing that in this moment, Hilda is the only thing keeping her tied down to the earth. The comfort doesn’t last long.
Marianne never comes to the Goneril estate. She begins to write letters once again but Hilda is lucky to receive maybe one each month. She can tell Marianne doesn’t want her to come unannounced—most likely doesn’t want to see her at all.
Occasionally, Hilda sends letters directly to Margrave Edmund as well. She asks that he send Marianne to come visit. He replies curtly that she doesn’t have time.
And eventually they stop again. She goes for one month without hearing anything, then two, then three and four, and before she knows it, far too many months have passed by with no word from Marianne. And then one day, she receives a letter from someone else entirely. It’s Claude, asking that all of the Golden Deer gather in the capital city. He wants to stop Edelgard.
When she arrives, everyone is there, and they look so different. Everyone is there—except Marianne.
There is a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Dread.
“Where’s Marianne?” Lysithea asks that night at the table.
Hilda looks expectantly at Claude—he catches her gaze. He knows something.
“I’m sure she’ll show up soon,” he lies through his teeth, and he smiles that fake smile that will never really reach his eyes. Lysithea gives him a suspicious look, but it appeases her enough to stop asking for the night. Hilda is not satisfied with that answer though—she feels nauseous.
After dinner, Hilda catches Claude in one of the many empty halls of the Riegan estate.
“You know what happened to Marianne, don’t you?” he asks her. She doesn’t give an answer. She fears his. “Margrave Edmund...sent a letter back to my request.”
Her stomach lurches. “She—”
“Yeah…”
She takes a sharp breath in.
“Hilda, I—I’m really sorry—” But even Claude’s voice cracks with pain.
Hilda feels numb to it, doesn’t notice and doesn’t care when Claude pulls her into his arms and holds on tight. Hilda wishes this was Marianne instead.
“First Teach, then Dimitri, now this—”
“We’re being punished for something,” Hilda says. She can’t figure out what for. Maybe Marianne would know.
But Marianne isn’t here to tell her, and all Claude can say is, “I'm sorry,” so Hilda has to tilt her chin up to keep the tears from falling.