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Chapter Text

The thin frost of midwinter had settled over southern Faerghus, and though Margrave Edmund and Count Gloucester, both now personal friends of the young mercenary’s, had aided in reforms, Faerghus was still poor, cold, and somewhat barren. Reconstruction, in Leonie’s mind, was like bailing out a lake with a bucket. She’d seen the underside of both Faerghus and Leicester, and was unconvinced that the damage of the war had been healed in so short a time. Jobs clearing out bandits and thieves were common, and while the mages that Leonie had spent half her young adulthood hunting were rare, she still found the occasional pocket, and had a few scars, and a fresh wound on her leg, from these sorts of affairs. Ten years later, and she was still getting the snot beat out of her.

At least now she was getting paid.

She reached down and patted her horse’s neck. Peachpit had been with her through the war, and horses were expensive, at least that was what Leonie told herself. To admit she was too fond of Peachpit to buy a new companion was the truth. The northbound road was narrow, and as she followed the river through the valley late that night, the stifling quiet of all but Peachpit’s hooves did little to distract her. “Always twitchy,” she could hear Ignatz saying in the back of her mind. Twitchy, however, could usually keep her mind off of distractions and help her push through. Twitchy would distract her from the slow creep of infection’s heat up the burn wound on her leg.

The young farmer had told her it was six miles to the village. He’d called it Caveni, said there was a church sanctuary that would give her somewhere to stay. She usually preferred an inn, but apparently, there was none, and the sanctuary was full of kind priests and priestesses. She had taken him at that. Another hour on a long day was not much, after all.

She could smell the smoke of the village long before she could see the lanterns. Heavy, warm, and distant, she knew it was near. Ten minutes of riding later, she could see lights over the ridge of the hill. The jostling of riding had left an ache through her leg. Hot clean water and ointment from her own personal things would do the trick, with some bandaging. But clean water was hard to find. An inn would have it, a sanctuary would have it, but the rivers and streams of Faeghus’s winter would not suffice, no matter how sweet they tasted when winter melted to spring.

She rode downslope, taking it carefully with Peachpit and herself. The dim windows of houses and a few lantern posts were lit, and at the end of the lane, she could see the stone gates of a church sanctuary. A young woman was sitting sentinel at the arch, in the garments of an armored, very warm priestess, and working on her humble guess-- knife sharpening.

“Evenin’,” said Leonie, dismounting Peachpit and avoiding putting her weight on her left leg. “A farmer up the way told me this sanctuary might give me a place to stay.” The girl set down her work and stood, bowing a greeting.

“We welcome any traveller,” said the girl. She looked like she was around the same age Leonie had been when she’d first taken lifeblood. “We can also tend your horse. She must be tired,” said the girl, offering out a hand, which Peachpit snuffled at, looking for a treat that was not to be found.

“Thanks,” said Leonie. “I’ll make sure to leave a couple gold before I go. It’s been a long journey.” The girl smiled and led her inside, pushing open the heavy oaken door carved with crests and blessings. Marianne and Lysithea would have known them, she thought absently, maudlin that now, of all times, she was thinking of old friends.

“I understand,” said the girl. “We have a few empty rooms. They may be humble, but I hope you find them comfortable. Is there anything I can offer you?”

“A basin of clean water and a hot fire,” said Leonie. “It’s all I can really ask for. Maybe some bread, if there’s any extra.”

“I shall bring it up, then,” said the girl, careful steps over the stone courtyard leading the way to the corridor of guest rooms. “May I ask why your travels bring you here, ma’am?”

“Nothing special,” said Leonie. “I’m a mercenary. The work’s always called for travel.”

“My, how exciting,” said the girl. “You must have a great deal of work.”

“Less than you’d think, but enough to make ends meet.” Leonie shrugged. “It makes you appreciate places like this.”

“How lovely,” said the girl, handing Leonie a key. “I hope the room is to your liking. I’ll bring up the basin presently.”

“Thanks,” said Leonie as the girl closed the door, dropping her pack by the empty, cold fireplace and reaching for the stack of wood to warm the cold stone walls. The fire sparked to life, dim fiery warmth illuminating the quarters. It wasn’t as nice as Garreg Mach. But was anything, really? The low sitting mattress had a few warm looking blankets perched beside them, a table and chair, and an empty pitcher for water, with a single window. Leonie threw off her pants, tossing them onto the bed and sitting on the wooden chair, and went through her pack. Ointment, check, clean bandages, check. She inspected the wound.

Asshole, she cursed, thinking of the mage’s fireball that had grazed her leg. He might’ve come out of the situation far worse for the wear than Leonie (by which she meant that she had planted one of her arrows directly in his chest), but she was still in a mood about it. A light touch of her own finger and she flinched. Infected. Just like she thought. She sighed and fidgeted with a few pokes to test her own resolve, before the girl opened the door again.

“I brought-- Ah!” She leaned into the door, but averted her eyes in modesty, setting the basin and platter down on the side table, then holding her hand up like a visor to keep Leonie’s exposed legs from her field of vision, a bright pink blush on her face. “I apologize for any intrusion.”

“It’s alright,” said Leonie. “I kinda forgot about modesty, it’s me who should apologize,” she said, grateful at least that she was wearing knickers.

“Oh,” said the girl, barely peeking through her fingers back at Leonie. “That wound on your leg looks quite painful. If you would like, the woman who runs the orphanage and sanctuary is a talented healer. She could repair the wound in little more than a minute.”

“That’s generous of you, but I can handle myself.”

“Really! It’s no trouble,” said the girl. “I’ll fetch her.” Leonie sighed and leaned into the still-young fire, warming her hands in thought.

A gentle knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. “Come in,” she called, and a woman with cream-blond hair, cut short, and a heavy quilted dressing robe over her shoulders. Something about her demeanor seemed familiar.

“I’m sorry I’m in my dressing clothes, it’s very late,” said Mercedes, a voice so distinct Leonie would’ve recognized anywhere. “The young sister was very insistent upon helping you this evening.” She closed the door and turned around, and the expression on her face went, in a blink, from tired serenity to surprise. “Leonie?”

“Mercedes,” said Leonie with a small smile. “I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“It has been quite a while,” said Mercedes, kneeling on the floor beside her to get a closer look at the burn. “My, you certainly let it fester for a time. How long?” Her eyes softened.

“I dunno. Three days?” Leonie shrugged.

“Then it’s no wonder now that it’s in such a state,” she said, her breathy voice soft. “I’ll wash it out before I heal it. How did you get such an injury?”

“I ran into some trouble with mages,” she said, leaving it deliberately vague.

“I see,” said Mercedes. “Many of the rumors I’ve heard on that subject are cause for concern, that is true. I would suppose that you’re being paid by lords to take care of such matters?”

“More often than not,” agreed Leonie.

“Ah, but not always,” said Mercedes, wringing hot water out of the cloth. “Now and then you do things simply because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Eh,” shrugged Leonie. “Now and then.”

Mercedes smiled and raised the cloth to the burn wound. Leonie gritted her teeth, steeling herself to the pain. Mercedes shook her head.

“What is it?”

“You haven’t changed at all,” said Mercedes fondly. “I suppose you’re quite sure you’re a mercenary making ends meet, but deep down, you do have some real convictions.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Leonie raised an eyebrow.

“You keep risking your own life and health for the safety and well being of other people,” said Mercedes, thinking back to the decade before, “even when you have nothing to gain. Perhaps it’s simply difficult for you to admit, hm?”

“Maybe,” said Leonie sheepishly. “Can’t have my customers knowing I’m a little soft.”

Mercedes glanced up at her. “You’re still rough around the edges, though. I rather like your new haircut, too.” Leonie reached up and scratched the back of her neck, the short ginger hair bristling against her hands.

“Thanks. It’s mostly just practical,” she admitted.

“It suits you,” said Mercedes. “Better than the longer hair did during the war, really.”

“Yeah,” said Leonie, “I really just didn’t know what I was doing back then.”

“Maybe it’s a humble opinion of mine,” said Mercedes, “but I think back then, precious few of us knew what we were doing. Survival is a respectable priority, but letting it define our senses of selves was always going to be ill fated. Nothing good comes from conflict.” Leonie thought for a few moments about that.

“I wish we had been friends back then.”

“I thought we were,” said Mercedes sweetly. “You saved my life many more times than I think I could count!”

“Oh, yeah, that,” said Leonie, tilting her head. “I dunno. I think friendship is a little more than, you know, life or death situations. I think it involves...trust.” Mercedes paused.

“I would agree. Are you still friends with a few of our older friends from the Academy?”

“A few,” said Leonie thoughtfully, and she could see the melancholy in Mercedes’s eyes. Annette. Ashe. Dedue. Dimitri. Mercedes had sided with the Alliance, but had lost so many people, and here Leonie stood, admitting she had distanced herself from people who were privileged enough to be alive.

“That must be very nice, then,” said Mercedes with a sad smile. “You know, just because we weren’t close in the Academy doesn’t mean that you and I couldn’t become friends now. I find that I’ve rather liked this conversation.”

“Me too,” said Leonie. “Maybe I’ll stay a few more days. Peachpit could use a break.”

“You’re still riding Peachpit?” Mercedes beamed. “She was always a very sweet mare. She nipped at the professor once, do you recall?”

“Of course!” said Leonie with a sunny smile. This time, Mercedes glanced at her and saw more than the dawn of a young woman she’d been the last time they’d met, the sun at her back and bow in her hand-- she saw the woman who accompanied the laugh she’d only caught a few times in passing. She saw that she was handsome, and the thought softened her a little. “Yeah, of course I remember. I couldn’t stop laughing. Such a good horse.”

“I’m glad to hear the two of you are still inseparable.” Mercedes pushed herself up off of the floor, brushing off her long shift and dressing robe. “My, how long has it been since I healed you last?”

“Uh…” Leonie paused. “I think it was at Shambhala. That’s right,” she said. “I had practically cracked my ribs all the way up, and you were there.” It wasn’t Marianne or Byleth-- it was Mercedes.

“I remember,” said Mercedes. “Yes, that sounds right. My, I’ve always been a scatterbrain, but some things are so easy to remember.”

“I imagine it’s hard to forget,” said Leonie. She herself sometimes woke up to seeing Hubert’s dead eyes as she landed a shot she should have been proud of, but only felt sick at the thought.

“Sometimes, it is,” said Mercedes, stretching her hands and holding them out over the wound. “But we have to keep moving.” In a flash of soft green light, she healed over the burn on Leonie’s leg, almost like it was instinct to her.

“So what compelled you to open the sanctuary?” asked Leonie, rubbing her hands over the still tender skin. Mercedes sat in the other chair, resting her elbows on the table, her morning violet eyes tired and gentle.

“I’ve always wanted to care for others. My faith in the Goddess has always been a part of that. Even when things looked as dreary as they could, it was always my calling. At first, the sanctuary was an old abbey that I refurbished into an orphanage. But after the war, so many women lost husbands, and many of them were fleeing such unhappy homes with their children. I couldn’t turn them away. Once, I had been in the same situation. And the Church of Seiros had taken me and my mother in.”

“They did?” Leonie only knew the vaguest of things about Mercedes. “I guess I never knew. But why travellers?”

“Travellers usually offer payment, and we accept it. It takes quite a bit of money to keep people fed, after all, and even with the reformed Church’s funding, they are always welcome. Besides, it keeps things interesting for the other priests and myself. The sanctuary has become the busiest place in town, I’m afraid.” She sighed in exhaustion and stretched her shoulders.

“I see,” Leonie said. “If I’m keeping you awake, then go to bed, Mercedes. We can talk more tomorrow.”

“I’m enjoying our time together,” said Mercedes. “But tomorrow morning, I think it would be nice if we were to carry on this conversation. Do you need to borrow any nightclothes?”

“What I have on my back is fine--”

“Nonsense. Come on. I’ll show you the baths, and you can borrow one of my nightdresses. I have a lovely yellow one. It’ll help me rest easier,” she said, putting a hand over Leonie’s. “I take care of old friends.”

Chapter Text

Leonie cozied in to rest after Mercedes gave her a more personal tour of the sanctuary. The bed was warm, the fire burnt steadily, and she had a full stomach and clean clothes for the first time in a few weeks. The moment her head hit the pillow, she was almost gone, left half in a daze thinking of a memory.

“You still intend to become a mercenary, do you not?” Lorenz’s smooth, sharp voice was sober and clear over the din of the party, perhaps the last one with all of them present. Nemesis was defeated, Claude had insisted on offering as much alcohol as they could muster, and Byleth was the hero of the hour. She looked exasperated of the praise. Leonie threw back another gulp of the decent ale and glanced at him.

“Yeah, I do. It makes good money. Better than working for the Church, right?” Leonie didn’t make eye contact with Lorenz, who furrowed his brow.

“I suppose that may be true. But Leonie, keep in mind that you are a well-rounded woman. You don’t need to spend your life fighting an uphill battle, and I’m sure you know that as well as I do.”

“Eh,” she shrugged. “Find me something that pays.” Lorenz sighed.

“Perhaps I should get myself a glass of wine,” he said, standing up. “If ever you need work, I would be happy to employ you.”

Leonie finished her drink alone, slumped over the table, resting her cheeks on her arms. If they won, if she had avenged Jeralt, if she had what they’d worked for all this time, why did she feel like this?

“Excuse me, is this seat empty?”

Leonie glanced up at Mercedes, who was looking at the seat in front of her. “Sure.”

“I noticed how down you looked. Is something the matter?” Mercedes had those ever-soft eyes that Leonie didn’t trust. Nobody was that sweet.

“No,” she said, sitting upright. “Just tired out, you know?”

“I’m sure you must be! I heard from the Professor that you were truly exceptional at battle against Nemesis. How wonderful it must be to have Parthia, too!”

“Yeah, it’s a real honor,” she said, a little bitter that the professor still talked so highly of her.

“You don’t seem to think so,” said Mercedes. “If there’s something bothering you, I would be happy to listen.”

“Seriously. I’m fine.” She glanced distractedly at Byleth, who was laughing with Catherine and Shamir, not even glancing at her.

“I see,” said Mercedes, looking in the same direction thoughtfully. “Here, I have an idea. Come with me.” She stood and offered Leonie her elbow.

“You sure?” Leonie teetered when she stood-- it was easy to be a composed drunk when sitting, but standing was another matter altogether.

“I’m certain.” Leonie took her elbow and Mercedes led the both of them to the door outside, like gossiping confidantes. Leonie felt very girlish and slightly patronized, but Mercedes seemed entirely unfazed.

“Why are you leading me to the garden?” asked Leonie finally, and Mercedes, unsmiling, looked at her out of the corner of those glassy eyes.

“I’m not leading you to the garden. I was leading you to the wall.”

“Oh. Then why are we going to the wall?”

“You’ll see when we get there,” said Mercedes. “You know, Leonie, I have felt unrequited affection before. It never gets less painful.” She smiled a little sadly.

“Unrequited…?” Leonie raised a suspicious eyebrow.

“I can tell. You’re a very honest person! It’s admirable. You remind me of Annette in that way.”

“Not all redheads--”

“No, of course not,” said Mercedes. “It’s a high compliment. She was like a little sister to me.”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve seen her since we were all at the Academy together,” said Leonie. “What do you mean, was? We never fought against her.”

“No,” agreed Mercedes, “we didn’t. She disappeared two and a half years ago. She mentioned mentioned in letters that she and her father were trying to find Dimitri.” Leonie gulped, realizing quickly what must’ve happened.

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for!” Mercedes led them up the steps to the wall. “I’m sure you had nothing to do with Annie’s fate, no matter what it was.”

“That’s fair, but I still feel bad about it,” said Leonie, climbing the stairs behind her.

“Please don’t worry yourself,” she said with a smile. “Look up at the stars, Leonie!”

The night sky of late summer was brilliant, a black and silver tapestry of radiant stars and planets, bright constellations and a moon above them, the rolling low mountains of Central Fodlan a verdant green.

“It’s really pretty up here,” said Leonie.

“Isn’t it?” agreed Mercedes. “All of Fodlan is open to possibilities now. Anything could happen. Can you feel it?” She took a deep breath, the night wind stirring her short hair.

“I guess I can,” said Leonie. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to go back to my adoptive father,” said Mercedes, “and I think I’m going to tell him never to speak to me again. I think I’m going to tell him that he ought to think of me as dead to him.”

“That’s pretty gutsy.” Leonie glanced at her, leaning over the side of the wall, stars in her eyes, the look of a woman who had stretched herself thin and was now retracting to her true shape.

“Maybe. But I don’t think it’s that courageous. I can name a thousand people braver than me.”

“Like who?” Leonie tilted her head curiously.

“Nearly everyone at the festivities,” said Mercedes. “I’m afraid the only reason I returned is that I was so inspired by everyone. To stand so firmly in convictions like that is courage, plain and simple.”

“And you don’t count yourself?” Leonie glanced at her.

“Oh, no, not quite,” said Mercedes. “Perhaps I feel like my motivations were selfish.”

“Why would you say that?” Leonie felt like she was unravelling a puzzle, like she was restringing a new bow to take it out for practice.

“I think I ought to explain it another time,” said Mercedes. “In any case, what upset you in there?” Leonie looked back over her shoulder at the light pouring from the dining hall windows and doors.

“Something Lorenz said to me,” she shrugged.

“Oh dear, he can be very frustrating, can’t he?” said Mercedes. “I find he used to be rather impolite to me.”

“Oh, no, I think of him as a friend. Maybe that’s why I was in a mood,” she huffed. “He implied in that dumb roundabout way he does, that maybe I wasn’t suited to be a mercenary.”

“And what do you think on the matter?” Mercedes asked.

“Being a mercenary has been everything to me for as long as I can remember! Of course I’m mad that he would even say that!” Leonie sighed in frustration.

“Well, then if you’re certain, then you get the privilege of proving him wrong,” said Mercedes. “Become the greatest mercenary in Fodlan!”

“Second greatest,” she corrected Mercedes, thinking of Jeralt. “The problem is that I’m not sure it’s what I want. It’s just that it’s for all this time, it’s been the only thing I wanted. I guess I’m sorta floundering now that it’s right here.”

“I understand,” said Mercedes. “It’s hard to commit to something, at long last, because it can be scary to be disappointed, or to disappoint others.”

“Maybe that’s it,” shrugged Leonie, who felt that that was near the mark, but not quite there-- her analysis might’ve lacked something.

“But you do know that you can change your life at any time, don’t you?”

Leonie squinched her nose. “How so?”

“I mean that if you ever decide to make a change in your life, you have the power to do so. The only thing binding you to your fate is yourself. If you decide, say, that you would like to stop being a mercenary and live your life in a different way, then what stands in your way is your own will.” Mercedes looked down at the signet ring of House Bartels on her hand, clearly thinking of something-- Leonie didn’t know quite what.

Leonie thought for a few moments. It was what she wanted. It was everything she wanted. And-- she could change if she wanted to. That was a strange thought.

“I guess I never thought of that.” She looked over at Mercedes, jaw resting on her elbow over the wall. “Let’s go back inside.”

Leonie slept soundly. That was the last time she’d talked to Mercedes before that. And something about it felt incomplete. It felt like there was something left to say. It felt like there was room to grow. Maybe Leonie should have written her, she thought. It could have done her good.

She woke up early in the morning, dressed, and headed out to check on Peachpit, the wood soles of her boots clicking brightly against the stone floors. The stables-- Mercedes had shown her the way, and she rounded the corner, pushing open the gate, and looked into the stall. Peachpit had a full trough, and was sleeping standing. She smiled fondly and scratched behind her ears, the horse’s long chestnut lashes fluttering. It was a lovely thing to have such a faithful mare, she thought fondly, and it was very kind of them to take care of her last night, but she felt guilty, as if she’d taken advantage of their hospitality. She’d find a way to pay this one off.

Heading to the kitchen to allow Peachpit some rest and to get out of the hair of the stablehand, she would grab breakfast and ask about offering her services.

“Mornin’,” she said to the cook, glancing into the porridge pot. “May I?”

“Help yourself,” said the cook, handing her a clay bowl and a wooden spoon. “It’s for everyone.” Leonie scooped conservatively, though she was famished, and took it outside into the small dining hall, scarfing it down in silence.

A familiar face sat down beside her, the matronly cream and black garments entering Leonie’s periphery long before Mercedes’s face did.

“Good morning, Leonie,” said Mercedes, holding a teacup and saucer in hand. “I hope you slept well!”

“I did,” said Leonie, setting down her bowl to eat more politely. “Uh, if I kept you up late last night, I’m sorry again.”

“It’s no trouble,” said Mercedes mildly. “I would rather reunite with an old friend than have even ten restful nights.”

“About that!” Leonie stirred the porridge. “I was wondering, is there any way I can help around here? I mean, you know me. I’m pretty handy, or if there’s anyone who you need taken care of--”

“I assure you, I can’t think of anyone who we would send a mercenary to take care of!” Mercedes laughed, a musical chime.

“Right,” said Leonie, flushing with embarrassment. “So if there’s any work I can do to repay you and stay busy, I can definitely help.”

“Hm,” said Mercedes thoughtfully. “Some of the roofing in the staff quarters needs repaired. We have the tiles and the tools, but the poor young priest who usually repairs things is visiting family for the next few weeks. Perhaps you could start there?”

“You got a deal,” said Leonie, who then scooped the last of the porridge into her mouth.

“Wonderful,” said Mercedes. “Really, you’ll be a big help. I appreciate it, Leonie.”

“It’s me who owes you,” she said. “I’ll get on it.”

“Really?”

“Really. Show me the way.” She stood up and stretched her muscular shoulders. Another day of work, she thought to herself-- and it was work that wouldn’t end in a body count.

Chapter Text

Leonie shivered as a cold wind rattled through the treetops, clutching her coat tighter around her shoulders as she perched on the peak of the tile roof, fingerless gloved hands tight around the hammer. With shaking hands, she held the nail down against the wood tile, and smoothly lowered the hammer. This was one of the last tiles. She finished it, and inspected her work. It blended seamlessly with the old tiles, and she could be grateful for that. It was almost midafternoon. Sliding off the roof towards the ladder, she smoothly climbed down, toolbox over her shoulder.

The day had shaped up to be a cold one. It always seemed to be cold in Faerghus, thought Leonie, and how anyone could stand to live here was beyond her. She put the tools in the dusty back shed, where she’d gotten them in the first place, and walked back into the inner courtyard of the sanctuary.

Mercedes had said she’d be off working, so Leonie stretched and grabbed her bow, heading out for target practice in the woods behind the sanctuary. Both her standard, heavy draw wood bow, and Parthia nestled unstrung in the corner of her room. She grabbed both thoughtfully. The wood bow, with the heavier draw weight, was an old reliable bow; she’d made it herself. But she hadn’t practiced with Parthia in a long time. She primarily kept it because she couldn’t bear to give it back to the Profe-- Byleth. She turned it around in her hand to inspect the grip, and slung it over her back along with the wooden one.

Passing under the stone gate of the sanctuary, Leonie thought the day had turned out to be quite nice. The fresh snow crunched underfoot, bright daylight making it almost blinding, and Leonie shielded her eyes, scanning the thin woods off the road for a tree that would make a good target. She picked a wide birch with peeling bark, and threw up the old painted burlap target with a tack. The wood bow came first.

She was distracted. That was why she hadn’t hit the mark perfectly time after time. An orbital ring hung around the red painted center. Not good enough. She groaned in frustration, ripping her practice arrows out of the target and went for another volley.

Her second take was better. Anger got the better of most people, but Leonie? No, her anger gifted her with concentration, especially if it was herself that she was frustrated with. Archery had given her something to channel it into when she was a little girl, and archery had been carried with her as an adult. Contentedly, she removed the arrows. A third and fourth round followed, and she thought about Parthia.

She tossed her arrows back into her quiver, prying them out, and pulled out the string she’d saved for Parthia, a nicer cord that slid into the nock, and bent it carefully. She didn’t want to overstrain it, no matter how powerful it was. Gingerly, she put her weight over her shoulder on the bow, and pressing down with one elbow and working with both hands, she strung the other side. She nocked an arrow at the bead, and pulled back to her ear, knowing she could be gentle with this bow; it had such strength that it barely needed Leonie to add to its tension.

A perfect shot.

The loud crunch of footsteps on snow pricked her to alarm, and she quickly grabbed her arrow from the tree, Parthia in hand and another one nocked, just in case. She tiptoed along the snow, familiar with hunting in the quiet, and slipped between trees, watching along the path, fifty feet into the woods.

A man was walking up the path. There was a worn sword at his hip, and although his dress was shabby, his stance told Leonie two things: he had a destination in mind, and he knew how to use his weapon. She followed from a distance. He hadn’t noticed her, as far as she knew, and he approached the sanctuary gate. Leonie scaled the wall nimbly and silently, on the wall perpendicular the gate thirty feet away. One of the priestesses saw her and tilted her head, and Leonie gave her a friendly wave and continued on towards the gate.

“I’m sorry, sir, I’m not allowed to tell you anybody here’s names,” said the young priest who was guarding the gate, a sheepish thing whose country accent was as pronounced as Leonie’s.

“Bull-fucking-shit,” said the man, trying to push through. “I’m tellin’ you my wife up and left and dragged my son along with her. I just want to know if they’re here so I can take them back home. Is there a woman named Greta here, with a kid about two?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t--”

The man slammed the side of his fist against the gate, rattling some snow off of the top of the arch. “You aren’t hearing me! That kid has a crest, my family crest, and I ain’t leaving without him.”

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave, sir,” said the priest, clearing his throat and straightening his back in a weak show of confidence.

“Like hell you are,” he said, shoving him to the side as the young priest desperately dove in front of him, pushing him back with strain.

“Sister von Martritz! Sister von Martritz!” yelled the young priest. Leonie rushed forward, pushing the intruder back, but before she knew it, he had yanked himself from her grasp and tackled the priest. She grasped for his arm, trying to yank him upright for a good punch to the face, and--

A whirr rushed past her ear, a silver-white arrow with a scrap of the tattered brown fabric of the man’s overcoat planted against the nearest tree, a thin line of blood running along it. Mercedes von Martritz stood upright, holding the Tathlum Bow tight gracefully, unfazed whatsoever, a calm expression on her face. Those eyes, thought Leonie.

“Good afternoon,” said Mercedes, an almost unnervingly sweet smile on her face. “Sir, what business do you have here?” Leonie yanked him up by the collar, and noticed the fresh wound on his shoulder, where Mercedes must have grazed him.

“I, uh, I--”

“Please speak your mind,” she said sweetly.

“My wife, she took my son, he has...he’s got a crest, she ran out on me. I’m taking her home.”

“Do you know where you stand, sir?” Mercedes stepped closer, her heeled boots a light clack on the stone courtyard.

“Do I know wh…” He trailed off, looking around. “One o’them damn abbeys where the church wastes our money,” he spat.

“No. You stand in a sanctuary of the Goddess.” Mercedes put a hand on his shoulder, the ominously saccharine smile on her face. “We welcome almost everyone, but most of all, those in need of the protection and grace of the Goddess. If your wife is here, then she is here for her own safety and that of her child.”

“My child,” he snarled, but Mercedes’s expression lost its softness, and it was replaced with a threat.

“I see.” Mercedes lowered her hand and looked at the arrow on the tree, the Tathlum Bow still in her left hand. “I don’t miss. I suggest you leave before I have the chance to shoot again. And,” she said, thoughtful, “that will be the most merciful death I could give you.” A vision of screaming soldiers burning in Mercedes’s rings of flame, or as their life energy was drained from them, danced in Leonie’s mind.

“You can’t threaten me like this. I fought in the war! I could take all of you!”

“So did I,” said Mercedes, and she glanced at Leonie, “as did that woman there.” She raised her bow, slowly drawing another arrow out of the almost invisible sheath over her shoulder. She ran a thumb along the fletching considerately. “My, do I hope your wife is well. Isn’t that what matters in the end? That your family is safe, with or without you?” She gazed at him, once gentle eyes now hard as rock.

“I’ll leave,” he grumbled. “But you mark my words. This ain’t the last you’ve seen of me.” Mercedes nocked the arrow, watching him leave, and Leonie stayed quiet as he walked back down the way he’d come.

Mercedes breathed a sigh, unstringing the Tathlum Bow. “Are you alright?” she asked, looking concernedly at the priest as she removed her winter gloves.

“I’m fine, Sister,” he said, hugging her. “I was so afraid. What if he’d seen them? They’re here, she warned us--”

“That’s why I’m here, Stephan,” she said, trying to comfort him by patting his back gently. “You did your very best, and you did the right thing.”

“Thank you,” he said, pulling away. “Should we tell Greta?”

“I’ll speak to her this evening,” said Mercedes. “Leonie, thank you,” she said, smiling with genuine warmth instead of the menacing glare she’d given the stranger. “You truly helped us.”

“I was following him before he came in,” said Leonie. “If I’d known he would make trouble, I would’ve shot him sooner.”

“Oh, dear!” laughed Mercedes, though Leonie was only half joking. “It’s alright. I would hate to shed blood in such a sacred place.”

“Coulda done it outside,” shrugged Leonie. “Just pulling your leg, Mercedes!”

“Perhaps I ought to take you seriously next time,” said Mercedes. “Stephan, let’s rotate you out early. Take some rest,” she said. “I’ll get Etta to take your place. Leonie, could you be a dear and accompany me?”

“Right,” said Leonie, following her as she walked back into the sanctuary and down the long hallway. “You know, I never thought you’d threaten someone like that.”

“Didn’t you?” Mercedes looked back at her over her shoulder. “I suppose you never saw me with Sylvain, then!”

“I guess I didn’t,” agreed Leonie. “But it seems like you’ve changed.”

“Time hardens us all,” said Mercedes. “Good faith in such situations is rarely merited, and I suppose I hesitate far less often than I used to.”

“At least with him,” agreed Leonie.

“You’ve changed, too, Leonie,” said Mercedes. “I know I said that you hadn’t last night, but the Leonie I knew ten years ago wouldn’t have even considered it. It’s difficult to take lives.” Leonie walked alongside her, thoughtful.

“It’s always hard. It’s the pay that’s easy,” she said nonchalantly. “What was that about, anyways?”

“Last week, a young woman and her son came to us late in the night. She told us that her husband had mortally threatened her for refusing to have another child, and that he’d once broken her arm.” Her voice took on a strange tone that Leonie didn’t know if she was supposed to catch. “Her son had a crest.”

“Right,” said Leonie, rubbing the downy ginger hair at the back of her neck. “I guess that’s why he would want them back so badly.”

“It’s precisely the reason that they need our protection here, too,” said Mercedes. “What a terrible situation.” She turned towards a door, and Leonie held it open for her. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Mercedes walked through the bustling kitchen, and approached a young woman who was peeling apples by hand.

“Etta, would you mind taking the last half hour of Stephan’s guard duty? He needs a little time to himself,” she said, inspecting the young woman’s work. “I can make sure you get an extra sweet piece of cobbler tonight,” she said with a wink, less of a bribe than a reimbursement.

“Did something happen?” The woman, who had ashen hair, almost gray, but was still young, set down her knife.

“Oh, nothing to worry about. Stephan was simply rattled by an intruder. I took good care of it. And I know you’re a very firm guard.” Mercedes picked the knife up. “I can take care of your duties in the meantime.”

“Thank you, Sister,” said Etta, throwing on a coat off a peg. “Have fun with the apples. I’ll be off!”

“A handful, that one,” said Mercedes, shaking her head as she walked out. “Let’s get to work.” She held the knife gently, peeling an apple over a pan in a single long skin, with gentle care, and Leonie picked up one of the spare knives and peeled vertically downward in strips. It was faster.

“It really seems like everyone around here respects you a lot,” Leonie observed.

“My, I sincerely hope so,” said Mercedes. “I work very hard around here.”

“I wonder if that’s why.” Leonie tilted her head and set the finished apple aside.

“In what way?”

“They notice you work as hard as everyone else does. In a way, that makes you more worthy of respect. You understand them. So to them, you’re sympathetic. They know you have everyone’s interests at heart.”

“You have a very sharp mind,” said Mercedes. “But I don’t think it’s that complicated! I gave many of these people a place to stay. They can leave whenever they choose to, but many of them have stayed for a very long time. And I simply take my duties very seriously. Not everything needs to be so complex, Leonie.”

“I think you just don’t like to hear compliments,” joked Leonie. Same old Mercedes.

“I wonder if you’re right,” said Mercedes thoughtfully.

“Kind of a weird question, but Mercedes?” Leonie grabbed her next apple. “Why have you been spending so much time with me? I mean, I’m sure you’re busy. I’m just another visitor.”

“Just another visitor? No,” said Mercedes firmly. “Leonie, you’re an old comrade. Why, the stories that you and I could tell would rattle these walls. It’s the very least I can do to spend time with you.”

“Please,” scoffed Leonie. “Don’t feel obligated on my behalf. I’m not picky, and I’m not hung up on guest manners or something.”

“I feel no obligation,” Mercedes said plainly. “I find your presence comforting, plain and simple.” That wasn’t what Leonie had expected, and she felt a little bit of a flutter in her stomach. It had been a long time since she’d felt that.

“Oh,” said Leonie. “That’s the first time I’ve heard that!”

“Is it?” Mercedes scraped the apple peels off the woodblock and tossed them into a waste bin. “I sincerely hope I’m not the first person to enjoy your company! You’re a very reassuring person.”

“Am I?” Leonie raised an eyebrow, cutting the apples into narrow slices.

“You are. Perhaps it’s the honesty. I always know you speak your mind.”

“Sometimes too much,” admitted Leonie.

“And that’s part of the charm!” said Mercedes. “Truly. Your presence has brought back many happy memories, and you were a real help today. Only the Goddess knows whether or not I could have repaired the roof myself, but surely you did a better job than I ever could have. And that aside, Greta and Stephan both owe you a great deal.”

“I’m not charging for yanking some village asshole up by the collar,” said Leonie with a smile.

“Thank goodness! I’ve heard mercenaries aren’t cheap!” Mercedes laid the apples in the pan. “That would be the cobbler, but let’s see, I was going to get to work on the stew.”

“You still bake?”

“Of course,” said Mercedes. “I think I’m going with some of the root vegetables for stew. Leonie, be a dear and hand me the copper pot-- yes, that’s the one.”

Chapter Text

The cold of the evening set in early, with the rosy sunset hanging below the trees. Leonie did dishes with a few of the other sisters and brothers, never devout, while Mercedes led an evening service of prayer in the small chapel on the grounds. Leonie thought it was sort of silly to pray when they were old friends of the Goddess herself incarnate. Not that she would say that to Mercedes.

After the dishes were done and the sun was down, a few of the older clergy had taken up residence in the hall, nestled around the fireplace sipping mulled wine. She was invited on the merit of having helped with cleaning, and Leonie never said no to a drink. Although mulled wine was not half as strong as what she could knock back easily at most bars, this was for taste and company, not the sensation of drunkenness, the easy forgetfulness.

She sized them up thoughtfully in quiet. Two men, partners in the war and now partners for life, now lived there. Mercedes had helped them marry quietly. An older woman who had once been a priestess at the abbey before it was destroyed and rebuilt in the war lived here. She laughed louder than anyone else. Stephan was her son. A younger woman who loved to tell stories, probably not far from Leonie’s age herself, made sure everyone’s mugs were full. And a chair was left empty.

“A friend of mine,” said the younger woman, Harriet, “she told me that they’ve been seeing ghosts up along the way in Fhirdiad. Hanging along the road. Angry ghosts.”

“Those stories are for kids,” said one of the men, who had golden hair that reminded Leonie of someone. “Come on.”

“I’d think you knew more about angry ghosts than any of us, Al,” said Harriet. Leonie glanced at the man’s eyes. Something about them shone in the way an old caster’s did, like a full jar of darkness.

“I know fact from fiction, is all. There’d be angry ghosts everywhere if places could be haunted. I’m a reasonable man.” Al crossed his arms, taking another sip.

“I dunno about that one,” said his husband. “Maybe there’s something to it. The Empire wasn’t merciful. Left a bloody trail behind, that’s for sure. If there’s still some of the old ghosts hanging on, can you blame them?”

“Suppose not.”

“Anyways--” said Harriet, interjecting, “my old friend wrote me a wonderful letter, she’s always writing letters, but she said there was a whole troop of soldiers, lances and what have you and all, and they were marching along the south road out of Fhirdiad, and each and every one of them was a ghost. She didn’t even believe in such things till she saw it, I promise you, nearly scared her out of her skin.”

“I would think it would,” agreed Mercedes, closing the hall door behind her as she walked inside. Harriet jumped a bit and Leonie smiled.

“Sister von Martritz, think of my poor heart,” yelped Harriet, and the older woman laughed lightly. Leonie slouched forward, resting her elbows on her thighs.

“I always do, Harriet,” said Mercedes, sitting down in the empty chair, but not getting a mug. “Why, if that would startle you so easily, I would hate to think of what would happen if you saw a real ghost!”

“But ghosts aren’t real, Mercedes,” said the older woman. “I’ve been on this earth long enough to know that.”

“I dunno. Wonders never cease,” said Leonie, “and I’ve seen some things you wouldn’t believe. Maybe not enough to talk about ghosts, but…”

“I’ve seen ghosts.” Mercedes locked eyes with Leonie, and reached into her pocket to pull out her embroidery, working by firelight. Everyone went quiet, and Mercedes threaded a needle, punching it gently through the fabric.

“Have you?” asked the older woman.

“Yes,” said Mercedes calmly. “I suppose I have kept some secrets, haven’t I?” She smiled faintly, staring down at the fabric. “I attended Garreg Mach’s officer’s academy in the same year that the Adrestian Empire invaded.”

“You did?” Al sat forward, mug in hand. “Now this is a story I have to hear.”

“Oh, it’s not exciting. I was in the same class as Prince Dimitri for a short while, but I grew very close to the Archbishop Byleth when she was still just a teacher. She taught me a great many things,” said Mercedes, “and when the young Duke Riegan asks you to return to fight by his side, it is impossible to decline.”

“The Duke Riegan? The same who’s the King of Almyra?” Harriet’s eyes were dinner saucers.

“He wasn’t back then,” said Leonie. “And believe me, none of us knew.”

“You were there?” Al looked her up and down, as if inspecting whether or not she shared anything at all with Mercedes.

“Sure was,” said Leonie, taking another sip of mulled wine. “Top notch.”

“But what about the ghosts!” cried Harriet.

“Ah, the ghosts,” said Mercedes. “Garreg Mach monastery was full of them. Though, now that I consider it, I’m sure it still is, even with the restorations. It’s an eon old, after all,” she said, barely glancing up from her work. “But perhaps the only time I’ve ever been frightened in the monastery was on a night not unlike this. Beautifully cold and crisp,” she said, “and dark.”

“Ooh,” said Harriet, settling in her seat.

“My dormitories were on the first level of the monastery, not far from yours, Leonie, do you remember?” Mercedes smiled.

“Of course,” said Leonie.

“Then you certainly remember how easy it was to sneak around the monastery at night. I was older than most of our classmates, really, but now and then making childish trouble was perfectly fine. Besides, would the professor really try to reprimand a young lady her elder?” Mercedes continued her handiwork. “On nights like this, I would often visit my dear friends when I couldn’t see them in the classroom. Prince Dimitri would ask for my help with sewing at times, and on that night, I was aiding him in letting down the hem on his pants. See, he was very tall,” she explained, needle delicately held in her hand.

“I hadn’t quite enjoyed walking alone in those days. But on that night, I was all by my lonesome self. It’s already frightening to walk through the monastery alone. It’s easy to get lost in the day hours, let alone the night hours! Even now, recalling those massive, sacred walls full of a thousand years of secrets-- it makes me shiver.” She pushed back a stray strand of hair. “I was walking to the staircase,” she said, “between the first and second floor dormitories. See, there’s a blind spot at the corner, where you can’t see up the stairs. When I turned around the blind spot, I could see a massive column of flames, bursting in front of me like the stairs were on fire. I was terrified,” said Mercedes. “But then I realized it wasn’t hot. I put my hand in the flames, and they felt cold. And as soon as I touched them, they vanished.”

“The next night,” she started, “I didn’t see the fires again. Are you familiar with the sensation of being watched?”

“Yes,” nodded Harriet, and Leonie nodded in patient agreement.

“I felt that way for the entire night, and as I walked down the stairs back to my room, I turned around, and there was a man, in very old fashioned priestly garments, and it looked like he was surrounded by a thick, dense mist. He only stared at me from the top of the landing. I barely slept a wink,” said Mercedes, shaking her head. “In the morning I visited the library. Surely two such visions was no coincidence!”

“Surely,” joked Leonie, and Mercedes smiled.

“Long ago, five hundred years before our time in the monastery, there had once stood another quarters not unlike ours,” she said. “One harsh winter, a few priests and priestesses had been trapped in one of the storage sheds for a week with no food and only snowmelt to drink, since it was stacked so high and packed so tightly. Everyone had forgotten that they were there, and one of the priests was driven to such frustrated ends that he must have lit the walls on fire. The entire building burnt to the ground, and everyone in it burnt to death.” Firelight flickered against Mercedes’s features. “I hope it wasn’t him, and I hope they all found peace with the Goddess. But there are ghosts in this world.”

Harriet shivered. “Thanks for that, Sister,” she muttered. “I’m going to bed, but if I can’t sleep it’s your fault.”

“Al and I are off, too,” agreed one of the men, and the older woman patted Mercedes’s shoulder.

“Good night,” she said sweetly. Mercedes smiled.

“Sleep well, and sweet dreams to everyone!”

Leonie wasn’t finished with her mulled wine, and swirled the bottom of her cup, watching Mercedes work. “Was that one real?”

“I’ll confess to fictionalizing that story,” said Mercedes. “Garreg Mach has many ghosts, but that one was an invention. I have always enjoyed a good ghost story, though.”

“I knew it!” said Leonie. “I felt like I woulda heard about that one over the campfires back in the day. You always had tons of ghost stories.”

“You certainly would have,” agreed Mercedes. “But I don’t usually tell ghost stories anymore. Tonight is anomalous.” She glanced up at Leonie.

“How so?” Leonie drained her mug.

“Normally I help put the children to sleep. Telling little ones barely old enough to read about spectres and spirits is unwise.”

“You sure?” Leonie tilted her head. “My dad was telling me monster stories when I was barely up to his knees. He wanted me to stay out of the woods, I guess. I don’t think it worked too well.”

“You weren’t eaten by monsters, were you?”

Leonie shrugged, looking down at the empty mug. “Monsters are monsters are monsters. You get eaten no matter what you name them, right?”

Mercedes’s mask of a smile lowered along with her guard, but she couldn’t bring herself to look back up at Leonie, staring down at her stilled hands.

“Sorry,” said Leonie. “Ugh, I never know when to dial it back. I shouldn’t have said anything.” She stood up, setting down the mug beside the others. “I’m going to bed.” She headed to the door.

Mercedes put her hand on Leonie’s forearm as she passed. “Can you stay?”

“Oh.” Leonie’s usually bristly attitude softened. “Is something wrong? Did I say something?”

“No,” said Mercedes. “I like your company. Do you really find it that difficult to believe such a thing?”

Leonie thought about it for a moment. Women liked her plenty, or at least, they did at night, behind taverns, on the beds of traveller’s inns, or when she bought them drinks. She didn’t have many friends, but she had a great many women who she had called sweethearts. It occurred to her now that such things were not equals, and could not be interchanged.

“Eh,” shrugged Leonie. “Maybe I don’t.” She thought for a moment, remembering their old days. She still called all of their old classmates her friend. But Mercedes, the memories around her seemed blurred still, muddled by distance and the mystique that surrounded her.

“I guess I’ve been meaning to ask you something. Right after everything with Nemesis, you said you were selfish.”

“Did I?” Mercedes considered that for a moment. “Yes, I suppose I did say that to you.”

“But why would you say that? It seems like everything you do, you do for the sake of other people. Seriously, you run an orphanage. You could be coasting on war accolades like soldiers half your caliber did, but you get out here and go out of your way to do things for others. Hell, Mercedes, you had nothing to gain from even fighting with us. You might be the least selfish of all of us!” Leonie only realized she’d remotely raised her voice after silence shrouded the room.

Mercedes looked up at her grimly, soft eyes unbroken altogether. “It’s the reasons for which I did things that remain selfish to me.”

“What does that even mean!” Leonie sighed in frustration.

“There are things I refrained from telling others.” Mercedes rubbed at her temple. “To explain the situation I was in during that time in my life is difficult. I was passed between hands and used as a chess piece to gain power by noble after noble, including my adoptive father. For my crest. For my bloodline. I used the war, to an extent, as a tool to reclaim my autonomy. That’s why I was selfish. And I’m still selfish. I wonder some night if I’m simply running the sanctuary to atone for the terrible ways others suffered by my hands. I’m not a saint.”

“Does it really matter if it’s selfish or not as long as you’re helping other people?” Leonie furrowed her eyebrows. “I mean, there’s still a lot you’ve done for people. Maybe why you feel like you did it, doesn’t really count.” And-- she didn’t quite buy that Mercedes’s motivations were selfish.

“It matters to me,” said Mercedes. “If I do something, I ought to be doing it for the right reasons.”

“Does the right reason exist?” Leonie squinted at her, trying to discern any emotion on her face. “I mean, really. I think wanting to help as many people as you can and become a free person is pretty respectable. Sometimes you gotta look out for yourself.”

“You’re… “ Mercedes sighed. “You remember everything. You can’t deceive me. The way you carry such a weight has changed you.”

“Oh, Goddess,” said Leonie. “Mercedes, you can’t possibly think you’re some cold blooded killer or something just because--”

“Please understand,” she said, setting down her embroidery. “Whether or not my guilt is founded or not doesn’t matter, Leonie. I answered your question very plainly.”

“I guess you did. How do I always end up in a fight,” she wondered aloud. Mercedes attempted a smile.

“Conviction,” said Mercedes. “Leonie, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” said Leonie. “I mean, I guess after that, it’s your turn.”

“What is it that you want?”

Leonie paused. She didn’t know anymore. That was the problem with being the Blade Breaker II. She had what she wanted, and something still felt...empty.

“Peace.”

“That’s uncharacteristic of you,” observed Mercedes. “Why, you’ve got the grit of a dozen mercenaries. If there was no trouble, what would you do?”

“I don’t mean like that,” said Leonie. “I mean, of course in the nebulous, whole world sense, peace would be nice. But I’ve just been worn down lately. The terrible thing about the job is that you’re always on the move. You never stay anywhere. It’s restless work. I want some peace for myself.”

“Oh,” said Mercedes. “Why, I never took you for the settling type.”

“Neither did I,” said Leonie. “But I guess my age is catching up with me.” She reached up and pushed back her downy orange bangs.

“You can’t be a day over thirty.”

“Thirty four.”

“Really?” Mercedes shook her head. “I suppose I’ve had a difficult time remembering that others are aging and growing older, too.”

“Right?” Leonie sighed. “Sometimes it all surprises me. It came on so fast.” That was a half truth; for a substantial part of her twenties she was mostly drunk, scurrying between jobs to keep herself from being idle. It wore a woman down and left little to remember.

“I understand,” agreed Mercedes. “Sometimes I can barely believe it’s only been eight years since I opened the sanctuary’s gates, but sometimes it feels like a lifetime. Memory and perception are not trustworthy things.” She yawned. “Especially on so little sleep.”

“You must be tired.” Leonie stood back up and offered out her arm. “I can walk you back.” Mercedes had never liked walking alone.

“Thank you. You’re more genteel than many a noble, simply on the merit of offering.” Mercedes stood and took her elbow, their shoulders brushing up against one another, warm in the winter night.

“Don’t go spreading that around,” said Leonie.

“I don’t understand,” said Mercedes as Leonie held open the door, “why you wouldn’t want me to tell people how kind you can be.” She paused and they continued the walk. “Perhaps I’ll figure it out one day.”

“Maybe,” agreed Leonie. “Don’t go running into any ghosts tonight. Really, you should start writing some of those stories down. I’m sure someone would want to read them.”

“I’ll think about it,” said Mercedes with a smile. “And don’t worry. There are no ghosts here.” She stopped outside her bedroom door, hesitant and thoughtful, before putting her arms around Leonie in an embrace.

She was taken off guard. Mercedes was warm, soft, she smelled like clean wool and vanilla, she had such a gentle sturdiness to her, that it completely surprised Leonie. She returned the embrace, of course, and it felt abiding, like a moment frozen in glass, to her. Cheek to cheek, shoulder to shoulder, arms around each other. Mercedes pulled back slightly with dignity and poise, and smiled.

“You’ve brought me great comfort. Even by simply being here.”

“How’s that?” Leonie pushed back a wisp of Mercedes’s hair that had drifted into her face behind her ear.

“You’ve reminded me that I am not alone." She brushed a thumb against Leonie's cheek as she backed out of the embrace and opened her door. "Sweet dreams, Leonie.”

Chapter Text

Mercedes was a morning person. Even if she was never a restful sleeper, she had much to attend to. She awoke at the very crack of dawn, and knelt for prayer. Prayers for the welfare of those in her care, prayers for the well being of her friends, prayers for forgiveness and guidance from the Goddess. She then dressed, her lilac night shift hung with care and replaced with the cream and black standard she typically wore. She buttoned up the pearl buttons, brushed her hair, and put in her earrings patiently, and opened her curtains. The sun was only just rising gold over the horizon. Tugging on her boots, which she left beside the door so as not to forget them, she stepped out and prepared for another day of taking care of her duties.

The children’s dormitories were in a separate wing of the building, and she peeked into the door, counting sleepy heads to make sure nobody wandered off in the night. All fourteen little heads were nestled on pillows on their bunks, and she quietly closed the door and set off to breakfast.

Porridge was affordable, and she was supplementing with eggs, dried fruit, and pinches of spice, and not just the children needed fed; the many guests also had empty stomachs. Starting the porridge came first, and one of the younger brothers was already awake, starting the water to boil.

“Good morning,” she said sweetly, walking to the pantry to retrieve the bag of dried oats and barley. “I hope you slept well.”

“I did, Sister von Martritz,” he said, hoisting the boiling pot down and grabbing the tin measuring cup, measuring out the dried ingredients. “Ma’am, may you please get the eggs boiling?”

“Of course,” said Mercedes, grabbing a pot and filling it from the pump in the kitchen, and setting the eggs from the hens into the pot-- they had two dozen on a good day. The porridge simmered, she opened the jars of dried fruit, and helped with the preparations of breakfast, laying it out in the dignified porcelain she’d tried to help the monastery afford. Little things would remind people what it was to be respected and loved.

“Brother Pavel,” she said, stirring the porridge as he peeled the boiled eggs, “I’m off to ring the morning bell. Thank you for your help this morning. I appreciate it dearly.”

“Not a problem, Sister,” he said, giving her a grateful smile.

Mercedes climbed the steps to the bell tower, which was not even as high as Garreg Mach’s shortest walls, and pulled the sturdy rope, the bell ringing loud and clear. It couldn’t be past the seventh hour, she thought, the sun still meager and low in the blue sky, shimmering off the mounds of snow. She thought about the wonder of the sunrise for a moment.

She thought of Dedue.

He was alive, she knew. She’d watched him leave Enbarr, limping out of Edelgard’s throne room proudly, sadly, listlessly. He would not have died so far from his home, or in such a way. She wanted to believe he was safely stolen away somewhere, with a great garden full of vegetables and flowers. She could see such a thing, maybe. She could pray for it.

Tiptoeing down the steps, she watched as two of the sisters went to wake the children, and she headed to help serve. A mother and her two children, a father bouncing a little girl, and a teenage girl with nowhere else to go were already in line, and she smiled as she stepped in behind the two people helping and did the same.

The children laughed in line, grateful and worn smiles touched faces, and at least one or two people had their first hot meal in days. It was the very least that Mercedes could offer them. She laughed with them in line at comments, spoke kindly when people thanked her, and helped the other two volunteers to her best ability.

Leonie stumbled in late, a little messy. Her orange hair was ducktailed at the back, her citrine eyes were bleary, and her pants and tunic were dishevelled. But Mercedes was happy to see her, and smiled as Leonie approached, dish out, for the dried fruit.

“Good morning, Leonie,” smiled Mercedes. “How was your night? My, you look tired.”

“A little,” said Leonie. “Long.” She stretched and slouched against the table. “You?”

“I had a quite normal night,” said Mercedes. “My morning has been rather ordinary as well, though I have a feeling it won’t remain so.” There was nobody in the line behind Leonie, and almost everyone was fed, the dining room abuzz with life.

“That’s a little ominous, Mercedes,” said Leonie, raising an eyebrow and blowing on a spoonful of porridge, still standing up.

“It’s simply a premonition,” she said, scooping herself a bowlful of porridge and sprinkling nutmeg over the top. “Perhaps you’re thinking too hard about it.”

“Maybe. But I know gut instinct isn’t normally wrong. What work have you got for me today, Sister?”

Mercedes rolled her eyes and smiled. “There’s no need to call me Sister. There’s any number of things you can do, really. Some of the timber needs replacement in the eaves, and there’s retouching on the painting to be done along the doorframes.”

“I’m not a great artist,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “I guess I’ll be giving the eaves a spin?”

“The timber is out in the storehouse. Eat, gain your strength,” fussed Mercedes, going to sit at one of the long tables.

“Alright, alright,” said Leonie, and Mercedes politely, delicately ate her porridge. It was sweeter than usual, she thought. Perhaps the nutmeg had brought a new taste to it, but she wondered if it was simply the delights of the present company. “So what are you doing today?” asked Leonie, elbow on the table.

“Me?” repeated Mercedes. “I have some bookkeeping and managerial duties to attend to, and a few people in need of my aid on this morning.”

“Sounds like a handful,” said Leonie. “Managerial duties. What does that entail?”

“Oh! Reports, letters, requests, organization, orders. Such things. They keep our gates open, after all.”

“Right,” said Leonie, who was too familiar with business letters for comfort. “Sounds miserable, if I’m being honest.”

“I suppose I wouldn’t call it a merry time,” admitted Mercedes, “but it must be done. Besides, the correspondence with other clergy is often at least diverting.”

“You know you don’t always have to be so accommodating, right?” Leonie tilted her head and took another bite of porridge.

“I beg your pardon?” Mercedes inspected her curiously, trying to maintain the chipper brightness she so prided herself on.

“I mean you don’t have to be so perky all the time. Don’t strain yourself. I don’t need to be convinced or taken care of or anything. If you wanna vent to me about how silly and stupid all the dumb priests are in Faerghus or whine about...I don’t know, something, I’m all ears.”

“What would give you the impression that I would think anything of that sort?” Mercedes was almost hurt, but had to confess that the idea of Leonie as her confidante was more fitting than she’d previously thought. She was honest, hot tempered, but Mercedes had long known of her softer side.

“I dunno.” Leonie shrugged, eyebrow cocked. “It just seems like you’re kinda lonely and don’t have anyone to talk to about that stuff.”

“Oh, my,” said Mercedes with a smile. “I hope I haven’t given you the wrong impression. I’m very happy with my position. I have nothing to fret about.” It was a bald lie to save face, and she regretted it immediately, but Mercedes had gotten good at lying.

“Well, if you ever change your mind, I’m here till I have to get back on the road.” She winked jokingly and scooped the last of her porridge into her mouth.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Mercedes, smoothing her skirt and dodging the conversation as elegantly as she always had. “Is Peachpit up to travelling yet again, or is she still cherishing her time off?”

“I’m giving Peachy a break,” said Leonie, leaning back slightly. “She’s getting up there, you know?”

“Peachpit and I both,” said Mercedes. “I do believe I found a gray hair the other day.”

“No joke?” Leonie squinted at her. “I mean, silver’s a good color for you, I bet.”

“No flattery is necessary,” said Mercedes with a warmth that rose to her face. “There’s nothing to fear about growing older.”

“Nope,” agreed Leonie. “Especially because my dad’s pushing seventy and his hair’s still carrot orange, the last time I saw him.”

“Why, isn’t that odd,” said Mercedes bemusedly. “You’re still in touch with your family?” Leonie was one of the few members of the old class that didn’t have a broken home or family, and the few times they’d passed through Sauin Village, her parents had brought them in for dinner and her younger siblings had bitten the party’s ankles. It had made Mercedes think of her own younger siblings, the bright violet eyes and fair hair and laughs and how she had never found any of them again but Emile-- not a one. And Emile was gone.

“Yeah, my littlest sister just got married, actually. I’m an aunt now, too. Unbelievable,” she said happily.

“Oh, how dear! I imagine you must be very proud. Have you been teaching them to shoot?”

“No,” said Leonie, “but my dad’s taken my oldest nephew out hunting. Says he’s just like me at that age, and I told him he better hope that’s not the case, or else there’s trouble heading his way.”

Mercedes laughed. “I suppose that I ought to write the archbishop to warn her, too!”

“Oh, come on! I grew up, didn’t I?” Leonie stretched her shoulders, and Mercedes scanned her face. “And that aside, he’s far less trouble than I was at his age, and far more spoiled. My brother says I’m too soft on him. Besides, Claude and Lorenz's little ones call me Auntie too.”

“So you’re one of those aunts,” said Mercedes. Her mother’s younger sister had been too soft on her and Emile too.

“Which aunts?” Leonie eyed her suspiciously.

“You buy them whatever they like when you can, never discipline them, and humor them far too often.” Mercedes leaned against her elbow, watching Leonie bristle.

“Is there a problem with that?”

“No,” said Mercedes. “I think it’s charming.” She stood and gently laid a hand on Leonie’s shoulder. “I have responsibilities to attend to.”

“Charming. Cool,” said Leonie, grabbing both of their dishes and standing, arms full. “I’ll see you later, Mercedes!”

“Oh, thank you,” she said, grateful for Leonie’s kindness. She would’ve taken it herself. “And Leonie, you can call me Mercie if you’d like.” She hadn’t heard Mercie in years. Was it Emile last? Perhaps the professor, or Annette? But something in her missed the familiarity.

She closed the door to her small suite quietly and sat at her desk, lighting the little oil lamp and pouring out ink into the well and dipping her pen. First came her weekly reports, filled with storehouse reports, chapel attendance, and visitors, combining the many separate sheets, scrawled by other clergy throughout the week, into one organized spread. Then came correspondence. Her first letter was to a very kind priestess in Fhirdiad who was in need of advising on healing the ill with the recent shortage of priests and monks; in fact, Mercedes herself had considered asking many of her own clergy at the sanctuary to go and provide aid, and had asked for volunteers a few days prior. The second was a letter to a young woman trying to reestablish an abbey in the former Adrestrian Empire, and she offered her humble advice. She was halfway through her third letter to the Archbishop herself about more personal matters and a question of advice in leadership, when one of the young brothers of the monastery threw open her door.

“Sister von Martritz,” he cried in a breathless moment. “Sister von Martritz, Janos is gone.” Janos was the little boy with the crest, whose mother had begged for shelter from her husband. The arrow had barely been pulled from the tree before he came knocking again, she thought in a fit of anger.

“Bring me my bow,” she said calmly, blowing out her lamp and standing. “How long has he been missing?”

“He was with Greta,” said the boy, no older than seventeen, gawky in his priest’s robes in a way that reminded her of a young boy with pine-colored hair she’d known once. “She let him go play with some of the other children out in the woods, and they said he went chasing a cat about half an hour ago.”

“I see.” Mercedes braced herself and put on her black wool overcoat and violet shawl, and her leather gloves. “Send everyone able to search.”

“Mostly everyone already is.” He handed her the Tathlum bow off of its rack, and she nodded gratefully as she fastened the quiver over her shoulder.

“Thank you, Miska,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Stay with Etta or Al. Don’t get separated.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll meet with all of you later.” She hugged him. “My prayers are with you all, and with Janos.” She opened the door and headed out into the chilly, windy afternoon air, out the gate, and into the woods. She could see the footprints of various parties, and heard distant calls. Mercedes tiptoed further into the eastern edges of the woods, where the undergrowth was thick.

“Janos?” she called. “Janos!”

A little calico cat strode alongside her, ducking in and out of the brush as she pleased, and Mercedes’s gaze caught footprints in the snow beneath the undergrowth as she watched the cat. Little ones, alone.

She followed.

The sun was nearly blocked by the thick evergreens, and the snow was ankle deep. If Mercedes had worn any other boots, she thought, she’d have slush in her stockings, and that sounded horribly unpleasant. She called for Janos again.

Shoving aside branches sticky with sap and laden with white snow, Mercedes followed the little footprints, boots, she thought, until they ended abruptly, with no explanation, deep in the woods. She sighed deeply and thought about what to do. She’d follow the deer trail, she decided. About a minute and a half along the trail, a loud yelp caught her attention. It was human, but not that of a two year old boy.

She bolted, reaching for her bow, to the source of the sound, which couldn’t be more than fifty feet away. Forcing her way past the branches and bristles, she dashed, and when she reached the clearing, Leonie was standing over the man from yesterday, desperately trying to shelter a two year old from the cold in her coat. The snow looked almost black, and Mercedes closed her eyes in quiet surprise.

“Oh, Goddess,” said Mercedes, dropping to her knees in front of the man. He was undeniably beyond her saving if he wasn’t already dead, and she prayed quickly, before standing back up, and looking over Leonie. “Is the baby alright?”

“He’s not hurt,” said Leonie, straining to balance him on her hip and keep the cloak over him all at once, “but he’s really cold. He didn’t have his coat or anything, and he doesn’t look very good.”

“Let’s bring him in,” said Mercedes, untucking her shawl and wrapping it around him. “Here, let me hold him.” Leonie passed Janos into Mercedes’s arms, and Leonie quickly concealed herself with the cloak. Mercedes thought she caught a glimpse of blood. “Leonie,” she said, eyes full of concern, “are you hurt?”

“Nothing major,” she shrugged, flinching lightly. Mercedes shook her head and took Leonie’s cloak, holding it up. It was a lot of blood, on her left side. She closed her eyes for a second. Oh, Leonie, she thought, what would she do with her?

“Then I’ll help you get back to the sanctuary safely,” she said, helping Leonie’s arm over her shoulder for support. “Come now.”

“Don’t worry,” said Leonie, only slightly straining to stay upright. “I’ve had worse.”

“I remember,” said Mercedes, glancing over at her as they found the path again. It couldn’t be more than a mile, she thought. And sure enough, within a few minutes, she could see the stone walls.

“Pavel! Harriet! Etta!” she called. “I found him!” A few of the helpers came rushing to Mercedes, and she passed Al the little boy. “Get a fire going and boiling water and some bandages. Pavel, Etta,” she said, “A mile along the eastern deer trail into the woods, there’s a clearing with a soul gone to the Goddess. Tend to him quietly.”

“Yes ma’am,” said Etta, scrambling to run along the path.

“Someone hold the door for me and prepare a cot in the infirmary.” Mercedes was worried. Leonie’s eyes were glassy, and her posture was now less stiff, reliant on Mercedes for support. She may have grown older, but she had barely grown smarter.

“Is she hurt?” asked Harriet.

“Yes,” said Mercedes, the warm air of the indoors flooding out as Harriet held the door. She pulled it closed behind her and helped Leonie along the hallway to the infirmary. “Badly.”

“Will she live?” asked Harriet, ever curious if not slightly insensitive.

“Almost certainly,” said Mercedes, laying her down on the empty cot. “Keep Janos near the fire, and get Greta to get him a change of clothes and his blankets. I have to take care of her.” She smoothed the orange hair off Leonie’s forehead.

“Mercedes,” said Leonie, voice woozy and faint, “you’re a little crazy.”

“Maybe,” agreed Mercedes. “Maybe.”

Chapter Text

“Mercedes!” called Leonie from on her horse, over the din of the bandits around her. They’d been sent to clear out a small village’s bandits in western Leicester, a short weekend trip of relatively low risk. “Take care of the three in the armor! I’ll get the axeman on the hill!”

Mercedes usually took up a position behind Leonie. Leonie was always at the very front; mounted, with her bow and lance, she was formidable. As the only primary healer, since Marianne had taken up a mount and only helped off of the battlefield, she needed a barricade between her and the commotion as often as she could have it. It wasn’t that Mercedes couldn’t burn ten men alive with the clap of her hands. It was that Mercedes needed to save her energy and efforts for those who needed her most, and the priority went to saving lives.

“Are you sure?” she called over her shoulder as she defended herself from a mage’s attack.

“Yeah,” yelled Leonie, dodging an arrow and firing in response, the solid thunk hitting the middle of the man’s chest. “We gotta clear out that side. Professor said so.” She turned and dashed, and Mercedes only caught her for a brief moment in her peripheral vision.

Mercedes hated it. She hated the sound of it, she hated the way fire felt when it left her hands, or worse, the way other people’s life felt entering hers. It made her sick and woozy, and all magic would eventually drain the user, but somehow, this was worse. This was like having her soul sapped out of her.

The last one slid from his horse, and she could feel a few bruises rising on her leg and shoulders, but was otherwise unscathed. She turned around-- where was Leonie? Everyone else was finishing up, where had she gone?

Peachpit stood at the top of the hill, stamping in place.

“Where is she, dear?” asked Mercedes, dashing to the horse and soothing her with a slow rub of her muzzle. She looked around frantically. Perhaps she was not personally close to Leonie, but this was her duty. She was to take care of them, or at least, she felt that way.

There.

Leonie was dragging herself with her arms and one leg, through the undergrowth of the woods, two vulneraries in hand, trying to scramble away from the battlefield.

“Leonie,” she said, kneeling down beside her as Leonie tried to pull away from her. “Please.” She reached out her hand. “May I?”

“I’m fine,” she said brusquely, crawling away from her. Mercedes looked at the axe wound on her leg. It was bleeding quite profusely, and Leonie opened one of the vulnerary bottles, downing the bitter contents.

“Vulneraries are useful,” she said calmly, inching closer, “but that won’t close the wound. It’ll only keep you on your feet for a few more minutes. You’re bleeding terribly.” She offered out her hand. “Please. Let me.”

“I’ll be fine.” She opened the other one, and Mercedes, whose bedside manner was too often mild, rather than firm, put a hand over the vulnerary.

“No. You need this healed properly.” Mercedes gazed at her firmly, and she saw Leonie’s resolve crumble under pressure and likely pain. “Sit still.”

“I could’ve handled this,” said Leonie, nose rankled in frustration.

“I’m sure you could have,” said Mercedes, reaching into her bag and pouring water over it to get a good look at the injury. It was deep, she thought to herself. This would take a few rounds and perhaps two or three days for her to heal even with magic. “But there’s no shame in help, either.”

“It’s easy for you to say,” she said, gritting her teeth as Mercedes cleaned it, though it was still bleeding.

“How so?” asked Mercedes, hovering her hands over the wound and silently praying as a dim green glow emanated from her palms.

“I mean, you’re you. Where’s the competition?” She gritted her teeth.

“I try not to measure myself against others,” admitted Mercedes. “It isn’t constructive.”

“See, and you can say that! You don’t have anyone people compare you to, or...or…” She gritted her teeth.

“I think I have an idea of who you mean,” said Mercedes, glancing in the direction of their teacher.

“I mean, look at her,” said Leonie. “I don’t think I’ve ever even seen her flinch. It’s not fair.”

Mercedes sighed, watching the wound slowly close under her touch, though there was only so much she could do now-- it was all she could do to stop the bleeding. “There was never any promise of things being fair.” She knew that better than most, etched into her over years and years of life.

“But,” Leonie said, trying to push herself upright before Mercedes was done. Mercedes nudged her with her elbow. “But she’s so good at everything. All I want is to be even half of that.”

“Are you certain of that?” Mercedes looked at her concernedly, glancing to the professor. A hundred feet away, she was fending off three mounted cavalry with swings of her sword; Lysithea crouched behind her blasting them to bits.

“Why wouldn’t I be sure? She has it all.”

“I don’t think that sounds pleasant.” Mercedes smoothed her hand over the fresh, new skin, which must’ve stung, because Leonie flinched. “To have talent like hers is its own, but it’s a blessing to manifest our differences. Imagine,” said Mercedes, “all her responsibilities. You wouldn’t want burdens like that.”

Leonie sighed and pulled her leg away. “I’ll have to fix these pants,” she grumbled. “Let’s get back to it.”

“Drink water,” urged Mercedes as Leonie stood up and hiked back to her horse with a rather pronounced limp. “And don’t get too far ahead of me.”

Mercedes awoke leaning against the side of the cot in the infirmary. Her shoulder was terribly stiff, she bemoaned. She’d fallen asleep after healing the wound on Leonie’s side, washing it clean and mending the internal damage. It was deeper than Leonie had let on. She hadn’t asked. The man had a sword, Mercedes could piece it together. She stood and stretched. It was nearly the middle of the night now by her estimate, and she looked at Leonie’s face.

When she was asleep, it was easier to see the fine lines of age and maturity, and easier to see the way the world had been unkind to her. Scars on her shoulders and arms danced like chalk up her skin, and Mercedes got her another blanket, tucking it around her. Blood loss was harsh, and Leonie was made of grit. She lifted the covers and checked the bandages to ensure she’d stopped the bleeding, and contented with the crisp linen, she tucked her back in. She didn’t have the divine spark in her to heal her again yet, so it was all she could do.

The fire in the infirmary hearth was burning out, and Mercedes added a few new logs, stirring it to catch the heat, and with a little help from her own hands, it was alive once more. She warmed her hands, cold and stiff in the frigid night chill, and as soon as they stopped trembling, she set up the bedwarmers, placing one under each of the occupied cots-- Greta and her son were sound asleep in one cot, since Greta wouldn’t let go of little Janos. The man with the wasting disease that Mercedes knew she could only ease shivered beside the fire, and she wished she had enough magic in her to spare him his discomfort. A farmboy who had broken his leg snored two beds down. And then, there was Leonie.

Mercedes sat in the seat by the fire, vigilant and quiet, sleeping intermittently through the night. She stirred to check the fire and make sure everyone was warm, she stirred to get herself a blanket. At one point, she fell into a deeper sleep, eyelids heavy after an eventful day and draining herself of all her energy.

She awoke to Pavel gently tapping her shoulder.

“Sister von Martritz,” he said quietly. “Sister, are you awake?”

“Oh, Pavel,” she said, sitting up a little straighter and blinking her eyes open in the light of midmorning. “I’m afraid I must have dozed off in the night.”

“It’s not good for you, Sister,” he tutted, handing her a mug of tea. “I thought you’d like your morning tea brought to you.”

“You’re ever so considerate,” she said, taking a long sip and looking around the room. Greta and the farmboy were gone. “They’re already awake and about, I take it?”

“Yes,” said Pavel, fussing over the fire. “The boy went home and Greta and Janos have been in the kitchen.”

“That’s good to hear,” she said, taking off the blanket and folding it over her arms, standing with tea still in her hand. “I suppose I ought to bathe and change, and prepare myself for the day properly.”

“Well, I can stay here in your stead, Sister. I don’t have anything else to do. Except maybe dishes.”

“Aren’t you kind,” she said gratefully, sipping the tea again as she hovered over the man, who was stirring. “If he wakes, bring him something to eat. Make sure the fire keeps going.” She set down the tea and opened the infirmary door.

“And the mercenary?”

“If she’s hungry,” said Mercedes calmly, “then bring her something soft and nourishing. I’m afraid I’m not quite finished with her yet.”

“That bad?” Pavel tilted his head and glanced at her. “Usually you can heal people in a few sessions with no worries.”

“It was. She’s always been difficult,” said Mercedes, looking over her shoulder. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Mercedes quietly proceeded to her room and grabbed her clean clothing for the day, a white blouse, black skirt, black coat, and lilac pinafore, and a towel. Mercedes knew how to be invisible and silent in the quiet of winter. It was time for the morning prayers; perhaps she wasn’t there, but everyone else was. The rest of the sanctuary would be desolate.

The bathroom was two large rooms, divided by primarily gender (though clergy could use whichever they chose, and often children would bathe with their parents), spring fed and tiled with ceramics from the Empire. It had been the most difficult of the refurbishment projects before the monastery opened, but Mercedes considered it to be one of the most necessary ones. To be clean was to reclaim dignity, and when so many travellers, refugees, and people in need had such a shortage of basic provision, she could give it back to them in little ways.

The women’s bath was mostly empty, the heated water steaming in the chilly air. She stripped and sunk into the chest high water, sitting on one of the submerged stone benches along the edge. She held out her hands. Not yet pruney, but freshly blistering-- magic had a way of leaving its marks, and Mercedes had long borne its callouses. She sunk them back into the water, patiently soaking and scrubbing her skin pink, then washing her hair.

The hot water was divine, she thought, and she didn’t want to leave. It melted away her stress and fatigue, dissolving like sugar in tea. After what she wished could’ve been a few hours, she dragged herself out of the water and dried herself and brushed her hair. She then dressed, and walked back to her room. Oh, how she wished she had slept in her bed-- but the situation wouldn’t abide little comforts like that. She pulled one of her own handmade quilts from its storage in the trunk at the foot of her bed--

“Is this how you hold it?” Dimitri, as gently as he could, held a needle over the scrap fabric she’d given him to practice on.

“It is-- ah, the index finger ought to be straight,” she chimed.

That checkered blue. She sniffed the quilt, the scent of cedar and human warmth and comfort close to her. It was living. It had memories. And so did she.

What was it that Leonie had brought with her? Was it hard memories she had tried to forget? Was it the spark in her that seemed to follow her steps? Was it that Mercedes was envious of her freedom, Goddess forbid? Or was she just-- was she just that lonely? It was true that it had been a long time since she had experienced love at anything but a distance. She was loved and admired by her fellow clergy of the monastery, but it was a distant love, a reverent love. It was a lonely love.

Leonie was warm. Honest, humble, fiery-spirited, hardworking, and ever so familiar. She was a comfort, even if with her, she brought ache. Perhaps it was that someone else knew the burdens Mercedes’s hands carried. The pain she had caused, the lives she had cut short, the sins she had committed that made her wonder if she was even capable of mercy. Leonie knew these things. And yet, she had welcomed her like an old friend. She had laughed with her, protected her, shared a few brief quiet moments with her over the last two days. It was flames licking at cold hands, warm water against clean skin, old quilts.

But Leonie would need to leave her. Mercedes had resigned to this the moment she’d arrived. No matter how much light she brought to Mercedes’s life, she couldn’t stay forever. Surely she had work waiting on her, and certainly she had places to be, the burden of violence to carry-- Leonie, she thought, carried a burden nobody else would properly. Mercenaries were necessary in times as unstable as these. To clean up the messes of those too lofty to mind them was, in a way, noble, but she knew it left pain, and that Leonie had, for a long time, been shedding others’ blood. It was unforgiving and unrelenting. Mercedes knew. It was like bailing out a lake with a bucket. She did the same rough, painful work in reverse.

Mercedes had been staring out the window for a few minutes and snapped herself back to the waking world. She held the blanket close and walked back to the infirmary. The morning services were only now releasing, and she slipped into the door just as the majority of the crowd approached, dodging any questions about her absence.

“Thank you, Pavel,” Mercedes said, closing the door behind her quietly. “You’re ever so reliable.”

“Sister,” he said, standing, “your mercenary friend is awake.” Mercedes turned around and faced Leonie’s caught and breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

“Good morning,” Mercedes said with a smile that wasn’t an act or mask, then sat at the foot of the bed.

“Morning,” croaked Leonie. “I’m cold.”

“Oh!” Mercedes said, standing and unfolding the quilt. “Here.”

Chapter Text

“Sorry,” said Leonie, leaning back against the pillow. “You know, I didn’t plan on getting all sliced and diced.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” said Mercedes, pulling up the chair. “But I’m grateful to you for saving the little boy.”

“Anyone else would’ve done the same thing.” Leonie shrugged and winced. “How much longer till that’s all clear?”

“If you were to heal naturally, perhaps a few weeks,” said Mercedes, stretching her hands and inspecting the blisters for a moment. “But with my aid, aside from the blood loss, you should be well by the end of the day.”

“Right.” Leonie pushed herself up on her elbows. “Then let’s get it taken care of.”

Mercedes didn’t speak as she set herself to mending Leonie’s wound. Her hands burned a little, the tingle of magic, the vivid green glow, the low hum that resonated through her body. She was ever so familiar with it. She also could feel the slow mend, in a way indescribable to her. The way the difference between a healthy and ill flower could be felt, the way the different winds of spring and autumn could be felt. After a few moments of patient help, she was nearly finished. She lowered her hands at last, and Leonie pulled down her shirt-- the same one now crusted with blood from the day before. Mercedes hadn’t had time to change her or find her new clothes.

“I suppose you’re in quite the hurry to your next destination,” said Mercedes quietly. “If you have no objection to it, we can take care of your clothes and such things before you leave. And, be mindful of yourself. Drink plenty of water, I’ll pack you something nourishing but take care.” She stood up briskly and got Leonie a cup of water from the pitcher.

Leonie was quiet, and sipped the water. “I’m in a hurry to get out of here, but if I’m being honest, I don’t have a next destination.”

“Oh,” said Mercedes. She stood, hovering uncomfortably by Leonie’s side. “Leicester is warmer, isn’t it?”

“It is,” said Leonie. “On the other side of the mountains, there was only a few inches of snow, really. But that isn’t it.”

“Would it be uncouth to ask?” Mercedes glanced down at her with tired eyes.

“Nah,” said Leonie, leaning forward. “I’ve brought you too much trouble. Can’t stick around somewhere when disaster follows you like this, you know?”

“What?” Mercedes’s jaw nearly dropped. “Leonie, you’ve been absolutely no trouble. Where on earth did you get to thinking that?”

“The dead man in the forest.” Leonie stood up and peeled off her shirt and pants, now in only bandages, stockings, and knickers. “I’ll wash my own things.”

“You’ll freeze to death,” Mercedes reprimanded her. “Leonie, please sit back down. You can borrow some of my things, loose though they may be.”

“I can handle this myself.” Leonie grabbed her coat off the hook, standing in her undergarments and jacket. Was she truly this stubborn, thought Mercedes exasperatedly.

“Let me.” Mercedes picked up the clothes. “Leonie, please.”

“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me!” she snapped.

Mercedes stood there in silence, completely placid in expression but reeling internally, processing the response. Not for a moment had she pitied Leonie. Not for a moment. She had felt a sense of duty, certainly; the duty and obligation of any healer to take care of others. She had felt curiosity, the desire to rekindle a friendship, the nostalgic warmth of years gone by, even admiration in a sense, and sorrow. But never had she felt sorry for her.

“Why would I feel sorry for you?” said Mercedes, low and even.

“Because it’s always been, look at Leonie, she’s always working so hard, and what’s she got to show for it? Look at Leonie, she’ll never stack up to anyone and she’s out here cleaning up our messes anyways. Look at Leonie, she got hurt killing someone for free, Goddess help me. Look at Leonie, she’s still alone all these years later. It’s the way it’s always been. I’m cleaning up other people’s messes. Well, I don’t need you to feel bad for me.” Her cheeks were rising red, her voice barely raised but still fiery and ignited.

“Do you sincerely feel that way?” Mercedes bit her tongue, restraining any comment she had half a mind to say. No verbal lashing could really match the way she’d talked about herself.

“Well, I know everyone else does,” she said with a sneer. “You don’t have to say it.”

“Leonie,” said Mercedes, firmly holding her wrist, “you’re in pain and you’re tired. Lay back down.”

“I don’t have time for that.” Leonie tugged her arm away and grabbed her things, and Mercedes followed in confused pursuit. Ten minutes ago, Leonie had been drowsy and Mercedes had been relieved, happy even to see her awake. But she was now, confoundingly, upset. She had always been so sensitive about other people’s help-- but Mercedes had never seen her lash out like this at anyone but the professor.

“Leonie, I don’t pity you,” said Mercedes, keeping her voice smooth and even.

“Everyone else does.” Her voice was terse, barely constrained in its quiet. “It’s...it’s about the Crests, and Jeralt, and--”

“Don’t.” Mercedes could feel her hands shaking. “Don’t you dare think you’d be better off if you had a Crest somehow.”

“Can you really say I wouldn’t?”

“Do you know the hell I’ve endured?” Mercedes’s eyes flashed. “Have you ever watched a grown man inspect you when you’re barely older than a child? Do you know what my mother-- what my brother and I endured for this blessing? My own stepfather nearly attempted to...to…” Tears started to well in her eyes. “Leonie, this isn’t a tool or a blessing or a trick. Even before I knew the truth of crests’ origins, my crest had done nothing but cause me pain. I wouldn’t wish this curse on you.”

“I…” Leonie sighed. “I didn’t think. I’m sorry.”

Mercedes frowned. The hurt was done; she didn’t know what else she could say.

“I should go. I only really ruin things.” Leonie shook her head. “I should’ve known better.”

“Don’t say such things,” said Mercedes, softening.

“No, I’m sorry.” Leonie rubbed at her neck. “I shouldn’t stay.”

“Please. Let yourself heal. At least wait to recover for a few days.”

“After all this, it wouldn’t feel right.” Leonie grabbed a basin off the storage shelf, and dropped it-- it must have been too heavy for her so soon. Mercedes picked it up and set to filling it with water from the pump.

“I’ll allow you to use your own judgement.” But in good conscience, were it not for Leonie’s objections, Mercedes would have her stay.

“I shouldn’t have killed him.” Leonie sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. Mercedes stayed silent, letting the question hang above the both of them unspoken. “It’s not the kind of thing that should’ve been brought to a place like this. I could have let him go. I mean,” she swallowed, “it wouldn’t have been hard to shoot his arm and take the kid and go. Or...or something. I didn’t have to kill him. But it just came instinctively. I shouldn’t stay after that.”

“You…” Mercedes paused. “Do you think I’ve never killed anyone, Leonie?” She stared at her pensively.

“That’s not what I...I know you always hated it.” Leonie sighed. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” Mercedes bit her tongue hard.

“I don’t deserve to stay.” Leonie stood back up, restless. She headed to the door, and Mercedes didn’t move to stop her, setting down the basin the second it was full. She set in the clothes to soak, and followed Leonie down the corridor.

So stubborn. So much like many of the people she had once cared about, that it blurred together. Was it Ingrid who had once insisted the scars added character, or was it Felix? Oh, she didn’t remember anymore.

Leonie stopped and leaned against the cold stone wall of the corridor, and Mercedes stood beside her silently, watching her catch her breath.

“Why have you been so nice to me, anyways?” Leonie glanced over at her. “We weren’t even close back then.”

“It’s the right thing to do,” said Mercedes calmly. Because, she thought, it was.

“Do you even know the kind of woman I am?” Leonie looked so downtrodden, thought Mercedes. She’d seen it in her before, of course. But the sense of defeat was so palpable in this moment of vulnerability, when she was hunched against the wall in her battered jacket that seemed too large, and surely, thought Mercedes, she was in pain. “You wouldn’t think that it was right if you knew.”

“Then tell me.” Mercedes was quiet, steady.

“I’m a womanizing, gambling mercenary who drinks away half my profits and kills for money. It’s nothing to be proud of. It’s such ugly work. I don’t know...I don’t know how I can keep living like this.”

“You don’t have to.” Mercedes tilted her head. “You could stay. Defend the sanctuary, fix our roof, teach archery--”

“Mercie, I can’t accept something like that. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Why not? It isn’t right for you to torture yourself like this.” And she knew torture, she knew what this was. This was Leonie, knowingly leaving herself to ache. And she called her Mercie. “I would like it if you would at least stay until you were well.”

“Peachpit’s getting restless. As soon as all my clothes are clean, I’m going to move on.”

“Tonight?” Mercedes could almost cry, she thought.

“Yeah,” said Leonie. “Tonight.” She heaved a sigh and pushed herself upright. “I’ll get my things together and get Peachie ready to go.”

“Then I’ll have your clothes ready to go soon.” Mercedes sighed and stood straight, the dignified countenance almost painful to bear. “I wouldn’t want you to go out in dirty things. Come back to the infirmary after you’ve collected your bags and supplies, and I’ll give you a few last heals. And,” she said, “don’t forget that the kitchen can give you a little food to travel with. I don’t want you starving out there, after all.” She was returning to the maternal, protective mode that hse’d borne for so long-- but now, it almost felt like a mask that Leonie had peeked beneath to her.

“Thanks,” said Leonie, not even glancing back as she walked away-- though Mercedes heard her voice crack.

Mercedes walked back into the infirmary and folded up the quilt. “Pavel, I’m so sorry you had to see that,” she said, suddenly realizing he had been sitting in the corner reading the entire time before Leonie had walked out.

“I wasn’t even listening, Sister,” he lied, and Mercedes could tell, but she didn’t let it bother her. “I added washpowder to the basin. It should be ready to dry by the fire in a few minutes.” He looked up from his book. “Are you angry?”

Mercedes pondered the question, as if trying to remember what it felt like to be angry. “No,” she said slowly. “No, but I suppose I’m hurt. Perhaps I’ll go get my embroidery and make another pot of tea, to think in peace for a little while.”

“I’ve got it,” said Pavel, standing up. “I was going to get more logs anyways. Your other patient is asleep, it would be best to wake him and heal him now so he can be awake to watch the birds in the afternoon.”

If Mercedes had to choose a replacement for herself, it always would have been Pavel. He was not as powerful with healing magic as she was, and was only just learning the very fundamentals of it, but he was devoutly faithful. More importantly, she thought as he left, Pavel was softhearted and attentive. He knew more about most patients than anyone else. He knew their likes and their peculiarities, he was an attentive listener, and he was always so gentle. He reminded her of herself when she was his age-- he was only twenty one and ever so kind.

She was thinking about what it had been like to be that age, once, before her time at Garreg Mach, even-- to be naive like that, as she stirred the older man awake, sweetly smiling and absently carrying on a conversation as she helped him drink water slowly. She would have to make sure he had some broth and wholesome bread later, but for now, water was enough, and she laughed as he talked about how his two sons used to make trouble like her. She remembered he’d mentioned that they died in the war. She remembered that she didn’t want to think about whose hands might’ve done that.

There was something eating him, buried deep in his stomach, and she healed it each morning and night to ease the pain of the damage it did to the rest of his body. Mercedes couldn’t heal it. But every day that she could wake him up and give him the energy to watch the birds and tell stories and walk around the courtyard was a gift, and Mercedes would accept it.

Pavel returned with tea and her sewing basket, and she thanked him, and moved Leonie’s clothes to the rack in front of the fireplace. It was just the Goddess, she thought to herself patiently, testing her patience and resolve. If she could endure this, then she was going to become stronger. She could accept that.

Her current embroidery project was a bouquet of summer wildflowers she remembered from the monastery. Chamomile, cornflower, gentian, poppy, heather. She was making it into a sampler, and would likely give it away-- but lovely things were made to share.

She could not hold onto the glorious and beloved forever. Her sewing was meant for other people. She made breakfast for other people. Her magic was to heal those in need. And Leonie, she realized, was not to be kept. She was meant to become part of the greater world, to bring sunlight and the swift arrows of deserved mercy to others. She busily worked at the fine stitching, and barely noticed Leonie’s return.

“Are they dry?” asked Leonie in a soft voice, picking up her shirt and deciding for herself as she pulled it over her head.

“I suppose so,” said Mercedes. “The sweater looks-- ah,” she said as Leonie picked up the heavyweight wool and tugged it on, then the trousers and socks. “Is everything gathered?”

“Yep, and Peachie’s out front.”

“Can you pull your shirt back up? Just so I can heal you one last time. I fear that you may reopen it if I don’t.” Leonie patiently lifted up the side of her shirt as she stood, and Mercedes raised her hands to her skin, quietly trying not to look too closely at the scars and freckles and the well-used muscle under her skin and trying not to think about what she’d never known and never asked about until this morning and-- was this what it was to be unfulfilled?

“Thank you for everything.” Leonie pulled her shirt back down. “I mean it. I’m...I’m sorry if I said anything this morning that hurt you. My temper gets the best of me sometimes.”

“I know,” said Mercedes. “I can forgive. And I know how hard this must be.” They walked through the corridor, Leonie’s single bag and two bows over her shoulder as Peachpit waited by the gate.

“No,” said Leonie. “I really enjoyed my time here. You’re right. We should have been friends.” There was something terse, longing in her tone, thought Mercedes, the same way she’d once talked of someone else.

“We can be friends,” said Mercedes. “There’s a long future ahead of us. You can write me letters any time, or visit whenever you can. This is no goodbye, forever. This is farewell until I can see you again.” She clasped a hand over hers. “You will always be welcome. Though maybe next time, I hope the circumstances are a little kinder to you. Getting so scratched up in a week is not what I had planned.”

“Then farewell,” said Leonie, hugging her tightly. Mercedes returned the embrace, arms around Leonie. She didn’t want her to go. She had reminded her what it was like to have company and a friend, what it was to not be alone.

“Before you go, I have a favor for you.” Mercedes reached into the neck of her dress, where she kept the handkerchief tucked against her stays.

“Woah, hey, you don’t have to--”

“Oh!” laughed Mercedes, handing her the handkerchief. “Nothing of that nature. This is a favor to remember me by.” She handed it to her, the pale violet linen embroidered in the corner, delicate handmade lace along the edge. “The flower is a gardenia. It’s for good luck.”

“Then I hope it works,” said Leonie, folding it carefully and putting it in her pocket. “Thank you. I’ll remember you. I’ll see you again,” said Leonie, mounting Peachpit with a little difficulty and looking down at Mercedes. “I promise.

“I will wait patiently,” said Mercedes. And with that, Leonie rode away, leaving confused pain, sorrow, and something like longing, to stir in Mercedes’s heart. What she would give to never be tormented like this again.

Chapter Text

“The Goddess works in mysterious ways, Sister,” said Pavel as they ate dinner together. Mercedes had been laughing and smiling throughout the meal, but she felt off kilter, like the laughs were not her own and the joy was not her own. It was a mask. Emile.

“I know,” said Mercedes, lowering her voice below the din of the table to converse with him. “And there is little to be done about it. I only worry for her well being.”

“You’re the best healer I know, though,” said Pavel, tilting his head.

“I don’t mean in that way,” said Mercedes. “I just worry if the kind of life she’s living is good for her. It’s a hard thing to be a friend sometimes. It often seems that the people you care most about run headfirst into situations that only leave them with pain.”

“Sister,” said Pavel, “how do you think I feel right now? You’re hurting.”

Mercedes looked at him longways, tucking a silvery strand behind her ears. “You’re too much like me for your own good. I do things,” she sighed, “because I care.”

“I can tell,” said Pavel. “And sometimes, people do things that hurt, because they think it’s the right thing. It’s how they know how to care for others.”

“I’m aware,” said Mercedes. “And that’s why it hurts.”

“Here,” said Pavel. “Let’s go get dessert. It’ll cheer you up. The most we can do now for her is pray that the Goddess protects her.” She smiled. He knew how to make her feel better.

That night she didn’t sleep well, even wrapped in the familiar quilt, with tea and reading that would normally provide enough of a balm for her spirit to ease her into comfortable dreams. When she did nod off, it was fuzzy, blurred, dark dreams that left her to ache. The next morning was spent teaching lessons to the young wards of the sanctuary. Mercedes was not a natural born teacher, but she had learned the skill long ago, and now was teaching them parables and stories and how to read and write. The evening was spent healing, always healing, it was her duty. She was the glue holding cracked vases together, the paste in paper mache. She did not linger that night on social formalities, and rather, went right to sleep.

Two days, then a week passed with Mercedes maintaining her duties. She was good at it. To be the keeper of the sanctuary, one had to take on the ten thousand managerial tasks that came along with it, and Mercedes had so easily constructed herself a routine that it was instinctive to slip into. The haze of winter was only getting colder, she thought, and they would soon enter the deepest part of the cold.

After her weekly evening services held in the chapel, the second since Leonie had left, Mercedes noticed how heavily the snow was coming down.

“Etta,” she said quietly as they left the chapel, “would you check the siphon?” The siphon would raise or lower depending on the weather, a primitive tool that she’d seen at Garreg Mach and had asked a local glassmaker to help replicate to predict coming storms.

“Sure,” said Etta, bounding off to the courtyard where it was kept. She returned. “It’s high. What does that mean?”

“There’s a snowstorm coming,” said Mercedes. “And it looks like it might be rather severe. Warn everyone to keep their fireplaces lit, and make sure everyone keeps a few pails of clean water thawed to drink in case the well freezes. Ring the village bells too, I want everyone to be safe. I ought to stay in the infirmary. I’ll be getting my things.”

“Yes, Sister,” said Etta, running off to carry the message. Mercedes turned and made quickly for her room, and stacked a heap of blankets, two spare coats and scarves, and an extra pair of stockings and socks into her arms, heading post haste to the infirmary.

The blankets went over her patients-- the familiar old man who she cherished so well, and one younger woman who had just had a baby, and weakened by such an ordeal, had begun to cough blood a few weeks later. She tucked blankets around them to keep them warm, and pumped a large basin full of clean water, putting it beside the fireplace, then triple checked their supply of fuel-- they ought to be set for three days. She closed the shutters outside of the windows, then checked the windows again, and finally, Mercedes rested in the armchair by the fire, with no blanket of her own but her old coat from--

“Felix!” laughed Annette as she threw the snowball at her. “Play fair!”

“I am playing fair,” said Felix, deadpan as he packed the snow as tightly as he could and beaned it at Annette, and it shattered on impact at her shoulder. Annette laughed and ducked.

“Mercie, help me! He’s cheating!”

The butter yellow seams where she’d mended it all those times. She held it close as she waited for Pavel-- he always came here. Where was he? She prodded at the fire, then began mentally composing a new ghost story-- though she remembered the one with all the snow she’d fictionalized to put on a show only weeks before. Oh, she thought, such a melodrama. It needed revision. She was getting drowsy, she thought, warm under her two coats by the fire, even in the increasingly chilly air, but she would stay awake and tend to her patients.

Mercedes moved to heal once more when the woman started coughing again. She soothed her first, smoothing her hair and rubbing her back, before she set to the trouble in her lungs again. It was simple pneumonia, by the sound of it, and the woman simply needed extra strength to fend it off. She filled one of the bedwarmer pans and set it down beneath the bed.

Where was Pavel? She patiently watched the fire in thought. When he was here, she’d tell him stories, share memories and the wisdom of someone his elder. She could be open with him, to tell him her lessons over long years, and Pavel would listen with a critical ear. He was like, perhaps, her brothers would’ve been if they had gotten to grow up.

“Sister,” said Pavel, ducking his head into the door, “there’s someone outside asking for you.” There was a gleam in his eyes, but Mercedes was not going to play the optimist. She stood and wrapped the coat around her shoulders, and tucked another scarf around her neck.

“In these conditions, I find that shocking,” she said, walking with Pavel. “Besides, I haven’t expected any company in a long time.”

“Oh?” Pavel smiled. “Well, I hope you like surprises.”

She frowned at him with considerate patience, but tucked her hands into her pockets as they opened the heavy oak carved doors to the outside. Snow was beginning to heap into thick cakes, and fat flakes obscured anything more than twenty feet ahead of them. This was a dangerous storm, thought Mercedes. Anyone caught in it would be in danger.

She couldn’t hear the voices over the gales of wind, stinging and whipping against her exposed cheeks, but she could see a lantern and the figure of a rider at the gates, as well as the gatekeeper for such a blustery night.

“I’m so sorry miss,” said the gatekeeper, one of the older men, “but what with all the townspeople here, we don’t have a spare bed for you. Is that alright?” He was practically shouting over the wind, and Mercedes laid a hand on his shoulder, standing straight as she met morning-blue eyes with orange, looking the rider in the eyes.

“She always has a place to stay here,” said Mercedes. “Go inside, Pavel, and you too, Lyd.” She turned back to Leonie, who looked at her in saddened surprise. “You must have plenty of courage to come back here.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Leonie, throwing a leg off over Peachpit and standing knee deep in the snow. “I’m so, so, sorry. I was halfway to Fhirdiad and something just came over me. That…that I didn’t want to live like that anymore. And then I thought about what you said to me all those years ago, and I--” She sighed, her breath freezing in midair. “I turned around.”

“What did I say to you?” asked Mercedes, curious as to what would’ve affected her so much.

“That the only thing binding me to my fate is myself. All these years, all this time… I don’t know, I might be going crazy.” Wind lashed Leonie’s short, fiery orange hair, and she swayed with it slightly.

Mercedes didn’t remember saying that to Leonie, but she remembered thinking it, she remembered it in her prayers. She was what bound her to her own fate, nothing else-- had she shared that with Leonie once? “It’s alright if you are. I can give you somewhere to stay.”

“Someone like me?” Leonie sniffed, and Mercedes was sure that she would cry if the tears wouldn’t freeze down her cheeks.

“Give me your hand,” said Mercedes, and Leonie held it out for her.

Mercedes gingerly traced the tiny scars and lines with her own, freezing and trembling in the cold, but both of them calloused; Leonie’s from use and Mercedes from the divine she tapped into. A fingertip dragged along the pit in the center of her palm, the green veins visible in the translucence of joints and bends. They were hers.

“Ah,” said Mercedes. “Just as I thought.”

“What?” Leonie’s breath shuddered in the chill.

“They’re like mine.” Mercedes slowly intertwined her fingers with Leonie’s and brought Leonie’s hand to her lips, lightly kissing it. “Plenty of blood and sorrow, I see, but nothing that can’t be remedied or forgiven.”

Leonie threw her arms around her, their coats overlapping in a huddle in the snowy night, and the tight embrace was almost warm. “I’m sorry I’ve been so selfish,” she said, cheek to cheek. “I’m here to stay. I...I want to stay.”

“I know,” said Mercedes, holding her tightly. “Let’s get you and Peachpit out of this cold. You can sleep in my quarters until there’s an empty bed for you.” She stroked the back of her hair, the flames licking her fingertips, and she felt so, so warm for the first time. “You can stay for as long as you’d like.”

“Thank you,” said Leonie. Mercedes held her tighter as Leonie sobbed into her shoulder, the snow swirling around them.

"Always," said Mercedes. Goddess, she thought, if this was what it was like to have a prayer answered, then she would be forever faithful.

Chapter Text

Garland Moon, Imperial Year 1197

The rectory of the Caveni sanctuary was new. It was less than a quarter mile from the sanctuary gates, so close that a resident could smell bread baking in the sanctuary ovens, and small and humble though it was, it seemed, even from a distance, to be built to be a home. A garden was just blossoming for the coming summer out front, tomatoes and squash and melons and rosemary and dill and vivid flowers in oranges and whites, and the crisp white paint of the new house was only just weathering its first season.

Midmorning sunlight poured out over the bedquilt through the glass panes and curtains, and Leonie’s eyes blinked open. Bare skin against crisp sheets, and an arm around her still-sleeping fiancee, she yawned and tucked her jaw against Mercedes’s soft, round shoulder, hoping for a few more minutes to spend like this.

Mercedes sighed softly in her dream, and Leonie smiled, tempted to kiss her cheek if she didn’t think it would wake her. She rested an arm above the quilt. Mercedes always slept deeply the nights after their intimacy, and Leonie always found it sweet. She kissed the side of her neck and slowly scooted out of bed, trying her best not to disturb Mercedes.

Leonie slipped her linen dressing robe over her shoulders and tied it. It wasn’t cold today, she thought, and she would enjoy that while it lasted. Bare feet on wood, she walked to the stove. The rectory was one room, and Leonie had set up a curtain to divide their bed from the rest of the house, but mornings like this, she was grateful for the coziness of it. She started two eggs to boil on the still-burning woodstove, and opened the breadbox to warm some of the bread from the day before for them. There was fresh strawberry jam, too, she thought with a thrill of excitement. She’d helped can it last week. Last came the tea, in Mercedes’s favorite cup, white porcelain with amber colored flowers.

Mercedes stirred awake as Leonie poured tea, sitting up on her elbows, the blanket modestly concealing her.

“Morning, Mercie,” said Leonie, carrying the tray and setting it down on the bedside table, then kissing Mercedes’s forehead. She walked back to get her own breakfast and sat down cross legged at the foot of the bed.

“Good morning,” said Mercedes, yawning and sitting upright properly, a little smile on her face. “Thank you for making breakfast. The strawberries?” She took a bite of her toast, and chewed pensively.

“The strawberries,” agreed Leonie. “Are you excited about today?”

“I am,” said Mercedes with a broad beam. “When should they be here?”

“Knowing my family?” Leonie tilted her head. “Probably around noon.”

“Oh my,” said Mercedes. “What time is it now?”

“Just past nine,” said Leonie. “I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“Dear,” she said, leaning forward and sipping her tea, “we’ll have to hurry to clean up.”

“Don’t worry,” said Leonie, “I promise, my parents will like you just as you are.”

“I mean the house,” said Mercedes with a little laugh.

“Oh!” Leonie looked around. “Yeah, I’ll get to work on it after I finish my toast. The house,” she muttered to herself. “Duh.” Mercedes smiled.

“It’s still early, you’ve got plenty of time to get yourself collected. How many of your siblings are coming?”

“All of them!” Leonie beamed. “I mean, I’m pretty sure they thought I’d be a spinster forever.”

“So this is a real affair for them. And what a journey,” said Mercedes, finishing the last bite of her toast. “Thank you for making breakfast, dear. I’ll handle the dishes.”

“Long ways,” agreed Leonie, standing up and stretching after she finished scraping the runny egg off of her plate with her pinky. “Ooh, I’ll get dressed and shake out all the rugs.” She hung the robe back up and fished through their shared trunk for something good to clean in, and settled on her old, many-times mended pants and old shirt. She tossed them on, tucking the shirt loosely into the pants, and scooped the rugs off of the floor to take out to the line, barefoot in the green grass. Mercedes stood and opened the windows, letting in fresh, clean air, and so that they could continue their conversation while both of them worked.

“Are you excited to see all our old friends?” asked Mercedes evenly as she set the washtub in front of the pump, holding her robe closed with one arm.

“You really have to ask?” Leonie reached for the clothesline pins and hung up the first rug, and searched for the switch she used to beat them. “Of course! Can you imagine the looks on their faces when they got the invitations?” Mercedes laughed.

“Well, I can imagine the professor’s.” Mercedes stood upright and faced her with a deadpan, wide-eyed expression. Leonie snort laughed.

“Just like her,” she said. “I’m glad she’s coming, though. I only wish Jeralt could be here too.”

“I’m sure he’d be here if he could be,” said Mercedes. “My mother is going to be here, you know. You’ll have to be on your best behavior.”

“Oh, come on,” said Leonie, “I know how to act around nobles.” She smiled sardonically and began to smack the rug with the switch. Mercedes rolled her eyes and carried the basin inside.

“It isn’t about your behavior, and I will say, you have improved some,” said Mercedes with a twinkling smile. “I’m simply warning you. She’s a very kind woman, but very proper. Why, I even hesitate to put her up at the sanctuary and not simply have her ride to the estate five miles east.”

“Wow,” said Leonie with a big smile, “do you think she’ll like me? Or, am I too rough around the edges for her eldest daughter?”

“You’re just right,” said Mercedes, adding soap to the basin and leaning out the window. “What are your sibling’s names again? I’m too forgetful for this.”

“Morgan’s the second oldest, he’s got the brown eyes and the braid, Nona is the middle girl, and Olive is the one with the long, long hair and three kids. Don’t worry about my nieces and nephews,” she said.

“That’s quite a bit to remember,” said Mercedes, hoping that their many conversations about family might spark some memories when the time came.

“It’s alright! They’ll grow on you,” said Leonie. “Do you think Pavel is losing his mind trying to get the sanctuary ready?”

“I explicitly instructed him that the spring flowers were decoration enough,” said Mercedes. “So he certainly is.”

“Oh, boy. Do you want me to go sit him down after I’m finished wrangling the demonic beasts out of the carpets?”

“I’m afraid it won’t do any good,” said Mercedes. “But thank you for trying. Do you think Claude and Lorenz will be arriving by wyvern?”

“Oh, I hope not,” said Leonie. “Show-offs.”

That was when she saw two figures she only barely recognized after all these years walking down the path towards the rectory-- but she knew them well enough to stop them from knocking on the door to keep the surprise for Mercedes.

“Shh!” She turned and sprinted up the path, towards Dedue and Ashe, finger to her lips as she approached in warning. “She doesn’t know you’re coming.” Before either of them had a chance to get a word in edgewise, Leonie had them both in a hug. “Thank you,” she said. “It’ll mean the world to Mercedes.”

“We’re grateful for the invitation.” Dedue awkwardly shifted out of her embrace, though Ashe was better spirited about it.

“It took ages to get the directions right,” he said. “I can only imagine how hard finding our mailing address must’ve been.”

“A task and a half,” said Leonie, who had been trying to find them in secret for a month. “Oh, it’s so good to see both of you. We have so much to catch up on. But Mercedes will want to see both of you first.” She lowered her voice and walked along the path, waving for them to stay quiet.

“Mercie,” she called, “some of our guests are here. Is the table empty?”

“It’s all cleared,” said Mercedes, and with an excited grin, Leonie opened the door, and Dedue ducked under the frame while Ashe stood by his side. Mercedes looked up-- and dropped the plate she was washing, eyes immediately shining with tears.

“Dedue,” she said, hugging him, “I knew you were alive. And Ashe!” She wiped away happy tears. “Oh, I’m so happy to see both of you. I had no idea how to find either of you, I missed you so dearly. But you’re here now, and that’s what matters.” She dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. “Oh, Goddess, I’m still in my dressing gown. It’ll have to do for now. Sit down!”

“It’s wonderful to see you, Mercedes,” said Ashe. “I would’ve warned you we were coming, but Leonie insisted on a surprise.”

“Leonie!” Mercedes thwapped her with the dishcloth, and Leonie jumped.

“We’re glad we’re here,” said Dedue. “Please don’t give your future wife such a difficult time about it.” Ashe snorted, and Leonie set on a tea kettle and headed back out to work.

“Did the two of you come together?” asked Mercedes, pulling up a chair at the table with them. “I’ve heard the roads are busy this time of year.”

“We did come together,” said Dedue. “Ashe and I are married.” Mercedes gasped, delighted.

“What have you both been doing!” she exclaimed in delight. “And I didn’t hear a word!”

“Well, it’s not a very interesting story,” said Ashe sheepishly, “but we run an inn now, the one my parents used to...we have a daughter, business is doing well, and this time of year it’s a short trip.”

“If I’d known both of you were so close I would’ve spent every hour I could spare with you,” said Mercedes, grasping both of their hands. “You have a daughter? My, how sweet,” she said. “The invitation certainly would’ve been extended to her, though.”

“Rini isn’t well enough to travel,” clarified Dedue. “But you’re welcome to visit us at any time. To the matter at hand, I’m very excited on your behalf. Leonie is a good woman.”

“I heard that,” Leonie called from her work outside.

“Isn’t she? I hate to interject the conversation,” she said, “but I really ought to get dressed. More and more guests will arrive soon, and I should hate to greet them in my dressing robe. Maybe Leonie needs your help?”

“I don’t,” yelled Leonie from outside, “but they can look at our garden.”

“Oh! The garden!” Mercedes stood and shooed them out, then closed the window. She picked out one of her finer blouses, a pearly white with ruffled cuffs and a slight puff, and a checkered skirt, with her well-kept boots, and slid her stays over her shoulder. “Leonie, can you come help me?” She could never get the back ties right.

“On it,” she called, walking in the front door and swiftly adjusting the stays. “Are these loose enough?”

“Perfect,” said Mercedes, sliding the blouse over her head and the skirt around her waist. “Do I look alright?”

“Beautiful,” said Leonie, kissing her cheek. “I’ll bring the rugs back in. Can’t have our house half put together when everyone gets here.”

“You’re a gem,” said Mercedes. “I’ll get tea made for everyone. Dedue,” she called, “do you still like ginger?”

“Of course,” said Dedue as he inspected a few of the vegetables they were growing. Leonie ran off to greet more guests, all of them with vivid orange hair, and when Mercedes looked up next, a white wyvern had parked itself beside their begonias. She looked down at the washbasin, trying to hold in tears.

They had all come such distances, she thought, just for them. She hadn’t seen many of them in a decade or more. But she knew all of their voices and laughs and even with Claude’s new beard and toddler and purple-haired husband, Marianne and Hilda’s new under-eye bags courtesy of the infant in their arms, Ignatz and Raphael’s matching rings-- she knew them. And, she thought, they had love in their hearts for her and her future wife, and tomorrow, they’d be there for one of their happiest moments of she and Leonie’s lives.

The thought made her cry. All of this was so horribly overwhelming, she stood over the sink sobbing, wiping tears on her nice blouse. Oh, she thought, she had not been ready for such a morning. But sniffed and sobered herself up, and stood up straight. She was Mercedes von Martritz. She had walked through hell and come out a kinder, gentler person for it. She was a high priestess of the Goddess, a healer, an archer, a sister, and a fiancee. She could stand to be loved.

“Hello, everyone,” she called, opening her front door. “Oh my, so many people have arrived!”