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Castle Gloucester comes into sight just as the storm gathering behind Marianne gives an ominous rumble of thunder. She glances at it over her shoulder, frowning at the dark mass of clouds swirling in the distance. The Marianne of five years ago might have considered it an omen, a sign that her half-thought-out detour was sure to end in disaster.
The Marianne of now pulls her cloak tighter around her shoulders and taps her horse’s flank with her heels.
“Come on, Dorte,” she calls. “We don’t want to get caught out in the rain, do we?”
Dorte shakes his head and picks up his pace, hooves pounding against the ground.
The road to the castle is clear of both people and debris that could inhibit them, and it isn’t long before Marianne is pulling Dorte back to a slow walk as the castle gates rise above them. The guards at the top of the battlements have noticed them, and Marianne tries not to pay too much attention to the bows that are suddenly trained on her. She focuses instead on the guards standing next to the gate. Though their grip on their lances are firm, they haven’t leveled them at her quite yet.
“Halt!” calls one of the guards. “Who goes there?”
“M-Marianne von Edmund, to see Lorenz Hellman Gloucester.”
Even at this distance, she can see the guards relax. Since leaving the academy, Marianne has visited Gloucester territory more times than she ever expected she would—more times than she should have, all things considered—and her name is familiar to the castle staff.
Lorenz made sure of that.
“Forgive us, Lady Edmund. We weren’t expecting you,” the guard says, waving Marianne through the gate.
“It’s alright,” Marianne says. After all, she didn’t expect to make the visit herself.
One guard steadies Dorte, while another reaches up to help her from the saddle. Marianne shakes her head and dismounts on her own. She glances around the courtyard, noting that the guards have doubled since the last time she visited.
“Is—is Lorenz around?”
A silly question. If he was, he would have come running when the first whispers of her name made their way through the castle.
The guard’s face confirms her suspicions. “Milord is out on patrol with his battalion, but he should be back shortly.”
Marianne eyes the storm on the horizon, the clouds growing bigger and angrier with each passing moment.
“If you’ll come with me, Lady Edmund?” the guard says. “We’ll tend to your horse, and you can wait for milord inside.”
Castle Gloucester is much the same from the last time Marianne visited a year ago, the decor eclectic—her adoptive father would say gaudy—meant to show off status to anyone who knows how to read it and those who don’t. Marianne’s favorite piece in the entire collection is a colorful vase made of Derdriu glass perched on a table just off the entryway. Brilliant red roses burst from the top. Lorenz had offered to commission her one just like it as a gift, though that was before his family’s defection, before Derdriu was closed off to House Gloucester and anyone else who sides with the Empire.
The guard leads her to Lorenz’s study on the second floor, which is less pretentious and more lived-in than the ground floor. Books lay neatly stacked on the side table, on top of which lies a leather-bound journal where Lorenz writes his poetry. Marianne makes a slow circuit around the room as she waits. She studiously avoids getting anywhere near Lorenz’s desk—clean though it may be, she doesn’t want to be responsible for any secrets she might stumble upon.
Better she knows nothing, so that she can give away nothing if questioned.
Footsteps against carpet herald Lorenz’s arrival. Not his normal, practiced gait, but the pounding of a half-run. Marianne turns toward the door as he bursts through. His hair is askew, and he is still in his armor, gauntlets and boots and all. Mud stains the carpet as he takes two steps towards her. His eyes go up and down her figure, assessing.
Marianne supposes that she makes for a rather anticlimactic sight, standing there in her travel clothes and her cloak, hair half-falling out of its braids. She should have rebraided them while she was waiting, or at least done something to make herself more presentable—
“Marianne.” Lorenz’s voice calms the whirl of her thoughts, though she can sense an edge in it despite the neutral tone. “Why are you here? Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing is wrong.” Or at least, no more wrong than the fact that the entire continent is at war. Oh goddess, how to answer? “I. . .I was just passing through and thought I would drop by!”
It’s the truth, as far as Marianne can vocalize now, but the words sound hollow to her own ears. They must sound hollow to Lorenz as well, because he frowns.
“Is that all?”
Marianne flinches.
“Please, don’t misunderstand me,” Lorenz says immediately, violet eyes wide. “You know I could never begrudge your presence—” and here he smiles at her with all his noble charm. “—but I thought we agreed that, given everything, it was perhaps better to not meet in person.”
Given everything. The war. The fracturing of the Alliance. House Gloucester leading the pro-Imperial faction, while House Riegan leads those opposed. Throughout everything, House Edmund has remained staunchly neutral, and Marianne knows that her visit could call that stance into question, should rumors of her presence leak.
To say nothing of what people will say about the ring hanging around her neck.
Just the thought of it makes Marianne’s hand twitch towards it, though she clenches her fist and bows her head instead. She knew that coming here was a bad idea, and yet she couldn’t stay away—
Footsteps fill the edge of Marianne’s vision, and then there is a gentle hand under her chin, lifting her face until she is eye to eye with Lorenz.
“Forgive my thoughtless words,” he says. “I’m afraid they don’t convey how happy I am to see you.”
“No, don’t apologize. I suppose I’ve caught you at a bad time.” Before she left Edmund territory, her adoptive father made sure to warn her about the imperial patrols going missing, about the continuing rebellions in Faerghus, and how the Empire was growing less and less patient with rebellion and dissent.
As a general of the Empire, she supposes that Lorenz has had to deal with all of that and more.
“There is never a bad time to see you,” Lorenz says, in a tone of utmost certainty. “In fact, seeing your beauty grace my presence has brought a light in my otherwise gloomy day. It is I who should apologize to you, for daring to appear in front of you in this unkempt state.” As he speaks, Lorenz runs a hand through his hair, trying to tame the loose hairs in one suave gesture.
Despite herself, Marianne giggles.
“And there it is, your wonderful smile. You are most gracious to show it to me, given how boorish I was to you earlier.”
“Not boorish,” Marianne says, because of all the adjectives that could be applied to one Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, boorish is not one of them. “Simply. . .caught off guard.”
“Yes, I suppose so. Though not so off guard that I didn’t have time to call for tea.” Lorenz steps back with a flourish and bows to her before offering his arm. “Would you be so kind as to accompany me, my lady?”
Marianne smiles. “Of course, sir.”
Tea is held in another room, one that Lorenz makes sure to wipe his feet before entering. He holds the door open for her as well, waving her inside with a smile and another well-practiced flourish.
The spread on the table is small, considering Lorenz’s usual standards: a teapot, two porcelain cups, and an assortment of sweets and fruit. To be expected with wartime rationing, Marianne supposes, though she also knows that Lorenz’s status as a general exempts him from that, to say nothing of his status as a noble.
In fact, Marianne notices another reminder of his rank as she sits down at the table. Lorenz steps around her to pour her tea, and she immediately recognizes that amber liquid streaming from the spout and the sweet smell that rises into the air.
“Dagdan Fruit Blend?” Marianne asks. It’s been notoriously hard to find during the war, and Marianne drank the last of House Edmund’s supply almost 6 months ago.
“I do hope it’s still your favorite,” Lorenz says as he pours himself a cup.
“It is.” Marianne takes a sip, smiling as the fruity notes of the tea burst across her tongue. If she closes her eyes, she can almost pretend that they are back at the monastery, taking a break between classes. Lorenz had invited her to many a tea break back in those days, but it had only been as the school year drew to a close that Marianne found the courage within herself to accept.
After the monastery fell, the invitations continued as they both found themselves in Derdriu, trying to make sense of the new state of the world. After that came letters, and visits, and gifts sent across the length of the Alliance.
And after that. . .
Marianne sips at her tea again, content to let Lorenz steer the conversation onto trivial matters. The state of the horses in the Gloucester barn, or the roses in the greenhouse. He has a fresh one pinned to his lapel, and it’s such a Lorenz-like touch that it makes Marianne smile. Each topic of conversation skirts dangerously close to the looming shadow of the war around them, ever-present no matter how deftly Lorenz tries to maneuver away from it. Finally, almost as if admitting defeat, he pulls out the most banal topic in his conversation book: the weather.
“The storm sounds like it’s getting worse,” Lorenz says, glancing at the window across from them. Marianne follows his gaze, but all she can see is a whirl of grey sky and the splotches of raindrops against the glass. If she concentrates, she can hear the sound of rain pounding against the castle wall.
“I don’t know where you’re headed, but I must insist that you stay the night in the castle, at least until the storm passes.” After a moment, he adds, “I can assure you, you will be treated with the utmost care as befitting a guest of your status.”
You’ll be safe here is what he means to say, no matter what allegiances her house has or has not taken.
There were times when Marianne feared for her safety during her journey south, but coming to Castle Gloucester was never one of them. She knows that Lorenz would rather sacrifice his noble honor than see her harmed. But the fact that he feels the need to say the words aloud, no matter how laced with propriety they are, sends a shiver down Marianne’s spine.
What has the Empire been planning? she wonders, unbidden.
The issue of her safety aside, there is another matter hanging over them. Lorenz is too polite and shrewd to ask where she’s going, but she can feel his curiosity radiating across the table. Other than the occasional trip to Derdriu, Marianne has scarcely left Edmund territory in the past two years. For her to be here now, without an escort of any kind, would have hardly escaped Lorenz’s notice.
Marianne sets her teacup down and takes a breath.
“I—I’m going back to the monastery. For the reunion,” she adds, as if Lorenz wouldn’t know. As if he hadn’t been with the Blue Lions longer than she had.
“Ah. I had wondered if that was the case. Do you think that. . .?”
She’s grappled with that thought since she set out from Edmund territory. Dimitri and the professor, both the heart and soul of the Blue Lions, are dead. She’s heard precious little from her Faerghan classmates since the Dukedom was established, but with houses Fraldarius, Gautier, and Galatea leading the rebellion, it seems unlikely that Felix, Sylvain, or Ingrid will be able to find the time or resources to make the journey south.
“I don’t know,” she says. “But I feel like I have to try.”
There’s something else she has to try as well.
Marianne straightens her spine and meets Lorenz’s gaze head on.
“I wanted to know if—if—”
The shadow that passes over Lorenz’s face is answer enough.
“I would be lying if I said I hadn’t thought of the reunion myself,” he starts carefully. “But given the way things are here, I cannot simply abandon my post.”
“I’m not asking you to abandon anything,” Marianne says, just as careful. “You’re a general, aren’t you? Surely you can take a leave of absence and come with me for a few days? Just to see?”
Even as she speaks, Marianne is aware of how preposterous her idea sounds. After all, it’s not as if House Gloucester sided with the Empire because they truly believe in Emperor Edelgard’s mission. They are part of the Alliance, after all, which bows to no king nor emperor unless under duress.
House Gloucester was doomed by sheer location, her adoptive father had said after news Count Gloucester’s defection reached his ears. A border land that controls the largest bridge across the Airmid River. It was either submit, or be invaded.
Marianne has seen the imperial army invade before; she remembers the screams and the blood and the townspeople fleeing in the soldier’s wake. Maybe Count Gloucester’s defection was fueled by cowardice, as the rest of the Roundtable believes, but Marianne has to hope that at least part of his decision was fueled by a desire to protect the common folk from the destruction of an invasion.
She knows that is why Lorenz stays, why he fell in line with his father with nary a public critique, and why he toes that line now.
All at once, Marianne’s boldness evaporates.
“Never mind,” she says, hiding her face with her teacup. “I’m sorry. Forget I even asked. I should have known better—”
“Marianne.” Lorenz’s voice is gentle, and that alone is enough to make Marianne look up.
For a moment, the noble veneer vanishes, and she sees the slump of Lorenz’s shoulders, the way his fingers curl a bit too tightly around the handle of his own teacup.
“Please, believe me when I say I would go with you if I could. But I cannot.”
“I understand, Lorenz. Truly, I do.”
She reaches her free hand across the table, smiling when Lorenz entwines his fingers with hers. For all the care Marianne knows that he takes with his skin, his fingers still bear the callouses of a cavalier, and Marianne delights in the feeling of those callouses running over her skin, moving up and down her fingers. The movement is so comforting that it takes Marianne a moment to realize that Lorenz is focusing on her ring finger in particular.
“I have it!” Marianne says, tugging at the chain until the ring pulls free from her clothing. “I always wear it. I just didn’t think it was safe to wear openly while traveling.”
“Good,” Lorenz says, though he doesn’t look very happy at all. There’s a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth, and something sad creeping into his eyes. He releases her hand and leans back in his seat.
“When I made my proposal, I thought things would go much differently than they have been.”
“Lorenz?”
“I am still serious about my commitment to you, Marianne. Truly, you must understand how much you mean to me. But given how the tides of war have turned, I also understand how. . . inconvenient it would be for you if people found out about the engagement, and the last thing I wish would be to put you in danger in any way.”
Marianne hears the words, but she doesn’t understand. Doesn’t want to understand what he is implying.
Lorenz glances at her, then sighs.
“If. . . if you wish to return the ring,” he starts carefully. “You can be rest assured I will hold no hard feelings on the matter. It would be the logical thing to do, given the circumstances.”
Marianne’s hand flies up to grab at the ring before he has even finished speaking.
“No!” she blurts out. “No! That’s not why I came here! I simply. . .”
Why did she come? To plead for him to join her? To see him one more time before they likely end up on opposing sides of a battlefield?
Sitting there across from him at the tea table, all of those reasons seem far away.
She did want to see him, though. To see him and to hold him and to—
“I came here to do this,” Marianne says finally.
She stands. Lorenz makes to stand with her, but Marianne is around the table before he can do more than push his chair back.
She drops into his lap.
Lorenz’s hands settle on her hips on instinct, steadying her, even as his face turns the color of the rose in his lapel.
“Marianne, what are you—”
He cuts off as she throws her arms around his neck.
Marianne is not good at kissing—well, Marianne is not good at a lot of things, but kissing is something she has precious little experience with, save for a few stolen moments during their time at the monastery, and a few frantic meetings during the five years since. Still, it is easy enough to slot her lips over Lorenz’s, easy to pull him towards her. Lorenz is tense for all of a moment before he relaxes. The hands on her hips tighten, and he presses his lips against hers more firmly.
The kisses are chaste—as expected of a noble courtship such as theirs—but Marianne still finds herself out of breath when they finally pull apart, her heart pounding in her chest. She buries her face in Lorenz’s shoulder, and his hands come up to cradle her against him, palm rubbing up and down her back.
“No matter what happens,” Marianne starts, her voice muffled against Lorenz’s shirt.
The hand on her back stills.
“No matter what happens,” she starts again, forcing her voice to be strong. “Know that I—I’ll still care for you, Lorenz.”
“And I, you. Most ardently.”
The storm clears in the morning, bringing with it bright blue skies and the promise of an easy journey to Garreg Mach.
Marianne and Lorenz take breakfast on the balcony, talking about nothing of importance by tacit agreement and holding hands across the table. Marianne’s engagement ring sits perched on her ring finger, the silver band and diamond gleaming in the sun. Lorenz runs his fingers over the stone, a soft smile on his face that stays in place even as she tucks the ring back under her dress in preparation for travel and through the formal goodbyes at the gate.
The memory of the smile carries Marianne down the road to Garreg Mach.