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In his final moments, the Margrave Gautier could recall one thing he missed dearly. It was the tender smile of his beloved Marianne, the lady of House Edmund.
His life had been full of scandals and rumours and now at the end of his days, he had only regrets and heartache. Gazing at the steel cage of his chamber, he mourned in disillusion of what could have been had he only shown Marianne the kindness and love she deserved.
Sylvain met Marianne at a ball held by the Alliance. Whenever there was a chance to make acquaintances with gentlewomen, Sylvain would flock to it. Countess and courtesan would fall beneath his hand, under the guise that he might truly love her and make her his lady. But alas, Sylvain’s heart was cold and cruel, and wished for nothing more than a spec of fun to fill his time. He felt no true emotion for these women: only his flirtatious words and coy looks earning him a sense of thrill.
After these women had seen perhaps a day with Sylvain, maybe more if he enjoyed the chase, he would send white roses as a symbol of the end of their relationship. This colour—as he stated—would rival that of his hair and his passion for her. All of his past lovers would perch a white rose upon her breast, until the pain and ache that he left in his wake subsided. And Sylvain himself always saw it fit to wear a red rose, as the passion in his heart always burnt bright.
That fateful night, Sylvain laid eyes upon his beloved, the Lady of Edmund, Marianne. Though she looked doubtful and sad, her beauty and kindness caught his eye. He left his crowd of lovers and admirers, watching as she fled out into the courtyard.
Bathed in the moonlight, he called to her:
“My lady, pray halt, do not walk another mile.
Turn this way, and let me see you smile.”
But when Marianne turned around, it was only to tell Sylvain to look away.
“If you know what is best,
You will not gaze upon a woman with a cursed Crest.”
Sylvain, shocked, asked why she had called herself that. One of his more sought after traits was his own Crest of Gautier, a relic of his ancestor. A birthright, and a source of protection. But to Marianne, none of that mattered. Not Sylvain’s riches, not his inheritance, his looks or his status gave sway to Marianne’s feelings.
“Tell the Margrave who I am,
And I’m certain he’d understand.” Sylvain said.
“Understand what and why?
That you’re a pest, only a fly?” Marianne asked. Shell shocked, she promptly apologized.
“I am sorry.
My father only worries.”
“No no, I have one request—
I wish to see you smile, at my behest.” Sylvain asked.
Marianne sighed, and tried her best. Though her smile, crooked and caved, looked more like a frown. Her attempt endeared Sylvain, who tried to teach her.
“Oh. Here allow me:
Speak and smile as though you’re saying ‘cheese’.” He suggested.
And when Marianne tried again, her smile only got better.
“Marianne, please, just for tonight:
May I stay by your side until the dawn’s light?” He asked.
Marianne consented and the two roamed the garden. By the end of the night, Sylvain was so enchanted with Marianne’s kindness and melancholic beauty that he tore the rose from his breast and offered it to her.
“For you, sweet Marianne
My adoration for you knows no end.”
The Lady Edmund thanked Sylvain. He pressed his lips to the petals of the rose, before offering it to her. But the Duchess Goneril vied for Sylvain’s attention more. Upon the lovers, she threw down a white rose, catching Sylvain from stealing a kiss from Marianne’s cheek.
The Duchess Goneril called to him:
“Sylvain, my sweet man,
Come back to me once again.” She pleaded. And knowing that the Duchess would cause quite a stir, Sylvain bade farewell to Marianne. But not before he placed the rose in her hand, a test of love and patience. Marianne held the rose close to her chest.
The heart is a fickle thing. As Sylvain returned to the Duchess Goneril’s side, his thoughts only continued to fill with Marianne. In secret, the two met, continuing to practice her smile under the gaze of the Margrave Edmund.
The rarity of a moment came alone when Sylvain would call upon Marianne for a cup of tea, where Sylvain could bask in the tenderness and sweetness in her budding smile. And every time he arrived, he would bear a dozen red roses for her loveliness, collecting them himself. And in her own rose garden, Marianne asked for blue roses to be planted, so that they would bloom and remind her of Sylvain.
But the Margrave knew of Sylvain’s frivolity and heartless nature. He worried for his daughter, as any father would. In secret, as the guest to House Goneril, it caused quite a scandal and rumour, to the detriment of House Gautier.
“Leave the Margrave’s daughter alone,
You are a man now, fully grown.
Take Duke Goneril’s sister as a wife,
And you shall have a fulfilling life.” The Margrave pressured.
But Sylvain did not wish to marry for advantage or status. He longed to marry for love, unlike his parents’ bitter distrust and shallow tolerance of each other. He laughed and simply played it off:
“She is not someone I intend to marry,
Just another love that I will bury.” Sylvain assured his father.
If only that were the case. Sylvain truly had begun to fall in love with the Lady, sneaking off to engage in more secret affairs with her before the duties of wooing the Duchess Hilda into marriage.
And what frightened old Gautier further from Marianne was her Crest—that of the Beast, and major no less. While it would prove beneficial for the protection against Sreng, rumours lingered between the territories that the young lady would wander the gardens in the night, calling out in violent cries, hence why the Margrave kept her under lock and key.
Old Gautier and Edmund came into contact, discovering the young Lady on the veranda that overlooked the gardens. They had caught wind of Sylvain’s intentions to propose to Marianne, and ordered her to refuse the engagement. They cornered her, threatening the sword and the lance upon her head should she agree to the marriage, and in panic, Marianne collapsed before them and swore on the Goddess’s grave that she would not.
That night, when Sylvain came to meet her in the rose gardens, Marianne was stilted and quiet. The two walked and discussed trivial things for sometime, before returning to the garden of blue roses, now in full bloom. Secretly, Marianne still fretted and worried from her run-in with Old Gautier and her adopted father. Sylvain smiled upon her beauty, gaining a small smirk from her. His fingers danced along the petals of a blue teacup rose before plucking it and bending on his knee. His hands weaved the stem into a ring, just the size of her finger. With a passion that he had never known of before, he pleaded to her:
“Come with me, just away to the Dukedom of Fraldarius.
Where my friend, Felix, will hide us.
Marry me Marianne,
Be the one who holds my hand.”
And to his hopeful plea, Marianne’s smile faded. She turned her head, gazing at the flower ring.
“Marianne?” Sylvain pleaded.
“Please stay with me, just as we planned!
Marianne, my heart grows hot—“
“I cannot.” Marianne cried out, dropping the flower to the ground.
“Sylvain,
I will never fall into your hands again.”
Marianne fled off into the night, her tears and cries carrying through the land and echoing out into the waters of Sreng. Sylvain retreated back into the manor, to call for the help of the Margrave’s guards. However, he was met with the Margrave Edmund and his own Father.
Margrave Edmund banned Sylvain from ever setting foot upon his lands again, or seeing his daughter either.
“Should you ever again speak to her,
Your heart shall be mine to cleaver.” He vowed.
But Old Gautier’s punishment was much worse. He threw the ring of a teacup rose that Sylvain was to propose with into the gardens and gave him a much more grandiose ring of silver and gold.
“Go to the Duchess Goneril,
And make sure that our plan prevails.”
Sylvain was forced to woo and marry the Duchess Hilda Goneril, while Marianne committed herself to becoming a priestess. The years passed and Sylvain never did return to Edmund’s territory. He sired several children, many Crest-bearers to his father and Duke Goneril’s delight, but never truly loved his wife. He no longer craved for the touch of women or wanton love affairs, but instead for a glimpse of Marianne’s sweet smile and the blue roses that she loved so.
Such longing carried through his life with his wife, Hilda. She felt the strain against their marriage as well. And when the Margravine Gautier passed, her final words were not of his name, but instead of her own lover:
“Poor me, my life has been at war,
For I lived without my lover, my dear Caspar.”
However, a plague ran wild in Faerghus, infecting everyone. Hilda had fallen to it, as had Sylvain’s parents and as the Margrave Edmund did too. Words travel quickly, especially unfortunate ones. They called the illness consumption, eating the body and soul alive. And although he had looked hale and healthy, Sylvain had fallen prey to it too. But his aching to see Marianne again was greater than anything else in his life.
He took his finest steed and travelled the country, crossing the mountains and into Edmund territory. His health began to deteriorate, but he forced himself to Edmund’s estate, waiting in the gardens. The estate was almost the same as it had been in the days of his youth, but now a working hospital for the sick and wounded. All the rooms had been full and flush with life, and were so now, but flush with blue and red roses. And when Sylvain stepped out onto the veranda and looked upon the gardens, he was met with a thousand red and blue roses, all blooming beautifully. A testament to the love and life that he had lost. His final moments upon him, Sylvain thought of Marianne’s smile and how dearly he missed it.
His heart swelled with such a sight. All these years later, she had still remembered him, and perhaps, had still loved him. And though her refusal of his proposal had hurt, the ache subsided when the lady of the Edmund, stepped out into the gardens and gazed upon him.
Though Marianne was dressed in the uniform of a working healer, she was still the shy young woman that had charmed her way into Sylvain’s heart all those years ago. Time had been kind to her, easing the aches and woes of life. And slowly, Marianne began to smile, beaming at Sylvain.
But his exposure to the plague had begun to truly show. Consumption began to overtake him, forcing the Margrave to his knees and stealing the breath from his lungs. He collapsed before the rose bushes, reaching out for her.
“Marianne...
What a blessing to see you again.” He whispered.
Holding him tightly and gently, Marianne began to weep.
“Please, one last time,
Keep courage, and smile kind.” He begged her
Marianne nodded, and summoned her strongest smile, holding Sylvain close. In the warmth of the morning sun, amidst a thousand red and blue roses—of passion and forbidden love—Sylvain recalled the one thing he loved most dearly: the smile of his long lost love. It was said that he died smiling, right in Marianne’s arms, and that the margavine's rose gardens bloomed for ages on. No one knows if it was a testament of nature, or a blessing for these poor lovers by the Goddess’s hand.