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[Harpstring Moon 1189, Molinaro household within Fhirdiad, night time]
It is from an uneasy sleep that Dedue rouses from, even though the day had left him exhausted and he spent a long while with leaden lids. It is the smell of woodsmoke and something burning in a too-hot pan that finally wakes him, to turn in bed and find his wife missing. Sleepily, he pulls on clothing and then stumbles to their house's small, attached kitchen. The moment he passes through the doorway, it’s Mercedes’ voice he hears-
“Oh, Dedue! I’m sorry, I know today’s meetings with the lords were hard.” She turns to him, hands cradling padded towels. “I didn't mean to wake you.”
Past her set on top of their brick oven there’s something burnt, to the point of smoking, in a pan.
Dedue blinks a few times, first thinking that he might have slept too long and Mercedes had attempted to make breakfast, but then he looks out their window to find the sky still dark. Well, no harm no fowl.
He turns back to his wife with a calm smile. “It’s alright, Mercedes. The lords enjoy being difficult, but I’m up to the task.” His gaze then turns to the burnt item in the pan. “What were you making?”
Her eyes are forlorn as they drop to the pan and its sadly charcoal'd contents. “...it's supposed to be Airmid goby skewers. I,” She set one towel aside to bring her hand to the noticeable bump of her abdomen. “The baby wanted some.”
He remembers the cuisine from the Academy days, a dish made by grilling skewered Airmid gobies. The river fish in question isn’t very popular because of its muddy flavor and dry texture. Strange that they even have any on hand.
Dedue walks over, using another towel to gently take the pan from her. “It does sound like a command you had to follow, very understandable. Are there any fish leftover?” He would need to dispose of this properly so the cat didn’t get into the burnt remains…
Mercedes nods, gesturing to their icebox. “Yes, there's a basket with several. I found them at market today and made an impulse buy. Though at the time, it was more about the bargain than any... cravings.”
Dedue leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Either way it was a good choice on your part. If you don’t mind a spin on the recipe, could you check if there’s still cornmeal in the cupboard? I’ll wash this and prepare the fish.”
Giving a sigh more contented than wistful, Mercedes nods again, then walks into their pantry for the bag in question. After setting the burnt fish well out of the cat's reach, Dedue makes quick work of cleaning the pan and brings the basket to the cutting board. The fishmonger had already gutted and scaled the Airmid gobies, but he proceeds to debone the small fish.
He is half-way finished when Mercedes sidles up with their bag of cornmeal.
"Will we need anything else? I have the cooking oil out, but... spices?"
“Hm… let’s stick with paprika for now. We’ll mix it into the cornmeal and season it with the fish along with some salt for extra flavor?”
Mercedes beams at the suggestion. “That sounds tasty!” His wife rushes off with that endearing rolling stride she’d gained since the bump had grown noticeable, and soon returns with the relevant spice jar. "I admit, I've only ever had Airmid goby skewers grilled with only salt... is what you're doing a Duscur recipe?"
Dedue smiles at the question. They’d tried various meals that Dedue had previously thought he wouldn’t be able to share around a family table again, though they had yet to exhaust the dishes his grandmother had taught him. “Yes, a version of it. The fish traditionally used is different, but this is a dish considered best served with what you have on hand. There’s no need to worry over it. The breading technique was what was most fun when our village made it and take turns shaking the breading bag.”
Once the fish are properly seasoned, Dedue finds a clean and secure bag. After putting in an appropriate amount of cornmeal and spices, he secures it, then shakes it a few times. “Now we should be ready to add the fish. A few good shakes, and they will be ready for the pan with some oil.”
After he adds the fish and closes the bag, Mercedes grins and holds out her hands, “May I?” He hands it over and her first is an awkward shake, before she gets into a rhythm. “Tell me when.”
He watches her go a few times, before calling it. “When.”
She hands it back with a smile. “I can see why kids would have fun with that. I don't think I've seen any recipe book in Fodlan with that method.”
“From what I’ve seen in Fodlan kitchens, the breading seems more labor intensive.” He gives a slight quirk of his lips. “And less fun.”
Mercedes giggles, before picking up the oil. “Here, I'll pour.” She tips the jar and covers the bottom of the pan in cooking oil.
Dedue opens bag and carefully sets the cornmeal-covered gobies into the pan.
As they watch the first batch cook through, Dedue brings over a chair for Mercedes to sit in.
“Oh, thank you,” She catches his shoulder and kisses his cheek, before settling onto the seat with a sigh. “It’s silly... how tired I got simply cooking. Can you guess why I burnt that first batch of skewers?”
“I would rather you tell me, dear.”
“While waiting, I had to sit... and dozed off. The smoke woke me up.” Her smile this time was bashful.
Dedue took Mercedes’ hand in his own and gave it a small squeeze. “You have had a long day of it as well. Even though children of all ages are much preferred to lords, that doesn’t make them any less of a commitment to care for.” His other hand gently rests on her stomach. “Especially when they’re still growing inside you.”
"I do enjoy the days I can spend at the orphanage," A blush crept over Mercedes’ cheeks as she moved her hand to cover his, together cradling his on her swollen stomach. “But I admit, I've never been so nervous waiting before. Dedue, I…” Her inhale is shaky as their eyes meet. “I want our baby to be happy.”
Dedue has an understanding of what Mercedes means. “They will be. We will do everything in our power to make sure they’re happy. And if anything happened to us, we have people dear to us who would protect and cherish them in our stead.”
He doesn’t mean to be morbid, more to try and assure her the past will not be repeated. Both of them know how fragile livelihoods can be, and theirs are no different.
Tears wells in Mercedes eyes, before she closes them and dips her chin. “I... I know. We're not alone, and have people who care. About us, and our children.” As she sniffles, Dedue kneels next to her chair to wrap his arm around her in a hug of comfort.
Mercedes leans her face down against his hair, inhaling and exhaling until her breathing evens out. “I-I’m sorry, I’m not actually upset. It all just feels like... so much sometimes. Despite knowing I’d be married one day, making a family and making a family is…”
His free hand goes up, stroking through her hair as she laid down her burdens. He could never fully understand the legacy and the sorrows having a crest brought, but he’ll do everything to help Mercedes carry it, just as she in turn supports him trying to reconnect his people and his culture.
Heaving in a shaking breath, Mercedes confesses, “I'm so excited to meet our child, but I'm also so scared... I don't want our baby to endure what either of us had to.”
He holds her even closer, a slight tremble going through him. “… I am afraid of that, too.”
Because he is. Exposing the machinations behind what occurred in the Tragedy of Duscur did not stop ongoing prejudices. The more he thought about it, such hatred for his people may have already existed beneath the surface. Stewing until it boiled over. Sometimes he’s terrified, other times angry with himself: he’s bringing a child into the world with all the knowledge of how cruel the world is.
But then.
“… Mercedes, I felt… I think I just felt movement.”
She gives a soft gasp and presses their hands harder-- not long after he feels it against his palm again, that brief nudge.
“The baby's kicking!” Mercedes eyes flutter open with a laugh. “This is the first time I've felt it.”
Dedue feels it again, and with each nudge, his heart rises further to his throat. Now his own eyes feel misty. “They’re growing strong. And rather feisty.”
“Of course, they're our child!” Mercedes laughs again. “I suppose we’ll just have to be ready. Help them grow even stronger, once they're here.”
She turns her smile to him, her free hand rising to brush his face and wipe away a tear that'd fallen.
Dedue leans his face into Mercedes’ touch, his own free arm going to wrap around her shoulders to pull her as close as possible. “Of course, but until then…”
He presses a warm, adoring kiss to her lips, letting it linger for a moment, before pulling back just slightly. “… We need to flip the fish.”
With a giggle, Mercedes gives him a final peck and then releases him. She inhales and then sighs, "It smells good."
“Let’s hope it will suit the baby’s particular palate.” He teases, then flips the fish and resettles them in the pan. It shouldn’t be long now…
There were the faint sounds of footsteps against the ground, and Dedue feels a growing smile across his face. “And it should hopefully suit some other mouths.”
“Me! I have a mouth! And lots of teeth to munch and crunch!” An exuberant voice cheers.
“Please do not go singing Her Majesty's song again—” A yawn interrupts a much more subdued voice. “It's much too late for that…”
The pair of blond children padded into the dining area for the kitchen, the long-haired girl moving at a much quicker pace compared to the closely-cropped boy.
“Romola, Remeus, you’re awake!” Mercedes says, rather approvingly instead of surprised. “Did we wake you?”
The boy, Remeus, makes a diplomatic bow of his head. “Greetings Lady Molinaro. It was the smell... may I ask what's cooking?”
“Airmid goby breaded in cornmeal and paprika.” Dedue answers.
Romola tilts her head in thought. “The little fishies Miss Mercie got from the market?”
Merecedes nods. “Yes, those're the ones. My little brother Emile was quite fond of them grilled. But this is a recipe from Dedue's homeland in Duscur. Doesn’t it smell tasty?”
“Mmhm! Duscur food is the best!” She then turns to look back at Dedue with a child’s innocent demands. “Mister Dedue, can you make that dessert again you brought to the orphanage? Triss said they were good, but you brought them in before Mommy and I came to Fhirdiad.”
That was right, the little girl had been living in the rural east of Faerghus a little over a year ago. Her mother, Corola, was a long-time mistress of the late Prince Rufus and had gone into hiding after Cornelia began to round up and kill any child suspected of being a Blaiddyd bastard. Corola had had more children, but Romola was the only one who she’d managed to escape with. Dedue might never have discovered the girl’s existence if Ingrid’s older brother hadn’t remarked in correspondence on seeing a village child who bore a striking resemblance to Dimitri. The resemblance was strong, blue eyes and yellow hair, Sylvain claiming Romola practically shared the king’s childhood face.
It’d taken convincing, but for their safety Dedue had brought mother and child to the capital where they could be protected. Mercedes had found a live-in position as a caretaker at the orphanage for Corola, while Romola switched between staying there and staying at their own household. The reason the girl couldn't live at the orphanage full time was because he'd adopted her. Romola was formally a Molinaro, in order to prevent political dissidents from taking advantage of her particular heritage.
A few years before, Remeus had been caught up in that very situation: being used as a figurehead for a rebellious western faction, thanks to his Minor Crest of Blaiddyd.
As his dirty blond hair and dark gray eyes more greatly resembled his own mother, Lady Euphrasie of House Rowe, they’d avoided Cornelia’s notice during the coup and civil war. Euphrasie had refused to reveal the father of her child, born out of wedlock, instead taking the besmirchment to her own reputation presumably for her son’s safety. However, later when the boy’d grown older, his grandfather had brought in a Crest Scholar and had him tested– revealing the Crest of Faerghus’ royal house. Those unhappy under King Dimitri’s rule had leapt at the opportunity a nobleborn bastard of Prince Rufus had presented.
They’d been seriously worried when rumors of a secret heir had begun to spread, of the possibility there was a royal nephew who resented his royal uncle. Dimitri had grown ill over the thought of harming a survivor of his family. Yet once Dedue and the royal knights had tracked the group down and met Remeus in person, he’d immediately understood the boy felt trapped by them and scared rather than supporting their aims. It’d been the boy’s mother, Euphrasie, who’d suggested the solution of adoption– to both put her son under Dedue’s direct authority and thus enable his protection, as well as getting her child away from Lord Rowe’s unsavory ambitions. It’d also solved that problem of inheritance disputes neatly, thus when another of Rufus’ surviving bastards was discovered he’d once again adopted the child.
Not that his motivations had been purely political . Being able to treat Dimitri’s blood family as his own, without censure, is something greatly satisfying to Dedue. And both Romola and Remeus are sweet children at heart, as Mercedes likes to remind him often; he’s sure they’d bring pride to the Molinaro name.
Regarding the dessert Romola spoke of it’d been bread pudding he'd made in the Duscur way-- with coconut flakes, raisins, cinnamon, walnuts, pistachios, flatbread dough, and a syrup of lemon juice and honey.
“Of course. I’ll make them on my next day off, just for you and Remeus.”
“Yippee~!” Romola’s arms raise in triumph, but then lower to cover her mouth. “Oh, sorry, that was very loud.”
“Please don't forget the hour, sister,” Remeus sighed. “Inside voices.”
“Mm, inside voices.”
A sound then resounds-- that of a tummy expressing its hunger. Remeus's expression blanks before his face turns red.
Mercedes coughs over a laugh. “My, sounds like we're all wanting a midnight snack.”
Romola hops closer to her brother, patting his back. “Don’t worry, big bro, tummies just don’t like to be polite.”
Remeus bring up both hands and covers his flushed face with them, muffling through his palms, “Apologies! Practice went late, I only had a roll for supper.”
“No need to apologize,” Dedue replies, because there wasn’t, and his eyebrows furrow with concern. He was so tired when they came home he assumed Remeus had eaten in the hall. A mere roll would not do. “You must be hungry. I’ll check if we have anything else on hand in the larder to go with the fish once we take it out. Which should be… just now.”
Mercedes gingerly stands. "Romola, Remeus, could you help me set the table?"
“Mmhm! I can get the forks and spoons. Remeus, you can handle the cups and knives, because you’re older.” Romola says this in a tone of ‘naturally, this is the way things should be.’
Dedue puts the finished fish onto a serving plate after draining the excess oil, then went to the larder to check. There was still some bread leftover from the bakery he could toast up, but there should be something more fortifying…
He turned to a shelf where their pickling jars sat. “Aha.”
Taking his bounty, he moved to the less crowded area of the space to distribute pickled vegetables of radish, carrot, and more.
Remeus gives the younger girl a glance, but obediently retrieves said cups from the high shelves. They work smoothly in setting the table, as only comes after much practice. Mercedes placed a pitcher of citrus water on the table and smiled at Dedue as he re-entered. All that was left was placing everything on the table.
Mercedes cupped her hands together in delight. “Such a feast! Thank you, dearest.”
Dedue nods. “Of course. This has become a family meal, so it would be best to not only serve one dish.”
Once everything was in place, Dedue silently gave his request of blessing on their meal to the gods he grew up with and continued to keep in his heart.
Romola, as she was taught, presses her hands together in a little prayer, then quickly reaches for the tongs to try and get a fish.
Remeus abruptly catches her wrist. Having grown up before Fhirdiad in House Rowe, Remeus had learned certain etiquette from a younger age than his half-sister. “Wait. Lord Molinaro is to decide who receives the first portion.” He then looks Mercedes way.
She smiles a bit, tone teasing. "Eating for two~"
Romola nods, and hands the tongs to Dedue, who takes them with thanks, before using them to serve his wife the first share of the meal, then passing the tongs back to whoever would like to take that they wish.
"Here, it's important we eat these." Remeus labeled a generous portion of the pickled vegetables onto Romola's plate and then his own.
Romola looks down at them silently, then back at Remeus. “Why these especially?”
“Mother told me vegetables help us grow strong,” Remeus replies, gravely, before lifting a forkful of vegetables to his mouth and chewing.
“Oh,” Romola’s own mother said the same, but she usually found the particular vegetables on her plate, “bad-tasting.”
Still, she takes a forkful of them and begins to eat, chewing long. “Hm…” Once Romola swallows, she nods in approval. Not bad tasting: it actually tasted like something besides bitterness.
“Dedue's pickling is sweet, and also tasty." Mercedes smiles, hand stretching under the table to take his. “We can all eat and grow strong together.”
Dedue holds it in turn, smiling at her and their growing family. Even in the dead of night, their home is warm and fortified. Better than he’d might’ve hoped.