Work Text:
“I have an idea of where we can go.” Mirabelle said, worrying her lip worriedly.
Siffrin looked up, eye still half dazed and feverish. Odile clicked under her breath, pressing the icepack more firmly against their forehead.
“It’s. . . not anywhere I want to go.” She confessed, raising clasped hands to rest against her forehead as if she was praying, shoulders hunching up to her shoulders. “But if I show up with a hurt friend, they’ll. . . They'll help us. I know they will.”
Isabeau immediately looked distressed, reaching out for Mirabelle. “Is it your parents? You want us to go meet. . . your parents?”
Mirabelle sunk into herself. “I know it’s probably a– a bad idea. I know that they’ll probably still want nothing to do with me, but they’re. . . They’re the closest people I know who don’t live in Dormont.”
“A difficult relationship with your parents, huh.” Odile mused, looking up from Siffrin “I’m familiar. . .”
“Ha, does that make all of us?” Isabeau teased, but he looked pained. “Man, no wonder we all like our party so much. It feels more like home than our own family ever did.”
“I like my sister more than I like you,” Bonnie huffed, pouting as they looked anywhere but at the group. “My family’s awesome.”
“Oh, my apologies, Boniface. You’ve never mentioned your parents before.”
“I don’t have ‘em.” Bonnie returned. “My sister does, but I don’t. She didn’t like them anyway, so I’m fine not having any.”
Mirabelle twisted her fingers together again. She hadn’t run away from home the way Bonnie apparently had, but she had left as soon as possible. Isabeau’s parents had practically cut off all communication with him when he became a Defender, and even his siblings didn’t reach out. She didn’t know what Odile’s history was, not that she’d ever ask, and Siffrin was. . .
Hmm. She didn’t actually know, but from how starved he seemed to be for social friendship or even just support, she was willing to bet it wasn’t anything good. If he had them, they were terribly lacking.
Next to her friends, her problems with her family seemed trivial at best.
“We really don’t have to go see them, Mira.” Isabeau said gently, moving to sit down next to her on the couch. “Not if you’re uncomfortable.”
“Nonno, it’s fine!” Mirabelle hastened to reassure. “It’s all good, it’s. . . anything for Siffrin, right?”
She tried to ignore Siffrin as they lifted their head, apparently having startled to life at the mere suggestion that she would do anything unpleasant for them. His one eye locked onto the side of her face, brows creasing in worry.
“Siffrin,” Odile tsked quietly, pushing the icepack back onto his forehead to force him down again. “Try not to move. It can’t be good for you.”
“‘m fine,” Siffrin muttered, lifting up a hand. It shook in midair, but he held it steady. It took Mirabelle a second to realize what he was doing, even with that eye still focused solely on her, but who could blame her? Mx. No-Touchy suddenly wanted to be touched?
Mirabelle reached out, and took their hand, holding it up so they didn’t have to.
He blinked at her, leaning towards her as much as he could without upsetting Odile’s grip. As he moved, the bruise on his cheek became visible. “m fine.” Siffrin repeated.
Mirabelle thought of a towering god, stabbing themself over and over instead of the tiny threats far below. She thought of arms covered with dots, of Isabeau’s delighted coo that he didn’t know they had freckles! only to realize it was dozens of tiny punctures, the texture too rough to be anything else.
She thought of the piles of medication on the coffee table behind her, and of the way they had sobbed and panicked when they had woken up in the House infirmary. How they only settled once they were back in the Clocktower.
She thought of mean words and cruel promises. She thought of a sobbing Siffrin who didn’t mean any of it, who thought they wouldn’t come.
. . . He was not fine. There was little she wouldn’t do to fix that.
Mirabelle tilted her head back, meeting Isabeau’s gaze firmly, feeling her hand start to shake itself. “Yes. We’re seeing them. I’m certain I’ll get them to help.”
. . .
It probably wouldn’t take much. A few promises Mirabelle didn’t want to make, a couple she might have to keep.
But. . .
As long as Siffrin was okay, Mirabelle was ready and willing.
((o))
Siffrin, Mirabelle, and Bonnie managed to hitch a ride on the nearest merchant wagon heading that way. Siffrin slept curled up on the hard floor the whole way there, but an hour in, Bonnie climbed over Mirabelle’s legs to flop on top of them.
It was rather adorable, the way Siffrin shifted in their sleep to make them both comfortable.
Isabeau and Odile had begun walking after them, promising to follow as quickly as possible. If another wagon happened by, they’d try to catch a ride. Most people in Vaugarde allowed it as easily as breathing.
Traveling was no hardship before the King froze Vaugarde in time.
It was one of the many, many reasons Mirabelle found herself frustrated with her parents. They never wanted to travel or let her travel. They tried to spoon feed her paranoia, tried to tell her even going to Dormont was too dangerous when it was only four hours away, and–
Mirabelle breathed deep, in and out, just like Siffrin did. She wondered if she could risk curling up along with Bonnie, but it’d probably be too much for Siffrin. If only, maybe in another life.
She had to shake them awake when they reached her hometown. Siffrin could barely stand by themself, trembling the whole way off the wagon.
“I’m sorry,” Mirabelle murmured to them, grabbing their arm and sliding it over her shoulder. They leaned against her, but she knew they wouldn’t be if they had a fraction of awareness or self confidence they could support themselves. “I promise it’s only a short walk.”
She had gotten them as close as she comfortably could without running of her parents looking out the window and seeing their daughter hopping out of a wagon like some commonfolk. Although. . . Mirabelle was supposed to be common.
She wanted to be.
She wondered if being Saviour of Vaugarde would be an accomplishment to her parents or just another thing to snark about, or, worse, something for them to brag about in a way that made them sound wonderful and Mirabelle sound lucky to have them as her parents.
The thought made her sick.
At the sight of her house, Mirabelle felt a roll of embarrassment course through her. It was still surrounded by that assuredly tall fence, with hired Defenders standing outside, one wielding a sword, the other with gloves.
They nodded at her as she approached, not saying a word as she and her group went past. She hesitated, turning to them, “Um. I have. . . More people are coming. A Ka Buan woman with a tall, buff man. An ex-Defender!”
They nodded at her. Oh, she hoped they were actually allowed to stay. If not, the guards would probably redirect Odile and Isabeau once they arrived, but still.
“Can you knock on the door for me?” Mirabelle asked Bonnie as they stepped up the front stairs and got to the front door, smiling nervously down at them. Oh, she prayed she wasn’t making a huge mistake. She did not want Bonnie to be traumatized by this.
Bonnie was busy staring up at the house with wide eyes, taking in the sight of it.
It was embarrassing enough to introduce the House as her current residence, it and all of its castle-like structure despite being nothing more than a school house, really. To introduce a nobles’ mansion as the place she grew up in–
She swallowed. “Bonnie?” She prompted.
They kicked into life. “Wow, Belle!” They told her, chattering excitedly as they skipped the rest of the way up, grabbing the knocker and slamming it like their life depended on it. “You didn’t tell me that you were rich!”
“I guess it just never came up!” Mirabelle giggled anxiously, even though it absolutely had the opportunity to. She just side-stepped it endlessly.
Imagine if the Change God really had blessed her, if she never moved to the House. Poor, helpless Mirabelle, unable to do a single thing for herself. . .
The thought of it made her sick.
Bonnie finally took a step away from the door, shuffling anxiously and reaching out to grab Siffrin’s hand, slipping their hand into theirs.
Mirabelle held her breath, barely remembering to let it all out before the door opened.
Standing in the entrance, lights from the torches and lamps haloing his head like a deity, stood the family butler. It was such a relief it was to see him that Mirabelle almost cried.
Instead, she just felt her heart twist over itself, unsure what she was supposed to say or do or say or–
No. He always understood her. Just speak from the heart, right, Mirabelle?
Everything was fine. He could make everything fine.
“Hi, Jacques. . .” Mirabelle greeted the man awkwardly.
“Oh.” Jacques blinked at her. “Madmosielle Mirabelle– That is, Madmosielle Saviour! It is good to see you. Monsieur and Madame Chevalier are in the sitting room. I can inform them that you are here–?”
“Yes. Please.” Mirabelle said, awkwardly. She glanced at Siffrin, shifting her grip on them.
“. . . I can have your friend taken upstairs to the spare bedroom, if you would like.” Jacques offered, him and his awful bleeding heart.
Mirabelle felt awful that she had been avoiding home for so long, for his sake if nobody else’s. She loved Jacques. Why was he still working for such awful people? She was expecting for him to move onto fresher pastures once she left, for her to be met by an unfamiliar face.
Him being here was such a relief. She needed his comforting presence more than anything.
“Please,” she begged quietly. She didn’t ask which bedroom it would be. Jacques would show her the way after she spoke to her parents.
As Jacques removed Siffrin, Mirabelle hesitated in her suddenly empty arms, and then nudged Bonnie towards the two of them. “Bonnie,” she prompted gently. “May you please go with Siffrin? Keep an eye on them? I don’t want to risk them waking up scared and alone.”
Siffrin’s single eye narrowed at her, a clear indicator at just how not asleep they were, but Mirabelle was willing to bet they would be out like a light the moment their head hit the pillow.
Bonnie nodded seriously at their task, studying Siffrin intently. “Can I hold your hand again?”
There was the briefest pause, and then Siffrin’s free hand appeared from underneath their cloak. Bonnie seized it, holding it tight.
Jacques looked at Mirabelle sadly, an unspoken sorrow unfurling in his gaze. Whatever happened from here, Mirabelle couldn’t imagine it was going to be the most pleasant conversation.
She loved her parents, really, she did, but even at their best she always felt like she was standing on one foot while her knee was being pushed again and again, trying to knock her over.
Mirabelle stayed in the middle of the grand hall to twist open her anxiety medication and swallow her prescribed dose. It was difficult getting back into the swing of things after so long of not having it at all. Maybe it would give her a little bit of courage, or at least clear her mind, when going up against her parents.
Mirabelle breathed in and out, careful, feeling it slip painfully out of her throat.
Then she went to the nearest staircase, setting her fingers on the banister and slowly climbing them. Jacques, Bonnie, and Siffrin had already disappeared above to the third floor. Mirabelle regretted not staying with them.
Maybe Jacques could hide her from her parents’ eyes.
It wouldn’t work forever, but how long did they really need. . . ?
Who was Mirabelle kidding? They needed a long time to recover. They were only here so that Siffrin wouldn’t have to be in Dormont for his recovery, and it was on the way to Bambouche. There was no telling how long they’d need to abuse the hospitality that her parents didn’t even believe in–!
No, no, no spiraling.
Mirabelle was certain everything would be just fine!
She set her hands on the door to the sitting room, breathing in and out twice more before she pushed in the doors and stepped into the room.
Her parents didn’t startle. They just mildly looked up at her as she stepped in, not even caring enough to do a doubletake.
Something bitter and awful curled in Mirabelle’s chest, but she swallowed it down. “Monsieur Chevalier.” She curtsied. “Madame Chevalier.”
“Mirabelle.” Madame Chevalier said, lifting a cup of tea to her lips. “How nice of you to visit us. To what do we owe this visit?”
“Yes,” Monsieur Chevalier agreed. “What favour do you think you’re owed?”
That was– so unfair! Mirabelle had never asked anything of them! The scarce visits she did offer up after she had become a Housemaiden were nothing but her trying to spark up a relationship!
She had never asked for money or boarding for anything! This was so mean of them!
Mirabelle very carefully did not twist her skirt between her fists, even as familiar sorrow began to stir up in her chest. She also did not imagine Odile blasting them in the face, because that was untoward, but oh, it would make her so happy to hear.
“I have a friend.” Mirabelle said slowly, trying her best not to imply anything. “They were injured. I was hoping we could take up a room. You don’t need to feed us or interact with us or anything.”
“A friend.” Monsieur Chevalier echoed, raising an eyebrow at her.
“Oh!” Madame Chevalier smiled, setting down both cup and saucer. “A friend? Has our Mirabelle finally found herself a partner?”
Mirabelle tried to imagine Siffrin as anything more, and got hit by a wave of disgust so visceral that– She made herself smile for her parents anyway. Siffrin would probably be so offended if she ever told them that she found the very idea of being anything more than friends to be disgusting.
What if he almost ended the world again over it?!
No, no, don’t think about that. Don’t.
Friendships were just as important as romantic relationships. They felt even more so to Mirabelle! She didn’t want to Change her relationship with any of her friends in any kind of romantic way.
“Maybe!” Mirabelle lied, keeping her hands flat against her dress. She felt awful for even pretending to think of Siffrin like that. She didn’t have their go-ahead to pretend. “For now we’re just friends, though.”
And just like that, the happy demeanor was shattered.
Once again, her parents were met with the realization that Mirabelle had no interest in continuing the family line, and their mood soured.
“Very well.” Madame Chevalier said, scoffing at her. “So you want foodand board until you find your footing. Is that it?”
“We can buy our own food in town,” Mirabelle responded quickly. “You won’t even know we’re here!”
“Absolutely not." Madame Chevalier hissed at her. “What will people think, seeing you wandering town and buying food, as if your own parents do not provide for you?”
“They won’t think that!” Mirabelle argued.
“Then what will they think?” Monsieur Chevalier demanded. “The so-called Saviour of Vaugarde walking around her home town, buying food like some common person, only to come home to their house! They’ll think we’re not feeding you.”
But. They wouldn’t be? Mirabelle really didn’t get it–
“They won’t think of it as her becoming independent,” Madame Chevalier said to her husband with a scoff. “They’ll think we’re being cruel.”
“Becoming the Saviour was the most inconsiderate thing you could do,” Monsieur Chevalier announced.
What–
What?!
Were they serious? There was no way they were being genuine about this! Mirabelle was giving up so much for their country, and they’re calling it inconsiderate because now they couldn’t treat her however they wanted without the public eye locked on them!
“But being the Saviour will make people revere our family!” Mirabelle cried. “They’ll honor you for having and raising me!”
“It was bad enough trying to get them to stop sniffing into our personal lives when you were a child.” Madame Chevalier sighed in disdain.
“Now we’ll have to do even more,” Monsieur Chevalier despaired. “There will be interviews! They’ll ask you how you were raised! They’ll ask you how you were treated, if you were fostered in a warm environment. . . You never did well at answering those questions!”
Because when she was young, she didn’t know she was supposed to lie. So she was honest, and it got them in trouble for a couple months before they were able to bribe her into saying it was all a joke.
Mirabelle wanted to scream. “I don’t get it! If you don’t want us to stay here, just tell us! And we can go on our way and find an inn or something!”
“No, no! And be turned away fully?” Madame Chevalier gasped. “Absolutely not! You will stay here until your. . . ‘friend’ heals. Nobody can know!”
“Nobody.” Monsieur Chevalier agreed.
Mirabelle didn’t let the scoff travel, but she thought it very intently. She was so angry. How could they–
Why did they think so lowly of her? She had never done anything!
She had just–
It didn’t matter.
She curtsied again. “Thank you for your hospitality. If anyone asks I’ll make sure to– to only say good things about you.”
She was going to maybe throw up. She was so sick of her parents.
“See that you do,” they nodded at her.
Mirabelle turned and fled the room.
((o))
She was sitting at Siffrin’s bedside, running her hands through his clammy hair, wondering if it was worth it to stand up and find a cold washcloth to dab at his hot, sweaty forehead, when Isabeau and Odile arrived.
Odile took one look at them, and inhaled sharply underneath her breath, pivoting away sharply to go to the adjoining bathroom.
Mirabelle would never stop being impressed over how seamlessly Odile found her place no matter where she was.
“Hey,” Isabeau said gently, kneeling down in front of Mirabelle and taking her free hand in his. “Are you okay? Did it go well?”
“No,” Mirabelle admitted miserably, wishing she could continue to brush her fingers through Siffrin’s hair and collapse into Isabeau’s arms like some helpless damsel in the stories she loved. “They talked like– like saving Vaugarde was something selfish that I did! Because now the public eye is always going to be on them!”
“Oh, Mira. . .” Isabeau whispered.
“If they were good people, it wouldn’t matter if people were paying attention or not! But be– because they’re bad people, now they’re going to be caught, and–! And I know they’re not good people, Isabeau! I know they’re not!” She wept. “But I– I still want them to be happy?”
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Isabeau said gently, squeezing her hand tightly. “You love them. And that’s okay.”
It didn’t feel okay, it didn’t feel– fine! Mirabelle shook her head wordlessly, as if that could possibly help.
“It’ll be okay, Belle!” Bonnie reassured urgently, climbing halfway over Siffrin to pat her shoulder. “We can run away again if they’re too mean to you!”
Mirabelle, caught off guard, broke into a laugh, tears trailing down her face as she did.
“D-did I help?” Bonnie asked anxiously, sinking back.
“Yes, Bonnie,” Mirabelle reassured waterily, smiling over her shoulder at them. “That was. . . very nice of you. We might need to.”
“But until then!" Isabeau said decisively. “We’ve got your back, Mira! We’ll protect you from your awful parents!”
“Yes,” Odile agreed, stepping out of the bathroom with a wash cloth in hand, exactly like Mirabelle had been wanting. She sidestepped around all of them to press it to Siffrin’s forehead, and he buckled up to melt into it. “We’ll find a way to protect you both.”
Mirabelle forced a smile.
Her family would probably disagree, but she was so blessed to have friends this close. Ones that actually cared to stay with her and wanted the best for her.
Her parents couldn’t take them away from her.