Chapter Text
My dearest darlingest Marianne,
Warmest greetings from Goneril! I hope you are faring well. Edmund is so close to all that unpleasantness in Faerghus that I do worry about you, you know. But I trust you’re smart enough to stay out of trouble.
I’m writing to you because I’ve had the most splendid idea. One of my best ideas, I really do think. I know you’ll just die when you hear it, and I do hope you’ll say yes.
It was actually Holst’s idea, if you can believe that. The other day I was showing him some new dresses I’d bought in town, and he looked at me and said, Hilda, if you won’t come into battle with me – there was some stupid skirmish he had to go to later that day but I was busy! – if you won’t join me in battle, the least you can do is reach out to your connections and promote Goneril’s cause throughout the Alliance. He’s been all worried about Goneril because the Empire keeps trying to annex Ordelia. I swear he’s grown 10 years in the past 3!
But I’m getting distracted, where was I? Yes! Promoting Goneril’s cause across to my connections in the Alliance. I obviously told him that was a splendid idea, and obviously you were the first connection I thought of! Well, Claude, but he’s busy with leading the council or whatever he does now that he’s duke. And anyways, I like you much better than Claude.
So, what do you say? If you can come down to Goneril as soon as possible, I’ve already started setting up teas and visits and things like that. You’re so charming and beloved, I’m sure you’d have no problem helping me sway people to Goneril’s cause or whatever Holst wants us to do. And you can tell your father that you’re helping promote the good name of Edmund! I know he likes that sort of thing. Really, everyone wins!
I don’t want to put you on any hurried timeline, but if you can get here by next week, Lorenz and his father are visiting from Gloucester and I’ve arranged a garden party with them. Lorenz will be happy to see you; he was always fond of you. And I have a smashing new hat – I can’t wait to show it to you!
All my love to Dorte, and all my love to you. I look forward to your arrival in Goneril.
Kisses,
Hilda
Marianne read through the letter for the hundredth time and wondered, also for the hundredth time, what one was supposed to wear to a garden party. Much to her chagrin, she didn’t own any smashing hats.
Still, she supposed as she surveyed the dresses neatly folded in her trunk, if headwear of any sort was required at a garden party, she had no doubt Hilda would be able to provide her with some.
Marianne refolded the letter and put it in her pocket. Then she closed the trunk shut with a final click, vowing to not open it again until it arrived in Goneril, no matter how certain she was that she’d packed wrong and ruined everything.
Hilda was right about one thing – Marianne had just about died when she’d initially read the letter. She had little interest in promoting the good name of Edmund around the Alliance, and she very much doubted Hilda’s faith in her that she was the ideal candidate to promote the good name of Goneril. Unfortunately, her adoptive father had intercepted the letter before Marianne had a chance to say no, and he was predictably enthusiastic about Hilda’s proposal.
To Goneril, then, Marianne would go. As soon as possible.
Marianne opened her trunk again, just to check to make sure she’d packed her hairbrush. She’d dug through half her dresses to find the hairbrush when the door swung open and her adoptive father walked into the room. Marianne let the trunk fall closed again. Her dresses would be wrinkled when they got to Goneril, but hopefully no one would notice.
“I thought you were packed already, Marianne,” Margrave Edmund said, frowning down at her from the doorway.
“I’m sorry,” Marianne said. She scrambled to her feet, giving her trunk one final goodbye look and begging her hairbrush to be somewhere at the bottom.
“I hope you’re ready to depart – the horses are ready,” Margrave Edmund said, eyeing Marianne with a skeptical look that made her hurriedly smooth down her hair in a way that may have made it frizzier. “I trust you didn’t pack anything you’ll need in the next week in your trunks, correct? Merchant caravans are unpredictable right now; it may arrive several days after you.”
“I’m sorry – yes – thank you,” Marianne said hurriedly. They’d been over this before, and now that her trunk was packed she didn’t like the reminder of how final her packing decisions were. “I’m ready to go; I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”
She followed her adoptive father out of her room and down the long hallway towards the front of the manor. There was never much light in the interior of the Edmund Estate home, and even at high noon, the candles cast strange shadows across the hall as they walked. Marianne kept her eyes on her feet – she didn’t like the disappointed looks from the family portraits.
“I’ve given your escort enough money for four nights of lodging,” Margrave Edmund said as they walked. “Ideally it’s a three day journey, but it’s been a rainy spring. Do not travel in the rain, Marianne. You could catch cold.”
“I see,” said Marianne.
“It would not do to meet Count Gloucester with a red nose.”
“Of course,” said Marianne.
“I’m told your escort is good with horses, but I’ve given him enough money for private rooms. He should not have to sleep in the stables if he is to keep alert on the roads the next day.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Marianne said. After a pause, she added, “I could always travel on my own, Father. I know the way to Goneril.”
Margrave Edmund turned to look at Marianne with an expression of bewilderment that bordered on outrage.
“Out of the question,” he said sharply. “The reports of bandit activity have been startling, even on the main travel routes – especially on the main travel routes. War touches even our safe harbors, Marianne.” He turned away from Marianne, and she followed him down the large marble staircase. “I do wish I could send one of our own men as your escort, but with the recent border skirmishes – no matter. This chap comes highly recommended from Count Rowe. Good with horses, very polite. I’m sure he’ll get you to Goneril just fine.”
“Count Rowe?” Marianne repeated.
“Yes – he’s training to be a knight in Rowe’s service, I believe. Got stranded in Fraldarius and is earning his way back out west as a mercenary.” Margrave Edmund shook his head. “Rowe wasn’t clear on the details – but you needn’t trouble yourself to remember all this. I’m not paying him to be your friend; I’m sure you can spend the trip in companionable silence.”
Marianne barely heard any of this. It had been many moons since she’d heard anyone bring up Rowe or Gaspard or western Fódlan. There had been a time, early in the war, when she was desperate for news from that part of the continent, and even now the mention of such places made heart beat a bit faster.
But that was ridiculous, of course. It was silly that any little mention of western Fódlan would make her think of –
“Ah, there he is now,” Margrave Edmund said, his voice slightly raising and interrupting Marianne’s thoughts. He bounded down the stairs. “Sir Ubert! I take it the horses are ready to depart?”
Marianne felt caught on the top of the final staircase, clutching the banister for balance as she stared down into the front hall. A young man had been talking to a parlormaid, but he looked up at the margrave’s voice. His silver hair was longer now, and he pushed his bangs out of his eyes with one hand as he looked towards them. He was taller than when Marianne had last seen him, but he moved with the same light quickness as he pushed away from the wall and strode towards the staircase.
He looked up at the margrave, his eyes bright and clear, and after a brief nod he looked above his head to the top of the staircase. He locked eyes with Marianne and she felt frozen in place.
“Sir Ubert, may I present my daughter, Miss Marianne von – Marianne, hurry up!” Margrave Edmund said, looking over his shoulder and finding his daughter not there. She hurried down the stairs with a slight squeak, and he resumed introductions. “Marianne, this knight will be your escort and guide for the week – allow me to introduce Sir –”
“Ashe,” Marianne murmured softly, her voice breathy and shaky.
Ashe looked at her as if she was the only one in the room who had spoken. He bowed solemnly. “Miss Edmund,” he said politely.
Marianne realized in horror that it was absolutely too late to tell Hilda she wasn’t coming.
***
When they stopped the first night, they had barely made it out of Edmund.
They had left fairly late in the day, so it was only half a day’s travel. And a good portion of their journey had been in a caravan of Edmund soldiers with whom they had parted ways at the territory border. There was safety in numbers, which the margrave approved of, but it was also a slower trip.
Marianne didn’t mind. She was a competent rider and had certainly traveled at a more strenuous pace during the war, but traveling too far and too fast was hard on Dorte. There was no need to make his life needlessly difficult. He was already nervous about being in an unfamiliar place for the evening, and about seeing Ashe for the first time in four years.
Marianne realized she was possibly projecting some of her own thoughts onto Dorte, but she decided not to overthink this.
Instead, she looked around the stables, inspecting the stall yet another time, just to be safe. The inn was simple but comfortable, a resting place for respectable merchants and even the occasional traveling noble. Marianne wasn’t keen to advertise her status while on the road, but Margrave Edmund did insist on a certain amount of propriety. The stables matched the inn – not particularly spacious, but clean and well-maintained. Dorte snorted at her, and Marianne smiled. He might have liked more apples with his dinner, but he would be perfectly fine here for one evening.
“Marianne?”
Marianne turned towards the voice. Ashe’s silhouette took up most of the stable doorway, the sun low in the sky behind him. Marianne left Dorte’s stall and walked towards him. He met her halfway, holding out a large metal key.
“I’ve got you your room for tonight,” he said, handing the key to her with a small, polite smile. “Last door on the left; the innkeeper said you can get dinner in the tavern whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you,” Marianne said softly, taking the key from him. She tried to match his smile, but she could feel her cheeks turning red as her fingers brushed against his, and she looked away quickly instead. How embarrassing, to still be acting like a teenager after all these years. Desperate for anything to say, she quickly added, “Is your room nice?”
“Ah, well – I told the innkeeper I’d just sleep in the stables tonight. Keep an eye on the horses,” Ashe said. He pointed to the corner. “I figured that pile of hay would do just fine! We did way worse with those tents at the academy, after all.”
Marianne glanced over at the pile of hay, then looked up to meet Dorte’s eyes. He snorted and disappeared into his stall. He was staying out of this.
“My adoptive father – Margrave Edmund assured me that he gave you enough funds to cover your own room,” Marianne said slowly. She turned back to Ashe and tilted her head. “If he neglected to cover the costs, then surely I can –”
“Ah, no, it’s not that,” Ashe said quickly, waving his hands in an anxious habit Marianne recognized from his early days at the academy. “I just – the rooms are expensive, and I really don’t mind sleeping in the stables, and I thought – I don’t usually stay in inns this nice; it’s wasted money, really.”
Marianne remembered suddenly what her father had said – that Ashe was working his way back to Gaspard – and she felt very foolish and very sheltered, indeed. They weren’t traveling together out of friendship or loyalty. He needed the money.
Still. They had two more days of this before they reached Goneril.
Marianne squared her shoulders and looked Ashe straight in the eye, clutching the key he handed her until the edges of its metal teeth dug into her palm. “Go order a second room, and when we arrive in Goneril, I will reimburse you for the extra cost. I do not feel safe sleeping with my escort so far away,” she said. She could feel herself blushing again, and she looked away, feeling her confidence falter. “It’s what my adoptive father would want,” she added softly.
She dug the key into her palm again, waiting for Ashe’s reply – a protest, perhaps, or an accusation that she was being spoiled or selfish. Instead, she heard a sound she hadn’t heard in years.
Ashe chuckled.
Marianne looked up, surprised. Ashe was leaning against an empty stall door with his arms crossed, laughing to himself.
“What is it?” she asked, eyes wide.
“I’m sorry,” Ashe said, shaking his head slightly. “It’s just – it’s nice to have you bossing me around again.”
Marianne’s jaw dropped. “I didn’t – I never bossed you around!” she protested.
Ashe grinned. “Sure you did. ‘Be more careful in battle, Ashe’, ‘Bring an extra apple for Dorte, Ashe,’ ‘Ashe, you’ve lost your keys again.’” His voice was light and singsongish, not mocking enough to be cruel, but certainly nothing like how Marianne actually sounded.
“I didn’t – I never – those are all reasonable things!” Marianne said. She gasped, realization suddenly hitting her. “You’re teasing me!” she accused, staring up at Ashe open-mouthed.
Ashe tilted his head, thinking about the accusation. “So I am,” he admitted after a moment’s consideration. “Is that permissible, Miss Edmund?” He raised an eyebrow at her.
Marianne looked down at her feet, clasping her hands together. She’d never been good at talking to people. She’d certainly never understood what Hilda called flirting, which had always just seemed equal parts mean and confusing to her. But talking to Ashe – it had always been easy. He’d always made her feel more interesting than she actually was. What a thing, to have a friend who would tease you.
“Get yourself a proper room tonight,” she said, slowly looking up to meet Ashe’s eyes. “And I suppose I can forgive you.”
Ashe’s smile was slow and sincere and lovely, and Marianne covered her mouth with her hands to hide her own smile as she followed him out of the stables.
What a thing, that she could tease, too.
***
The tavern wasn’t overly crowded, but there were a fair amount of guests gathered so early in the evening. Mercenaries and merchants intermingled at the bar and playing cards, and there was a low murmur of conversation that filled the room.
Marianne huddled in the corner of the tavern, sitting on a low couch next to a fireplace. It was early enough in spring that nights were still chilly, and the fire in the fireplace burned brightly. Still, the seating area was far enough away from socialization and drinks that most patrons seemed uninterested in this tucked-away corner of the tavern. That made it ideal for Marianne, and she pulled her knees to her chest as she stared into the fire, happy to hide in the corner for the evening.
She spotted Ashe making his way to her from across the tavern, carefully balancing a bowl of food in each hand.
“Looks pretty good!” he said cheerfully, sliding one bowl to her. “I mean, I could do better, but . . .” he gave her a nervous smile as he trailed off. Marianne realized he was waiting for some sort of response, and she quickly moved over to one side of the couch to give him room to sit down.
“I’m sure it’s delicious,” she murmured, picking up her spoon as Ashe settled next to her.
It was delicious, for food on the road. The stew was mostly vegetables, but it was flavorful and hearty, and the slice of bread that accompanied it was perfect for sopping up broth. Marianne wondered if Ashe had remembered her distaste for meat dishes.
She glanced over at him. It was strange, seeing him for the first time in three years. He’d changed in ways she hadn’t expected – which was silly, of course. They’d all changed. His face had lost some of its roundness, his shoulders had grown broader. He was no longer the earnest teenager she remembered so fondly from her school days, even if his eyes were the same, bright and clear and quick and darting in her direction.
Oh goddess. His eyes were darting in her direction. And Marianne was sure she’d been caught staring, trying to figure out if his arms were more muscular than she remembered or if she was just not used to seeing him with his sleeves rolled halfway up. She looked away very quickly and burned her mouth on an overly ambitious bite of soup.
“It’s very good,” she said into her bowl. “Thank you for getting it for me.”
“Ah – of course,” Ashe said. “It’s not a problem.” After a small pause, he added, a little more shyly, “I wasn’t sure if you’d even want to eat dinner with me, really. You were awfully quiet on the road.”
Marianne looked up quickly. “Oh! It isn’t – it wasn’t that – I didn’t mean to be rude,” she said, her eyes growing wide. “It’s just – there were all those people, and then even when they left . . .” She trailed off, thinking of Margrave Edmund’s words to her earlier that day. “I know I’m not very interesting to talk to,” she apologized. “And you aren’t being paid to be my friend.”
“Goodness, Marianne, you make me sound awfully mercenary,” Ashe said. There was a note of legitimate hurt in his voice, and Marianne realized she must have been very rude.
“I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to insult you,” she said quickly. “And you’re not a mercenary at all, of course not! Is it true you’re a knight now? Congratulations. I mean – I know that was what you always wanted.”
Ashe gave a rueful smile. “Well, not exactly a knight yet, either. I’ve been in service to Count Rowe, but he’s had more on his mind than knighting ceremonies, and anyways –” he shook his head, cutting off. “I guess I’m more of a mercenary than a knight right now. But what I mean is – it’s an honor to be acting as your escort, that’s all. I’m not just doing this for money, you know that. I’d like to help an old friend.”
“An old friend?” Marianne repeated softly.
“Well, we’re friends, right?” Ashe asked. He set his empty soup dish to the side and readjusted his seat, shifting imperceptible towards her. “I know we weren’t in the same house or anything, but I always thought at the academy – I mean, I think of you fondly, that’s all.” His eyes widened, and he moved back just as slightly as he’d leaned in. “I hope that’s not too presumptuous to say! I know it’s been a long time, and I wouldn’t want –”
“No, no, it’s fine!” Marianne said quickly, reaching out to Ashe without thinking. She stopped herself before she touched his hand, but Ashe froze, cutting off his apologies as he looked down at her. Marianne snatched her hand back and folded her hands together. “I’ve always – I think of you fondly, too,” she said.
When she got the nerve to glance back over at Ashe, his smile was so kind she almost had to look away again.
“I still remember some of the steps you taught me at the Winter’s Ball,” he said. “I haven’t really had much time to put them to good use, but I taught my sister some of them, and she makes me practice them sometimes.” He laughed to himself, smiling in that sad, soft way he always had when he talked about his siblings, so far from him. “It’s nice to have a way to remember. Although I suppose you must go to dances and things like that all the time now that you’re back in the Alliance.”
Marianne shook her head. “Not really. I don’t like – I’m not very good at things like that. I don’t really like dancing with strangers,” she said. She added quickly, “I don’t feel that way about the ball. Because we’re not strangers, we’re –”
“We’re friends,” Ashe agreed quickly. “And the winter ball, it was – ”
“It was nice,” Marianne finished. “It was awfully nice.”
It was strange, to think back on that evening with such fondness, and yet the warmth in Marianne’s smile was sincere. She had never been one for large social events, and indeed, much of the first half of the evening had been predictably miserable – all stuttering conversations and trodding on the feet of nobles she was supposed to be impressing. But Ashe was almost as terrible at dancing as she was. No one could blame him – it was his first time at a formal dance, after all – but his eager apologies put Marianne at ease, and the way he counted the steps under his breath was more charming than he realized.
It had been easy to say yes to a second dance. And a third.
In a way, Marianne felt that she’d never quite gained her balance after that last note from the orchestra stretched a beat too long and she’d tripped over her own two feet, after Ashe barely caught her and she’d clutched his arms for balance. But she clung to that last happy evening, to Hilda’s feigned shock that Marianne had danced with the same partner twice and Ashe’s shy offer to walk her back to her room and the warmth of his arm around her against the cold of a winter at Garreg Mach. She clung to the memory of how gently he wished her goodnight, to the way his eyes sparkled when he smiled at her.
His eyes were the same, now, and he looked at her with the same kindness. Marianne blushed and looked away, as if he could read her thoughts.
“Everything that came after that night was so – Captain Jeralt dead, the monastery burned down,” she said, her voice trembling. “Everything went so wrong; it feels wicked to still have some happy memories. But I do.”
Ashe’s fingers brushed against hers and she looked up, gasping. But he was only taking her empty bowl from her hands.
“As if anyone could ever think that you were wicked, Marianne,” he said gently. “Let me return these to the kitchen – when I get back I want to hear all about what you’ve been up to the last few years.”
Marianne didn’t really think she’d been up to much of anything in the last few years, if she was being honest. But Ashe had always been remarkably easy to talk to, and she had plenty of stories about Dorte, and he seemed just as interested in her nature walks and amateur attempts at watercolor painting as he had at the academy. Ashe himself steadfastly and skillfully avoided talking about his time on the front lines, but he told Marianne stories about his younger siblings, and new recipes he was trying, and a variety of weird and wonderful people he’d met on his travels over the past few moons. Marianne was surprised at how often she laughed. She was more surprised when she looked up minutes later and realized the tavern was empty and the fire burned low – and that minutes later was, in fact, hours later without her realizing.
Marianne felt vaguely giddy as she followed Ashe out of the tavern and up the stairs towards their rooms. She was laughing at some ridiculous story he was telling about his sister’s disastrous attempt to learn wind magic, and she misplaced her footing, tripping over the first step leading up to the second floor. She gasped slightly, flailing for the banner, but Ashe easily caught her as she fell against him.
“I’m sor – thank you,” she said, trying to keep her voice soft, as she was sure people were sleeping.
Ashe grinned down at her. “Just doing my duty, my lady,” he said with an exaggerated bow, awkwardly looping her arm in his.
This particular method of escorting a lady didn’t work terribly well on the narrow, rickety staircase, and Marianne stifled a giggle as Ashe clumsily helped her climb the stairs – something she was perfectly capable of on her own, but Marianne didn’t protest.
Ashe gave her a sheepish smile when they reached the top of the stairs, and he dropped her arm. Marianne clasped her hands together and followed him down the short hallway.
“Last door on the left,” Ashe recited from earlier that afternoon. “I’m the room right next to you, so if you need anything – it’s a very reputable inn, of course, but if you’re worried or anything happens or –”
“Ashe,” Marianne said softly, and he cut off. She gave him a soft smile. “I’m sure things will be fine. Thank you for worrying, but – I don’t feel in any danger.”
Ashe laughed, almost to himself. “I am worrying, aren’t I?” he mumbled, his cheeks turning the slightest pink. “But listen – I’m here to keep you safe, right? You can count on me.”
“I know,” Marianne said, nodding.
And it wasn’t everything she wanted to say, not by a long shot, but it seemed to be enough for Ashe. He took a breath, about to reply, but whatever it was, he thought better of it. Giving Marianne a final goodnight smile, he turned back towards his own door.
Marianne reached for his arm before she really knew what she was doing. Ashe turned quickly, surprised. Marianne almost pulled away out of instinct, but in a flash of bravery or nostalgia or both, she kept her hand on Ashe’s forearm, keeping them both rooted to the spot.
“Thank you, Ashe,” she said quietly, looking up at him. “I’m glad that –” She paused, suddenly unsure what to say. She was glad he was still alive? She was glad her father had hired him for this job? She was glad to not be alone, because even if he was in another room entirely, he’d always made her feel less alone?
“I’m glad to see you again,” she said finally. “I’m glad – I’m glad you’re here."
Perhaps it was a silly reason to stop him, or a silly thing to say. But Ashe smiled at her, and Marianne was glad she’d said it.
Carefully, Ashe reached for her other hand, gently curling his fingers around hers. In one slow, deliberate motion, he raised her hand up and leaned down to kiss the back of her knuckles. It was just long enough for Marianne to gasp softly before he pulled away, standing up straight again. Marianne swore she could still feel the warmth of his breath against her fingers.
“And I’m glad to be your knight for the week, Marianne,” he said. “It’s an honor to travel with you.”
“Oh!” Marianne said, her fingers tightening around his arm ever so slightly. She broke eye contact first, and realized in an instant she was rather presumptuously clinging to Ashe with both hands still. She dropped her hands and clasped them together. “Oh,” she repeated, smiling.
Ashe smiled before turning back around, and he was already in his room by the time Marianne realized that she had not, strictly speaking, wished him goodnight properly. She whispered oh a third time, clasped her hands over her mouth, and rushed into her room, scarcely remembering to lock it behind her.
Marianne pulled her hand away from her face and looked down at the back of her fingers. She realized she was smiling.
It was too late in the season for there to be a fire in her room, and Marianne hurried to get ready for bed and crawl under the covers. She had packed lightly, and the furnishings for the inn were tidy but sparse, so she wasn’t overwhelmed by her usual messiness as she slipped into a nightgown and rebraided her hair. It gave her mind time to wander.
It had been surprisingly chilly, the night of the winter ball, and Marianne had been grateful when Ashe had draped his jacket over her shoulders when they stepped outside of the ballroom and made their way to the dormitories. He had kept his arm around her even when they escaped the wind and climbed the staircase to the upper dorms – a wider staircase than the one tonight, enough to comfortably fit two people. Marianne had stayed close to Ashe, all the same.
She’d remembered to say goodnight, that night, softly and with just a bit of regret but not nervously, not anymore. Ashe’s smile was so gentle when he replied that Marianne felt frozen in place, unable or unwilling to turn the doorknob to her room and bring the evening to an end. She lingered. She waited.
Maybe that was why Ashe had kissed her.
It had been a proper kiss goodnight – Marianne’s only proper kiss goodnight, if she was keeping track, or at least, the only one that mattered. Ashe had cupped her cheek with one hand and held her waist with the other, and pulled her close slowly enough to give Marianne time to move away. She couldn’t remember, now, what she’d done with her hands, whether she’d grabbed his shoulder for balance or threaded her fingers through his or stood stock still with her hands at her sides. She could only remember that the kiss was gentle, and kind, and over too soon.
She wondered if Ashe ever thought about it, if it had mattered to him the way it mattered to her. She wondered if he’d thought about it tonight.
Marianne climbed into bed, pulling all the blankets up to her chin to stave off the evening chill. She held up her hand in the lamplight, running her thumb over the backs of her fingers, and she smiled again.
Marianne dimmed the lamp next to the bed and settled back against the pillows. It was strange to think of Ashe as being so close, only one wall and two headboards away from where she was, after not seeing him for three years. She hoped his room was comfortable. She hoped he remembered the ball at Garreg Mach as fondly as she did. She hoped he was falling asleep with a smile on his face, as well.
Marianne brushed the back of her fingers, and she pictured Ashe’s smile as she drifted off to sleep.