Chapter Text
The bishop was ancient. He was maybe the oldest man Mercedes had ever met. He walked slowly and spoke slower, and he was as bald as an egg and as wrinkly as a walnut. Mercedes liked him immensely.
He walked to the breakfast table of the tiny vicarage, balancing two bowls of porridge in his hands, and it was the longest and most suspenseful journey that Mercedes had ever witnessed. She longed to dash across the tiny kitchen and help him carry the porridge, but even after three days she knew that he would only be offended by such offers of assistance, so she clasped her hands around her mug of tea and took a sip. She gave the bishop a warm smile as he set her porridge in front of her, and it didn’t feel like helping, but it was what he wanted, so Mercedes supposed that was good enough.
“So, Miss Martritz, are you off today?” he asked, settling across the table from her and slowly reaching for a spoon for his own porridge. “I’m sure the children in town will be sad to see you go.”
Mercedes smiled. “I’ll miss them, too, Father Athos, but I’m afraid I must get on the road,” she said. “I do thank you for putting me up this week.”
“Ah, well, the goddess smiles down on those that smile on strangers,” Father Athos recited. “And I would never turn away a fellow daughter of the church.”
Mercedes took a hasty sip of tea, but gave him another smile as she set her mug down on the table.
“They’ll be lucky to have you, in Fhirdiad,” Father Athos continued. “You said they’re expecting you?”
“I believe so,” Mercedes said. “Well, not me specifically, but they’re sending several priestesses from Garreg Mach monastery to the northern churches. I’m not entirely where I’ll end up, but I know it’s at one of the churches in Fhirdiad.”
The old bishop nodded. “That makes sense, what with all that ugly business against the poor prince last year – or I suppose, he’s king now.” He shook his head and clucked his tongue. “The poor lad will need all the help he can get.”
“I hope I can be of use,” Mercedes said quietly.
“Ah, we will miss you, all the same,” Father Athos said. “Still! You’d best get on the road sooner rather than later. Sun sets early that far north, but as long as the weather stays good, you should get to Fhirdiad by nightfall.”
“I suppose I should go get my horse ready,” Mercedes said, putting her spoon down and looking longingly at the last bites of porridge.
But Father Athos was already slowly tottering to his feet and waving his hands at her. “Nonsense, nonsense! You finish up that breakfast and meet me out back when you’re ready to go,” he said.
Mercedes watched him go with a faint smile. He’d been ever so kind to her this week, taking her and her horse in, repairing horseshoes, offering shelter, giving her careful directions to Fhirdiad, helping her make preparations for the journey north. Once he’d found out she was a priestess in training, he’d let her help in his own small parish and regaled her with stories of when he was a young priest in a busier town just south of the Imperial border. Mercedes was the type to trust too easily and love too readily, but she truly felt that even after a few short days, she’d found a dear friend in Father Athos and a second home in this small village parish.
It was a real shame, then, that not a single word she had told him was true.
*
Mercedes’s lie was born out of necessity, but it was crafted from the hopes and dreams that had followed her for her entire life and that she had never achieved. For as long as she could remember, she’d wanted to work in a church, to surround herself with people that she could help and feel close to the goddess that she knew loved her. It didn’t have to be the grandeur of Garreg Mach; she had no need to travel as far as Fhirdiad. A church in a tiny town in the Empire, close to her mother and brother, would have been an ideal life for Mercedes.
Her stepfather wouldn’t hear of it. And in the last year, tensions between the church and the Empire had grown so that Mercedes gave up hope of ever convincing her family that there was respectability in a humble parish, even for a daughter with a Crest.
And House Bartels was the pinnacle of respectability. That had been drummed into Mercedes from a young age.
It was a desperate, lonely life, growing up as part of House Bartels. Her former family name and minor Crest set her apart from other members of her family, and Mercedes had few friends of her own. Her stepfather forbid her from traveling for school or finding a profession, but he also found fault in any friends or suitors that asked for her attention. When her brother left to enlist as an officer in the Imperial army, Mercedes had no one to talk to but her mother and the goddess, and even her mother seemed far away from her on most days.
Still, she had never planned to leave House Bartels. No matter her unhappiness, she was not so selfish as to leave her mother. She had little to gain but personal happiness by leaving, and personal happiness meant nothing if it would leave someone else unhappy.
That had all changed three weeks ago.
Mercedes hadn’t meant to eavesdrop when she walked by her stepfather’s study. She had a question for him about that evening’s dinner menu; she had not realized that he was meeting with guests.
She originally had stayed out of sight because it was rude to barge in on a conversation. And she had only listened in because she was curious about their strange costumes and behavior – furtive glances, long black cloaks, hoods that covered their faces. Mercedes listened in to find out where they were from, to wear such strange outfits to a formal meeting.
What she heard was more horrifying than she could have possibly imagined.
And so, when her mother announced an upcoming trip to Enbarr, Mercedes made an excuse to stay behind. And she paced the cloying, claustrophobic halls House Bartels, biding her time and making a plan. Not a very good plan – steal a horse, leave at night, ride north until they cannot find you – but a plan all the same.
She’d stumbled into Father Athos’s parish cold and tired and lost, and when he’d asked her what her horse’s name was, she hadn’t known the answer.
She knew what to call herself, however: Mercedes von Martritz. The name of Bartels would only serve to drag her back to the Empire, and she knew she could not return. Not knowing what she knew now.
Mercedes set her spoon down in the porridge bowl, now empty. She sighed. On some level, she would have loved to stay here, to live as an obscure priestess in a tiny town just north of the Imperial border. To sing in the church choir. To help. But her stepfather was no doubt already searching for her, and she wouldn’t bring the wrath of House Bartels onto this tiny town for all the happiness in the world.
Father Athos stood by her horse, gently patting its nose, and he smiled at Mercedes as she walked up to them. Mercedes felt a pang of guilt, wondering if he would smile so kindly if he knew the horse was stolen, if she knew she had lied. She was grateful she would never find out.
“I wish you’d packed a more sensible cloak, Miss Martritz,” Father Athos said as he helped her onto her horse. “It’s cold up in Faerghus; spring arrives late in the north.”
“I’m sure there will be a lovely fireplace at the monastery in Fhirdiad,” Mercedes said. “And it’s only a day’s journey, goddess willing.”
“Goddess willing,” Father Athos echoed.
It was a goodbye and a blessing both, and Mercedes held them both in her heart as she rode away from the parish. She felt greedy to take such kindness under false pretenses. But she hoped the goddess would spare her – she had little kindness to hold onto otherwise.
***
Father Athos was right; it was cold in Faerghus this time of year. The sun rose above the trees and traveled across the sky with no discernible change in temperature, and by the time it reached late afternoon, the air was well and truly cold.
Still, it wasn’t until the rain started that Mercedes felt any reason to complain. And even then, she tried to think of it as a light spring rain, cleansing and healing and just what the earth needed.
It might have been, for the earth. For Mercedes and her horse, however, it was mostly miserable. The first hour was more drizzle than downpour, but as the sun disappeared behind the trees, the storm increased, until sheets of water were battering Mercedes, soaking through her riding shawl and plastering her clothes and hair against her skin.
The horse was fine, or at least resigned, until the lightening and thunder started. It started back at the first clap of thunder, and for a brief moment of terror, Mercedes was sure the horse would bolt in some unknown direction. She guided it under control with some difficulty, then urged it forward, whispering calming nothings in its ear as it trotted along cautiously.
The mud made travel difficult, as did the downpour. And the increasing dark made it difficult to see, even as Mercedes traveled along the main road. Mercedes had never prided herself on a particularly strong sense of direction, but the townsfolk and Father Athos had been clear enough – follow the main road, and it will take you to Fhirdiad. She worried, as the night dragged on, that she had somehow misheard them.
Shivering and alone, the darkness crowding around her and her home far behind, Mercedes took the only path forward that she’d ever known: she closed her eyes and asked the goddess for guidance. She also asked the goddess to make it stop raining and to comfort her horse.
As she rounded the next hill and light overtook her, Mercedes smiled to herself. One out of three answers was, in her opinion, a fairly good response. And unless she was very much mistaken, the royal castle of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, the center of the kingdom and the edge of Fhirdiad, lay at the foot of that very hill.
The lights of the castle were still a far way off, a hazy golden glow shining through the downpour and the darkness. If Mercedes unfocused her eyes, the lights blended together like stars on the horizon, rising higher and higher above her as she rode closer to the palace itself.
A flash of lightning crashed across the sky, briefly illuminating the castle. It seemed, to Mercedes, to be almost impossibly large, taller and more imposing than she’d pictured in her head at any point along her journey. The castle was a cold, shadowy silhouette compared to the warm lights in its windows, and the turrets and towers seemed stretched towards the sky like disjointed fingers.
For a moment, Mercedes faltered. Thunder rolled around her as she contemplated the hazy lights, closer than ever now. The castle, the king, this entire country – it all was unknown and unfamiliar, and it was difficult to view it as welcoming.
Still. She remembered the men in cloaks, talking to her stepfather in raspy whispers. She couldn’t go back home. And her stepfather was surely looking for her; if she stayed in one place, he would surely find her. The only way to go was forward.
She urged her horse forward.
It seemed to Mercedes that the rain picked up as she rode down the hill leading towards the front gates of the castle. Her riding cloak was ill-prepared for such weather, and she was certain her dress was completely soaked through, freezing cold water seeping against her skin. Her hair was plastered against her neck, and she suppressed an involuntary shiver. It rained frequently along the Adestrian coast, but it was often midday rain, warm and light, like sunshine against your shoulders. This rain came down in sheets, cold and harsh, so that Mercedes could hardly see the road ahead of her. She kept her eyes focused on a light in the top turret of the castle, a guiding star that she could barely make out against the darkness and the downpour.
The low visibility made it difficult to gauge how far she was from the castle gates, even as her fixed window rose higher and higher above her as she approached. When a sudden flash of sheet lightening lit up the castle in its entirety, Mercedes was surprised to see the castle gates rising directly before her.
Even more shocking, perhaps, was the looming silhouette of a guard striding towards her, practically within striking distance.
Mercedes’s horse reared backwards, terrified by the figure or the thunder or both. Mercedes could barely bring it to a standstill, and she momentarily feared she would lose control of the panicked animal. As the horse finally settled, Mercedes scrambled to the ground, holding tightly to the reins and cooing comforting whispers to try to calm the frightened beast.
A clank of armor caught her attention, and she looked up just as another flash of lightning illuminated the sky.
He was possibly the tallest man Mercedes had even seen, his broad shoulders and muscles matching his height. She took in as many features as she could before the world was plunged into darkness, but she could only really make out a scar across his cheek, a shock of pale hair, and the official crest of Loog emblazoned across his cloak.
And his grim expression, of course. That was probably what was most prominent, as he looked down at her – an unreadable, unfeeling frown that masked his entire face.
Mercedes’s horse reared back onto its hind legs once more, and her arms were yanked backwards and upwards as she tried to hold onto the reins. Mercedes turned away from the guard and towards her horse, but she was certain her attempts at comforting clucks were lost in the rain and the thunder. The poor beast was terrified, and Mercedes could barely keep hold of the reins as the horse jerked its head back again.
A large, strong hand grabbed the reins, covering Mercedes’s hand easily. The guard seemed more experienced with horses than Mercedes, and he firmly but carefully pulled down on the reins, until the moment of panic passed and the horse stood, wary but unmoving, waiting beside them.
Mercedes realized how cold her hands were when the guard stepped away and looked at her.
“What is your business here?” he asked. His voice was low and solemn, and his tone was as unreadable as his face.
“Th-thank you for your help,” Mercedes said, clenching her jaw together as she swallowed, trying to get her bearings and find her voice and not shiver her way through a first impression. “I’m sorry – I’m not used to riding, you see, or at least, not at night, and I’m afraid I –”
“If your business is not urgent, you should return home,” the man interrupted. “It’s dangerous to travel alone at night, and in a storm such as this.”
“Oh, please – I can’t – I need to speak with the king,” Mercedes said. She didn’t think the man would be particularly interested in the longer story – that she had no home to go to, that from here on out, she was alone no matter what she did. It was best to skip to the point.
The point, however, did not seem to impress the guard. His eyes narrowed, his eyebrows drawing together to complete his impressive scowl. “His majesty is no longer receiving visitors today,” he said, and to his credit, he didn’t add any snide remarks about the late hour. “If you would come back next week, he meets with territory representatives and townsfolk –”
“I’m not from his territory,” Mercedes interrupted. “I don’t – I don’t have an appointment or anything like that. I’m from the Empire.”
The guard’s expression went blank, except for a flash in his eyes as he looked at Mercedes again. Mercedes realized, with horror, that his eyes were suspicious now, as well as evaluating. The relationship between the Empire and the Kingdom was on shaky ground. Mercedes had always figured that was a disagreement that she needn’t be a part of. The guard clearly did not agree.
“You don’t wear the clothes of an Imperial messenger,” he said sharply. “And we’ve had no word from Embarr of any visits from diplomats or nobility.”
Mercedes could have laughed if it wasn’t so awful. Her dress was soaked through and sticking against her, her horse was ready to bolt at any moment, she couldn’t get five words out without her teeth chattering. She looked as far from nobility as she had ever looked, and certainly no one would trust her with a royal message.
“No one sent me,” she said, shaking her head. “The Emperor does not know I’m here. But please, I must speak with the king –”
“You still haven’t told me your business here,” the guard reminded her with infuriating calm.
“I’ve told you, I must speak to your king. I have – he needs to hear this.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Please! They’re planning to murder him!” Mercedes cried, her voice finally cutting through the rain and the wind and the constant interruptions, so that she knew she would be heard.
Thunder clapped, more distant now, and Mercedes and the guard stared at each other in silence as the rain poured down around them.
Mercedes flinched as the guard reached towards her, but he only took the reins from her hand and pulled her horse forward slightly.
“I think you had better come with me,” he said. He was already turning to go through the large iron gates. He pushed them open as if they were no more than gauze and air.
Mercedes followed behind him silently, and he let her walk past him before swinging the gate behind them with a loud clang. For a moment, her heart dropped at the realization that she could not turn and run, even if she changed her mind, even if she wanted to. But there was no home she could go back to, not anymore. And so she turned and followed the man through the rain and the darkness and into the heart of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus.