Chapter 22

Day 14 of the Great Tree Moon, Imperial Year 1176

"Marianne! Marianne, don't go so far that way!" a woman's voice called out kindly yet firmly.

Marianne knew the warnings to avoid the forest, but she couldn't help but admire the vernal blooms. The trees were sprinkled in shades of white and pink, and purple wildflowers danced in the wind. She had approached close enough to pinpoint the location of a chirping bird before her mother forced her to turn around. The girl reluctantly scrambled back under the lone willow in the field where her parents had set out a blanket.

As Marianne picked up her half-eaten pheasant sandwich for a few more nibbles, she asked her parents, "The purple ones… what type of flower is it?"

Her father squinted towards the field. "A type of salvia, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, that seems likely," Marianne's mother agreed. She then grinned at Marianne a bit mischievously. "They're certainly beautiful, but I'm a little sad you find them more interesting than the food I made."

"I-it's not that. I'm just not very hungry."

"Oh, well that's a shame. I guess your father and I will have to share this alone, then."

She opened up a basket to reveal a set of sweet buns. Both Marianne and her father's eyes lit up with anticipation.

Marianne rationalized, "W-well, I saved enough room for dessert, so…"

"Yes, that's what I thought," her mother chuckled.

As she ate, Marianne felt energized enough to share a story.

"Yesterday, when we went into town for those fabrics? I talked to another girl at the shop. She was a bit shy, but she seemed really glad to spend time with someone."

Her parents glanced at each other nervously. Though their family possessed inherited money, they kept a low profile and often relocated from one country estate to another whenever the gossip began to spread in the vicinity. The local village had just recently heard the rumor- that Marianne's family bore the Crest of the Beast.

The Crest originally belonged to Maurice, who was allied with the Ten Elites and their leader Nemesis during the War of Heroes. Maurice was on track to be remembered as a savior of Fódlan; however, that all changed in his later days. Allegedly, the power of his Crest overwhelmed him, and he transformed into a horrific beast that tore many innocents to pieces before vanishing.

As a result of Maurice's disgrace, he had been nearly expunged from historical records, and his descendants were believed to have been eradicated for a time. However, occasional resurfacing of his Crest revealed that remnants of his bloodline had survived. People who knew the story commonly believed that those who inherited Maurice's Crest risked repeating his transformation. Some even hypothesized that those who bore the Crest could shift into a beast at night and hide in human form during the day.

"Did she know who you are?" Marianne's father asked his daughter.

In her excitement, Marianne forgot to consider that her parents might not share her enthusiasm. "Umm… I don't know. Maybe not, since she wasn't scared of me. But she was very kind! It was nice to have someone to talk to. I was wondering… maybe I could try spending time with her again?"

Her father sighed, "Marianne, it's natural to want friends. Anyone your age should. But this girl you met… she obviously didn't know who you were. Once she does… well, I wouldn't get your hopes up."

Marianne's gaze fell to the blanket. "I know. It's just…"

While Marianne processed her thoughts, her mother abruptly asked, "Love, is that… smoke?"

"Coming from our home," the husband confirmed gravely as they stared in the direction of their estate, which was about a third of a mile across the meadow. "We need to go, now. And stay close to me."

They abandoned their belongings for the time being as they ran back home. The smoke had sputtered to a stop before they arrived, thankfully adverting the worst-case scenario of losing the entire estate. Their porch was littered with torn shrubs and broken pottery, though, and the windows on the first floor were shattered. Something appeared to be drawn in blood on the front door. Their servant Millie stood at the center of it all, the young woman's arms shaking frightfully. Tears ran down a face covered in soot.

Millie hurriedly explained in a shrill voice, "I'm so sorry, my lady! I didn't realize anyone was outside until I heard the windows break. I took your sword and ran them off. They lit the curtains and some of the plants on fire, which I was able to put out before it got out of control. B-but I should have stopped them soone-."

Marianne's mother put a hand on her shoulder. "You saved our home, Millie, and you are safe. That's what matters most. I'm more worried that they'll be better equipped for a fight next time."

The women then all turned to face the man of the house as he surveyed the damage. He informed them calmly, "I'll notify Margrave Edmund of this right away. He can't force anyone to like us, but he won't put up with vandalism within his territory."

"Yes, that would be wise," Marianne's mother agreed. Seeing that Millie was still inconsolable after her experience, she helped their servant inside. "Let's find you something to drink. I wouldn't mind something strong, too."

Marianne's gaze turned to the door. Though the message had begun to blur as the blood smeared downward, she was fairly certain she recognized the markings from her readings- it was a crude depiction of a Silence spell. She hadn't noticed it initially, but it seemed someone had taken a knife and tried carving out the Crest of the Beast underneath the spell. The defacement was performed by someone relatively knowledgable on the nature and history of the Crest, so their family was facing something more than just a senseless mob.

It was Marianne's fault.

"Is this because I talked to that girl?" Marianne asked her father.

"I don't know," he answered distractedly as he continued to review the property damage.

The answer was clearly 'yes.'

After a pause, she then inquired lowly, "… Is it true?"

That question finally earned her father's full attention. He asked earnestly, "Is what true, Marianne?"

She pointed at the symbols on the door. "That we're cursed. You always tell me that I shouldn't worry, so long as I stay quiet about it. … But is it true?"

Marianne's father frowned. He took her hand, and the two sat down on the step before the front door. He bit his lip nervously.

"I can tell you what I know. Yes, testing confirmed that you bear the Crest of the Beast, just as I do. Our bloodline has a… complicated history. There have been disappearances, and the stories of a beast haunting the forest seem credible. I don't know if Maurice's Crest is responsible, or if something else is to blame. But I also know that nothing about it justifies what these people have done to us." Her father put a hand on her cheek. "You are very kind and very good, Marianne. You are not a monster, and you never will be. I don't know if we can make others believe it, but don't ever let them convince you otherwise."

"I'll try. But what if they try to hurt us next time?"

His face took on a melancholic expression. "For as long as we're here, your mother and I will never let anyone harm you, and we have a plan in place should anything happen to us. But… even if we were no longer able to protect you, our words will always be true. You are very kind and very good. You'll never be a monster. Can you repeat that?"

"I'm very kind and very good. I'll never be a monster."

Marianne felt tears begin to well up in her eyes, and her father pulled her into a hug.

Interlude: The Legacy of Blood - Day 23 of the Red Wolf Moon, Year 1186 (Fódlan Calendar)

Marianne felt blades of wild grass brush her cheek as she and her allies patiently listened to enemy forces march over an old stone bridge some fifty yards from where they knelt in a thicket. It was difficult to keep completely quiet, but the rumble of the river somewhat abated their need for caution.

It was unlikely that Mirza Ghalib would be among their opponents that day, but it was by no means impossible. Ghalib had continued the siege of Astane, hoping to finally take the city that he blamed for costing him the throne a quarter-century prior, while Aurelian led the other half of the army to deal with the forces of Nader and Demetrius that had invaded the Tabarzin. Aurelian's army was accompanied by some Tabarzin lords who didn't trust their Meteoran allies to ably defend their holdings.

It was still dark outside on an early morning. The enemy expedition had hoped to conceal its movements with the aid of night, but their noise revealed enough for the stalking forces from Elam. Anthony was confident of their target- an unwalled village ten miles from Astane that had already been evacuated. The constant raids from Elam's army had left Ghalib's supply lines in tatters, and this dispatch presumably hoped to pillage whatever they could take without resistance. Unfortunately for them, the resistance wasn't waiting in the defenseless village, but rather in an ideal position for an ambush.

At last, the wagons that the enemy planned to load with the spoils of war reached the bridge. This was the cue for the assault.

Marianne was positioned at the front of their detachment alongside Nousha, who was serving as commander for the attack. Once their objective was met, their unit would make a quick withdraw to safety. Cavalry reinforcements were supposed to be in the vicinity, far enough away that neighing horses wouldn't give away their position. Their intended signal to advance would be the glow of burning wagons.

"Are you still sure you haven't mastered any fire spells? That would make our lives a lot easier," Nousha whispered to Marianne.

"I'm sorry… I don't."

"Then we'll be doing this the old-fashioned way. I guess it would have been a shame to put all this effort to waste." She turned around and whispered again, "Arash… let the archers to the fire."

The smoke was obscured by the dark sky, but much effort had been taken to block out the light of the flame that had been built up several steps behind them. It took some time to get the pitch on the arrows to ignite, and when it finally did, one of the archers accidentally lit some of the surrounding grass. The archers weren't fully organized, but with their cover about to be lost due to the spreading flames, Nousha hurriedly gave the order, "Loose!"

Several arrows from the first volley struck the wagons. However, only one managed to ignite the wood, which was swiftly snuffed out by a nearby javelineer. The wagons pressed forward, and soldiers on the bridge shouted warnings of nearby hostile forces, prompting a spew of curses from Marianne's companions. Some blamed fortune, while others expressed their frustration about lacking any kind of explosives that would have simplified the job.

Rather than searching for a vulgarity that hadn't already been claimed, Marianne squinted and focused. Her eyes had adjusted enough to just make out the shape of the wagons. She then let out a shout as she swung her arm at an angle. A thick spike of ice shot out of the river at the same orientation and launched itself between the spokes of a wheel on the leading wagon just before the target could clear the bridge. Her spell could have drawn moisture from the ground or air, but the expansive source of water magnified its power.

The spike not only disabled the wheel but also implanted itself into the wagon bed. As the wagon jolted to a stop, the panicked horses behind it were unable to halt in time, quickly causing a pileup that left the wagons wrecked and several of the soldiers tumbling into the river. Hopefully the horses weren't too seriously injured.

Marianne's success resulted in a stunning morale swing for her allies. Expletives were replaced with war cries as they advanced on the enemies remaining on their side of the bridge. Though the Tabarzin troops still outnumbered them, they were rattled by the ambush and panicked to be cut off from their friends on the opposite side of the traffic jam. Some troops began to crawl over the wreckage to aid them, but this journey was made more perilous when additional arrow volleys finally managed to set the wagons aflame.

With their job done, it was time for the archers to pull back to a more secure position. They would then provide cover for the infantry as they slowly retreated to safety.

Nousha began, "Archers, start the withdr-." She stopped herself, growled in frustration, and then pointed towards the water. "Reserves, reposition to the river, now!"

An unfortunate miscalculation had been made. The presiding assumption was that soldiers on the opposite side of the river would have to cross using the bridge. The enemy seemed to believe this at first, too, but they soon decided to test that theory. Though the water reached up to about chest high at its deepest point, they proved willing and able to trudge across for a counterattack. Elam's reserves were quick to move into position along the bank, but it wasn't clear how the withdraw plan unfold with a two-front defense.

Marianne pushed through the line, calling out, "N-no, wait! Let me through!" She continued to the edge of the water and knelt. She waited at first for more soldiers to enter the river, and then waited some more when she realized that her nerves were failing.

Marianne vacillated until a projectile whirled by, tearing through her sleeve and nearly slicing her forearm. She had declined to utilize the heavy armor Claude had pressured her into wearing at Sous River, but her decision made every move against her that much more perilous. The fright from that single arrow gave Marianne just enough incentive to cast her spell.

The bolt of electricity that shot forth produced a localized splash and a puff of steam where it struck the water, but its true devastating impact was realized farther away as nearly everyone in the river suffered from a sudden convulsion. Those closest to the blast simply died and sunk under the weight of their armor, while others floundered as they struggled to regain control of their bodies. Some scrambled back to their original riverbank, screaming in pain as they nursed burns.

Marianne had successfully fended off the attack, but she stood frozen, watching in dismay as some of the drowning soldiers cried for help. She preferred healing to fighting, and it was agonizing to do nothing about the suffering before her.

Nousha ran up from behind and yanked her up. "Stop staring and run!" she hollered as she dragged Marianne away from the river. There were two thuds as arrows struck nearby, thankfully blocked by the shield Nousha positioned behind Marianne's back.

Once back to cover in the brush, Nousha gave out new orders.

"Arash, have the archers proceed with the withdraw. Send someone ahead to explain the situation to Anthony." As the officer ran to fulfill the command, Nousha then turned to the leader of the infantry reserves and directed, "They might try to cross again. Continue the defense against the bridge, but begin to pull back as orderly as feasible."

"What about us?" Marianne asked.

"We're staying in the middle. Close enough to convey orders if needed, but not so close that those archers are going to keep harassing us."

Marianne accompanied Nousha and a retinue of guards on this intermediate path, but the experience was not a pleasant one. She was out of range to actively aid the infantry in the front, but she didn't get to enjoy the benefits of leaving the battle behind altogether. Everything changed, though, when they heard the approach of beating hooves. The first assumption was that Anthony had arrived to cover the retreat, but it soon became apparent that the cavalry was coming from the wrong direction. The new arrivals had to be cavalry from the Tabarzin.

"Where did they come from?" one of the guards questioned anxiously.

"Doesn't matter," Nousha said quickly. "We continue our withdraw regardless."

"We won't help?"

"There's too many of them for us to do any good, and our reinforcements will soon arrive."

"So we're just going to watch like cowards?" another asked.

"Don't mistake prudence for cowardice. Getting the regiment's commander and healer killed would be irresponsible. This is a planned withdraw, not a retreat."

As they debated, the cavalry had descended on their infantry line in an audible clash of blades. It was difficult to see the details in the dark, but the matchup did not portend well for Elam. Abstaining from combat was too frustrating for many of their guards to bear.

One of them concluded, "I'm not watching this. Relieve me of my post if you must, but I'm going back."

This guard's resolve quickly inspired the others to join in. Marianne stayed with Nousha, not confident enough in the decision to charge boldly with the rest. As the others pushed forward, though, it seemed that some of the enemy caught wind of their presence. The sound of the battle diminished some, and in its place, the enemy cavalry drew nearer.

Nousha lifted her sword and told Marianne, "They'll be close enough to see us. You'd better wrap up your prayers to your goddess quickly."

Marianne interpreted that as authorization to fight. The guards had ceased their advance and even started to back away when they realized the cavalry was headed in their direction, which gave Marianne just enough time to reach them before the enemy arrived. Knowing that their opponents were close, Marianne stepped to the front and quickly cast Cutting Gale, the same wind spell she had used at Sous River to save her friends struggling on the precipice.

The cavalry's vanguard was thrown back by the spell, and many of the horses that followed were toppled in a jam similar to that on the bridge. Under normal circumstances, the cavalry would have formed a wide line that would have avoided such an incident, but the enemy had likely kept a tighter formation due to uncertainty about the terrain in the dark.

Unlike the smoldering wagons on the bridge, the cavalry unit was able to bounce back and restructure their strategy before facing any serious challenge. This time, they avoided the mistakes of the past and broke out into an encircling maneuver that Marianne had no answer for. Now joined by Nousha, Marianne and her fellow soldiers gathered into a ring as the snare drew tighter.

Marianne was unsure how to feel as she faced imminent death. She had welcomed the idea for many years, but she still prepared to defend herself. Was it survival instinct? A desire to protect her companions? Or did she truly want to live?

Just as their opponents prepared to engage, a flurry of arrows sent their horses into disorder. A new cavalry division had arrived on the scene, and a skirmish broke out between these groups that left the unmounted soldiers trapped in the middle with no active role. The chaos was too much to bear as Marianne could not distinguish whom to attack. She eventually ducked, closed her eyes, and covered her ears.

After about twenty seconds, the Tabarzin cavalry was in full retreat. Many of Elam's mounted troops pursued them, both to keep up the attack and to aid the infantry that was still cut off. Others remained nearby. One soldier pulled up beside Marianne, which prompted her to finally look up.

"Give me your hand," the man requested gently.

From the sound of it, Nousha and the guards were being treated to the same offer by others. Marianne acquiesced, so the man lifted her up onto his horse's back.

They did not immediately go anywhere as they first waited for the beleaguered infantry to be rescued. There was a tense minute of fighting ahead, eventually prompting some discussion if Marianne's group needed to assist. At long last, though, the rest of the cavalry returned while accompanied by new passengers.

Marianne wrapped her arms around her rider as he turned their horse around and set off with the rest of the unit. A few final shouts and arrows were directed towards them, but everything soon fell quiet. There was an immense sense of relief when Marianne finally accepted that the battle was truly over.

The regiment that Marianne now accompanied did not comprise of the whole army. The rest of Elam's forces had presumably gone ahead to prepare a new camp, which was relocated on a daily basis to avoid being overrun by the larger Tabarzin army. Marianne did not know the way, but the cavalry had obviously been notified of the intended location.

Marianne's companion said nothing and rode with such poise that the journey almost lulled her to sleep rather than jostle her with each stride. Having not slept in nearly twenty hours, exhaustion quickly set in. She knew she was still on horseback on her way to safety, but she was cognizant of very little beyond that.

The army's healer stirred back to consciousness as her horse slowed down. Though she had been halfway asleep, she did not feel particularly refreshed. Dawn now illuminated Marianne's surroundings, so she could watch as they circled around a dusty hill to reach a grove hidden away along a dry creek. Tents were already pitched under the gnarly trees. As they approached, the rest of the army came out to greet them. There were some cheers once they inferred that the operation had been successful.

The man with Marianne stepped down first and then politely helped her off the horse.

"Thank you, umm…" Marianne trailed off while searching for a name for her unidentified comrade.

The man smiled as he removed the helmet and aventail that had obscured his features. "Anthony al-Amin, at your service."

Marianne was appalled at herself for not recognizing the army's commander. In hindsight, it should have been obvious, as the man was a leading voice for the cavalry at the end of the battle. Still, he hadn't sounded like a commander at the time, and her mind was a bit frayed from all that had transpired.

"Oh! I-I'm so sorry! It's just that… well…"

"My face isn't distinctive, and I didn't say enough for you to recognize my voice?" Anthony suggested. When Marianne nodded weakly, he assured, "Don't worry, those are very good reasons. I don't mind."

The gathered crowd expected an answer from Anthony, but he directed them towards Nousha. She approached the eager soldiers and told them, "We lost three warriors, and several others received minor injuries. However, the operation was a success. The enemy's wagons were burned, so they'll be unable to move supplies today. Not only that, but they'll have to first clear the bridge of debris or find a detour before they can try again. We also inflicted heavy casualties, so they won't be eager for another go at it."

There were some murmurs as the names of the deceased troops spread through the host, but on the whole, the mood remained positive. Marianne took the reins of two horses and followed the multitude back to the center of camp where those too lazy to leave their tents waited for a report. As they walked, Nousha leaned over to their commander and asked, "Any victory speeches for us, Anthony?"

Anthony chuckled awkwardly and dismissed, "I don't think there's any need for that, Nousha, but if you are moved to do so, I won't interject. You led the attack, after all."

Nousha nodded gravely. At the heart of camp, she hopped up onto a crate where everyone could hear her. Marianne listened from a distance while examining everyone who had been injured. By this time, marshals had already gathered up all of the horses from the expedition. They also promised Marianne that Dorte had been conveyed to the new camp unharmed.

"Fellow warriors of Almyra… thank you all for your contributions!" Nousha began in a loud voice. "I am grateful to have served as your commander today. It's because of your efforts that we stand victorious- not only those who fought in battle, but also those who prepared a safe camp for our arrival. Even victories that seem trivial at first blush buy our allies another day to win this conflict, whether they be enduring the storm of a remorseless siege or preparing for war on the open seas."

Nousha raised a fist in the air that seemed to tremble ever so slightly. Marianne also noticed a change in her timbre as the general continued, "You all displayed the true nature of an Almyran warrior- brave, fierce, and noble. When news of our triumph reaches the mirza, be certain that he will tremble at his decision to stand against the might of Elam and Shomal. For the true defenders of Almyra are not his lackeys from the Throat, but those from its heart fighting for its one true king! When duty next calls us out upon the battlefield, may we continue to bear that same spirit!"

Nousha spoke firmly and clearly, so she theoretically should have made for an effective speaker. However, the speech itself was stilted, and there was something about her movements that lacked authenticity. She held most of the crowd's attention at the onset of her speech, but all interest seemed to have been lost by the end. Nousha nodded at the conclusion to assure herself of its success despite the silence it received. After exchanging a few sentences with Anthony, though, she quickly scurried back to her tent. The soldiers immediately went to celebrate in their own ways as if the speech never happened.

Marianne's soul hurt on Nousha's behalf. She had watched others pretend to be something that they were not, whether that be Ignatz claiming that he had to become a knight, Lysithea refusing to accept her age, or Hilda feigning that her friends could not rely on her. Nousha was no different. Marianne never confronted her classmates on their self-deceptions, but they at least had others in their lives who did… others who spoke far more eloquently and convincingly than she could ever hope to emulate.

Nousha, however, appeared to have no friends. It was up to Marianne, or nothing would be said.

Once she had finished attending to the wounded soldiers, Marianne took a deep breath and approached the junior agha's tent, where Nousha was busy yanking off her armor. Her eyes briefly darted in Marianne's direction, but she remained silent as she continued her work.

What was the best way to begin?

"… I liked your speech," Marianne finally uttered. She would have curled up in shame at the pathetic start if she had the privacy to do so.

Nousha was just as unimpressed. "I'm not sure if your intention is to mock or take pity on me, but either way… please don't. We both know it was terrible." She flung a boot onto the ground empathetically and explicated, "I can't stand speeches. If I wanted to become an actor spouting trite platitudes, I would have joined a play."

"Then why do it? Anthony said it wasn't necessary," Marianne pointed out. She liked the idea of letting Nousha guide the direction of the conversation.

"Not necessary for him. But for me? It's a different story. One he wouldn't understand because he's not in my position."

"Because he's a man?"

That earned a genuine burst of laughter from Nousha. "That's certainly a factor. It's more than that, though. Anthony and I both got our stations due to our families, but until a few years ago, his family was just known for being rich. So long as he doesn't gamble his fortune away, he'll meet the bare minimum expectations. Meanwhile, I must become the right-hand general to the king or I'll be disappointing about a dozen generations of ancestors that all exceeded their predecessor." She stared at the ground in silence before asking lowly, "Do you have any idea what it's like to be cursed by your family's legacy?"

"W-well, in a way, perhaps…"

Nousha's eyes narrowed as she looked up to Marianne. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's… difficult to explain to someone who isn't from Fódlan. But I can try, if y-."

Nousha raised a hand defensively and replied, "Actually, if it's going to take an hour of discursive muttering to finish the tale, I'd rather not hear it. I'll go ahead and take you at your word."

Marianne looked away and admitted, "I guess it's different for me. You have to live up to a legacy. I have to avoid mine."

"… You're right; that is different. Yours sounds a lot easier. What exactly are you trying to avoid?"

"Becoming something." She hesitated before finishing, "… A monster."

Nousha stared dumbfounded. She then began to snicker, only making a half-hearted effort to hide her amusement. "That's absurd. You were barely able to raise a hand against those soldiers coming to kill us, but you'd have me believe you're one step away from becoming a monster?"

"I'm sorry, but you don-."

"No, listen to me, Marianne," Nousha interrupted, her smile now gone. "I don't know what nonsense those fools in Fódlan have filled your head with, but I don't really care. No one here does. Why? Because it doesn't matter. Leave Fódlan's problems in Fódlan. Here, you're an indispensable healer and soldier. Nothing more, nothing less. That's the only legacy anyone cares about."

Marianne gaped at her blankly. Nousha's tone was harsh, but as Marianne reflected on the message, she wondered if the intention was not so severe.

After seeing Marianne's expression, Nousha said a bit more softly, "I'm sorry if I overspoke. I can't fully understand your issues, no more than you can understand mine."

"You sound very different than you did during the speech," Marianne observed.

"Of course I do. That was the future Grand Agha speaking, not Nousha. The two sound nothing alike."

Free of her armor, Nousha wiped the sweat from her face and sat with a vacant gaze. Marianne began to wonder if she forgot about her guest until she mused, "I was never cut out for this. My brother and sister were. But they're dead, and I'm left carrying that responsibility… Sometimes I wonder what my life would have looked like otherwise." She then rubbed her temple and groaned, "I don't know why I'm telling you this. Forget I said anything."

Marianne had never seen her in such a state. Nousha was beautiful, and she always seemed so prim and composed. Now, she resembled an overwhelmed child. It all seemed so unnecessary, because Nousha was up to the task. Marianne had never lost faith in her commander's leadership during the battle.

Marianne asserted, "I don't think you need to fake anything. I admire you, actually."

The junior agha was genuinely caught off guard by this claim. "… Why?"

""You're not afraid to speak you mind when necessary, even if you know people won't like it. I think it's a sign of strength. That honesty will put their minds at ease in the long run."

"Nice story, but other than you apparently, people still dislike me when I'm not putting on airs. So what am I doing wrong? Besides being an ungrateful daughter who wanted to steal her father's post prematurely, that is."

"Well... you could try smiling more, maybe. Someone once told me that a person's value is in their smile."

Nousha didn't smile outright, but she did smirk. "Smiling, huh? I'm not sure why you'd suggest it, since you clearly don't believe in it enough to lead by example."

"I-I… It's not just about a smile, though it helps to look welcoming. I think my friend was saying that a smile shows who a person really is. And because you don't… I don't think people see you for who you are."

"And who do you think I really am?"

Marianne chose her words carefully. "Someone who's maybe a little irritable, but really cares about her allies and not disappointing anyone. I think people liked your speech at first, when you were just showing gratitude. I think that's because it was genuine."

Nousha lay down and draped a scarf over her eyes. "… I need to get some rest."

It was a legitimate excuse. As a rule, they had to be ready to move out within half an hour if enemy scouts spotted their camp. There was no telling when that might occur, so any opportunity for sleep had to be taken seriously.

"Sorry... I'll leave you alone."

Marianne turned to leave, but the general interrupted, "And Marianne?"

"Y-yes, Nousha?"

"You're a very talented woman. No one here can replace you." Despite her covered eyes, Nousha waved directly at Marianne's shredded sleeve. "Take better care of yourself."

"… I'll try."

Marianne considered the wisdom of trying to sleep, but she still felt that her gratitude for Anthony's help was overshadowed by her failure to recognize him. After asking a couple of other soldiers for directions, she finally found the army's commander. He was with the horses at their makeshift stable, carefully inspecting each of the residents.

"Ah! Hello there, Marianne. I didn't mean to ignore you," Anthony said when he noticed her.

"It's fine," Marianne assured. She was accustomed to her presence going unrecognized.

"Glad to hear it. What do you need?"

"I just wanted to say thank you again. You saved our lives."

Anthony smiled kindly. "It was an honor to be of service. Truly." Marianne nodded and prepared to leave, but Anthony then proposed, "You're welcome to stay, if you'd like. I'm looking for any cuts or barbs or anything like that."

"Umm… okay." Marianne took a brush from a nearby bucket and began to inspect the horses on the opposite side of the aisle. She asked Anthony, "Isn't this a job for the marshals, not the Commander of the Mobile Guard?"

He replied, "True. They've already given a look-over, but I guess I don't trust anyone else to provide care to the standards I expect. It's a vice of mine."

"N-no, I think it's nice that you care that much for the horses. They need someone like you."

"Maybe not me, but they definitely need attention from someone. These steeds were dutifully bred and groomed by bored soldiers before the war, but since then, they've been treated more like expendable munitions than living creatures. I guess the same is true for human soldiers, too- it's just more obvious for the horses since less effort is made to hide it. It's a sad world we live in." He paused so he could turn towards Marianne and thank, "I know you check on them often. I really appreciate that."

She met his gaze and observed, "… You're very different from the other generals."

Anthony found this humorous. "Because I'm not as boisterous as the others? I guess so. I certainly didn't achieve this position by having a personality befitting of it."

"Do you dislike the responsibility, then?"

"… No, I wouldn't say that. For one, I get to look after some of the finest animals in Almyra, which I'm sure you can appreciate. But such a position is also an opportunity to demonstrate how a leader might look different from those we've grown accustomed to… one that would rather listen than boast, or chose humility and compassion over pride."

"That is a noble goal."

Anthony shrugged. "Maybe it is, or maybe I'm just being judgmental. I worry I'd even put my own sense of righteousness above the greater good… would I be able to steal or lie for the sake of Elam, or even a friend? If it didn't fit conveniently with the simple morals that I was raised to follow… I don't know." He shook his head with a frown. "Regardless, I'm don't think I'm changing many hearts."

"I'm sure that's not true," Marianne allayed as she moved to the next horse.

"I appreciate your optimism," Anthony said, which was probably the first time Marianne had been called optimistic in her entire life. "Did you ever hear about the archery tournament that was held right before we met you? I finished in second, and I was just inches away from winning the whole thing. But despite that, it was like I was invisible. No one really wanted me to prevail, and I'm not sure if anyone even remembers how close I was. That's just an example, but you get the idea. It's a nearly unsolvable dilemma- I can't augment change without making myself heard, but doing that quickly defeats the entire purpose of the endeavor. I'm probably making myself a hypocrite just by telling you all of this."

Anthony waited for a response, but Marianne had nothing to say that would help. When he realized this, he uttered, "… I have no right to complain. I think I'd be happier living a quiet life away from all of this, where no one would know my name or worry about my ideals. But there was always the chance to walk away from this path, and I chose it anyways. I figured that if this is the life Nabataea set before me… I imagine she'd want me to shoulder that responsibility rather than shirk it. That probably sounds like a folly to someone who doesn't believe in some higher power… but you're religious, correct?"

Marianne nodded. "I understand what you mean. I'm religious, though that doesn't mean as much in Fódlan as it does here. Almost everyone from home follows the same goddess."

"Hmm. I wonder how that compares to the life of the devoted here in Almyra," Anthony muttered aside.

"Is it difficult for you? I thought Almyra was tolerant of different beliefs."

"Yes… and no. No one would question a Meteoran who follows Nabataea. But converts from the other lands are treated… oddly, for a lack of a better word. My beliefs are written off as the tragic product of Meteoran expansionism rather than my personal choices. So just because my skin is a shade too dark, my religion is delegitimized, and I'm an object of pity. That's another barrier to being taken seriously as a general. It's a broader issue, though- my wife, my parents, and all of the Votary converts have to face that. The same would apply for someone from Meteora who follows the Old Ways or customs from the Mikdash, though that's very uncommon."

"You have a wife?" Marianne asked, having missed most of what was said after that unexpected revelation. It should not have come as a surprise, but she was accustomed to her social group being unmarried. Given that they were all at least in their twenties, the dearth of nuptials probably should have been the real wonder.

"Oh, have I really never mentioned her?" Anthony asked with eyebrows raised. He then grinned as he reflected, "My wife Felicitas lives in Istakhr, along with our two children. I think you would all get along very well. Maybe I could introduce you to them once we find the opportunity?"

"That would be nice."

Anthony nodded. "I'm sorry for not being more open. I guess I've been treating us as soldiers before humans, too. I have no one to blame but myself for that. What about you? Do you have any family back home?"

"Well… in a way…"

Marianne's recollections turned to her lost birth parents rather than her adoptive father. Loneliness gripped her heart as she was reminded of them again. Abetted by exhaustion, that was enough to cause her to stagger and collapse while she knelt down to check a colt's hooves.

Anthony was quick to react. "Marianne! Marianne, are you alright?" he asked as he slid down to her side.

"I… I'm fine," she replied as she sat up, pushing dirty strands of red hair out of her eyes.

"I shouldn't have asked for your help. What you need most right now is rest. Please, let me help you to your tent. We're all counting on you to be healthy and alert."

Marianne conceded that he was correct and accepted his aid. She leaned on his shoulder at first for extra support. The camp was still lively with celebration, but Anthony's presence was calming enough that Marianne could block most of the noise out.

"Are you scared of me, Anthony?" she murmured weakly as they walked.

"Of course not. The magic you are capable is unlike anything I've ever seen, but I don't fear it."

"But if you knew…" she began.

"Marianne, the only thing that I'm afraid of is my own heart. I trust Nabataea to take care of everything else. Nothing you can say will change that."

"Ah." Marianne motioned for Anthony to stop momentarily, as she had regained enough strength to walk on her own. She then asked, "What will you do next? You should rest as well."

"I will. But first, I have unpleasant business to attend to… a request from Nousha that I've been putting off."

"That guards that were with us…" Marianne muttered. When Anthony's expression confirmed her worries, she told him, "They acted bravely."

"Yes, she said as much. But if they disobeyed direct orders, they can't be trusted with such responsibility. They'll have to be demoted."

"But…"

"They may have saved a few lives among the infantry, but they also nearly got you killed. Nousha recommended their demotion, but the final decision is mine." Anthony hesitated upon seeing Marianne's conflicted countenance, but he continued, "Don't pity them too much- they knew what would happen. We all must commit to the choices that we believe are right and accept the consequences that they entail. I won't debate the morality of their actions, but I hope you and I can both show that kind of resolve when necessary."

Marianne pondered this until they passed the commander's tent.

"Oh, I almost forgot something! Wait here one moment," Anthony suddenly requested. He quickly dove inside his dwelling and returned with a round wooden box and a piece of parchment. He handed both to Marianne, who opened the box to find a set of genuine Fódlan-style sweet buns. They were not elegantly baked, but they were undoubtedly the result of diligent effort.

"It's your birthday, isn't it?" Anthony asked, seemingly worried that he had made a mistake as Marianne stared at the food in shock. "Prince Khalid gave me a recipe before he left and asked if I could make these for you. He provided the nonperishables so I wouldn't have to pull from our official supplies. The rest are coming from my personal rations, but he already paid me ahead of time for the loss. He also left a note for the occasion. … It is your birthday, right? It's what I have written down."

"Y-yes, of course! Sorry, I was just surprised that you knew," Marianne explained.

As they started off again, Anthony breathed a sigh of relief and told her, "I had help from a couple others who are more talented in culinary affairs. I considered letting more people know, but I suspected you'd find the attention embarrassing. Everyone would have given you quite the celebration otherwise."

"Even though I'm from Fódlan?"

Anthony's head bobbed back and forth. "Your apprehensions have basis, but most people are past that barrier. You've done too much for us for it to hold up."

"I see. Well… thank you for not telling anyone. And I'm grateful for you and your friends for making these."

They soon reached Marianne's tent, at which point she bowed and apologized, "Sorry for making you worry about me."

Anthony promised, "It was no more trouble than a pleasant walk. May the goddess grant you rest, Marianne."

Once alone, Marianne took a seat inside and peeked into the gifted box again. Sweet buns- probably one day old. Claude and Dimitri surely remembered them from the monastery, but her first thoughts went to those baked by her mother… and the last batch made before her parents vanished.

Margrave Edmund had provided Marianne with security and stability, but he was never family in the way her birth parents were. If anything, she had felt more alone than ever with her adoptive father, who not only continued but reinforced her isolation from the outside world.

But Marianne was no longer alone. Anthony had been quick to help her up. And there were those not present, too. Claude's guidance. Dimitri's empathy. Ariella's joy.

Her friends.

Marianne held up the letter Anthony provided and began to read.

Hey there, Marianne. I hope Shomal is to your liking so far. If you're greeted by abandoned villages everywhere, as I suspect is the case, you should know that they're historically better hosts than this. Their reticence has more to do with the arrival of Ghalib than the Ashen Angel, but knowing you, you're probably handling the quiet better than most.

I'm not talented enough to replicate the necklace Hilda made for your birthday at the academy, but though my hands falter, my memory is sharp enough to remember your fondness for the dining hall sweet buns. If these ones turn out terrible, I shift all blame to the cook. Or the cookware. You can only expect so much from a wartime camp, right?

I've known you for six years, and I spent the greater part of them believing that you had gone on from this world. Believe me when I say that finding you again was one of the greatest joys in my life since we last separated at Garreg Mach. Dimitri says the same. You are treasured by us all, Marianne. Stay safe, have a great birthday, and we'll see each other again soon.

Don't say anything to Ella if you don't like the treats. She won't let me live it down.

The note had obviously been composed by Claude, but Dimitri and Ariella had also signed their names at the bottom. Marianne carefully folded the letter and placed it under her cushion for safety. Her belongings had a habit of disappearing, but she would never allow this gift to meet the same fate.

Nousha, Anthony, Claude, Dimitri, Ariella… all were so very different people, yet they had two things in common- they all believed in Marianne's value, and they weren't afraid of her curse.

Tears streamed down Marianne's face as she moved to her knees and clasped her hands together in prayer.

"Dear Goddess… please protect my friends. And…" After a pause, she accepted the rest of the sentence. "… please protect me, too."