The Space Between Stars
Chapter 2
Raindrops

Summary: Marianne attends a meeting with Claude and Lorenz in Myrddin. Nothing about this day goes the way she expects.

A month later, as the Lone Moon warmed the soil of the southern Leicester Alliance, Marianne found herself called to a meeting in Myrddin territory. She sat by Margrave Edmund's side, seated across a table from Lorenz and Claude. Claude and the Margrave were seated on either side of Acheron, who himself sat at the head of his own table.

Acheron had provided them all with tea and sandwiches. Marianne only took a few polite cursory sips of the tea, too nervous to eat. Claude left his cup and plate untouched and had instructed the rest of them all to do the same prior to the meeting, but Lorenz and Margrave Edmund had both argued that it would appear too rude not to try anything.

"Even if that means drinking his poison?" Claude had asked earlier.

"Would he really poison us?" Marianne had asked. "We are his guests."

"Not all of us," Lorenz had said. "Just Claude, if anyone."

"Aww, thanks, Lorenz."

"The only poison he serves is his presence," Margrave Edmund had answered, not fond of Lord Acheron either. "But we best appeal to his ego if we're to keep the territory with the Alliance. We need this meeting to go well."

But the meeting was not going well. Lord Acheron was not moved by Margrave Edmund's carefully considered economics, nor by Lorenz's appeal to Leicester history and unity, and certainly not by Claude's position as head of the Alliance.

"Please reconsider, my lord," said Claude. "A flow of soldiers through your territory is not ideal, but the supplies and economic advantage it provides will benefit your people."

"And disastrous in the short term," said Acheron. "Fresh foot soldiers are of unsavory character and discipline. All of those snot-nosed infantry marching through the countryside will ruin the character of my lands."

Had Acheron not looked so smug, Marianne might almost believe he cared. The Margrave had taught her that forced militarized presence in a place negatively impacted the livelihood of its people. But really Acheron only cared if it impacted his own appearance, and he seemed to be enjoying himself too much to be actually thinking of those consequences.

"I assure you, our soldiers are trained in the most respectful manner," said Lorenz. "Moreover, if we stay united now, we can end the war sooner to minimize the impact of their presence on your lands."

"You have no idea how long the war will last, boy," said Acheron. "Why shouldn't I hear what the Empire has to say? Your own father knows this as well as I, or did you manage to convince him otherwise?"

Lorenz's lips went tight, and he said nothing. A meeting with his father the month prior had gone similarly sour, and Gloucester had sided with the Empire. It was a huge loss of support for the Leicester Alliance.

"I thought not," said Acheron, taking a slurp of his tea.

"Um," began Marianne.

Acheron quirked an eyebrow at her, as if noticing her for the first time.

"The, ah, long term benefits," she began, too nervous to raise her voice much louder, and she fought to maintain eye contact. "Um, the long term benefits would be prosperous for your territory, and concentrated forces means your lands would be some of the most protected in the Alliance." As she spoke, she felt her confidence rise. "We would ensure a smooth recovery for your people after the war, as well. With time, the only lasting effects for your lands are positive. You would feel the effects of that prosperity, my lord."

Acheron gave her a sarcastic grin, and her confidence deflated.

"And where is that prosperity now, my lady? My territory has always been small, henpecked by larger lands and looked down upon by my neighbors. But I control the Bridge of Myrddin. It is through me all major trade flows to and from the Alliance, and I think it's far past time I was given the respect and power that position deserves. Where did the Margrave dig you up, anyway? I know you're not his."

Claude interjected, saving Marianne from further scrutiny.

"What power will you have if you let the Empire swallow you up? Pledge to us now—your home country—and we will keep each other safe."

Acheron spluttered. "You? Keep me safe? Me trusting a young outside upstart with my protection?" He laughed spitefully. "How condescending! I can take care of myself without the Duke's aid. And what a leader you're turning out to be! That was quite a loss I heard about at Welland. The Empire consumed the whole territory because of your resistance, when you should have spared their people from the start and given the place up."

"So that's it, then?" said Claude, fighting to maintain a civil expression. "You're throwing your chances in with the Empire?"

"I didn't say that," said Acheron, still grinning. "Come back at the end of the week with a better offer for me, and perhaps I'll mull it over."

He clattered the teacup on the table and waved them away with a flick of the wrist.

"I believe I've heard enough. You all may leave now."

Claude scoffed and pushed away from the table. The rest followed suit.

Before the door closed behind them, Claude threw his voice into the room at Acheron.

"Hey, Lord Acheron, how long do you think the Empire will let a traitor who plays petty politics keep a territory? I've heard they're not as forgiving as I am."

The door clicked shut before a red-faced Acheron could retort. A servant ushered them down the hallway with an equally annoyed expression, then abandoned them to leave the castle on their own.

"That could have gone better," said Claude, rubbing his neck.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be of more use," said Marianne. "I wasn't any help at all."

"My dear, you did marvelously," said the Margrave, leading Marianne on his arm. "You still have to practice some composure for the start of your speeches. But with time, the dignity of your words will ensnare weasels like Acheron with the truth of your conviction."

Marianne shook her head. "Even if I had…."

Claude raised an eyebrow at her. "Marianne, what's your read on Acheron?"

Marianne frowned. "You're more keen than I, so I doubt I can offer you any new insights. I'm sorry."

"Humor me," said Claude. "I'm not necessarily asking for new insights. I'm asking for your opinion—because I value yours. Do you think Acheron already made up his mind?"

Marianne pinched her brow and silently relented. Claude would deflect any objection she had about her lack of value to the conversation at hand. Besides, they had all insisted she attend alongside them; she hated the idea of saying nothing and wasting their time further.

She pursed her lips in thought. "No… he's still undecided. The Empire can offer him the power and wealth he wants, but he also desperately craves the respect of the Leicester Alliance. He can't have both if he leaves us. It will depend on which one he wants more."

"He's spinning us in circles," said Lorenz, fury glittering in his eyes. "The lack of propriety of that man! He should tell us straight out what he wants. It's undignified."

"It's a shame the territory passed to Lord Acheron," said Margrave Edmund. In his hand, he tapped a cane impatiently. "His uncle was more even-tempered and insightful. But it's because Acheron plays these power games with his neighbors that he lacks the political weight or respect his territory should earn him. He's too short-sighted to realize that, and his people suffer as a result."

"Why bother meeting with us?" said Marianne.

"To enjoy watching us dangle," said Claude. "You know, if he's not already in league with them, I hope the Weathervane does give the Empire the same wishy-washy plays he gave us. They're worse to slippery politicians than we are. Think they'll actually string him up on top of a tower to watch him spin?"

Lorenz snorted before he could stop himself. Through all the exhausting politics and conflicts of war they had to suffer, Marianne had watched Lorenz and Claude grow to be better friends than they had been during their Academy days.

"That's not polite to wish upon our own, weaseling though he may be," said Margrave Edmund.

But he clapped a hand upon Claude's shoulder with fatherly approval. Margrave Edmund leaned upon a cane as age caught up to him, but he was a towering man with formidable presence. Such was his grace of character and temper that no one felt threatened by his appearance, only worried of disappointing such a benevolent figure.

Margrave Edmund lowered his voice. "If Acheron sides with the Empire, you will have to wage battle here in Myrddin. Losing the bridge will cost us the war."

"I know," said Claude.

"Fighting our own to save our own," echoed Lorenz sadly. "My, how the Alliance is crumbling."

"I hope Lysithea and Hilda have better luck," said Marianne.

"Hilda will be fine," said Claude. "It's Ordelia I'm worried about."

"As much faith as I have in our young friend," said Lorenz, "my guess is that my father has already convinced Count Ordelia to side with the Empire."

"It's all for show at this point anyway," Claude said as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I have to pretend like it's all under control before I lose all the pieces."

"Keep fighting to keep us together," said Margrave Edmund. "The majority of us have faith in you, Duke Riegan."

They stood at the front of the castle gate now, where Cyril was waiting for them. He had his arms crossed across his chest as he leaned against the wall, with a bundle of papers nestled in his elbow.

"How'd it go?" said Cyril.

"As well as could be expected," said Claude.

"That bad, huh?" said Cyril, unimpressed. "Anyway, a messenger brought these."

"Let's see," said Claude, thumbing through the envelopes. "Leonie, Hilda, Nardel, Ignatz, and… Ugh."

"You can't keep ignoring Lady Rhea," said Cyril hotly. "She's risking a lot writing to you as it is!"

Claude stuffed the letters inside his coat. "Oh yeah, she's risking so much, barricading herself in the palace at Fhirdiad."

"Don't talk about her that way," Cyril snapped. "You should be grateful she reaches out. She could help!"

Rhea had evacuated to Fhirdiad along with the Knights of Seiros after the fall of Garreg Mach Monastery. The Alliance had initially gotten on well with the Kingdom early in the war, but relationships soured not long after Cordelia staged a coup and broke several western Faerghus territories away from the kingdom. Prince Dimitri had died during the insurrection, and Claude made it no secret that he felt Rhea had used the late prince as a shield.

"I'm sure she would like to be seen helping us here in the Alliance," Claude said. "I'll write to her eventually. Any words I send to her must be penned with consideration. Last thing Rhea wants is a flippant response, right?"

Cyril scowled in reply.

Ignoring their spat, the Margrave stood at the edge of the courtyard and summoned a footman.

"I shall be returning to our lodgings," he said. "Regardless of Acheron extending his hospitality for the week, I must return to Edmund in the morning. Shall you all join me for the evening? Duke Riegan, you in particular look like you could use a proper meal."

"Certainly," said Lorenz inclining his head respectfully.

"Perhaps later. I have correspondence to pen," said Claude, nodding towards Cyril. "I need the Golden Deer to keep pushing their pieces into place, and quickly. There's a storm brewing."

"That reminds me," said Lorenz. "I also need to write to Leonie."

"I'm already writing to her," said Claude. "What do you need to write her for?"

While Lorenz began to stammer something elegant, Margrave Edmund turned to Marianne. "What about you, my dear? Will you accompany me or would you like to seek some respite first?"

Her adoptive father always gave her a choice at moments like these. Though his teachings were always geared towards luring her out of her shell, he nevertheless told Marianne that time to gather one's thoughts in solace kept a person grounded.

"I'd like to stop by the city chapel first," said Marianne. "Perhaps I can be of some use in swaying the church leaders of this territory to our cause." More quietly she added. "And I would like to seek counsel for myself."

"I understand," said Margrave Edmund. "Shall I order you a carriage?"

"No, I'd like to walk."

"Very well. But don't decide against a carriage ride on the return trip." He shot his dark eyes up at the clear sky above. "Claude's storm is more than metaphorical. I believe we're due for a hearty spring rain this afternoon."

The breeze picked up as Marianne walked through the streets of the city, bringing with it dark clouds that had seemingly materialized out of nowhere. She was in a market district when she felt the first specks of drizzle prickle at her skin. She sighed and picked up her skirts to quicken her pace. At least with the coming rain, the merchants and the patrons who visited their stalls had thinned out, so she could make her way through the street more easily.

Or so she thought, until in her haste she accidentally bumped into a man carrying a large parcel near a pastry cart.

"Oh!" Marianne tumbled but picked herself back up quickly with all the grace she could muster. "I'm so sorry, sir!"

Before she could steel herself for an angry reply, she looked at the man she'd run into and froze. It was a shock enough she'd already encountered him once—but twice? Here?

"That's a—Marianne!" Ashe looked just as stunned as she did, eyes wide and mouth half-open.

Marianne clapped her hands over her mouth. She would have preferred the indignation of a stranger.

"It's you! Ah, are you… alright?" Ashe finally said, fumbling over each word as if it were the first time anyone had ever spoken in history.

She couldn't reply, still trying to process who she was seeing in front of her. Ashe was dressed more casually than he had been when she'd seen him in his scouting gear. He carried no weapons and bore no armor, but he still wore his favored blue and purple colors. If she hadn't known him, she could have easily mistaken him for an average trader from Faerghus.

Looking flustered—much more like the Ashe she remembered—he again opened his mouth to break the terrifyingly awkward silence.

The merchant interrupted him first. "Sir, I said, would that be all?"

"What?" Ashe's voice cracked as he looked back at the pastry merchant.

"Would that be all? You need to pay for those, and I need to get out of this rain," said the merchant.

He blinked. "Right! Sorry."

Ashe dug into his pockets and handed the woman a stack of coins. The merchant, who seemed more than pleased with Imperial coin, packed up the rest of her cart and rolled away.

Ashe looked back at Marianne, still wide-eyed.

"You look well, Marianne."

The greeting helped her find her voice. "What are you doing here?"

He sheepishly waved the parcel in front of him. "Buying pastries."

She made a noise of protest and covered her mouth again. Part of her almost wished lightning would strike them both, but the rain offered her no such reprieve.

Ashe sighed at her silent admonishment, looking very much like a child caught with his hand in a sweets jar.

"Well, I assume I'm here for the same reason you are," Ashe said, not unkindly. He glanced around as people hid themselves away from the rain. "But I can't talk here."

"Ah," said Marianne, stumbling blindly into her next words, "I'm headed to the church. Maybe you… I mean, could you…?"

"Would you like me to accompany you?" Ashe raised his voice incredulously as the rain fell harder, drowning out the softer sounds in the street.

Marianne thought she would say no. She should have said no. But since she had surprised herself with the offer in the first place, she nodded and resumed her course, wondering if Ashe would follow.

Of course he did, just like old times. He lightly jogged up to her side, awkwardly lifting the parcel above her head in an attempt to shield off the rain. But it was pouring by the buckets now, and a crisp wind kept whipping it up into their faces.

By the time Marianne led him to the chapel courtyard, the rain fell in chilly curtains that turned the landscape into an impenetrable haze of grey. Ashe gestured to a stone pavilion that stood on one side of the chapel courtyard. They both dashed under it, but they were already soaked.

They stood under the pavilion's wide arches for a few minutes, not saying anything or looking at each other while water dripped off them. Marianne shivered, both from the cold and the frazzled state she was in. It suited how she felt internally, she decided.

As usual, Ashe spoke first.

"That came out of nowhere, didn't it?" He still looked taken aback from bumping into her.

Marianne shook her head. "I don't understand."

Ashe leaned against a pillar. "You don't mean the rain."

"I mean…" She wanted to ask about why he spared her in the territory of Welland. Instead she said, "I didn't think you'd be here."

She hugged her arms and willed herself to lock eyes with him, searching. He held her gaze longer than expected.

"The Empire assigned me to protect the emissaries courting Acheron's favor," said Ashe in a stiff tone.

"Um… Are you here in the city long then?"

"For however long negotiations take. Acheron seems to like taking his time… and ours."

Ashe played with the parcel in his hands again; the brown paper was sodden with rainwater.

"Since there's a lot of waiting around, today I went searching for a taste of home." Something in his voice loosened as he unwrapped the parcel—easy work as the paper practically disintegrated to shreds under his gloved fingers. "They're probably ruined, but… Ah, here we go."

He held out a half-dozen soggy and misshapen bread rolls.

"Sweet buns! Closest I could find to the Faerghus variety. I…" He gestured to her. "I bought too much, so please feel free to take one."

"Um…" Marianne pursed her lips, holding herself tighter. The familiarity of the scenario was beginning to creep up around her, but the warmth it promised her was fighting against her common sense, warning her that she shouldn't want this.

Ashe's expression started to fall. "Don't feel obligated. The rain ruined them, and…"

"Yes."

He smiled cautiously. Equally cautious, Marianne took the food he offered, taking care that her fingers never brushed against his.

They ate silently at first. The water had soaked through and distorted the texture of the first few bites, but the center had preserved the warm, fluffy flavors she had enjoyed as a student. The aroma was weak yet it was enough to stir memories of the mess hall.

Memories of the Golden Deer celebrating at a table that was too loud for her but too endearing to leave. Of sneaking into the kitchens at night to finally eat because she'd been either too preoccupied at the stables or too sick with worry during mealtimes. Of running into the equally shy Bernadetta, whose midnight cooking runs had rivaled Ashe's and Dedue's best dinners.

Of Ashe, offering her a sweet bun between classes because he claimed he was too full to eat all he had taken, knowing full well she liked them as much as he did. He almost always filled the silence for them, and she had been content to hear him nervously prattle. As she had gotten to know him, he started to relax around her, speaking with an earnest confidence she wished she could feign for herself. He had always seemed happy to seek her out to keep her company, even when she knew she was a poor companion for conversation.

But Ashe appeared distracted right now, lost in thoughts of his own, expression guarded and unfamiliar. If she wanted to recapture the moment in full, she'd have to speak up.

"How is your family?"

"You mean my brother and sister?" His eyes sparked with warmth.

Marianne nodded, taken aback by how bright he looked just then.

"They are well," he said. "Count Rowe has taken them into his care."

"They must be nearly grown by now," said Marianne, not wanting to dwell on Rowe.

"They are!" And Ashe's face lightened further. "Briar turned 18 this past moon. He's taller than I am now! And has the attitude to match. Willow turns 17 in the summer. But I still can't help thinking of them as much younger than they are. I'm sure it annoys them when I visit."

He chuckled, and it was such a lovely sound that Marianne found herself smiling in return. She watched him ease back into his old self as he told stories of his siblings and how they had been getting on.

He spoke with a gentle enthusiasm and animated gestures, and Marianne was almost able to imagine herself being a part of his stories. His voice which had deepened subtly with age was infused with a harmonious tone that she found soothing. And she couldn't help but notice how his hair, as it dried out, took on its unruly fluffy nature again from their school days. But then she had to fight against a sudden urge to run her fingers through it and feel how it fell around his bright eyes and sharper jaw.

She forced herself to only look at Ashe indirectly to better pay attention to what he said rather than how he looked. That was easier for her with anyone, after all, but never for a reason like this.

"Willow's really taken with the new lambs on the local farms," Ashe was saying. "She's also looking forward to the foals. I don't know how well you remember me telling you in our last letters, but she's gotten so much better at horseback riding since then. That reminds me, how is Dorte these days?"

"He's doing well," Marianne said. "He's enjoyed his time on the Margrave's estate, though he seems to be getting restless these days."

"He's an old war horse, after all," said Ashe. "But I suppose it's safer if he stays where he is."

"Yes. That's… what I told him."

The chill of the rain drew close around them, and Marianne hugged her shoulders.

"What of the hunting dogs your father keeps?" Ashe said after a heartbeat. "A few years back you wrote that one of them had puppies. I enjoyed sharing that letter with Willow. Lonato kept waterfowl retrievers, but Rowe doesn't have any dogs, and she misses being around them."

"They're, um…" Marianne blinked, but the warmth was rapidly vanishing as reality settled back in its place. "They hounds are also restless. My father can't engage them with wild hunts like he used to. The war has disrupted how the creatures of the woods live, and game is scarce."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Ashe more quietly. "I had hoped that the war would pass you by, that the unification would be swift and peaceful, but… That was naive of me. Here you are."

"So are you," she said.

Ashe sighed, his cheerful expression gone. His gaze drifted to the hazy rain beyond, and Marianne could tell he knew as well as she did that their nostalgic moment was over.

But before it was too late, she wanted to know.

"Why did you spare me last month in Welland?" she ventured.

"I…" He stammered, "I couldn't have when I saw—It was you, Marianne! I couldn't fire upon an old friend."

"Friendship?" She felt compelled to take a step forward. "We're at war, on opposing sides."

"Even so, your back was to a corner." Ashe also stepped forward. "It would have been dishonorable of me to—"

"I heard the screams," Marianne interrupted, ears hot with a flash of anger. "I know what you and those scouts were doing, rounding up civilians—"

"No, we were arresting Alliance soldiers."

"And killing those who resisted?"

"You had children with you, Marianne!"

Marianne's hands flew to her mouth at the sharp sound of his voice, and her boldness vanished as she remembered herself. Ashe's brow furrowed in anguish, but he didn't make another move.

Only now did Marianne realize that their argument had brought them far too close together, faces only inches apart. Ashe parted his lips to say something else, and his gaze softened, but the words never came.

For several heart-pounding seconds, his eyes were locked with hers, and Marianne's world narrowed to the inches of air between them. In his gaze she imagined she could see all the things they couldn't say, all the weight of their past friendship, all the deferred hope of what could have been before the war.

Ashe reached up, hand dangerously close to her cheek.

Marianne immediately shrank away, not allowing herself to imagine what would happen if the space between them should close.

"I…" Ashe swallowed. He took a step back, and his face was flushed. "I'm sorry for raising my voice. It's just… it's different for soldiers than civilians. A prison camp is no place for children. And when I saw you there—I couldn't, Marianne."

Tears stung at the corner of her eyes, but she couldn't speak.

Ashe ran his hand through his hair before whirling down the steps of the pavilion as if he couldn't escape from her fast enough. Before he stepped out into the rain, he turned to her, expression torn.

"Please leave the city before the end of the week. Stay safe, Marianne."

Then he left. The strange urge to reach out to him rose and fell in her heart in an instant. Instead Marianne stood frozen in place as she watched him walk away, disappearing under the curtain of endless rain.

When she could no longer see him, she leaned against a pillar and finally let herself cry. Even though she hadn't seen him in five years, she hadn't expected to miss that smile of his so badly. The memories they had shared in the past, all of the warmth—it was gone. She had made a mistake trying to recreate it; she wouldn't feel his happiness upon her again.

But right now, that was all she wanted.

Notes:

I find it interesting that so many of Marianne's end cards talk about her becoming a great orator given how reticent she is throughout the game. I wanted to show some of that growth here, though she still has a long ways to go.