I am so, so sorry for the long delay in updating. Half of this chapter has been written since April 25th and was supposed to be finished in the next couple of days after. I wound up in the ER on the night of the 26th and was pretty messed up for a while due to pain killers and recovering from the damn organ rebelling against me. I hate the former and the latter is not fun. Add to it the loss of a good friend to complications of COVID-19 late last month and it's been... stressful, to say the least.
Fun fact: Marianne's little tidbit about blood in the abdomen pissing everything else off and swelling is directly derived from my ER visit. It is NOT pleasant. -100/10, absolutely do not recommend.
Thank a nurse/doctor/emt today. Wear a mask. Stay safe out there. Know this gigantic nerd of an author loves you, dear reader. Except for the ones who went looking for my fanfiction from the Discord channel. I do not love you and you know who you are. :(
/
There are many things about war Marianne has come to understand these last five years.
First of which is that the battlefield does not discern who is good or evil nor right or wrong. Moral high ground does not matter near so much as one's footing, sense of timing, and ability to get out of the way before the other person's weapon of choice connects. It teaches you hesitation means death just as much as recklessness.
Battle teaches that the color of your blood and that of the enemy's run the same color; it soaks into the earth, grass, and stone just as readily as water from the heavens. It teaches confusion and chaos reign supreme. Battle also teaches there is very little one can do to keep a stable, controlled environment even with the most brilliant of tactical minds directing the troops.
War has taught her that the cries of the injured and the dying sound the same no matter whose banner is flown.
She is tending to one of the knights loyal to their cause when the cry from Ferdinand comes from ahead. She knows that anguish and alarm as well as she does her own name and pulls one of the battalion healers to replace her. Marianne races for the front lines. Her skirts are in the way and she hikes them up to her knees, fists clenched in the fabric, and runs as quickly as she can to where she is needed.
Footsteps rapidly gaining on her from behind and a low, familiar curse signals backup. The relief knowing the two behind her will be able to help her is beyond description.
It could be anything; a death wound she will have no hope in fixing but will ease his pain to the best of her ability, a serious injury that will require him to retreat from the battlefield entirely and in the care of the more experienced healers there. It could be any of those. It could be something different entirely.
Bernadetta and Sylvain are already there by the time she gets there, two other healers at her flank, and look up to see her with the same kind of hope-filled relief she's seen on too many faces. She throws herself into an empty position beside the injured mage and begins firing off instructions to her assistants. It's a short series of questions, and answers from both Bernadetta and Ferdinand as to what happened and if they have tried to do anything regarding his injuries. Thankfully, the answer to that last one is nothing. They've kept him still and haven't removed the javelin jutting out of his stomach.
"H-he can't breathe easily. Is that normal?" Bernadetta asks anxiously. Her eyes go from the grimace on Hubert's face to the pale but determined expression on Marianne's.
Marianne winces in sympathy. She's had something like this happen to her twice in battle and the recovery even with healers at the ready is… something else entirely. "In a sense, yes." She replies to try and soothe the girl's worries.
She can certainly repair what has been damaged, torn, or broken as well as ensure there is no foreign matter and debris that would further cause additional trauma. She can even, with assistance, ensure there is no chance of infection and burn that out with healing magic as well. But Marianne cannot replenish lost blood with magic nor erase any free-floating fluid in the abdomen as a result.
Any blood in the abdomen has to be reabsorbed into the body naturally and that hurts for days at minimum, if not weeks.
Magic has its limits, after all, and even though she is one of the more powerful healers enlisted in the war, she cannot restore lost limbs or something destroyed entirely.
She turns to the grim-faced man on her right, an older healer in his forties whose sole purpose in life was to spit in death's face as much as possible (his own words), and waited for him to finish his assessment of Hubert's injuries. He'd taken her under his wing and taught her everything she knew about medicine. In a rather more caustic version of Claude's own dismissal of her curse, Albrecht cared more about her healing power and willingness to get her hands dirty when someone needed healing than her Crest.
"Hard to tell." The healer says after a moment and casts a black scowl at the ashen pallor of their patient. "Were it my decision, I'd stabilize the javelin and bring him back to the healer battalion rather than the alternative. Your call; we can take him off the battlefield or we can do this here and now."
"Do it now." Hubert's voice is strained but clipped. His eye focused on Marianne's face until she lifts her head to look his way.
Ferdinand is not pleased with his words. Neither is Marianne, truthfully speaking, she'd much rather have him evacuated out and thus safe from any potential harm. Ferdinand clears his throat and begins to try reasoning with him."Hubert, we should really-"
"Nothing is more important than this task; Fodlan's future relies on our success, Ferdinand, I expect you to follow orders as they were given." He hisses, unable to catch a deep breath from the pain.
Internal swelling, Marianne notes with a distant thought born of experience, from the blood in the abdominal cavity. The body's organs do not like blood being where it should not and tend to get inflamed as a result. That swelling and subsequent pressure is why he feels it's difficult to breathe. She understands the underlying urgency in Hubert's voice as well as she does Ferdinand's concern for him as a friend.
The following argument between Hubert and Ferdinand is short, heated, and abruptly ends when Hubert accidentally jostles the weapon sticking out of his flesh. Grey-faced and sweating from pain, he glares at the trio of healers awaiting the final verdict.
"Do it."
This is desperation she understands; something happened and he is trying to redeem himself in his own way. Edelgard, from what she knows, would likely prefer him to retreat as well. At least, she'd like to believe the Emperor of Adrestia would put her people first. There is no good way of making either of them happy, so Marianne mentally squares her shoulders and looks for a middle ground instead.
"If… if you lose consciousness during the treatment, I will send you back."
Bernadetta looks at her with round eyes and nervously glances between Ferdinand, Hubert, and her again as Marianne continues. "We can't afford, as you have said, to delay the completion of our task. You will return with the healers should you become a b-burden to us and that's final. "
The two of them stare at one another for a long handful of seconds and looking Hubert in the one visible eye she can see reminds her very much of the first time she looked Claude's rather temperamental wyvern in the eyes for the first time. At the same time, he also reminds her rather much of Dorte too. Maybe it's the way his hair falls into one eye the same way Dorte's forelock does...
The corner of Hubert's mouth curves up and Bernadetta whimpers in response. His voice is… amused, Marianne can't quite place the inflection or emotion, as he speaks "In the future, your words would hold more weight should you mind that stammer of yours."
She tries her best not to look stung and squares her shoulders back as Hilda taught her. Head straight, eyes forward, and she takes a deep breath in preparation to make a second attempt at convincing him that her word as the leader of the healer battalion overrules his.
He lifts one gloved hand, grimaces at the pain the movement invokes and inclines his head. "We will speak more of what can be improved at a later date. See to it you complete the mission regardless of the outcome."
Albrecht gives the injured man a hard look, nods to Marianne, and turns his attention to the assistant on the other side of Hubert. "You two know the drill: Moira and I will remove the foreign body and work support while Marianne handles the major damage."
He offers a strap of leather for Hubert. "You'll want this, lad."
A look to Ferdinand and Sylvain. "Brace him and look away if you have weak stomachs." Back to Marianne and Moira. "On three, as we do.
Bernadetta swallowed hard and, white and shaking as she was, slid her hand into Hubert's for support. Whether it's meant to comfort him or herself, no one can be sure, but she squeezes reassuringly and sets her expression to one of determination. Sylvain helps settle the leather between Hubert's teeth and offers a wane half-smile in sympathy. Ferdinand busies himself by getting into place and, as he is instructed, braces for the inevitable.
"On three," Marianne repeats both to begin the countdown as well as let those around them know what to expect.
"One."
She gives a silent prayer to the Goddess as well as an apology toward Hubert as she watches him prepare himself for the pain. He thinks he's getting two more seconds before the pain. Sylvain and Ferdinand tense. Bernadetta keeps her eyes ahead of her and on the little bit of reflective glass Sylvain holds up to keep watch behind them.
"Three." Marianne states.
Hubert's teeth nearly bite through the leather as they remove the javelin.
/
"Do you think he'll forgive me?" Marianne whispers to Ferdinand and sends an anxious glance behind her as they rush down the stairs. Hubert, along with Sylvain as his support, are bringing up the rear. Bernadetta is between them ensuring she can hit from afar at whoever comes around the corner from behind or in front.
The knight smiles in spite of his own concern at the anxiety. "Eventually." He whispers in return. "Hubert, for all his nightmarish appearance suggests and his sharp words, is not one to hold a grudge lest it be rightfully earned. Usually when it comes to sheer defiance, blatant incompetence, or a direct threat to Edelgard-"
"Lady Edelgard, Ferdinand." The reminder echoes down from behind them.
Ferdinand sighs and shakes his head. If he had to put himself in one of the categories of 'people who earned a grudge', it would likely be for sheer defiance and disrespect toward the Emperor. It's not like anything has changed since their Academy days or during their youth, minus Edelgard being a little more inclined to yell back at him instead of going with the more cold and ruthless approach her right hand happens to prefer.
He is delighted, however, by the smile on Marianne's face. If getting scolded by Hubert puts a smile like that on the young healer's face, it's absolutely worth the flare of annoyance. It also brings to mind a question he's been meaning to ask for a while now.
"If it would not be remiss of me to ask, why did you accept this task, Marianne? Were you not worried about the possibility of a trap or betrayal?"
Sylvain laughs from behind them. Marianne's smile is a little more strained but she shakes her head. "Some risks must be taken in the name of peace. I believe in Claude and his judgment." A beat. "I also believe in the Professor."
Bernadetta's eyes widen at the news. "The Professor's alive? B-but I thought she died in the battle at Garreg Mach five years ago?"
Hubert chuckles breathlessly. He can't seem to get an entire lungful the way he has in the past and that somehow makes the laugh all the scarier.
She whimpers in protest. "Do you have to laugh like that?"
"She is alive, Bernadetta. Ferdinand and I have witnessed this personally."
Marianne, to their surprise, looks relieved to hear this. Hubert frowns. "You were unaware of the Professor's status?" Why would Claude hide such a thing? Was this woman not trustworthy in some manner? What was the wretch from the Alliance planning by keeping them in the dark?
Marianne shakes her head. "It's not that." She takes a moment to choose her words carefully before speaking as they wait at the bottom of the flight and take a moment for Hubert to rest. "I… I have not seen her in person. I have seen her letters and sent some in return… but it isn't the same."
Ah, a sensible response. The more she speaks, the more Hubert believes she is an even greater asset than Claude deserves. Perhaps, had he learned more of her circumstances as well as her connections, he may have attempted to persuade her to join the Empire. Or, as much as he is loath to admit it, her current skill set and usefulness is directly due to Claude von Riegan's influence and strategic placement.
"Was… the Professor alright?" She asks after a moment, looking over her shoulder to Hubert as they begin to move again.
Tempting as it is to withhold the information to his advantage, there is no point in doing so. It will not ensure her cooperation any more than it will benefit the Empire and their cause. "She appears the same as when she vanished; healthy and difficult to read."
And still impossible to threaten or otherwise intimidate.
"Can confirm." Sylvain pipes up with a grin. "She's still as gorgeous as the day she arrived at the monastery."
They all turned to Sylvain. Hubert's eyes narrow. "And you would know this, how?"
The grin spreads and he winks at Marianne. "I have my ways."
Was there a conspiracy between Faerghus and Leicester that their informants had neglected to report? Impossible, unless Cornelia…
"Is this where the Archbishop is being held?" Marianne's voice is soft as they reach the landing and stand before a door. There is a surprising lack of judgment in her voice. A good deal of concern, of course, but not the condemnation he anticipated and Hubert doesn't care much for that twist.
"Indeed." His voice is cold.
She has the look of one who wants to ask a great many questions and is uncertain as to how to give voice to them. Unsurprising, given that she used to be such a timid and withdrawn personality back in their Academy days. It's a brief moment of silence more before her shoulders straighten, her head lifts, and her eyes focus on his face.
"What should I expect to see as a healer?"
/
Archbishop, former Archbishop, Rhea sits in the same place she has since she was placed in the special cell. No bruises, open wounds or sores, or other outward physical signs of abuse mar her pale skin and the wave of relief that sweeps through them all save Hubert is telling on a number of levels.
Even at her most obstinate and blatantly disrespectful, Edelgard refused to give him permission to 'encourage' the former Archbishop to cooperate.
He and Lady Edelgard have visited her fairly frequently in the five years she has been in their keeping. The shadows beneath her eyes continue to darken and the tightness around her eyes and mouth have grown since their last 'conversation'. Her hunger strike has continued, much to his annoyance, and thus she is much more frail and weak in contrast to how she should be. Her spirit too wavers between broken and unbreakable depending on the hour. She is unharmed and as healthy as one held as a prisoner of war possibly can be.
Those cold, inhuman eyes turn on him the moment he enters her line of sight and narrow. "I have nothing more to say to the likes of you." Hostility and weary anger. She is slipping away little by little and it would be terribly easy to kill her here and be done with it.
The temptation is strong enough he can feel his magic begin to pool in his palms. Hubert recalls his orders exactly as they were issued to him and draws himself back sharply. He is no lowly murderer nor common-born wretch the way the bastards who tortured Edelgard under her orders are.
"The feeling is mutual, Archbishop, however, it seems your existence still holds a semblance of worth." His own tone suggests his disagreement. "Should you seek to meet your end here, I will not stop you. In fact, I encourage it."
"Hubert!" Ferdinand is appropriately scandalized by his comrade's harsh words. He shoots a guilty look to the Archbishop with a frown creasing his handsome face as he takes in her drawn appearance.
"Prime Minister Aegir's son?" Rhea's voice is dangerously light as she places his voice and appearance after a moment.
"The very same." Hubert replies in his stead.
Surprise strikes her moments later as Sylvain, Bernadetta, and Marianne make their appearance as well. The distress on Marianne's face alone is enough to soften the Archbishop for precious seconds necessary to slip a verbal dagger into the conversation.
"There has been a change in plans." Her eyes are back to him again as he hands Marianne the letter left for him to give the Archbishop. He wants nothing to do with this monster unless it is to assure her demise and end the threat she poses.
Marianne murmurs a prayer and an apology to the Archbishop, their hands briefly touching as she passes the letter through with an anxious look. Rhea's expression is as calmly defiant as ever as she opens the letter. The contents are unknown to any of them, Hubert, in particular, does not care for such a thing, and watches the emotions flash across her face one after the other.
Shock. Fierce joy. Confusion. Fury. Rhea's mouth is a thin, white line against her face as she stares back down at the letter and its contents. A lock of pale tea-green hair that glows softly in the dim light rests in one hand.
"This letter-"
"Was delivered unopened, as you see yourself." His disdain for her really cannot be hidden. "Even I was not granted knowledge of its contents." He knows Byleth has something to do with it. He suspects Seteth may as well. Perhaps Dimitri and Claude have managed to contribute something of use.
Ferdinand, of all people, speaks up. "Lady Rhea… Archbishop. Did… you know what my father…" he cuts himself off. Bernadetta reaches out and tugs at the corner of his sleeve in sympathy and support.
Her head lifts and she stares at Ferdinand with such intensity they all feel him flinch beneath its weight. "Did I know what about the Prime Minister?"
"That he ordered… what he did to Edelgard-" He stammers.
There's a flash of impatience. "This again. I have nothing to say in regards to some wild fable regarding the Prime Minister's dealings within the Empire."
"Did you order it done?" He forces the words out. A plea, perhaps, for someone other than his father's avarice to pin his House's humiliation and downfall on. "Did you order what was done to Edelgard and her family?"
That hostile stare again and silence.
Sylvain steps forward, Marianne shoots him a grateful look. "What of Lysithea- House Ordelia's heir- and her situation? Did you order that?" He isn't supposed to know the information, but he is who he is and he has his ways of finding things out. Those eyes turn on him and he can see what Hubert speaks of regarding an otherworldly grace and appearance. The former of the descriptors is his own, of course, as Lady Rhea is still a lovely woman even if she isn't human.
When she doesn't speak, he lets the proverbial cat out of the bag. "Did you order them to experiment on her so she could gain a second Crest?"
"Impossible." The words are flung so venomously and violently all of them take a cautious step back. "One cannot be blessed with two Crests; the Goddess allows for one and one alone. It is blasphemy to even consider such a thing!"
Rhea has a bit of color to her skin now and she goes from glaring at them to pausing, allowing the words Sylvain has said, the question Ferdinand has asked, and the constant interrogations over the past five years to sink in. She looks down at the letter's contents again. Looks to the lock of hair in her palm for a terribly long moment before pinning her gaze on Marianne.
"Margrave Edmund's child."
Marianne offers a curtsy appropriate to the Archbishop's rank. "Lady Rhea."
"Your faith in the Goddess…"
"Unwavering." She replies immediately. Her cheeks flush. "M-my apologies for the interruption."
There's a ghost of a smile on Rhea's face that fades all too quickly. "On the Goddess' name, do you swear that," there is a moment of hesitation as she tries to find an adequate word to describe what is in the letter without giving its contents away. "The owner of this," she holds up the lock of hair. "Lives?"
Marianne straightens. Her eyes do not leave Rhea's as she speaks. "The Professor is alive and fighting as we speak. It's her order that Sylvain and I are here to escort you back to Garreg Mach."
"And these three?" Rhea doesn't have to gesture when her tone says plenty.
Marianne swallows hard. "To accompany as escort as well."
Her eyes narrow. "Whose side has she chosen?"
Three voices speak as one, surprising each other as well as Rhea herself.
"Her own."