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“Oh Annie, are you sure it suits me?”
“Course it does, Mercie.” Annette paused in her primping to look her way, blue eyes flitting over her figure. “You make everything you wear gorgeous!”
Mercedes thanked her friend with a smile, then considered her own reflection one more time in the mirror. The ball gown was in a style she’d never before worn, with a silhouette common in Duscur. The seamstresses’ she commissioned the piece from did not have access to traditional materials, and so made do with what they could find during trips to the fabric market.
If she was being honest, she quite liked the gown by itself, with its finely sewn in patterns and textures she traced with her fingertips. It was simply a bit shocking in how it felt to wear something so different from her usual, more conservative outfits. She could see her arms through the sleeve fabric, and without her usual full skirt, her curves were more prominent. But she did not feel uncomfortable, In fact...
Staring at herself covered in swathes of seafoam whites and hazy purples, while a departure from her usual choices, Mercedes couldn’t help but find it suited her. The delicate beige shells, the bodice’s cut emphasizing the curves of her torso in a way that looked lush, like the rolling tide rather than artificially embellished. Mercedes truly did feel gorgeous . Almost like she was living up to the idea of the gown— to pay homage to Duscur’s sea-goddess, Yedurja. Dressing like the Goddess or Saint Seiros would’ve been blasphemous, but Dedue had been the one to suggest commissioned costumes in tribute to his culture’s pantheon and explained invoking their image was an act that honored the Duscur gods.
An added benefit had been giving business to the Duscur people living in one of the poorer districts of the capitol. This wasn’t the first time she’d worn the gown, what with the fittings with the seamstress, but it was the first time it had come all together with cosmetics and Annie’s help. Mercedes had yet to see Dedue in his own outfit, homaging the earth-god Yeduardo, and the possibilities of how he would look fluttered inside like butterflies.
The snap of a cosmetics case closing drew Mercedes back to the present, and Annette turned towards her with a grin. “And to be honest, ‘infiltrating’ a party is the most exciting mission I’ve had in months!”
"Dedue and I appreciate the backup," Mercedes smiled back. Her adoptive father attended many high-society gatherings, ones neither of them would typically be invited to attend. Accompanying Faerghus’ royal couple neatly sidestepped that issue, though she hoped this favor wasn’t a burden for their friends. "We know how busy you and Dimitri are these days."
“It’s no trouble at all, Mercie!” Annette strode up behind her. She was wearing a beautiful ball gown, cinched at the waist with a sunset-orange ribbon to flatter her figure before branching out to a wide skirt assisted by a few petticoats. The gown was gold and accompanied with another ribbon-festooned cape. The final details were long white opera gloves and high-heeled evening shoes. She had taken to higher heels since marrying Dimitri, though it unfortunately only brought her to the height of Mercedes’ chin.
She gave Mercedes’ arm a reassuring pat. “When you two came to us with the information on the party, it wasn’t something either of us could turn down. Also, there’s—“ Her friend paused, bright eyes looking at the floor. “...Well, it’s not confirmed, but still interesting that there are so many previous Empire sympathizers going to this party.”
“Oh, Annie...”
“But, that’s neither here nor there! Main goal: get you and Dedue a talk with Gobbo.”
“Yes... it's long overdue.” Mercedes nodded. "With the number of business partners attending, my father's sure to be there. He won't be able to ignore us any longer."
Despite the many, many letters Mercedes had written then posted, and even her attempts to visit the in-person, her adoptive father had avoided contact since the first mention of her engagement.
Annette smiled at her in the mirror before linking their arms. “And when he agrees— because he has to agree— then you and Dedue will have the best wedding we can give!” She then twirled them around a bit, making their gowns swish back and forth.
There had already been a simple ceremony, at a humble chapel with her only surviving family… but something grander for her friends to attend would also become a precious memory.
“Yes, that's what I'm looking forward to.” Mercedes' tone was warm when she thought about the upcoming celebration. Her life had been lonely until she met Annette, and then when they all banded together among the rest of the Blue Lions, where she met Dedue… she never would have expected to build such close and true bonds with so many. And she was so happy that those precious people at least supported hers and Dedue’s relationship. “Now, we should get going. Don’t want to be late.”
“Right! The boys will meet us there. Dimitri and I have complementary masks, so we’ll be able to find them. Don’t forget to bring yours, otherwise Lorenz will probably act like a stuffed shirt,” Annette ended her statement with a roll of the eyes, before tying on her mask, which was ridged and decorated at the ends to evoke a sunburst.
Mercedes turned back to the final, unopened package amongst the rest of the items. “Oh, right. I nearly left it behind.”
Just like the dress, the mask was truly a work of art: starting with shells gathered at the inlet just outside of Fhirdiad, an artisan created a mask that truly befit a ruler of the sea. The shells were carved and curved so that part of the mask rested on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, the ends decorated with strings of glass beads. The sides fanned out, giving the impression of fins that were decorated with strung mother-of-pearl disks so they shimmered in the light. Finishing off the mask was a gorgeous top ridge that circled her left eye, evoking a cresting wave.
.o.O.o.
As they traveled through the streets of Fhirdiad in their prepared coach, Mercedes took the time to ask about the welfare of everyone since she and Dedue had set off. Their return was still relatively recent, and she hadn’t been able to speak with them much as of yet.
“Ashe and Ingrid have been a big help, even though she has to go back to Galatea territory more often right after rather than stay. Felix and Sylvain are doing pretty well handling their duties, which is actually kind of a surprise...”
“Those two certainly voiced their complaints about noble society, in school and during the war. It’s impressive how they’re changing the way things are done in the Kingdom.” That made Mercedes reflect on her own previous compliance to expectation, how it was both scary and thrilling to step out of line. “Everything I’ve heard about you and Dimitri’s proclamations seem to be just as daring, Annie.”
“I don’t think it's that special, in a sense. When you think about it, a lot of terrible things happened because leadership stuck to a status quo.” Annette shrugged, then frowned more seriously. “Dimitri and I want to do our part in paving the way for a better future. Even if it gets flack from some today doesn’t mean it won’t be worthwhile tomorrow. And yet… some still think my uncle’s public words were my private ones during the war.”
Yes, that was definitely frustrating. Some that sided with Adrestian troops had sought to curry favor with the young queen. Mercedes did not know their aims: whether for influence or clemency, they still came. Though Annette tried to push it off, Mercedes saw a few strands of gray beginning to peek through the bright orange strands. Edelgard spoke of tearing down the walls that had brought them down, perhaps regardless of who would be felled among the wreckage. Annette and Dimitri were trying to find another path.
Annette then clapped her hands together. “But! Enough about that. You still haven’t told me in detail about your travels after the war! Where did you and Dedue go to? Anything exciting?”
“Oh, nothing so dramatic. We just... went to visit my mother and Priest Faria. It’s the southwest corner of Faerghus on the Adrestian border, in a tiny farming village. Dedue was kind enough to pack enough gifts for the entire orphanage, despite ox carts making for a slow trip.”
It had been wonderful: Mercedes could still remember the looks of absolute joy on people’s faces when they came up the path into the village. Dedue had thought of it, and with some of her aid in understanding what the children might like, they filled up two ox carts and set off.
She raised her hand, lightly resting her fingertips on the jewel resting against her chest as she thought of it. Though it was traditional in Duscur for the bridegroom to bring gifts to the family of his intended, Portia had a gift of her own, in a small box by her bed that she placed in Mercedes’ hands.
“It was something your father gave me on our wedding day.”
Her father: her birth father, Lord von Martritz. She still wondered what he would have been like if she had had the chance to know him. In a way, the jewel was the only thing she had of him, of anything of House Martritz. Even if it was silly, having it with her made it feel like he was on her side, as well as her mother.
“That sounds wonderful, Mercie,” Annette’s eyes shined, even in the dim light only given by the outside oil lamps that lined the street. “Dedue seems to share and understand what’s important to you.”
Mercedes smiled at that. “Yes, he's truly a wonderful man. Everyone loved meeting him, both mother and Priest Faria gave us their blessings.” Kindly and accepting as ever, the old priest had openly welcomed Dedue without hesitation and the more reluctant orphans had been won over with the gifts. It’d moved her to tears to be with them all again, the villagers even visiting the chapel to ask about her life and meet her companion. Most of all she hadn’t needed to explain, her mother had understood she was happy… how unfortunate it was that her adoptive father refused to understand. That he continued to reject Dedue. “If only everyone could see it. There's so much misunderstood about Duscur…”
Annette’s mouth closed, and Mercedes could tell that her jaw was clenched, how she usually got when she was set on a task. “Times will change again. And we will do everything to ensure the people of Duscur can rebuild the lives that were taken from them. You and Dedue are already doing that yourself... and, if it’s alright, I would love to commission an outfit from the ladies that made your dress. It’s gorgeous.”
“Yes, they took such care making this for me.” Mercedes couldn’t help but run a hand over the embroidered material of the skirt, a linen locally available yet so carefully dyed, cut, and stitched she couldn’t imagine silk to be finer. Some might’ve critiqued the lack of petticoats and other layers, but the seamstresses knew their craft in how comfortably the gown felt on her figure, all according to another culture’s fashion. The Duscur seamstresses lived and worked out of a small section of the capital, in what some referred to as ‘the slums’, and Mercedes wouldn’t have known if Dedue hadn’t guided her to the shop. It was through his presence and translation that their costumes had been commissioned, brought to life through his peoples’ dedication and hard work. Mercedes would tell anyone who’d listen the origins of her dress, and very much intended to be a repeat customer in the future.
“I’m sure they'd do the same for you. Maybe we can even make Duscur fashion a trend.” She also added, feeling a little punchy. “And better than Adrestians getting all the tailoring business."
“Absolutely.” Annette replied. “I will help make it a trend, but after tonight, I know people will be running around like chickens trying to copy your outfit.”
Mercedes nodded, knowing well how fashion trends were set. Attending large celebrations thrown by nobility was akin to walking amongst a flock of earthbound birds— the exotic colors, the swanning about, and especially the haughty squawking. In Adrestia it had been her mother who’d pointed this out to Mercedes, how silly they all could be, and helped teach her how to look through the tomfoolery and understand what trends would be set during these big events. Although it felt like a lifetime ago when she’d been a noble daughter of House Martritz, and then House Bartels… and then the untitled child of Portia von Lamine for years and years. During those quiet years living in Priest Faria’s church, with dances held over-energetic children merely celebrating life in the moment.
After being claimed as Herime Gobbo’s adoptive daughter Mercedes had been forced back into the feathering of grand balls, sent costly gowns in styles she’d never choose for herself. She’d worn them, paraded around to be oogled and gossiped about, because she hadn’t thought to disobey. It’d changed somewhat after meeting Annie, being able to attend with a friend and then even more in Garreg Mach. But tonight she’d feathered herself with purpose, and more importantly by choice.
Her loved ones and a gorgeous dress only helped her determination to leave the masque-ball with no regrets tonight.
.o.O.o.
The crier wearing muted beiges with a simple domino mask called out with a ringingly loud voice, “Her royal highness, Annette Fantine Blaiddyd and her lady-in-waiting, M.”
Annette began descending the stairs with a proud grace once announced, while keeping her arm linked around Mercedes’ arm. Since even before she’d married into the House of Blaiddyd, royal mannerisms had been drilled into her until she’d begun to move like this — in the same careful way Dimitri moved. Although Mercedes had been present to witness the lessons and transformation, it always left her a little in awe to watch her over-energetic, usually clumsy friend looking every inch a queen.
Even the turns of her head were measured as Annette searched through the crowd, until she gave a small gasp of delight seeing two tall figures in one corner. “Ah-ha! There they are.”
“They do rather stand out,” Mercedes whispered as they descended the stairs. Both the blond and darkly skinned men towered over the surrounding crowd — simply by having good posture and a goddess-given vertical advantage. She also couldn’t help but notice the large amount of cleared space around the men, and the looks being shot by surrounding strangers at the taller of the two.
“All the better that they are our beloveds.” Annette breathed a small sigh of relief as they moved closer among the bedazzled and dazzling guests. “I’m glad Dimitri doesn’t seem too nervous. His shoulders hunch over whenever he gets nervous...” Annette whispered back.
Mercedes recalled how Dimitri stood hunched and listless those early days after reunion. “He's come a long way.”
“Mm. If only everyone saw that...” Annette replied, before the two of them easily passed into the cleared space, filling up the gap.
Dedue Molinaro, her battle-hardened yet soft-hearted suitor. Her gentle, pretty beau with his plush mouth, strong jaw, and thick, long eyelashes that most women envied. Yet rather than compliments on his comeliness, most aimed insults at him that he’d not dignify with responses. Mercedes thought their barbs were partly fueled by jealousy, insulted that this uncommon man from Duscur was more beautiful than any costly cream or cosmetic could hope to achieve. She knew and loved his face, almost felt as if she could see beyond the cover of the carved wood mask.
Yet if Dedue was a gem, then his setting for the night polished the sight of him to splendor. He wore a Duscur fashion called agbada : an embroidered robe which fell to his knees, with double sleeves with a pair tight on his forearms yet billowy about his upper arms, and matching loose pants. The finely-woven cotton was dyed a deep blue and embroidered with angular patterns in gold thread. A burnt umber scarf with similar embroidery looped over both his shoulders, but trailed farther down his left side. A tasseled sash of blue, gold, and umber was tied at his waist, secured by a broach with the familiar winged shape Dedue had always worn about his person.
Like the rest of his ensemble, Dedue had commissioned his mask from his countrymen, providing lumber from a tree that grows exclusively along Fodlan's north-western mountains. The result was as arresting as the embroidery on his robes, the Duscur craftsmen hand carving geometric patterns like mountain peaks in the honey-colored wood. Sparkling glass beads in blue and yellow added streams of color to the lower corners.
He was a dazzling sight, one she could hardly tear her eyes away from— yet Annette letting go and walking to her husband’s side had Mercedes’ gaze following.
Dimitri’s tall figure was covered in blacks and silvers: a fitted black doublet with slashed sleeves that displayed a pale undershirt, dark riding boots with diamond cutouts revealing a lighter layer of leather, and a familiar fur-trimmed cloak. His mask was more unusual: a silver half-moon which covered half his face, bad eye, and curled from his forehead all the way down to the edge of his jaw.
However, it appeared to sit uncomfortably as Dimitri was fiddling with the mask's tie about his head. “Annette, could you perhaps help me with this mask? I’m afraid I put it on incorrectly.”
“Of course! Just bend down for a moment—“ Annette went onto her tip toes to assist, even in high heeled shoes Dimitri still towered above her.
Yet when she did, a stray loop of ribbon on her glove snagged the end of his crescent mask, making his head tilt up quickly and his chin hit Annette’s forehead with what appeared to be no little force. Both of them clutched at the impacted body part, trembling with mouths screwed up in what might’ve been an attempt not to scream out in pain.
Mercedes had to raise a hand to her mouth and stifle a laugh, as she asked, "Are you two alright? If you need I can..."
Once sure of her composure, she brought up both hands in a pose to cast a healing spell. Yet both Dimitri and Annette lifted up one hand to wave away the offered spell, strained smiles curving two sets of mouths.
Beside the king, Dedue heaved a sigh. “Your Majesties...”
“It’s fine! I have a hard head!” Annette declared with a shake of her head.
Mercedes allowed herself to chuckle. “I just noticed how you two match.”
Annette’s smile stretched into a grin, though still resembled a slight grimace. “Mm-hm! It was Dimitri’s idea.” She wrapped her own arms around her husband’s, looking content with the closer proximity.
Dimitri’s other hand was rubbing chin but his gaze was unclouded as he said, “Yes, I was inspired by yourself and Dedue. Moon and sun, earth and sea.”
Though he was wearing a mask that covered a portion of his face, Mercedes could tell by how he shifted from foot to foot that Dedue was embarrassed. “Yes. It was a surprise when you decided to follow our idea.” But he turned back to give his undivided attention to Mercedes.
Dedue’s smile, sometimes only reserved for more intimate moments, graced his features when he looked at Mercedes. Once they were beside each other, he gently took her hand, thumb brushing over the top of her palm. “Good evening, Mercedes.”
“Good evening.” Mercedes’ heart fluttered, despite the easy familiarity of his attentions. "Did we keep you waiting, Dedue?"
“No. We arrived soon before you two,” Dedue frowned, turning more serious. “I’m afraid it’s been difficult to track Lord Gobbo’s location so far.”
“Well, that's no trouble. At least Lorenz was kind enough to share the invitation list, so we know he's here. We'll find my father together.”
“Right. He will not slip from our sights,” Dedue continued to hold her hand in his, as if not wanting to break the contact they had before turning to Dimitri. “Your majesty, I will my leave to search with Mercedes.”
With releasing the arm, Annette flashed them a thumbs up. “We’ll see you both later, then!”
Dimitri nodded with a smile. “Ah, very well. Good hunting, my friends.”
For a moment Dimitri's eyes flashed with a look that more suited the battlefield, but it quickly vanished as he looked back at Annette. Both Mercedes and Dedue had shared their struggles with the king and he'd been incensed, offering to visit far harsher things on the merchant should tonight's plans at locating the man fail. It was comforting and disturbing in turns, knowing everyone cared enough to be angry on her behalf.
"You two have fun." Mercedes waved, walking off with a hand tucked against the crook of Dedue's elbow. As they moved away the crowd who had been standing at a distance began to move towards the royal couple, like the surge of the sea changing tides. "My... you wouldn't guess most of those guests had been fawning over Cornelia just a year ago with the way they're swarming Dimitri and Annie."
“Duke Rowe, I would be happy to discuss rebuilding our fair Faerghus at next week’s scheduled council meeting!” Annette’s voice carried over the din of the crowd, a high-pitched politeness covering her anger and irritation.
“Indeed.” Dedue frowned with only a momentary glance back. “Smiling faces tend to hide the most easily turned blades.”
Mercedes smiled sadly at that truth, how very different such people were to Dedue's unwavering loyalty. “They have us and know which friends are true.”
“That they do.” Dedue turned back to her, and for a moment felt like he was about to speak his past words, but then turned from searching to catch her gaze.“Honestly, they are rather lucky with friends. I suppose good people are drawn to each other.”
Mercedes thought of her adolescence, year spent in the School of Sorcery and how she gravitated to Annette. She nodded, "I would've never dreamed of meeting someone like Annie, so bright and determined and kind. Let alone that she'd care about someone like me... But I'm sure Dimitri's thought the same about you, Dedue."
“If he has, then I also think of his virtues in turn, as Annette has of you to me and I’m sure a fair amount of others.”
"You're all too kind..." Her smile dimmed a little. Her mind recalled all those who'd wanted to use her in the past— her step father, her adoptive father —how she'd been willing to let them. But the thought of those nobles trying with Annie and Dimitri made her angry, just like how she has to resist glaring at the guest scurrying out of their path, away from Dedue.
Dedue gently squeezing her hand again brought her back to the present. Offering her a small smile, “I myself cannot think of a more ardent defender than you.”
It was so odd, but in such a comforting way, that Dedue seemed to know what to say to assure her. Not belittle, but truly understand. Mercedes felt herself blush, but she squeezed back. “You flatterer... tell me more, after we've found and dealt with my father.”
“I look forward to it.”
They both begin to look around more earnestly. As expected, a fair amount of the costumes were popular empire styles that Mercedes could remember seeing in her childhood. How many of them had supported Cornelia, after she’d framed Dimitri? How many toasted to the destruction of the Kingdom’s autonomy in the hopes they would be the selected few, not knowing what plans Cornelia and her allies had in mind? And yet, they still clung to their old thoughts and outdated feelings of superiority.
As they approached the center of the room, waltzing music started to play, and more people gathered to the dancefloor.
Dedue held out his other hand to her. “Shall we dance our way through?”
Mercedes looked at him in flustered surprise, “Oh! You know... how to?”
She’d learned ballroom dancing three times over: with mother, with Lord von Bartels, under tutors paid for by Gobbo. She never thought Dedue would have had the chance to learn at the castle, even as Dimitri’s retainer. And from their discussions she knew that the way in which the People of Duscur danced was completely different from the ways of the Fodlan’s ballroom.
“Dimitri taught me a few steps before the ball at Garreg Mach. Since I assumed there might be dancing at this event, I asked him for a few more lessons.” His gaze turned slightly away, looking a tad shy. “I think I can make my way through a decent waltz.”
Mercedes pictured them practicing together, and wondered how many times feet were trod upon. She smiled brightly and took his offered hand, “Yes, I'd love to dance with you!”
She intertwined their fingers and ended up being the one to lead them onto the dancefloor. Once there, she swept into a curtsy, though her skirts couldn't be pulled far from her legs. Dedue responded with a bow before stepping closer to rest his hand on the back of her waist, keeping one hand in hers as she placed her free hand on his shoulder. And as the song moved into tune, they began to dance.
Sure enough, Dedue was good at this, but there was a definite care and thought in his step. Not like she was whisked around the dance floor, but that they are working in tandem. Mercedes helped them be even better, matching his steps but subtly guiding to the tempo. Soon, they both get really into the dance, and Mercedes let out a peal of laughter when Dedue swept her into a spin and drew her back even closer.
“Oh my, you’re too good at this, Dedue.” Her voice was breathless with how giddy she felt.
She noticed how the bottom half of Dedue’s cheeks darkened and heard and felt the small rumble of laughter in his chest at her joy, but there was a proud smile on his face. “Mercedes, it’s only because I have you as a partner.”
Mercedes felt her heart sing. Instead of fear, he looked comfortable, ready for anything. Just as he did in the kitchen and the garden. Sure of step in more ways than one. Her eyes were unable to look away from the wonderful sight of him, without the faintest idea who was in the crowd around them at that moment.
They took another turn when Dedue began talking again. “Lorenz told us that Gobbo would likely be wearing red and in an eagle mask.”
“Oh, that helps! He always did have a fondness for red.” Few people would be willing to risk the association with Adrestian symbols, and despite the popular styles the warmer hues were rarer in the crowd as they glanced while taking turns in the dance.
“A man dressed primarily in red...”
Soon, Dedue whispered to Mercedes. “The person to the far left of the dance floor?” And then turned so Mercedes could get a good look.
As Dedue turns them Mercedes couldn't help but snap her head towards the figure in red. Garish red tailed-coat, and the mask’s shape undeniably that of a screaming eagle. It was her adoptive father, Herime Gobbo, standing with his back to the floor as he faced the far taller Heir to Gloucester, whose mouth was moving and the rest of his face didn't appear particularly happy about it. Lorenz’s costume was entirely in Gloucester purples and Leicester fashion: gold braiding and buttons, teardrop cutouts, and an elaborately embroidered mask featuring red gems arranged in the shape of roses. Side by side, the two embodied the contrast of the old and the new.
The song they were dancing to ended softly, and the strings began the next with a jauntier sort of tune one might hear in the countryside. Abruptly, a slim figure in an orange-accented jerkin darted beside the two men. It was less than a moment, but it was enough to get a clear look: Leonie Pinelli wearing a fox-mask. She grabbed Lorenz by the hand, then Leonie forcibly dragged him onto the dance floor. Their former schoolmates passed by them as Mercedes and Dedue withdrew from the dance floor, Lorenz managing a brief greeting but was quickly led off and then drowned out as the dancers began a coordinated clapping with the jig.
“I believe that’s our chance.” Dedue replied, and then they weaved their way closer to Gobbo.
It was odd how unawares they caught him after so much time. Gobbo was so focused on attempting to sip a beverage with his mask on he did not see their approach.
The clear sight of her adoptive father, which she hadn’t seen since she’d left Fhiridiad years ago filled Mercedes with mixed emotions. Hermine Gobbo wasn’t an inherently cruel man, not like Lord von Bartels had been, but he was greedy. He’d seen and treated her as an investment rather than a proper daughter. He would’ve sold her off to the highest bidding marriage partner if she hadn’t left without warning over four years ago. And these last months, Gobbo had proved himself a coward, after answering her letter about marrying Dedue with refusals and then proceeding to dodge their every effort to meet with him face to face. As they grew bodily closer Mercedes found her pulse picking up and body growing tense. Although she’d practiced a speech with both Dedue and Annette, she wondered what she’d say to the man who’d taken her away from Priest Faria and Portia von Lamine a lifetime ago. The same man, who denied his permission to marry the man she loved.
Dedue continued to hold Mercedes’ hand when they were in speaking distance, facing him head on. “Mr. Gobbo, I presume?”
Hermine Gobbo spilled some of his drink, staining his puffed sleeve when he saw Dedue. He began to shake his head, until he noticed Mercedes, and stilled. “Yes, I am.”
He quickly regained the stern, snooty demeanor and tilted his chin up before looking down at Mercedes. “It seems you are well enough, Mercedes. A lady-in-waiting to the queen, are you?”
Mercedes’ free hand clenched in a fist as she forced herself to stay calm and smile. “Yes, Her Majesty holds me in her confidence. Just as King Dimitri holds Dedue in his.”
“I see.” His eyes flit back to Dedue, mouth moving into a distasteful smile. “So this is Mr. Molinaro then?”
“I am, sir.” But Dedue was calm, not allowing himself to falter and keeping his head held tall. “It is fairly loud in here. Why don’t we all go into a side room to talk?”
The exposed lower half of Gobbo’s face flinched.
Breathing deep, Mercedes spoke in the inflections that had been drilled into her since childhood. “Father, please. We must speak with you, there's a salon just off the hall not far from here.”
Gobbo stood rigid, ready to refuse or perhaps to bolt. Finally the man gave a stiff nod, setting the glass on a nearby table and headed the direction Mercedes had indicated. The moment he’d turned, Mercedes looped an arm with Dedue’s and hurried to keep up with the merchant, part of her afraid he would just try and run off. However it only took that nudge for Dedue to have them match Gobbo's pace and they left the clapping music of the dancefloor behind.
.o.O.o.
Hermine Gobbo paused at the threshold of the salon, then gave a brief jerk of his head to Dedue, and marched inside. Mercedes followed close behind and sent Dedue a concerned glance as he softly shut the door he’d been holding open. It was an open salon set in Leicester style, likely furnished by the Gloucester household when the house was first bought, and had a large window looking out into a small garden. Gobbo went to stand by the window, turned away from the both of them for a minute, only speaking just as Mercedes was about to.
“—I expected better of you, my child.” Gobbo replied. “I have given you the best I could give at my disposal, and in return, you wander off without a care in the world with whomever you so please.”
Mercedes felt a pang in her heart, both at his assumption and the insult it dealt not only to herself but also to the man beside her. “I couldn’t stay in this city after Cornelia falsely charged and then executed my friend! I tried to see him, but did you know she was denying all prisoners Last Rites?”
“And what would you have done if she had? Hm?” Gobbo fired back. “You are not Priest Faria. If you wanted to be part of the church, you could have returned to that backwater I found you in.”
The mention of the kindly old priest helped settle Mercedes’ mind enough that she calmly replied, “I couldn’t hide when there were people I could help, especially with all the fighting. Although I have been to the parish and spoken to mother... she’s given her blessing for me to marry.” Father Faria had told her that the goddess would never step in the path of two people who were tied together by love and fate. And her mother welcomed Dedue as a son-in-law with open arms when she knew his character. While there, Mercedes truly felt at home, with her love at her side and among people who cared about her , not just about what she could give them.
“Portia had given up that responsibility when I took over your care!” Gobbo’s voice had gotten louder. “Have I not instilled in you the necessity of risk and reward? Do you think you would have been in this position: gone to the best school in Fhirdiad, to Garreg Mach Monastery among the elite to learn if not for my coffers?”
“I am grateful! I made friends there, met Annie and... fell in love.” Mercedes drew herself up, spoke with every ounce of dignity within her. “Father, may I introduce His Majesty's right hand man, Dedue Molinaro, my intended.”
To which Gobbo responded with no shred of dignity at all. “Oh, your intended? Because I do not remember giving you any such blessing.”
“That is enough.”
Dedue’s voice was firm and direct, cutting through the building tension.
Gobbo looked honestly shocked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Mercedes has tried to reach out to you, and you have denied all audiences or exchanges with her unless they are on your terms,” Dedue said. “There is no distance for you to hide behind falsities and harsh criticisms any longer.”
“Y-you have no right to speak with me this way!” His bluster had waned, however he didn’t shrink as he had in the ballroom. Instead he stared at the younger man in the eye, as if he’d be in danger by looking away.
“On the contrary, I have every right to call you a traitor to your king and a coward.” Dedue’s tone was flat, looking at Gobbo with faint disdain. “After the war, I looked into your business practices, and found that you were supplying Adrestrian troops. That, perhaps to a merchant, would not be an issue in times of war. What is interesting however, is your preferred trade routes continue to follow through the lands of nobility who were previously— and remain— known Adrestrian sympathizers.”
“I-it’s simply business, good business! To fault a man for sticking with friends during uncertain times lacks merit. The young king doesn't understand how Faerghus transformed and seeks too drastic of changes. I am doing my part for the Kingdom, ensuring trade continues.” He raised a hand to shake a finger at Mercedes’ face. "And you, my child, do not expect my generous support should you continue to fraternize with mannerless individuals such as him! A lady of gentle birth deserves a suitor of status--"
Dedue took the finger in hand, not squeezing or yanking, but holding it and Gobbo in place. “I do have status, as a man of Duscur, and as the king's retainer and advisor.”
“And more importantly, he’s the man I love! I'll have no other suitor, I don't care if I never see another coin in my life," she declared, every word heartfelt. Dedue took her hand in his, the warmth of it offering Mercedes a grounding comfort as she asked, "Why won't you accept us, Father?"
“Because you should know better! He is not the sort of man you were raised to marry." Once he stopped talking, Dedue allowed the other man’s hand to drop. Gobbo’s next words were barely audible, “Duscur beast.”
But instead of letting it pass like he had been forced to back at the Academy, Dedue glared down at Gobbo.
“And you are not the sort of man that should ever be a father.” Dedue replied. “You know nothing of sacrifice or love. Mercedes risked her life, day after day, month after month, to protect and care for people in need. She is the woman I love, and I am so grateful that your greed could never change who she is .”
Mercedes saw Dedue’s jaw tighten, before he relaxed into a stern expression. “... I had hoped to ask you permission, just as I had asked Lady Portia. But I see this is impossible. You are not the sort of man to open your eyes and see the reality before you: so instead I will give you a warning.
“His Majesty and I have proof and witnesses that you have continued to stockpile supplies with these noble houses, including tools of war. I will tell you it is all well and good to hide in the dim lights of parties and toast to your future glory, but if you go a step further, you will swiftly understand the enormity of such a mistake. Faerghus may not be my homeland, but I can see it will be made better by the king and queen, by the works of people like Mercedes, but not by you.”
Gobbo’s face turned white as a sheet, eyes wide and mouth flapping soundlessly.
“Father, please reconsider these choices you’ve made,” Mercedes said calmly. “You always spoke to me against taking the perilous financial risks in business, it's not too late to change yourself.”
When Gobbo remained silent, she continued talking, for once assured he would not interrupt her.
“We also wanted to tell you that our wedding is being held in the chapel of Fhirhiad’s castle in three days. I have Mother’s blessing and will be taking the Molinaro name.”
Her decision meant that House von Martritz will have truly disappeared, but also an assurance in the future she saw for herself: To build a life and a family with Dedue.
Dedue was calm in his final, succinct response, “Shall we assume you will not be able to attend?”
Gobbo's open jaw shut with a click and he abruptly turned his back to them. Part of Mercedes was disappointed, but the larger part has known this would be his answer — a lack of one. That had been his answer for months: silence. A refusal to deal with the truth of reality, an impasse which she could not bridge.
Once he left, Dedue heaved a long sigh. “I’m sorry it turned out like this, but how he talked to you was despicable.”
“No need to apologize, you are right. Men like him do not deal well with not getting their way.” Mercedes thought again of her stepfather, how he’d been even worse in how he’d spoken to her mother… to the point they’d had to abandon Emile and disappear from their motherland.
Mercedes laid a hand on Dedue’s arm. “You being here with me... For most of my life I'd simply give in to demands. It’s much more satisfying to take a stand and hold my ground. Thank you, Dedue.”
Dedue brought her hand up to his lips to kiss the palm, looking down at her with obvious affection and love. “You're welcome, Mercedes. Thank you for showing me another path for my life, to help me remember and rebuild my home and a place for the people of Duscur... my cherished one.”
Butterflies filled her at his sweet endearment and Mercedes blushed, with anticipation. He bent towards her as she reached for his jaw, but she pushed up onto her tiptoes to initiate the kiss. His lips were wonderfully warm and soft against her own, always so gentle and welcoming. As he leaned further until her heels were set against the floor Dedue rest both of his palms against her waist, resting easy there. Mercedes opened herself to him, he made a pleased noise before reverently tasting the sweetness she offered. This was a dance they had already learned quite well.
For a brief moment, Mercedes recalled the memory of kissing in front of the chapel after exchanging vows, with her mother and Priest Faria looking on as the children cheered. They already decided then, regardless of what Gobbo had thought, that they would be bound together.
When the kiss had ended they rested their foreheads together, noses touching and breaths mingling. Mercedes still had butterflies in her stomach as she said, “I’m happy our friends will be able to act as witnesses, but my heart already belongs to Dedue Molinaro.”
Dedue just smiled, like he was unable to stop. “And I mine, Mercedes von Martritz... or would it be more proper to say Mercedes Molinaro...?”
Mercedes giggled, giddy about their future together, and pulled Dedue in for another kiss.
-fin-