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“Thank you for coming, Emile. I wasn’t sure if you’d have time. The tea is already steeping- it should be done in a moment.”
Jeritza sits down across from Mercedes, tense as always.
“Right…”
Mercedes tilts her head at his tone, a smile still on her face. Jeritza can’t read her so instead he keeps his own face neutral but it never feels like he can get anything past her. A ‘sister’s intuition’ she had called it once. While they spent many years apart there certainly must be some truth to such a phrase; he’s different than he used to be but still an open book to her.
“You’re still uneasy around me, Emile…” a crack of disappointment seeps through that mask of hers, quickly replaced by practiced serenity “I understand why. But you know, for all his talk I know Death Knight will never actually kill me. Though I do ask you remember that I won’t mind if he does.” She sounds so certain, unwavering. Jeritza breaks eye contact first.
“You don’t know that- you can’t know that” He feels Death Knight saying something in his head, but can’t quite make it out.
“We may have met later, but he’s my little brother too.” Something in her wilts “I can see it in his eyes, Emile, he wishes to protect people. He was made to protect both of us, he is just misguided.” It’s quiet for a moment, until Mercedes pours the tea in each of their cups. Jeritza grips the table hard to keep from saying things he does not mean, and from going somewhere he does not want to go. Instead, he changes the subject.
“What kind of tea did you make today?” If she notices his avoidance, and she most certainly does, she does not bring it up. For that he is grateful.
“I’m overjoyed that you asked!” She lights up and it makes that place where his heart used to be hurt. “I splurged on some Honeyed-Fruit Blend, there was a tea seller in the last town we went to, you know despite the pricing hike since war started he was fairly reasonable…” she trails off and smiles at the look in his eyes. The same one as when they were younger and she made him his favorite dessert. She had never been happier to have a lighter purse.
“Thank you… sister.” He barely manages the last word, it’s more of a whisper, hoarse through his tight throat. His eyes are soft but far away. Jeritza leaves unsaid his feeling that he has not earned her affection. So Mercedes also leaves unsaid her knowledge that he has never had to earn anything from her. Instead they drink for a moment in silence.
Mercedes drums her nails on the surface of her glass, a rare display of nerves.
“You know, you really should write to mother.” Ah, there it is. Jeritza puts his glass down.
“She does not want to hear from me.”
“Has she told this to you?”
“No, but-”
“Then do not assume how she feels.” He sighs and he feels his weariness in his bones.
“She would not want me for a son.”
“But you are her son, just as you are my brother. Emile, she truly does love you so dearly.” His patience is waning and his grip tightens on his cup.
“The Emile she loved is dead. He died when father did.” The way she looks at him with what he assumes can only be pity makes Death Knight stir.
“No. He is still here. You are still here. I know you are hurting-“
“You know nothing.” He feels the cup crack in his hand, hot tea and porcelain shards stinging. Mercedes gasps, reaching over with her handkerchief. Jeritza grabs her wrist with his free hand before she can help him. “Why won’t you listen to me? When I say he is gone I mean it. He was weak and now there is only a wretched demon in his place.” Mercedes doesn’t fight his grip but something in her expression hardens. In her same pleasant voice, eerily out of place given the circumstance and her expression, she speaks.
“Emile dear, please let go of my wrist.” He drops it immediately, leaving reddened skin where his grip had been. He moves to speak again, but she cuts him off.
“You say my baby brother is dead. If that should be true then let him rest and do not speak ill of him. Let him be bathed in the Goddess’ holy light in death as he was in life and may his memory be a blessing to all who knew him.”
“I was never-”
“Do you speak ill of the dead, Emile?” He sees now this corner he has backed himself into. Perhaps the only thing to rival Mercedes’ devotion to her family is her devotion to the Goddess.
“… No” She closes her eyes, hands clasped together.
“Good. I know a proper funeral should be in order then. Proper remembrance rights for a child. A brave child, perhaps a warrior’s send off as well. Hm… what should I bury then, if not his body? A drawing? Perhaps his favorite dessert? No… I think the old doll he sewed me will do just fine.”
“The doll I… you still have that raggedy thing?” She opens her eyes, smiling softly at him.
“Yes, the first thing you ever made when you started learning to sew. I took it when I left.”
“That was so long ago, surely it is old and falling apart. Surely you had better toys to play with.” Mercedes shakes her head.
“There could be no such thing. It was my only connection to you, to my baby brother…” He doesn’t speak so she continues. “I know you have said your piece, how you asked mother to leave you behind, but I cannot allow myself to accept that such a thing was the only option… She- mother blames herself too. She thinks you could not bear to look her in the eyes, the eyes of the one who left you to suffer.” Jeritza shuts his eyes tight.
“She does not believe that.” He cannot convince himself. Only when Mercedes tentatively touches his hand and begins removing shards of porcelain does he open his eyes again. They’re silent again as she works, cleaning the blood and tea from his hand. They both begin to speak at the same time, and apologize profusely. Mercedes motions for him to speak first.
“This reminds me of when you used to clean up all of my wounds when I was young, when we were both still so young...” Mercedes smiles, it’s weary and loving and it reminds him of his mother, their laugh lines and creases falling the same way.
“I certainly got a head start on healing because of it.” Her tone is playful, teasing even, but there’s an unsaid discomfort. At least this time it wasn’t a glass thrown by their father.
“… what were you going to say before I interrupted you?” She blinks and looks back up at him.
“Oh! Yes. I love you, Emile. As you were and as you are now. My baby brother isn’t dead, he’s just different and different is okay. Different happens with time.” She says it so easily, so earnestly that it makes that place where his heart might just be hurt.
“I… love you.” It’s barely a whisper but Mercedes beams, and Jeritza thinks she has to be an angel, or perhaps a saint. He loves her, and maybe someday… maybe someday he’ll think he deserves to.