(mercedes/constance) silence

Every time Mercedes passed on the hallways of Garreg Mach Monastery all by herself, she would be reminded of the academy days. Especially at night, when everything is filled with serene silence – at times Mercedes would make a gentle reminder not to miss curfew, then remembered at the next second whether she is no longer a student there.

Usually, she would be back late to her room because praying at the cathedral. Tonight, some appointments in regard of medicine supplies for the next dispatch of battle dragged on longer. Mercedes chuckled to herself when she recalled how the staffs fervently apologized to her because they finished up later than expected. The sandy blonde woman only shook her head, offered them a smile and trying hard to not make them worry.

That being said, the Monastery is becoming even livelier at night—patrolling knights are changing on their shifts, some may reported aloud of disturbance (in which, thankfully, not happened again tonight). It was too late for her to be in cathedral, so she opted to turn in her room early.

“Emile?”

A familiar brooding figure popped from the Knight Hall, looking somewhat perplexed. It is rare for her younger brother, also the esteemed General Jeritza, to make such face after going from the Knight Hall. Unless, maybe some kind of night emergency is happening.

“What are you doing this late?” was his first response upon seeing Mercedes.

“I can say the same to you—though I know you’ll always be on the Monastery grounds every night…” Mercedes said. “Did something happen inside?”

Emile turned to his back, thinking, “… Maybe you should see for yourself why.”

“Huh? Why?” the short-haired woman popped to seek Emile’s back. The row before the Knight Hall is only lit with single torch, there’s nothing interesting in there except some training effigy.

“I was about to wake her but … maybe she would prefer your company than mine,” Emile hinted. He nodded once before taking his leave, departing for the training hall instead of resting quarters.

Mercedes still didn’t get what direction Emile did point to her, but she walked in the Knight Hall anyway, bracing on whatever that made him back away.

“… Oh.”

On the chair by the face of fireplace, somebody is sleeping. Books and scrolls littered the ground, unattended but not scattered. The night might be not as cold anymore, but it would be unwise to sleep out there – cold may come earlier than you would expect it. Then again, it would be rude to disturb someone from slumber, especially if it is her.

“Constance.”

Mercedes whispered the name before she approached, threading her steps slowly as not to disturb the sleeping young woman.

Of any meetings she would recount to experience by going to Officer’s Academy, one of them is to meet again with a little girl from the destroyed house and bygone past. Even with her departure to a secluded church by the land of Faerghus, the news of a downfall of House Nuvelle after the Dagda-Brigid War reached her ears – just like the news of how Emile got rid of House Bartels.

Though, with all the hardships that Mercedes never dare to name, Constance’s eyes still tinkling as how Mercedes remembered: curious and innocent. It took her instantly to the time when she and Emile, as the children of House Bartels, visited House Nuvelle for the usual noble exchanges. The little girl who love roses. The little girl who liked to see them around. The sweet, sweet Constance.

Mercedes paused, wondering how long has passed since her trip to the memory lane – and of how long she has been walking unconsciously to occupy the space beside the sleeping Constance. No wonder Emile opted to take his leave right away; Mercedes, too, couldn’t find any heart to wake someone who’s slumbering in peace.

She didn’t know what force that brought her to run her fingers on the curl of blonde hair. The little Constance is sleeping. She is warm because of the fire. Her hands might be cold because she was from outside. She might be waking her with how she traced a line on the cheek.

Constance always try her hardest over anything. She would use her time to learn new spells, to craft a new magic, to be in a step closer to her dream on rebuilding the old glory of Nuvelle.

All events of the past had scarred her, yet she never give up.

Laughing softly to herself, Mercedes didn’t withdraw her hand. “… how I can even leave you when you are like this, little Constance.”

(A single press on her forehead, a small whisper of good night, but then Mercedes didn’t dare to break away.)