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shrineofseals1k. Muslim convert Marianne, background Leomari.
Fic originally posted on ffnet and ao3 under pen name 'dragonbind'.
In-text notes will be formatted [like this].
Original note: Please ignore any breaks with canon I played this game only once and it's not my top priority w/ this fic. Important note at the end.
Marianne gazes up at the monument with tears in her eyes.
It's late, but Marianne cannot stand the demons crowding her dormitory, so she makes her late-night pilgrimage across the monastery to the cathedral. The fresh air might exorcise her bad luck before it seeps through the walls, anyway.
It's one of the few things she can bring herself to do these days.
The moonlight haloes the monument to the Goddess, leaving Marianne standing in the shadow that pools on the ground behind it.
She cries most nights, whether it's a stray tear or choking, body-wracking sobs that she has to smother beneath her blankets. Without the distraction of other living things, it's too easy to fall into herself.
Each night, she falls back in, never hitting the bottom.
If she ever did, would the Goddess that this statue represents catch her?
Is that what she wants? Once she was bundled up in those holy arms, what would the Goddess do with her?
A fresh wave of despair brings tears to her eyes as she turns away from the monument, ashamed.
*.*
The sun is warm, but the safety of the shade is tempting. She is often mistaken for a shadow (albeit a deathly ashen one) when she walks across the stables or down the corridors by the Academy classrooms. Noise generally migrates away from the classrooms during breaks, so it's usually where she stays—if someone else isn't taking up the space already.
She simply cannot be allowed to intrude on the other students' space.
(Ironically, when the room is empty, she avoids her desk because it reminds her too strongly that she exists—better to haunt the rest of the room where she can disappear quickly once the footsteps approach.)
*.*
Marianne always goes last in class. Most of the other students are already tired out, but the Professor remains focused on her. Marianne cannot tell whether it's a good thing or not—Byleth's unwavering gaze delineates a space in which she must exist.
For a moment, she does not feel the Goddess's presence, and she shivers.
*.*
Goddess bless Leonie, because—Marianne eventually realises—that she looks upon her without the desire to condemn her. Leonie soon becomes synonymous with bright flowers in the gardens, and she cannot resist the urge to approach, to bask in their light.
(It helps when there is a bird nearby to do most of the talking.)
Later, the petals that Marianne brushes with her fingertips become the fingers that entwine with her own.
Is the Goddess smiling up at her through the petals? Is that what she wants?
Moons later, Marianne wakes up bare and exposed despite her nightclothes. Something is missing, something sad that cannot be filled by a warm body curled up against hers in the night.
[Marianne suspects that atheism will not do it for her...]
*.*
Claude sits beside her some days, sometimes in the sunshine among the horses, sometimes in the shelter of the halls as the rain drums on the tiles outside. One day, he speaks of sibling religions. Airily he reveals that some beliefs cross borders and time and he follows the thread for a bit.
"I mean, some strands of belief are so eerily similar that one might think one'd plagiarised off the other and not come from above."
Marianne blushes furiously. "C-Claude!"
Claude hides his crooked grin and half his face behind one hand. "My bad! But then again, why bother preaching in a language no one can understand?"
That night, she looks up at the stars and traces the darkness between with her eyes, east to west, and feels their closeness against the veins that beat against the skin of her neck.
The perfect place for a growl to erupt.
[To be clear, Claude himself is not Muslim here! Fans lead me to believe that Zoroastrianism would be a closer match to his spirituality. Additional notes at the bottom.
Specific ideas in the Quran are referenced here, though I don't remember the exact verses. First is Claude's final remark in this section, referring to the idea that God sent prophets to every nation in history. Second is 50:16, which talks about how God is "closer to [one] than his jugular vein", which, ironically, is combined with a reference to Maurice, the Wandering Beast. How does Marianne feel about this spiritual development, exactly?]
*.*
Suns pass.
She rides on during the night atop a galloping horse. They speed through the undergrowth, agile and swift. She presses herself against the horse's hide to avoid the formless, cutting branches. Words cannot cross her lips.
The horse turns its head to face her.
It's a human face—her face.
[This references the first half of a story in the Quran called Isra and Miraj (Night Journey and Ascension), in which the Prophet Muhammad (saw) travelled a vast distance across the Earth and ascended to Heaven. The steed that the Prophet rode to the point at which he ascended is often depicted in art as a quadrupedal animal with a human face.]
*.*
The horse vanishes beneath her body and she rises into the brilliant sky. It grows warmer until the hot air is trapped under her clothes, pressing against her skin.
A wave of rejuvenating energy washes over her, and before her in the distance stands the Goddess, haloed by yellow light.
"What would you have me do?"
The words come to Marianne's tongue unbidden.
The Goddess beckons her forward, and each one of Marianne's steps take her ten paces closer.
Marianne feels her flesh begin to blister and pop as the Goddess spreads her arms wide, and she speaks words Marianne cannot hear.
The dream recurs every half-year until she returns to the monastery.
[This references the second part of Isra and Miraj, where the Prophet (saw) ascended to Heaven and received God's command of daily prayers. Initially, He commanded 50!
As the two religions melt together, Marianne wonders if following either of them is in her best interest...]
*.*
She awakens with a gasp. The moonlight streams in through her open window, falling upon her curled hands.
She gazes up at the five-year crescent hanging in the celestial curtain.
"Why?" she mouths, throat weak.
[The star and crescent moon are symbols often used to represent Islam.]
*.*
One night, Leonie pulls her away from the balcony and holds her close.
*.*
Another night, Marianne's wings span the entire sky, covering the skies to the curves of the earth, and she speaks in a voice that drowns out the monastery's procession. Leonie is on the ground far below, hair swept to one side, back turned to face her.
The monastery's denizens spread along the fields, collecting the spoils of war. Marianne shades them with her wings as the thousands of mangled flags and ravaged souls burn against her back.
She does not look at them.
[Where (physically, culturally, etc.) I live, it's easy to believe that too many people that follow your religion are self-interested and hold a callous disregard for everyone else. The early Muslims fought in self-defence, including in three notable battles, but I ignored that history to vent about my stress. Probably the detail about this piece that vexes me the most.
The Angels in Islam are often described as having numerous wings and being so large as to cover the entire sky. Here, angelic Marianne takes the role of an agent of God who cares only about her warmongering people.]
*.*
Claude takes a moment out of the busy day to grin at the beads around her wrist. They have a common need to count to one hundred. Marianne's hundreds are less often accompanied by tears these days (though the war raging around them seems to compensate for that).
[Primarily meant as an allusion to Claude's army logistics/duties in parallel to Marianne's prayers ('tasbihat' in this instance; I personally use my hands instead of the beads), meant to connect to the previous section.]
Leonie sometimes catches her reading quietly from the scripture in her tent. Her voice wavers but she continues as Leonie wordlessly takes a seat on the ground beside her, silent until she's done.
[The Quran is traditionally read seated on the ground, and nearby people aren't meant to talk while someone is reciting aloud. Leonie, in an interfaith relationship, respects that.]
Leonie, oh worldly Leonie, who dedicates moments in the rough days and nights to being in her company—her strong hand around Marianne's sends a poisonous jolt of envy up her arms and into her chest. She would never be so strong, even after leaving the Goddess behind her. What woman would need such a parody of a human being?
[Pride is something I often struggle with for aforementioned reasons, among others. Other times, I become an incarnation of the 'it's all coming together' meme.]
Some nights, her arms ache from the pressure of white magic, nerves burnt away and twitching beneath her skin. Some nights, her hands ache from the force of her grip around a quill wasted on one of her old bursts of confession. It feels like she's squeezing her own neck when, during a fit of despair, she shatters a vial in her palm. The mixture of healing salve and shards of glass penetrates her hands, a collusion of fragile things.
She hides these episodes from Leonie as best she can—any reasonable person would give up on trying to rescue her from herself, eventually.
God forbid she give up, too. So, she rises for prayer.
Sitting outside in the dewy greenery outside her tent in her shawl, watching the sun peak above the horizon is a moment of peace easily spoiled.
[The first of the five daily prayers is called Fajr, performed between dawn and sunrise. Women cover most of their body to pray, which is why she has the shawl. Marianne must have stayed up all night... I still struggle to pray this one on time!]Original endnote: I've decided to cope by grafting real religions onto pre-existing fantasy settings so uhhhh for hc—I mean the purposes of this fic Islam and Zoroastrianism coexist in the background and are both rather prevalent in Almyra (as well as across the border because borders aren't real but this is irrelevant). Marianne converted to Islam (as an aside hc Cyril did too! also irrelevant).
Thank you for reading.
