Mercedes von Martritz -d2- Fin

Another day, another chance to make a difference in the world. Mercedes finished tying her golden hair up behind her head and checked herself in the mirror. She was looking more and more like her mother every day. It was the eyebrows, mainly. But the resemblance was there in the shape of the nose, in the curve of the lips. She had her father’s eyes, unfortunately. But no one’s perfect. Her eyes are not as harsh as his, they have understanding. They do not judge. Often, people mistake her quiet and gentle spirit for weakness. She is a warrior. A Knight Templar. and she does her best to remind people of that every day.

After breakfast, Mercedes knelt in front of the altar in the Officer’s Academy chapel, her voice soft but clear. The warrior’s prayer should be said before the start of every day. For protection during sparring matches and perhaps someday, the games as well. If not, then after graduation for every time she put on the uniform of a peacekeeper to do battle with the terrorists and the criminals that would seek to destroy society.

“Lord let my aim be true,” she murmured, clasping her hands together, her head bent in penitence. “Guide my hands to be faster than those who seek my destruction. Grant me victory over my foes and those who would harm me and mine.” She stayed there in quiet reflection for another fifteen minutes, uttering words of comfort and healing over her friends, praying that they would all come to know the peace she had every day. The peace given by Twitchtip, mother of mercy, forgotten at large by Ripred’s faithful in the current age, but still worthy of praise.

And then, and only then did she get on with her day, reverently cleaning the altar with a washcloth before heading to the greenhouse to care for the flowers. It was joyous rapture, that there was such beauty to be found in the heart of district two. Perhaps it was meant to be reflective of the students themselves. They had to be nurtured, attentively watered to blossom for the whole world to appreciate.

Later, whilst straightening the books in the library, she repeated her mantra under her breath. “In softness I have strength, in peace I have understanding. In conflict I am calm and collected. Violence is not always the answer,” It should never be a person’s first instinct, only a last resort. “There must be room for compassion.” But if that failed, as it so often did, then the enemy needed to be obliterated.

Her mother had taught her that.

Her father had been a hard man, always in his cups. In her childhood she frequently sported a black eye or a bloody lip. Eventually people started to take notice. There were only so many doors in the house she could walk into. But he was a powerful, rich man, and it was none of their business. Her mother knew of course, but her attempts to calm him, to deflect his anger to her always failed. Until one day. The day that changed Mercedes life forever.

“Such a clumsy girl.”

“Yes father.”

“Scatterbrained.”

“Yes father.”

“I’ll have to knock some sense into you, you dumb girl."

Mercedes braced herself for the hit, but it never came. She opened her eyes to see her mother holding his hand and twisting his arm back, a fire in her eyes she’d never seen before.

“You will not touch her again,” her mother had snarled before they’d gotten into a fistfight, one that ended with her father falling down the stairs. The last time she had spared him a thought had been when he’d sent a letter, asking to see her while he recovered in the hospital.

Such people as her father needed forgiveness, pity even. But that didn’t mean subjecting herself to his presence ever again. She had burned the letter as an offering and pledged her life, dedicated her soul to protecting those in need the way her mother had protected her. That day she had learned that a caretaker, a woman who cooked and cleaned and sewed could also be an avenging angel.

Her mother had been learning self-defense you see, training for the day she and her daughter would be victims no longer. She'd had to bide her time, but she'd iced every bruise, held Mercedes every time she cried and promised that one day there would be an ending. She’d been afraid of him, but she had found her courage. Been taught how to take down someone bigger and stronger than her. And she'd found the love of a good man in the misery.

Mercedes’s stepfather. He was everything her father had not been. Kind, loving and gentle. He was the reason she was at the academy. He’d paid the tuition when he’d learned of her dreams. Transferred her there from finishing school, and in a wonderful stroke of luck, her best friend Annette had been transferred as well.

She preferred to heal rather than harm, and often spent time in the infirmary, learning how to properly bind wounds, set broken bones, soothe a troubled mind with words. But that was only one facet of being a career, and not the part that helped you protect people. Help them after the fact yes, but combat training was the best preventative measure.

Thus, like many of the preceding days, she found herself in the sparring center, geared for combat. Mercedes gripped the handle of her rapier tightly and saluted her opponent with it. “Find peace in the embrace of the goddess,” she murmured before charging them with the cold fury of an archangel. After she soundly thrashed them though, she’d be able to patch them up.

And she’d do so with a gentle smile.