Chapter 3. The Catalans

Beyond a crumbling, rune-etched wall—its weathered stones murmuring tales of ancient magic—about a hundred steps from where two companions sat under a twilight sky traced with celestial sigils, lay the legendary hamlet of the Sea-Gypsies, known throughout the realm as the Catalans. Long ago, these people abandoned their old Iberian homeland, journeying across astral waters to settle on a stark outcrop of land—one said to be blessed by mystical seafarers' prophecies. No one remembered the exact place they came from, nor did their language sound like anything spoken in neighboring kingdoms; its rhythms echoed with half-forgotten runes. One of their chieftains, who'd learned enough of the Provençal mages' dialect, petitioned the elders of Marseilles—its skyline bristling with crystal spires and enchanted ports—to grant them this barren headland. Three moons later, a small fleet of enchanted ships arrived, bearing men, women, and children who built a tiny village brimming with Moorish incantations and Spanish enchantments. To this day, their descendants remain, fiercely proud and careful to preserve the language, traditions, and spellwoven garments of their ancestors.

If we follow the only winding street through this close-knit settlement, we come to a small, sunlit house painted in the soft browns of withered autumn leaves, its whitewashed walls reminiscent of an old Spanish posada touched by magic. Inside, bathed in a warm glow, stood a young woman of remarkable beauty. Her hair, dark as the void between distant stars, flowed in gentle waves. Her eyes, soft and deep like a gazelle's beneath the moonlight, were fixed on the wild heath blossoms in her hands—sacred flowers in her culture. She plucked at the petals and let them scatter on the sunbaked, rune-marked floor. Her arms, strong and lightly tanned, moved with a restless grace, while her foot tapped gently on the smooth ground. A vibrant stocking of red, gray, and blue hugged her leg, its pattern shifting like an ever-changing tide, hinting at the invisible currents of fate.

Only a few steps away, leaning back on a chair that balanced precariously on two legs, sat a young man no older than twenty. He looked tense and troubled, his gaze full of silent questions for the maiden. But Mercédès, meeting his stare without flinching, appeared calm and unwavering.

"Mercédès," he began, his voice wavering between hope and desperation, "the renewal festival is here. Is this finally the right time for us to marry?"

Mercédès sighed gently, her tone patient but firm. "Fernand, I've told you a hundred times already. You're being stubborn asking me over and over."

He looked at her pleadingly. "Please, say it one more time so I can accept it. Say again that you're refusing my love—even though I have your mother's blessing. Let me know, once and for all, that you don't care about my life or death, so I can finally stop hoping. For ten years, I've imagined us together, and now it's all slipping away like morning mist."

She spoke softly but with certainty. "I never led you on, Fernand. I've always said, 'I love you like a brother, but my heart belongs to someone else.' Isn't that true?"

"Yes," Fernand admitted, his voice both admiring and pained. "But among us Catalans, there's a strong custom that binds our community in marriage."

"That's a tradition, not an unbreakable law," Mercédès said with a gentle shake of her head. "You're in the service of our people, always ready for a call to arms if war comes. And even if you stayed, what could happen to someone like me—a poor orphan with nothing but this run-down house and some old fishing nets I got from my parents? My mother died just last year. I'm barely surviving, often thanks to the help you and others offer. Yes, I accept the fish you catch and the supplies you bring, but only because we grew up together, and I know you'd be hurt if I refused. Still, it feels too much like charity."

Fernand pressed a trembling hand to his forehead. "That's exactly why you'd be perfect for me. I'm not looking for a rich woman—just a hardworking partner who can manage a home. You'd be everything I need."

She offered a sad smile. "No one doubts my ability to manage a home. But my heart is promised to someone else, and that won't change. All I can give you is my friendship, Fernand. Anything else is impossible."

Fernand exhaled slowly, as if trying to release his frustration. "I get it. You've been through a lot, and you don't want to add my troubles to yours. But if you married me, everything might be different. I could expand my fishing work, maybe earn a place storing runic goods at the big warehouse, and become a well-known merchant of magical items."

"Your path is to be a soldier, Fernand," she replied calmly, "and you stay here only because there's no war right now. Stick to fishing, and let's hold on to our friendship. It's all I can give."

Fernand stood up suddenly, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. Then he paused in front of Mercédès, anger flashing in his eyes. "Be honest with me. Is your heart set against me forever?"

She lifted her chin and said, "I love Edmond Dantès, and I'll only marry Edmond, no one else."

Fernand's voice shook. "But if he's gone for good—"

"If Edmond Dantès is dead," she said softly, "I won't go on living either."

"And if he's forgotten you—" Fernand began, but before he could finish, a voice called from the doorway.

"Mercédès!" The sound was warm and joyous, echoing through the small house like a long-awaited promise.

Mercédès gasped, color flooding her cheeks. "He hasn't forgotten me," she cried, rushing to open the door, "he's here!" She flung the door wide, revealing Edmond Dantès. Instantly, the two embraced, the sunlight pouring in around them like liquid gold. For a moment, the world seemed to vanish, leaving only their overwhelming happiness. Their words tumbled out in half-formed sentences, each one a tender, breathless confession of love.

Then Edmond noticed a figure lingering in the gloom—a pale face marked by anger. Fernand stood there, one hand resting on a blade etched with faint runes, his entire body coiled with tension.

"Oh, I didn't realize we had company," Edmond said politely, though he shot a cautious look at Fernand. Glancing at Mercédès, he asked, "Who is this?"

She laid a calming hand on Edmond's arm. "Someone who should be a friend to us both—Fernand is like a brother to me. Please, try to remember him."

"Oh yes, of course," Edmond replied. Still holding Mercédès' hand, he held out his other in greeting. Fernand seemed frozen, torn between fury and despair. Edmond looked back and forth between Mercédès—her gentle eyes steady and affectionate—and Fernand, who stood there trembling. Realizing something was off, Edmond frowned. "Am I not welcome here?" he asked quietly.

"Welcome?" Mercédès repeated, her voice trembling. "If there's any hostility in this house, Edmond, we'll leave right now. We'll never return."

Fernand's eyes blazed for a second, but Mercédès spoke calmly. "Fernand is no enemy. He's my own kin, and he should offer you his hand in friendship."

At these words, Fernand took a shaky breath. Slowly, he extended his hand to Edmond. The instant they touched, it seemed Fernand's fury ebbed, replaced by a miserable surrender. Suddenly, he pushed past them, stumbling out the door with a raw cry.

"Who will free me from this nightmare?" he muttered, running blindly into the street.

"Hey, Fernand!" someone called from a short distance away.

The voice belonged to Caderousse, who was lounging with Danglars under the shade of an old arbor threaded with living runes. Both men watched Fernand's frantic rush with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

"Over here!" Caderousse beckoned. "Where are you headed so fast? Come share a drink with us."

"You can't run off when there's wine left," Danglars added, sounding casual, though his eyes gleamed with cunning. Fernand, pale and shaking, seemed unsure what to do.

"What's going on, Fernand? You look like you've seen a ghost," Danglars teased, nudging Caderousse. "Is Dantès really that lucky?"

Caderousse leaned in. "Relax, my friend," he said to Fernand. "Join us. Let's figure out what's got you so worked up."

Fernand, wiping sweat from his forehead, gave in and collapsed onto a stone seat. "Good afternoon," he mumbled, resting his elbows on the rough wooden table.

"I waved you down because you were running like you were possessed," Caderousse joked, pouring a cup of enchanted wine. "Sit with us before you do something foolish."

Fernand let out a low groan, lowering his head in despair. Caderousse, who was already tipsy from the strong magical brew, laughed again. "Well, well, I guess Mercédès turned you down? That's too bad. But hey, life goes on, right?"

"Don't tease him," Danglars cut in. "He's clearly upset. A broken heart can be serious business."

Caderousse just grinned. "Trust me, Fernand's tough. He's a Catalan after all. The rumor is that Edmond Dantès returned on the Pharagon today. That put an end to Fernand's dreams."

"Isn't Mercédès free to choose who she loves?" Fernand said, almost choking on his words.

"True," Caderousse agreed, taking a swig of wine. "But I always heard Catalans don't back down so easily. Especially not you, Fernand."

Fernand mustered a faint smile. "A man in love loses some of his bite," he said quietly.

Danglars offered him a look of false sympathy. "You didn't expect Dantès back so soon, did you? You must've hoped he'd be lost at sea or...maybe that he'd moved on. Fate can be cruel."

"Don't rub salt in the wound," Caderousse chided, though he poured himself another cup. "Anyway, if Edmond is back, he's probably about to marry Mercédès. Might be time to accept it."

Danglars refilled all their glasses. "Let's toast Captain Edmond Dantès—soon-to-be husband of our lovely Catalan," he said with a cunning smile.

Caderousse drained his cup again. Fernand slammed his own glass to the ground. "Look, out by that wall," Caderousse exclaimed suddenly, shading his eyes. "I see two people walking hand in hand. Isn't that Edmond and Mercédès?"

Danglars watched Fernand's face twist in silent pain. "Recognize them?" he asked in a low voice.

Fernand, refusing to answer, simply nodded, his face pale. Caderousse waved an arm, calling out, "Hey, Dantès! Mercédès! Over here! We want to know when the wedding is, since Fernand won't tell us anything!"

"Quiet," Danglars hissed, grabbing Caderousse's elbow. "Show some respect. Let them enjoy their walk. See how calm Fernand is? Learn a lesson in restraint."

Fernand gave a half-choked snarl, about to stand—but then Mercédès glanced toward them, her bright eyes full of concern. Remembering her words, he slumped back in his seat, overcome by despair. Danglars looked at the troubled Fernand and the half-drunken Caderousse, shaking his head as if disappointed.

"Ugh," he muttered under his breath. "What can I do with a drunk and a lovesick fool? Meanwhile, Edmond is sailing toward fame—he'll marry the girl, captain the Pharagon, and laugh at us all. Unless..." A faint, cold smile flickered on Danglars' lips. "Unless I find a way to get involved."

"Hey, Edmond!" Caderousse shouted, standing up unsteadily, "can't you see your friends, or are you too important now?"

"Not too important—just incredibly happy," Edmond replied, giving them a good-natured grin. "And happiness can make you blind, I suppose."

"Hello, Mercédès!" Caderousse called, "Madame Dantès, is it?"

Mercédès shook her head with a gentle laugh. "I'm not married yet, so please just call me Mercédès. In my culture, it's considered bad luck to call me by my husband's name before the wedding."

"Forgive me, then!" Caderousse said. Edmond smiled. "He means well."

Danglars bowed slightly, an almost mocking gesture. "So, is the wedding soon, Mr. Dantès?"

"Yes, as soon as we can manage it," Edmond answered. "In fact, we're having a small celebration at my father's house today. Then tomorrow—no later than the day after—we'll have the wedding at La Réserve. Of course you're both invited: you, Danglars, and you, Caderousse."

Caderousse nudged Fernand. "And Fernand, too, right?"

"Of course!" Edmond said with an open grin. "He's Mercédès' kin, so he's like family to me as well. I'd be hurt if he didn't come."

Fernand opened his mouth to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. He said nothing. Caderousse, who was clearly tipsy, teased, "Big rush, huh, Captain? You're barely back, and already you want to tie the knot."

"Now, Caderousse," Edmond chided lightly, "Mercédès reminded you not to call me Captain yet. I might jinx myself."

Danglars gave Edmond a smirk. "You're in quite a hurry. You've got plenty of time—the Pharagon doesn't sail again for at least three moons."

Edmond shrugged, still smiling. "When you've waited so long, you want happiness fast. It's not all for me, though—I have to go to Paris soon on business. Just finishing a task Captain Leclere left for me. You know the kind—it's important. I'll be in Paris briefly, then come right back."

"Right, the mission the Marshal gave you," Danglars said, lowering his voice. "Interesting. You're not officially listed as captain on the Pharagon's roster yet, you know," he added slyly.

Edmond, already walking away with Mercédès, just waved over his shoulder. "Take care, friends!" he called cheerfully. And so the two lovers continued their way, as calm and joyous as if they were chosen emissaries of the heavens.