"He likes you," said Florina, tucking a petite smile behind the pages of a well-loved book that Merlinus had bartered for her from a passing peddler several weeks before.
"He likes anyone rumoured to carry a pulse and a pretty smile," countered Fiora, coldly polishing every last smidge of viscera from her lance.
Florina shook her head, but lowered her private merriment deeper into a paragraph detailing the heroine's refusal of aid from a flockless shepherd and did not press the matter.
After waking the following morning, she found that Fiora had polished not just her own lance she had used that day, but all of the ones between them, even those they used only for practice and both their sets of armor besides. Florina thought that even her boots looked somehow smoother, but she could not be certain.
—
It seemed that everywhere Fiora went, there was a high probability he would be there to meet her. Whether it was on the field of battle, or with camp chores, or merely finding a place to eat, somehow he was nearby. He prattled on and on, about her, about himself, about how lovely she was—simply seeing him became tiring.
He would protect her, he said.
He was a fool.
—
"I love you," he said.
"You love all women," she said, biting the ends of her words.
"Must love be so finite?"
Her mouth opened to frustrated words she couldn't articulate. He had the audacity to appear utterly dumbfounded, head cocked like an ignorant puppy.
Huffing she strode past him.
It wasn't worth the breath.
—
Fiora held out a stack of letters pinched between thumb and forefinger, wildly gesturing with them as she spoke. "I don't know how he does it. I find a letter every day, sometimes more than once in a day—when does he have time to write them? Or to leave them? It's been weeks now and I've never once caught him in the act!" She breathed heavier than she expected of herself.
"Do you need me to ask him to stop?" Lady Lyndis said, head tilting. "If it's truly so troublesome to you, I will take him aside." The eyes of her smile were pained but compassionate.
Was he not merely her knight, an extension of her own sense of power? Did she not even warn other women in the army that he was prone to sweet-talking all of them? And yet she cared about his feelings so. Did she even, perhaps, consider him a friend?
"You won't have to worry anymore," Lady Lyndis said, "I'll tell him."
"No, I—" Fiora held out her hand. Why was she stopping her? Wasn't his behavior annoying? Didn't she want it to stop? She rolled a lock of hair between thumb and forefinger. Perhaps it wasn't fair of her to act this way, to insinuate to his lord that she might order him to back down. Is that what bothered her?
"Florina told us about you, back in Caelin, you know. She so admired you, I think he's been curious ever since. I haven't known him terribly long, though. You should probably ask Kent about whatever you are thinking."
Fiora's mouth opened but nothing came out. She closed it with a tight frown.
"If you change your mind, let me know and I'll tell him to stop leaving the letters."
Later that night, Fiora sat with the numerous, bescripted slips of parchment scattered about her bedroll, picking each up and squinting at them in the moonlight.
—
Fiora huddled under the tiny gap provided by the outcropping, his limp form held against her. Through the muffled rainfall and shuddering leaves she mused that at least the illness that drained his strength so too had stilled his tongue. Immediately after, remorse sagged her usually sharp posture. He might as well be in the position because of her, because of his silly pledge to protect her. To be glad for the ill upon him was cruel.
When the wind gusted through the tiny shelter, she bowed over him, shivering against the rippling cold currents of air and shower of water against her face. She beckoned her pegasus closer, gently coaxing him to lay down beside them. Lifting his wing up, she scooted as close to the animal's broad side as she could. He fidgeted over the impediment, but eventually, with soothing, laid his wing overtop the both of them.
Memories of the screams of girls and pegasi alike amidst the dark and the winds surged to her mind.
She clutched her patient more tightly beneath the gentle blanket of her mount's wing.
—
"It was nothing, I'm sure. He's exaggerating."
"Fiora, it is no exaggeration to say that you saved his life and I must express my gratitude for that. He is my oldest friend. Please, tell me how I may repay you."
"Even if I felt I deserved some kind of recompense, it was his life, not yours, you know." Kent's gaze remained steady, and Fiora wavered. "How….how is it that he is your oldest friend? You two are so…different. How can," she fumbled for the right words, "How can someone as forthright as you have grown so close to someone with all the predispositions of a drunken bumblebee?"
She could see the edges of his lips flatten and strain. Was he trying to hold back a smile? "A drunken bumblebee, is it?" He passed a thoughtful finger over his lips and cleared his throat. The pause before he spoke again was uncomfortably long. "When we left to seek Lady Madelyn and her family, we had no reason to suspect that Lady Lyndis would be the only person we would ultimately meet. Before we had formally recognized each other on the streets of Bulgar, Sain attempted to court her attention. He bungled their meeting so much she very nearly didn't accept our help when she and Mark were accosted outside of the city."
Fiora nodded, almost smiling before realizing this hadn't answered her question and wasn't yet the end of his narrative.
"Later in our journey, when we arrived at Araphen, I took it upon myself to secure aid for our travels. But," He frowned, brow knotting with memories, "when the marquess rescinded his support on account of our lady's heritage, Sain immediately came to her defense while I struggled to regain what was lost. I was too preoccupied with her security and travel to recognize how damaging the marquess's words could be to her, and how debasing it would be to accept aid from someone speaking them. Lady Lyndis may have have graciously praised my capabilities during our trek back to Caelin, but it is Sain's quick wit and…high spirits that bred companionship, and he that understood a practical approach was perhaps not always the most prudent one."
Kent opened his mouth to speak more but sharply turned his head away, his focus immediately shifting to the distant sound of a voice calling out somewhere behind them. "You must excuse me, my attention is required elsewhere. Please, do not forget to tell me how I may repay you for your aid."
Fiora remained where he left her for several minutes after, twirling the ends of her hair between her fingertips.
—
"You know, if you cut your hair like me, you wouldn't have put yourself in such an embarrassing position," Farina said, tousling her short locks for emphasis.
"Farina, please! It is no joke!"
"Sure it is! You, Miss Mighty Pegasus Commander, getting your hair stuck in a tree after dismounting! I sure call that a joke, I'm just disappointed I wasn't there to see it."
Fiora steamed with energy and irritation she couldn't articulate.
"But it's even better that he was there to see it, I think. Assuming he didn't try to feel you up or anything crass like that." Farina's face darkened and she leaned much to close to her sister, her tone harder and heavier. "He didn't, right? You tell me right now if he did and I'll go knock his block so hard he'll have trouble—"
"No, no he didn't do anything unseemly, or crude or anything like that." Fiora said hastily, "He was… as chatty as he usually is, probably thinking he was being charming or something. But he didn't even come very close without asking first. And then he was very careful not to pull too hard and to make sure he wasn't hurting me trying to untangle it."
"And he made that for you too?" Farina asked, pointing to the end of the braid that Fiora had unconsciously begun fiddling with.
"He said something about how even though my hair was," she raised her hands to gesture a caricature of him, "a 'scintillating ocean of beauty no matter the wave or crest of it',' that it was a shame flying 'tangled it so,' and offered his services," she rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "He wanted to do a lot of those little chain braids too, but," Fiora tossed the braid down, suddenly very self conscious under her sister's growing grin, "What?"
"Barigan's spear…"
Fiora's suspicious look grew sterner, "Excuse me?"
"You like him!"
"I WHAT?"
"This is amazing, I have to tell Florina."
"You will tell no such lies!"
—
It was just a kiss.
A chaste kiss.
On his forehead.
It was meaningless.
It was just.
He helped is all.
Bandaged her arm after she had come within inches of losing it entirely to an axe.
He killed the assailant too.
Made sure she was okay.
It was only natural she'd want to thank him, of course. That's why she did it.
It was a thank you.
A chaste thank you.
Nothing more.
While he was bent over her arm, she just.
Pushed the headband up and lightly kissed him.
It was a thank you.
Just a thank you.
And yet he smiled broadly every time he saw her for the next fortnight.
—
"I love you," he told her, for not the first time even that very week.
"Mmhmm," she mused, noncommittally tuning him out as she had the last thirty seven times he had said it to her. Brushing her pegasus was far more imperative than such a silly whimsy anyhow. The air was cold, cold like home and the mighty, faithful animal needed the precious insulation to be complete.
She felt a light touch at her hand and turned sharply to see him take her wrist in one hand and her brush in the other.
"Sain," she said, brows knitting.
He dropped the brush with a smile, eyes fixed on her own.
"Sain."
"Miss Fiora." Fingers sliding under her own, he raised her knuckles up and bowed over them, slowly pressing his lips into them while he continued to lock eyes with her.
Muscles in her hand twitched. She tried to pull her hand back, but he held fast, countering with a pull of his own. Utterly unprepared, she landed against his unarmored chest, face growing hot.
Seconds passed, and she realized he hadn't put his arms around her, hadn't trapped her in—just pulled her close and left her there. She looked up at him and he beamed down at her.
She could leave. She could push him away. She could—
She watched as he raised her hand to his lips again in full view of her, clouds of breath wafting between them. "I," he said, moving slowly, so slowly, more slowly than she had ever seen the man move in his life or what she had seen of it so far. "Love," he rolled his cheek across her hand first, eyes flooded with adoration, while hers blazed with growing frustration. Maybe he was slow. After all, how long had it taken him to get this close? Endless letters, declarations of love, of protection. To what end? The attrition of her hostility? It had worked, hadn't it? They were friends weren't they? Had saved each other countless times by now, surely.
Friends. Friends? It was never just about being friends now was it.
"You." He finished, finally turning his face into her hand. He lingered there while she watched, feeling the warmth spread into her skin. She could hardly have said she minded the cold before. Ilian-born, she was told often by her sister, in fits of rage and disagreement, that "they were a perfect match for each other! A cold land and a cold heart!" She had never felt cold at those times.
She felt cold now.
She rotated her hand out of his grasp and grabbed him by the back of the neck, hauling him down to her level. She rose up on her toes to meet him and threw her other arm around his back to keep him steady.
Steady while she kissed him. Kissed his lips. Kissed him in a way that was not chaste.
When the surprise passed, he smiled into it and returned the kisses with arduous fervor. He kissed her lips. He kissed her face. He kissed her neck.
It felt hot. And it felt good.
His arms finally moved around her, pulled her close, hearts pulsing into each other's chests. She felt safe. She felt protected. She felt loved.
Her eyes thickened with hot tears, which she pressed into the fabric of his shoulder.
"Thank you," she said quietly, "for loving me." She laid her forehead against him. "I think." She sniffed, sinuses making ungodly and undignified sounds, "I love you too."
—
"What's that?" Florina asked, and Fiora slapped a hand over the side of her neck far too quickly.
"It's nothing!"
But it was obvious, really, what kind of red bruise someone got on their neck. Asking had merely confirmed her suspicions. The corners of Florina's mouth turned up. "O-okay. I just wanted to make sure you were good, that's all."
"Yes," Fiora swallowed, smiling at her sister. "I'm good, thank you for checking on me." She cleared her throat and looked back down to her lap, where she carefully sewed threads into gaping boot leather.
Florina smiled and opened the first page of her book again.
Thank you for reading.