Author's Note: I HEAR IT WAS LON'TATO'S BIRTHDAY. This one was for a Tumblr prompter requesting Lon/Lissa angst.
(I'll give a warning here for blood but I'd categorize it as "normal medieval wartime wounds" rather than "graphic.")
"That's the last of them," Lon'qu gasped. Sweat ran down his face and blood spread in a rapid patch through the sleeve of his jacket, apparent even in the muted light of the forest, but his eyes were steely. He sheathed his sword in one furious movement without trying to clean it. The ferocity seeped the strength from his knees. He sank to the ground with a crunch of dead leaves and Lissa was at his side in an instant, reaching for the arrow sprouting from his collarbone. He'd taken it to save her life, and bore the whole time he slew the assassins surrounding them.
"Don't touch me, woman," he hissed as he jerked away.
"If I don't, you'll die." Lissa grabbed his uninjured shoulder hard and shoved, spinning the arrow toward her. She clutched, snapped, yanked it out. There wasn't enough time to do it the right way, removing the wood and easing out the metal head. Blood spurted like she knew it would but she cursed nonetheless. He'd only make it a couple of minutes. He clamped his free hand weakly over the wound as she snatched for her staff, fumbling for the right prayers, waiting for the familiar glow.
She couldn't lose him. Maybe he found her a nuisance, maybe he hated her, but she loved everything about him, his unruly hair and the solemnity with which he kept his promises and even the shape of his pout. She had to succeed. Please, Naga, don't let it be too late. Don't let me be useless this time.
The flow of blood eased, and so did the tightness of his face. That would be enough to get him back to camp. She pulled a roll of bandages out of one of the pockets sewn into her skirt with trembling fingers.
She'd almost died today. She only lived because he was willing to die for her, this man who pushed her away at every turn. His hands were shaking even harder than hers. She knelt close to him as she bandaged his shoulder, unsure if she was seeking his warmth or the comforting empathy of their shared fear or to make him feel calmer. She was so close their faces could brush if either of them turned a fraction.
"Move back," he said. "I'm cursed, don't you see? You were nearly murdered."
"And it wasn't your fault. You're the one who saved me."
"My redemption," he said bitterly. She wondered what he meant but knew it wasn't the time to ask. She simply tied off the bandage.
"I am so sorry," she said. Something in her was crumbling, a primal collapse under the weight of all those could-haves and might-have-beens. Her mind burrowed into the thought of life without him, and it hurt sharply. "I've done nothing but annoy you, and now you've suffered for me. If that arrow had hit you even the tiniest bit higher…Lon'qu, if something happened to you…I couldn't—"
"Don't," he begged. "Don't say it. Don't put this before me."
But her tears finally caught up with her, released as adrenaline faded and relief set in. A sob escaped. He didn't make a sound but his eyes were rimmed with red as he reached a shaking hand up to her face. Gingerly, he brushed back her hot tears and a wayward curl of hair. She was pretty sure he left a wide streak of blood but she didn't care.
The moment was impossible to describe to Maribelle later. So was the look in his eyes, something adoring and terrified and almost like surrender. It was like being physically embraced, pressed tightly to him and never released. It took the breath from her mouth. Her tears kept falling and he kept wiping them away.
"I'm just so glad you're all right," she said when she was able. His voice broke as he answered,
"You too, Lissa."
He was too pale from the blood he'd lost, and his legs wobbled when they stood from the leafy floor, but he still refused her offer of her shoulders and walked unaided. They were very quiet, still stunned from whatever it was they had shared. Evening had fallen by the time they made it out of the forest. They could have parted there, but Lon'qu grumbled about having taken enough chances and walked her all the way to her tent. She kept her eyes on the ground until their feet stopped moving and he let out a long, tired exhalation.
"I should have known you would make everything more difficult. You're good at that."
"Hey!" she said. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He gave her that look again, long and unrestrained. It was only when she felt her cheeks heat and her skin prickle that something deep within her realized without words that he wanted to touch her again.
But that couldn't be right.
"Thank you," he murmured.
"No. Thank you," she said back.
His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword and he turned to limp off. Stubbornly, she called to his coat,
"And I'll be back to check on that shoulder tomorrow! So don't think you're getting rid of me that easy!"
"I did not expect to." he said without looking back. Lissa only stared as he walked away and gripped her staff harder like that would make her feel less dizzy.
Redemption? she wondered again.
When Lon'qu made it back to his own tent, he yanked the flap shut behind him and hurled his sword—sheath, belt, and all—to the ground so hard and recklessly that Basilio would have shouted at him, had he seen. He should have felt accomplishment, relief, even triumph. He should have celebrated, reported to Chrom. Instead he pinched the bridge of his nose and wept for a girl he'd known years ago and thousands of miles away, the girl he finally had the power to save. But he was years too late and thousands of miles too far. And now every time he looked at the Ylissean princess, this woman that made him tremble with more than fear, that eased his nightmares when he thought of her before bed, that tempted him to smile again, he would be reminded of what could have been and wasn't. What he should have done and hadn't. He wanted to be by Lissa's side forever, despite all his warnings to himself, yet she made him feel so broken.
But then, he thought, experimentally rolling his sore shoulder, choking back more tears in his stubbornness, she was quite experienced with fixing.