A/N: Hi all! I just finished reading the first book in the Snow Like Ashes series, and I just had to get this out. The plot bunnies were niggling at my toes. It's just a short little one-shot of a scene I wished was in the books. But, just to be clear, I totally ship Theira, though Matheira has a really special place in my heart. This takes place right before the Battle of Bithai. Enjoy!

This Fractured Light

My blood is pounding through my veins, setting my whole body to buzzing with nervous energy. I've never been in a real battle before; skirmishes and altercations with Spring soldiers, sure. But never anything like this.

Theron gives me a reassuring look and a squeeze of my hand as we walk through the empty halls, our footsteps echoing loudly. The touch of his hand on mine is probably contributing a little to my nervous energy, but I try to ignore it. It's no good to think about those things right now. Not when so much is on the line.

When we exit the palace into the city, a different scene unfolds before my eyes. Everything is chaos. Cordellan citizens scramble to fortify their homes, in the event that Angra's men are somehow able to break through the gates. Mothers herd their children into the house, worry written clearly across their brows and shining in the eyes. All of the able-bodied men are arming themselves, though they don't make any move to join the soldiers. They are not trained for this, and I can see their fear.

As for Theron, he seems so self-assured. His grip on my hand remains firm, and his shoulders are pulled back in a gesture of confidence. Let's just hope he can maintain it through the battle. "Are you alright?" he asks over his shoulder, though his eyes continue to look ahead of us, toward the main gates of Bithai.

"Fine, thanks," I reply shortly, trying to cover up the tremble in my voice. If he noticed it, he doesn't say anything, which I'm grateful for.

As we draw closer to the gates, Theron lets my hand fall and I immediately latch it on to the gleaming crossbow in my grasp. Right now, as I have so many times before, I desperately wish I had my chakram. Theron keeps striding forward in that purposeful way of his, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. I notice that he's leading us to a tall tower right next to the gates, built into the defensive wall that surrounds the city.

"If my father and his generals are anywhere, they'll be there. Your Sir will be there too," he says over his shoulder. When we get closer to the tower, I see a white-haired form standing at the base of it, idling near the door that will lead to the platform. At first, I'm worried that it's Sir, but he's too short, and not quiet broad enough.

Mather.

My heartbeat quickens in my chest at the sight of him in his battle armor, an intricate helm tucked under his arm. Theron tenses up; I can see the line of his shoulders straighten and the vein in his neck protrude slightly further out.

"Meira," he says when we finally reach the door. Theron hedges nearby for a moment, and then disappears into the doorway and up the crowded stairwell. The fleeting glimpse I catch of his face tells me he is not happy. "You never were good at taking orders, were you?" Mather's face is stern, but I see the affection in his eyes.

"Never," I reply breathlessly. The sunlight is hitting his face and illuminating his sapphire eyes in a way that makes it hard for me to breathe. He presses his mouth into a thin line and his brows knit together, like he's tempted to tell me to go back to the castle. But the moment passes, and he releases a heavy sigh.

"Your helm," he says curtly to a passing soldier. The Cordellan man complies without a word, quickly realizing who the white-haired boy in front of him truly is. He hands over the helm he'd been carrying and then hurries on his way without a word. Mather turns back to me, a determined look in his eyes. "Sir will have my head if he finds out I let you fight, so keep your head down and don't draw any attention to yourself."

I nod swiftly and he suddenly reaches his hand up to the back of my neck, stroking my long braid with his gloved fingers. "You keep your head down too," I say quietly. "You're too important to us." The corner of his mouth twitches ever so slightly, like he wants to smile, but he doesn't let it grace his face.

"Meira, there's something I want to tell you," he suddenly says. I watch him warily as he chews on his bottom lip, trying to sort out the words in his head before he says them. In a moment, there's some new emotion in his eyes, something I've seen before but never allowed my heart to truly believe. And before I know what's happening, Mather is leaning towards me, drawing me closer with that hand that's still at the back of my neck.

"Mather, what are you doing?" I ask breathlessly.

"Something I should have done a long time ago." His lips brush across mine softly, like he's just as terrified as I am. But that initial fear ebbs away quickly, replaced by a fluttering in my stomach and delicious cold that spreads across my chest and reaches down to every fiber of my being. I feel the cold in my fingertips and my toes, coursing through my body and seeming to imbue me with renewed strength. I close my eyes and lean further into him, deepening the kiss as much as I dare. This is my king, after all. And I'm nothing but an orphan soldier-girl.

But nothing in my life has ever felt so right. We have known each other, trained with each other, supported one another all our lives. Who else could I love but this boy who is my king? It ends as quickly as it began, with Mather and I pulling away from one another and trying to catch our breaths. His cheeks are flaming pink, and I'm sure mine are the same. But I couldn't care less how I look right now.

Mather takes my braid in his hand again, twisting it into a knot at the nape of my neck and then sliding the helm over my head. "There," he says quietly, "now you look fit for battle. Meira, if you can help it, I want you to stay in this tower as long as you possibly can. Do you understand? This is the safest place for you." I nod quickly, not trusting my voice to conceal my raging emotions.

He doesn't take my hand, as Theron did, but he leads me up the tower all the same. And suddenly, in the wake of the kiss I've been longing for over the past two months, I'm not afraid. With this newfound certainty and strength I possess within me, it is Angra's men who should be afraid.

Okay, that's it! After I read all the books (when the third one is published) I'll probably try my hand at a full length fic. Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated! :-)