A/N: The challenge Elendraug gave me was to write something with Steiner and Freya. I couldn't think ofa reason to pair them up, so I just wrote them being in a bar, since that's where all my fics occur apparently. The prompt word was "sharp."
Her wit's as sharp as her pike, especially after a few rounds. He admires that about her – if nothing else. He's never met a Burmecian before. It's strange to think that she's the first one he's ever met, and here he is sharing a few drinks with her after another toilsome day on a quest his princess insists on continuing. He's not sure if he should be condoning the actions of the past few days but after Brahne's betrayal, he feels as if he has no choice.
Luckily, he's not quite alone in his misery – though she is doing an excellent job of hiding it, she's very much upset over the recent destruction of Cleyra. He's become rather good at figuring out points of anguish in other people. Most of the time, unfortunately, he realizes them aloud and that's precisely the reason he's nursing a black eye along with a beer. Her wit's razor sharp and her fists have a deceptive amount of force behind them.
She's paying – her way of apologizing, he supposes – and they've both been quiet for a while now. He decides to break the ice, ease the tensions, and just be a little less obnoxious than he normally is.
"I had never been to Cleyra before," he admits.
She shoots him a withering, albeit softened glare and snaps hoarsely, "Suppose you won't ever have the pleasure now, will you?" Thanks to your queen, you great oaf, he silently tacks on.
He winces mentally and looks back at his drink. Despite what it may seem, he is completely aware of his awkward social graces – or the lack of them altogether. The issue is his pride; he isn't socially inept if his pride won't let him be. It's rather unfortunate, because he rarely says the right thing but always thinks it first.
"Forgive me," he sighs.
She looks to him and then breathes out, blowing some bangs from her face and looking at her hat, laying on the counter. "It's not your fault."
"I shouldn't have been so... I should have seen it, at the very least-"
"It's not your fault," she reiterates, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you for not offering me condolences as to the destruction of Cleyra. You're perhaps the only person not to have done so."
He nods, even though he had been thinking of offering something supposedly reassuring. It will be alright, everything will turn out in the end, the sun will come out tomorrow – they had all run through his head. Luckily, his brain was working faster than his mouth.
"I had never been to Cleyra, either," she confesses. "But once I had, I wished I had stayed there often. It was so... incredible." She breathes out again and he looks to her, watching. He's never seen a Burmecian before. "I had hoped I could save it, unlike I had Burmecia..." She laughs, "Hope is for fools, I suppose."
"That is not true, lady Freya," he responds, taking his turn to put the consoling hand on the shoulder, "Hope is a very important asset. You might not have saved Cleyra, but there will always be hope in saving something else. Not everything is hopeless."
She ducks her head to look him in the eyes and says, "Not everyone is hopeless either. I'm impressed."
He lets her see a rather undignified smirk and then drains his mug, standing. "Thank you for the drinks, Lady Freya, but I must return to the castle."
She stands and nods, throwing some gil next to her half-full drink and says, "Anytime, Steiner."