Three months ago, I declared that I was finished with Fanfiction and had moved on with my life. Yet...here I am! Turns out my life can get rather dull without a hobby. For those of you may recognize my username (you still out there, AquaticSilver?), don't get too excited, because there's no guarantee that I am back for good. I may just publish this one shot and never write on this site again. Or maybe I'll start publishing a whole bunch of one-shots. I really don't know. Though at this point, it think the former may be more likely.
I've just had this one-shot idea for well over a year (it's been in my computer since April 2014!) so I just decided that I should finally expand on it and publish it. I'm pretty darn pleased with the outcome, and I hope you will be too! Enjoy!
"What about this one?" Lyn held up the pink cloak hopefully. Mark turned to her, wearing a bright yellow hat that clashed awfully with his hair.
"I don't think pink goes well with my skin tone," he grimaced, eying the cloak as if it were the fire dragon they had encountered over a year ago.
Lyn rolled her eyes. "As if that hat goes any better with it."
Mark frowned and glanced at his reflection in the mirror. "What? You don't like it?" He adjusted his hat so that it was at a slant. "I thought it was rather stylish…" The saleswoman passing by did not appear to realize that Mark was only jesting; she doubled over in silent laughter. Lyn, however, knew Mark well and understood his unique sense of humor (or lack thereof, as her lovely husband, the newly named Marquess of Ostia, liked to say). She was also aware of the fact that he was using a subtle diversion tactic in order to avoid the main issue at hand.
He may have been a brilliant tactician, but Lyn had spent years with him, and she knew exactly how to gain the upper hand. "I like it more than that rag you're still wearing." She smirked triumphantly, folding her arms across her chest. She always felt so accomplished whenever she beat him at one of his little games.
His face fell. Scowling, he tossed the hat aside. "I wish you would stop calling it a rag."
"And I wish you would stop wearing it."
Mark sighed. "Will you ever give it a rest?"
"Not until you buy a new cloak. That's the whole reason we came into town, remember?"
"That's the whole reason you came into town," countered Mark. "I was told that this shopping trip was for new books and maps." He sighed and shook his head. "And here I had thought that, just for a moment, Lord Hector had been looking out for the sanity and well-being of his one and only tactician. Turns out he was only luring me into a trap!"
"You've gone soft," Lyn teased. "What kind of a tactician are you? Getting tricked by Hector, of all people."
"Actually, it was Matthew who told me about it," Mark corrected thoughtfully. "I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse…either way, my ego's been damaged enough for one day. How about we go take a look at those books and maps I was promised–"
"You hold it right there." Lyn grasped the frayed edge of Mark's cloak to prevent him from leaving. "Don't think I don't know what you're trying to do."
Mark seemed tempted to talk his way out of the situation, but then appeared to think better of it. Perhaps he knew that there was no talking his way out of anything when it came down to Lyn. He chuckled and shook his head. "You see right through me, Lyn."
"I practically can; this cloak is so worn down and parchment-thin!" She shook his cloak, which she was still holding on to. "Don't you really think it's about time you get a new one? Just look at it!"
They both looked down at his cloak. It was no longer completely green the way it had once been when Lyn had first met Mark; instead, it was sprinkled with splotches of brown and red. Multiple tears and holes were scattered throughout the length of the cloak, and where his hood had once been attached to it was no longer (having been chopped off by an enemy's incoming hand ax – though Lyn had certainly been grateful it had only been Mark's hood and not his head).
"So it's been through some rough patches." Lyn raised an eyebrow, believing his statement to be a huge understatement. "But…that's what I love about it." He smiled softly and pulled the cloak closer around himself. "We've been through a lot, me and this cloak."
Lyn softened. "I understand that your cloak must hold a lot of memories for you, Mark." She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "But letting go of your cloak doesn't mean that you're letting go of your memories."
His eyes flickered, and he drew his cloak even tighter around himself. "But what if I forget?" he whispered. His eyes searched hers desperately, like a young child seeking reassurance.
And that was when Lyn knew why Mark had so stubbornly refused to purchase a new cloak. Mark feared amnesia, and understandably so; when he and Lyn had first met, the only thing the tactician had been able to recall were his name and profession. The past couple of years were the only memories Mark had of his life, and so it was no wonder he feared losing the sense of self he had regained over the years.
"Wearing that cloak isn't going to help you retain your memories," Lyn said quietly. Mark bristled. "Everything you've seen and heard and learned these past few years…it'll always be a part of you, cloak or no cloak." She placed a hand upon his chest. "In here." As she felt his heart steadily beat against the palm of her hand, she couldn't help but be reminded of his fragility and vulnerability. She was going to worry about him (and miss him) a good deal more than he would realize.
"...Spoken like a true Lady," he spoke at last. He smiled warmly, crinkling his eyes. He placed a hand over hers, which was still upon his scrawny chest. "Thank you, my friend. You always know the right thing to say."
She smiled and embraced him. "I'm going to miss you, Mark."
"Oh, yeesh." She felt him laugh against her. "Don't get all sappy on me now! I still have a few more days before I leave, y'know."
"I know, I know." She chuckled and released him. "But don't ever forget: Lycia will always welcome you home with open arms. As will I." She smiled warmly.
Mark stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he quickly glanced away. He began to play with a nearby hanger, turning his back to her. Yet Lyn's smile only widened. She chuckled quietly to herself and shook her head. She knew that this was his way of telling her that he would miss her too.
"Okay." Mark clapped his hands together and cleared his throat. Even though he tried to mask it, Lyn could hear that his voice was thick with emotion. "Let's go hunt for my new cloak, shall we?"
Hours later, the duo emerged from the store in style. Lyn, after some persuasion from Mark, had bought a long overcoat that was similar to her traditional Sacaen garb. It flowed well with her movements (how that saleswoman had screamed when Lyn had drawn her sword to test out the coat!), like her usual Sacaen attire, but it consisted of a thicker, more durable fabric that she wasn't very accustomed to. In addition, there was thick white fur upon the shoulders and around the neck of the coat. Although the addition of the fur was rather fruitless in the mild Ostian weather, it made her feel fierce, with a hint of regal. Mark had agreed, commenting that she looked "like a princess who would kick my ass in the battlefield."
Mark left the store looking radically different. He no longer wore the forest green cloak that had once distinguished him as the tactician. Instead, he wore a dark cloak that made him look rather like a Druid. There were strange symbols upon the sleeves of the cloak, symbols that looked like eyes. They must've been what had gravitated Mark to the cloak in the first place, because he bore the very same symbol on the back of his right hand. Lyn had found the whole ordeal rather unsettling. Mark had seemed to form an instant connection to the article of clothing, however, and all Lyn wanted at the end of the day was for Mark to be happy. So she had smiled and agreed that the cloak suited him perfectly, even though she had been disturbed by how dark the cloak made him appear. Though, Lyn had noted offhandedly, Mark looked older, too, in his new attire. Tougher. She supposed that could serve as an advantage during his travels.
"So," Lyn grinned, "are you ready to make some new memories with your new cloak? Without forgetting the memories you've already made, of course," she added. It would certainly be interesting to hear what the others – especially Serra – would have to say about his choice in clothing once they reached the castle.
"You know what, Lyn?" Mark briefly touched his chest, where he had folded up and pocketed his battered old cloak. He smiled. "I think I finally am."
This is shortest story I've written on this site, and the only one where the main male and female characters aren't romantically involved with each other. Feels like a good change. What do you all think? I'd love to hear your feedback! Thank you!