Xirysa Says: Mm. This was fun to write, I suppose. Yes. Not much for me to say on this, except for some inspiration from Sain and Priscilla's supports. Oh, and that I don't really like Priscilla all that much either, and that this was just mostly practice at writing her. I do hope she stayed in-character.
Flowered Speech and Hidden Dreams
-x-x-x-
He's standing there, all the way on the other side of the camp. Between them is a pile of armor, an arrow head, the blade of a rusty sword, a horse pat that no one has bothered to clean up. But she doesn't really mind because he's smiling and—Elimine, she loves his smile.
When she thinks about it, she realizes that she loves everything about him. His eyes and voice and smile and hair—everything. And then she thinks that this is what being in love with someone is all about.
Because she does love him, she knows that. He can make her laugh, can make her smile, can make her forget all of her sorrow without even trying.
(Sometimes, she wonders if her brother could have ever been like this tall man with the easy grin and poetic tongue.)
She blushes and turns away quickly when he catches her looking at him (for no proper young lady should be caught staring at a man—and such a handsome one, at that), and after a few moments she can hear him laughing in the distance.
Mentally, she berates herself as she runs towards the area where the mounts of the army are tethered—why should she, a high born lady of Etruria who knew the intricacies of decorum and etiquette and everything that was expected from a woman of her station, act like a school girl whenever he was near? It is most embarrassing, she tells herself as her sweet mare, a bay called Duchess, looks at her expectantly.
"Oh, Duchess," she sighs, her breathing still somewhat labored after her flight through the camp, "this is ridiculous."
The mare simply nickers in response.
But she's still smiling as she softly rubs the horse's neck. "He's a wonderful man," she murmurs. "Strong and sweet and," she giggles, "terribly handsome."
There is silence, then, for it is rather silly to expect an answer from an animal, but she revels in it. It is only her and the animals around her, their presence comforting in the way that only the presence of loyal steeds can be.
And in this silence that has none of the awkward tension found at any and all of the formal events she has attended as the young Lady Caerleon, she is simply Priscilla. And in her mind—the only safe place she can go, it seems—he is just Sain. She closes her eyes and dreams of a place where they are together, where rules and customs and society cannot keep them apart.
From behind her, a voice, his voice, gently carries her away from the dreams of a small girl into the reality of a young woman. "My dear Princess," he says, "to see such happiness in your eyes gladdens me greatly, but… Pray tell, what ray of light has chased the cloud of sorrow from your mind?"
The use of such flowery language has become a game for the two of them. She opens her eyes and finds him standing in front of her. There is a smile on his face and her heart flutters in her chest, because she knows that he is smiling for her. "Good sir knight, your mere presence is enough to warm the heart of this young maid." He doesn't know how true her words are.
"Ah, Princess," he exclaims with a hand clutching at his heart dramatically, "your words are a balm to the flaming passion of this lonely knight."
His words make her curious. "And what is it that causes your passion to burn so fiercely?" She absentmindedly rubs the silver ring on her left hand with the forefinger of her right.
(It was a silly promise made to soothe a crying child, she remembers dimly, a promise as fragile as a butterfly's wing.)
To her amazement, the blood rushes to his face and tinges his cheeks pink. For some reason, it makes him seem more endearing than ever. "To utter such nonsense in the presence of a lady of your stature, Princess, would be a most grievous injustice to your delicate ears."
"Sir," she replies politely, "to not tell me what it is that puts you in such good spirits is ten times more of an injustice than the nonsense that has just left your lips."
He grins at her and throws his hands up in defeat. "Dear lady, it is impossible for me to hide anything from your fair visage. Would you hear the words of this poor soldier?"
"I would."
(But the life of a butterfly is fleeting, she thinks as she slips the ring from her finger and holds it in her fist.)
"There is a woman among our motley crew," he begins, "a woman whose beauty cannot be described even in a thousand—nay, a million words! Though she is not a thief, this dazzling vision of loveliness has stolen my heart and refuses to give it back."
The beating of her heart seems to get faster by the second. "I-I see," she says. She squares her shoulders and looks up at him with what she hopes is an expression of innocent curiosity. "Humor me, dear knight, and grace me with the name of your beloved."
"I-I…" He stops and shakes his head. "Forgive me, Princess. It shames me that my eloquence should flee so suddenly in your presence."
"Do not worry yourself over such a trivial matter," she tells him. "Please, do continue."
(Perhaps it is fitting that such a weak promise be broken.)
He nods. "As you wish, dear Princess," he says. He pauses for a few moments, and then: "It is Dame Fiora that I love."
Her expression remains unchanged. "Dame… Dame Fiora?" Then she smiles. "I… Am happy for you, Sain." Even through her gloves, the metal of the ring is ice cold.
"But there is woe in the tale of this love-struck cavalier," he says sadly. "For the heart of my dear is, I fear, as cold as the lands of her birth. Not even my burning love for her can melt the icy barricade she keeps about her emotions." He turns to her. "But Princess, what must I do to win the heart of my fair maiden?"
"You must go to her," she tells him, attempting to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "Go to her. But woo her not with flowery speech and long-winded declarations of love. Be her friend, her confidant, for perhaps it is simply a kind and thoughtful individual she desires for warmth in the bleakness of an Ilian winter."
He nods slowly. "You are right," he says slowly. "You are right!" His face lights up instantly. "Dear Princess, I take your leave so that I may find my lovely Fiora. But I thank you from the bottom of my heart, for were it not for your advice I would know not what to do." He looks down at her, his lips curved in a grateful smile. "Lovely Princess," he tells her softly, "you speak with wisdom beyond your years."
He bows low, and when she nods curtly in recognition, he straightens up and walks away with the smile that she loves so much still on his lips.
As he walks away her ring falls from her grasp and with it, the broken dreams of a lonely little girl.
-x-x-x-
Xirysa Says: I'm not that much of a fan of the SainPriscilla pairing, but… Well, I do like their supports for some reason. Actually, I'm not a fan of Priscilla at all. But everyone's got their preferences, so whatever. At any rate, I have a terrible habit of BSing endings like no other. I'm still happy with this for the most part, though, so… I don't know. Feedback would be wonderful, though. Thanks for reading!