So Ylisseans were all over the place. They were diligence incarnate if you met Frederick, they were mischievous gluttons if you bumped into Gaius, but run into Owain – nah, I'm sure Owain would run into you first, probably waxing poetic, with body language promising the most titillating of adventures. And what were you supposed to do when he's all over the place, like Naga herself had given him an energy drop to keep him going? Brady wondered a while at the mania that had infested itself within baby Owain's brain. His parents weren't at all like that. Lissa, albeit a bit explosive at times and tomboyish at others, was a good old fashioned princess. His father was a thief, so maybe it was that kind of carefree, me-first kind of lifestyle that had enchanted him to be so theatrical.
His hair bobbed into view first; striking, from the first time Brady ever saw it. Spikes all over the place, very folklore, very hero, very Brady if he was willing to admit to digging it. Sure it was probably the first time he'd ever seen a guy look like that on purpose so it had the novelty effect but it was his attitude about it that kept his interest. Owain wasn't interested in looking like anyone else, Owain wanted his fur lined coat to be trademarked under "Owain Dark, master swordsman, master hero, master blaster." Alright, Brady never listened intently enough to catch all of it, but there was more to focus on when Owain comes into your tent at night to steal you from violin practice. There was a whole world of risen out there to slay, and even when there was nothing but trees and the ashes of old campfires, you could bet he'd invent an army to fight and Brady would even sometimes fight it. Whatever pretense he used to use to justify shadowboxing back to back with his pal had grown stale, he might even admit he liked playing pretend sometimes.
What Owain thought of Brady was hidden under gooey double-entendre, wrapped in a crunchy tone of sarcasm and sealed behind a paper wrapping of vague phrases and the changing of topics. Owain just knew he liked candy, he liked heroism and he liked them better shared with his opposite. If Morgan was his rival then Brady was his dark side, like Bizarro Owain or something. Even his thesaurus couldn't quite put its finger down on what it was Brady represented. He was this pampered violinist who could press a flower and heal the sick but when he put down his heal staff and opened his mouth it sure as hell wasn't classical music anymore. His voice was like staccato in the melody, his mannerisms like he had grown up in the grungiest Plegian underbelly and that scar put it all together to make one seriously rough package. Owain always wanted to grab him when he slept and speak right to his sub-conscious, something like "make up your mind" or "which one is the real Brady?" but after spending a childhood in and out of his life, Owain knew better than to point it out.
Owain came to collect Brady like he did when they were kids, before the church crap he couldn't but imagine Brady being a part of, and yet here he was in those robes like some dark messiah. It just meant Owain had to be an even brighter star, a paragon of illustrious majesty that stood for all that was benevolent and just. His sheen would obscure Brady's dark side and he too would shine. Owain makes a small clicking sound, air pushing past his gums and popping in his cheeks and Brady knows he's needed. Desperately needed – or at least that if he doesn't come now Owain will just march in and start saying all that crap again about staying on point that guilts Brady into doing what he wants.
Brady sets down his violin with a sigh, hiding it back in its case the way ma' would have wanted, takes a handful of candy he picked up at the store for Owain and stuffs it into the pocket of his robes before making his way to the tent flap. Owain urgently signals again, this time sparing no expense, "The time is nigh for us to depart, young ward." Brady pushes past him and gives him a sour glance, "Ya gotta' cut that young ward crap, Owain. I'm older than ya', firsta all and second I ain't your sidekick. I gotta' sword too, huh?"
Owain lifts his hand to his chin to consider his retort but decides there's just no time for nonsense tonight. Tonight is special, even if Brady doesn't know the tumultuous task they must conquer. Tonight is the night Owain says that thing. It's easier to fight six manaketes in defensive formation then to say what he has to, but nothing has scared him yet and how can he be the hero king of battle if he's scared of words? No, no time for this. He takes hold of Brady's rough forearm and pulls him out of camp, eyes peeled for any possible onlookers.
They know how to keep quiet, how to silently maneuver through camp and out into the woods or into town. Sometimes with Inigo, though Owain likes those nights a little less to be honest and gods forbid it's when Gerome is feeling a little lonely, then its like the whole plan is turned upside down. Nah, tonight is going to be a story passed down through the ages, a historical reference point. When taught to children teachers will say, "And this was the night the greatest hero of all time, Owain Dark said those things to Sir Brady of the Deepest Sorrows, and it was crazy brave of him and Brady returned a very strong, but a little less strong than Owain of course, 'I totally feels tha same about alla you said.'" Owain had tonight down pat, he'd only practiced it in his own tent fifteen or so times today, but it was special stuff, it would have been wrong to blunder into it organically, it needed to be locked up tight, second nature, known by rote, muscle memory; muscle memory; muscle memory; muscle memory.
Brady clung tight to the bouncing sweets in his breast pocket as he let Owain lead him away. This time seemed serious. Owain was clammin up, and usually he's all yappy and irritatin' but tonight he's acting strange. It's enough to put a guy on edge. He kinda' wanted Yarne here, he'd know what to say. He always knew what to say, prolly somethin' to do with animal senses being better than a human's. He'd find Gerome tomorrow, talk it all out. Gerome was the only one he spoke to about Owain, only one he could trust with that kind of sensitive info. Gerome wouldn't chat, heck Gerome couldn't chat much even if he got it in hisself to blab, he just ain't that way.
They made their way past Noire's tent like Owain promised he would. They had corroborated this before hand, that he would stroll by and they would share a small glance as she peeked covertly out of a small rip in her tent. It was the little boost he needed, she was his talisman tonight. He made sure to nonchalantly turn his head over to her tent but she wasn't looking. Not that she knew really what was going on, and it all honesty she was probably with Yarne per usual, but he had put some stock into that little affirmation. He knew he couldn't say what he really planned on, but Noire wasn't stupid. Meek, and sometimes threatening, but never stupid. He had to resign himself to a bit of disappointment and file it away to deal with later. He couldn't let that stain his thoughts, it was time to be a hero. A little self sacrifice. A little nick to the ego to fortify his humble, wise mind. A glance back said Brady was a little anxious but he was following close. Good, all according to plan.
They spilled out into the woods and Owain let Brady's arm fall away. Brady probably coulda' taken it from him earlier but he really didn't want to. The world was a little colder when no one was getting grabby on ya all the time. Owain walked slowly at his side, ever vigilant for danger but still cool as a cucumber. Brady unearthed a chocolate from his sleeve and handed it over without looking all the way. Owain took it with a nod and popped it in his mouth the way Gaius always did: first it was placed in a flat palm, then you hit the forearm and it goes into the air then you catch it in your mouth like you was never really paying attention despite all of that effort. Effort was Owain. Wasted effort. Wasted energy, but that's what made him so cool. Owain was just boss like that. Larger than life. It made Brady feel weird to be the bigger guy yet he always felt a bit shaken because how would he know what to say? Owain had books full of cool words and pictures and stuff, Brady couldn't come up with that kind of boss stuff. He just wasn't like that.
Brady of the Moistened Eyes, Brady of the Everlasting Woe, Brady of the Sword and Staff. Man that last one seemed pretty brave, Owain placed it into that imaginative place in his mind to be reviewed later. He had written down so many names for Brady over the years, really there was nothing left but transformations of previous ones. Brady snapped his attention back with a groan as he suckled on a hard candy, probably biting his tongue or something. His pained face looked a little worse because of the large scar across his eye. Honestly that scar had made Owain a bit jealous. It told people, "Hey, I'm a bad kind of guy. Don't cross me." He didn't have anything like that to be so bold, he just had to play it up and hope people were impressed or intimidated. Sometimes a bit of both was good.
Usually they didn't go anywhere in particular, they would just walk until Brady said he was tired of it then they'd sit for a while, sometimes in silence, and stare out at the world for a while until one of them got up and led the way back. The last time they went out Brady stopped next to a stump and got onto the subject of how it was a sad reminder of what tree had been there, growing vibrantly. Owain had to explain for 20 minutes or so that it was okay, there were more trees, that it was probably somewhere special. He couldn't fault the guy, though. Wasn't it good to appreciate the little things like that? A brief respite from staring too long at the fires of war, eyes bleary from the lingering smoke. Brady had a natural talent for giving everything its due, Owain was jealous of that also. He tried to be more like him, tried to suck his chocolate the same way he saw Brady suck his candy, but it just melted away. The taste lingered for a while, the jealousy interminable.
Brady's nerves finally were wearing thin from all of the strange cues he was getting from Owain tonight and he couldn't hold out longer. "So are we gonna' sit and flap our lips or just walk until I've got blisters like last time?" Owain shook his head slowly, signaling for another candy. "Little further," he mumbled, sweat slipping lightly between his shoulders. Muscle memory, he told himself. Just a little further, he repeated inwardly. Brady started to stride ahead of him and from behind you couldn't have known that other, streetwise side of Brady. You'd only make out a holy man, no scariness. Owain would never use that word again, not after the crying fits he put Brady into as a kid or the shame he saw him feel whenever somebody at camp would joke about it. Made him mad. Made him want to call someone out, defend his friends honor, maybe explain that he wasn't scary, they just weren't very brave. Brady, tough and wimpy. A man of duality, capricious in nature.
"Seriously, we getting' there soon? Pa's gonna' kill us if he finds out we're out here before I learned something about this new sword gig."
"Don't be such a Cry-Brady, the great Owain would never sneak you out if there was a chance of Robin catching us."
"I told you to stop callin' me that!" Brady's pouting was part of that duality, the part that Owain thought about before sleep.
"Look, we're here, so calm down."
Where they were was nowhere again, at least not to anyone looking from the outside in. To Owain, it was the right spot. There was enough moonlight pulling between the trees to make for a decent base and enough coverage around to make for a safe hideout. This was duality, this was Brady's place. Now it was Owain's time. He'd put in the effort to get this far – all of the nights they spent talking about life and what it could hold, about Grima and how they were both scared and excited for the march, about girls and men alike, a tongue in cheek way of getting something to think about later when they were alone in their own tents with hormones boiling under their skin. He'd gone so far but he needed to go a little further, to be a man of his word, a man of history. He took a seat on the grass and laid back with his legs stretched out ahead of him and began to prepare his speech.
Brady knelt down onto the balls of his feet, laying out the candy on the grass in a neat row and separating them into two piles. There were things he liked specially so he would make sure to save them. Owain would eat anything, so it didn't matter what he gave him. He even ate the wasabi candies. That's toughness. If Inigo challenged him to a wasabi contest, Owain would eat a dozen without even a thought. He'd rather be sick than called a coward, and that was stupid but Brady really liked it. Sometimes he would buy those candies just to get Inigo to make a bet on them because he liked seeing Owain get all worked up in a frenzy trying to defend his reputation.
They sat quietly for a while listening to nothing but their own soft breathing. Brady slipped off his shoes and began to hold onto his feet, hunching over per usual. It was just what he always seemed to do, made him feel a little smaller, stand out a little bit less. Maybe he would come off less imposing, maybe Severa would stop telling him he was a weirdo if she saw him like this. He turned his head a bit and caught Owain through the corner of his eye glancing over from where he lay. The staring was covert on both ends but transparent enough to warrant a small chuckle. Owain was only ever relaxed like this when they stole out and no one was around to impress. Around Brady, he was a little more pensive it seemed, but not like this. "What-a-ya thinkin' about?"
There it was. Owain's call to service. Now it was time, time to step up to the front lines, to bandy his thoughts about with all of his confidence. He was cut off mid rehearsal and as he sat up onto his arms he took a deep breath, drawing the interest of his companion completely this time. "Brady, I'm going to be a hero, a serious hero. One that everyone remembers – like Marth." "Yeah, yeah, I heard it all," Brady wanted to say but the look on Owain's face was disarming. Owain could feel the sweat trickled down his chest and onto his coat. This was it, final round, everything depended on him now. It was just a bit more, a little further to go; it was time to let that rehearsal bare fruit. His mouth began, all muscle memory like he'd hoped, the words trivial but their tone serious, "Marth had his army, and I need one of my own. I want you to be part of it, part of the justice cabal. We can think of a name for you and your new sword."
They sat in silence for a little, Brady's cool feet clapping to the ground lightly. Owain glanced down at his sword for a while. Not very heroic, not very streetwise and a hell of a lot more awkward then it should have been. Those weren't the words, what in the gods' names were those words? Warm, large fingers threaded their way between his where they rested and bare feet came up along side his boots. "Gotcha'." And there they were, duality, clothed and unclothed, something hidden becoming clear to see. This was going to be muscle memory now, rough hands the newest edition to their before bed thoughts. Feet crossed over each other saying things they couldn't, at least not now. Not before Owain wrote out what he wanted to say, before Brady could practice his violin a bit and get his thoughts in order.
Brady wondered for a moment what Morgan would say when he told her he had a boyfriend – if that's what they were. Leave it to Owain to obscure the meaning with theatrics. Such a waste of time, of energy to not just say what he meant. Brady would ask but it was too hard to get the words. "I thought you would have cried," he heard a small voice mumble. This was worth the extra work he had to put in to buy all that candy, Brady thought. He wondered absentmindedly how far the bead of sweat that was coursing its way down Owain's chest was destined to go. Just for a moment he felt a bit sad, but he couldn't tell if it was for that doomed drop or if it was because he had to wait to find out.