She remembered the first day she saw him. A skinny, frail boy who jumped at any sudden movement. His clothes hung on him like he was a stick mannequin. His hair covered his eyes and ears like the head of a mop. His skin was so pale, paler than the young Eternian had ever seen. It was oh so common to be porcelain pale in a place that didn't receive that much sunlight, but he looked a sickly type of pale. She could see scars on the small parts of his body that weren't covered by his bigger-than-him clothes.
She thought he was weird. He didn't speak; he only stared. If her father asked him a question, he would just look up at him as though his blue-eyed stare conveyed everything he was thinking. He barely ate what was offered at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He never asked for - well, indicated - he wanted dessert, which absolutely baffled her. (Who in the world wouldn't want dessert?)
Whenever she tried to play with him, he would just sit while she did all the playing. If she pretended she was a princess and he was her knight, he would sit on the floor with the fake sword she gave him. If she pretended they were in the fight to the death, he would sit there quietly until she "killed" him. If she pretended to eat a poisoned apple and collapsed onto the floor, he would sit there and watch her open one of her eyes and stare at him, waiting for his response.
For some reason, she had dealt with his unusual behavior - except for the not wanting dessert thing because she forced a few good spoonfuls of ice cream down his throat - for a good year before she was fed up with it. Maybe it was because she was six year old whose only friend was a silent boy with no real personality. Maybe it was because she was six year old with her patience worn thin. Or maybe it was just because she was a six year old, but she was tired of it.
After a particularly boring pretend-whatever, she decided to speak her little six year old mind. She yelled at him in her squeaky voice. She called him whatever names seemed appropriate (all of them), said whatever seemed mean (everything), and came just shy of kicking him in the knee. Her father came in the room, however, when he heard her yelling at him, and that stopped her from going any further. It was now his turn at yelling, and he yelled at her until she ran away in tears.
She was still crying when he slowly and quietly came into her bedroom. He crawled onto her too-big-for-her bed, sitting next to her as she cried into her pillow. She barely turned her head to look at him when she said, "What are you doing here?" in her emotion laced voice.
He didn't respond - not that she expected him to anyway - and she continued to cry into her pillow for the rest of the hour. She didn't stop until she heard this weird noise. Well, it's a bit rude to call it a weird noise, but that's the only way she could think to describe it. It was weird because she had never heard something like it before; it was a noise because, well, any sound is noise. She heard him cough, and then she heard the weird noise again.
"Do you want to play the princess and I the knight, Edea?"
That was the first thing he ever said to her.
She still remembered it after all these years. After all the years of playing and teasing, all the years of training, the years of sparring matches and fights that he almost always won, the years of falling asleep on his shoulder, the years of his friendship, love, care, and protection. After all the years of fighting monsters and her former comrades and superiors, after years of traveling through multiple worlds, after years of staring at a man with the same face, name, memories - same everything - as him, she still remembered.
She still remembered him as that frail, skittish boy with long hair and oversized clothes. As the silent boy that wouldn't react to anything she said or did. As the boy that kept her company, however quiet, as she grew up into the young woman that she was now. Even after he donned that black iron armor, she couldn't forget who he used to be. Even after he took up a new title, she still remembered. And even after he vowed to protect her as a knight, she still remembered.
He may have been known as her father's right-hand man. He may have been known as a member of the Council of Six. He may have been known as the Dark Knight. He may have even been known as her knight, but she still remembered.
He was the boy that asked her that simple, little question when she was six years old.
"Do you want to play the princess and I the knight, Edea?