A/N: Sorry for good ol' fanfic disappearing act. I'm back! For now, at least…
Thanks so much for reading, reviewing and supporting 3
Of the band of Shepherds that remained at the castle, Sully was the senior officer. She paced – or more accurately, prowled – the grounds, her face fraught with a mixture of impatience and concern. Everyone was now assembled in the main courtyard, yet no one spoke nor even looked at each other. It had been at least six hours since Chrom, Robin, Frederick and the others left to pursue Emmeryn's retinue. Fortunately, they had not encountered any other enemy attackers, but there had also been no word from the rest of the unit.
Virion absentmindedly fletched some new arrows while Panne patrolled slowly in her rabbit form, sniffing the air. Kellam took up the task of stoking the yard's large fire pit – although it was only midafternoon, great black storm clouds were amassing from the south, leeching sunlight from their surroundings.
Maribelle, the sole occupant of one of the low wooden bench beside the fire, stared bleakly at the stiff rusty bloodstain that marred the delicate blush-colored silk of her garment. Her worry for Lissa was steadily growing and she was not confident she could bear it much longer. She fought back tears bitterly, knowing that displaying any more weakness was out of the question. I was such a craven, she thought. Everyone believes I'm nothing but a spoiled, cocksure aristocrat playing at war. In any case, she knew that she had no right to be afraid while she sat comfortably inside the castle walls when the others were out protecting the exalt against what was likely more than a lone archer in a tree.
Suddenly compelled to do more than just sit down, the troubadour rose to her feet and strode purposefully toward the castle entrance. From his vantage in the crow's nest, Gaius noticed the blur of pink vestments and honeyed ringlets bobbing flamboyantly across the bailey. He found it amusing how even the staccato of her walk was imperious. As far as the thief was concerned, nobles had always been a paradox comprised of equal parts laughable inexperience and blind presumption. He wouldn't say that he disliked the woman and, despite rushing to her aid that morning, he felt he owed her something. It did, however, trouble him that he desired her acceptance so ardently. It was as if he began to see the world through a new lens since laying eyes on her for the first time after the incident with her father. Why did he feel she held the key to his absolution? And why did he want it so bad now after continued years of outlawry?
He stuffed his hands into his pockets and scanned the horizon for the thousandth time, preferring to turn his train of thought in any direction but the present one. A wiggle of his fingers produced the telltale rustle of some sweets and, sighing contentedly, he held them out in his palm. Right, he mused, these blasted things. Gaius had forgotten about the rosewater lokum candies stowed there, the remnants of Lissa's stockpile. He didn't particularly care for them, but he also could not bring himself to throw away confections of any kind. Tiny, intricate roses decorated the wax-paper; the treats looked far too opulent and dainty to be suited to him anyway (not unlike a certain young lady he was trying not to dwell on).
As if in sync with the churnings of his mind, Maribelle reentered the courtyard with considerable less grace than when she exited. Hoisting a large cast-iron kettle and a basket of supplies, she lumbered toward the fire pit in wide side-steps with great effort. A quick glance around showed him that everyone else on the ground was so absorbed in their own tasks that none detected her apparent struggle. Without hesitation, he made quick work of the ladder below him. His supple leather gloves safeguarded him from splinters and he glided down the length of it while loosely gripping the planks perpendicular to the rungs. Gaius jogged over to the blonde noblewoman, reaching for the handle of the unwieldy kettle.
"No!" she tutted defiantly. Shortness of breath punctuated her next words, "If there is one thing I can do well and without instruction it is make tea. I can no longer sit idly by when the only thing of note that I have done for this cause is to snivel and be bled upon." She paused and her voice took on an almost bashful inflection, "It's not much at all, but perhaps everyone would like refreshments."
Gaius didn't know how what to say to that at first. Yes, the idea of brewing tea in order to boost morale in the increasingly ominous situation they found themselves in was, to say the least, absurd. But, then again, the kindness behind the action and her desperation to be useful was strangely charming. Deciding it best not to intervene, Gaius simply walked backwards in front of her as she progressed to the fire, "It's plenty, Twinkles. I'm sure all will be grateful for it."
Maribelle scoffed, "You need not coddle me."
Just then a gust of wind blew a few locks of hair into her mouth and she sputtered awkwardly, attempting to use to her tongue to shift the strands away. Gaius snickered and she realized the inelegance of her actions too late, slowly meeting his smug gaze. Retracting her tongue, she thrust her chin up high in that characteristic gesture of hers.
"C'mere," the thief murmured, giggles persisting. Before he could think better of it, he hooked his index finger under the offending strands and pulled them away from her lips, tucking the hair behind her ear. Maribelle's eyes widened to saucers and hues of crimson crept up her neck.
He was only able to survey her cartoonish expression of shock and insult for a split-second before the cast-iron tea kettle came crashing down on his instep.
"I wouldn't go so far as to apologize. However, it was not intentional," she said in clipped tones as she riffled through her healer's satchel of potions and salves. She had tended to the tea first, in spite of Gaius's howls of pain, and a heady floral scent began to settle around them.
He laughed, "Not so certain about that, but it's okay. I deserve worse."
"I don't know where you get off touching a lady's face without invitation! I'm well aware you're a baseborn cur, but it seems an obvious bit of common sense." She plopped herself down beside him on the bench she had occupied earlier. Her mending staff lay on the ground before her and she grasped a small clay bottle in her fist. Without preamble and with more roughness than he would have imagined capable from her, Maribelle seized the leg of his trousers at the calf and hoisted it up so that his ankle rested on her knee.
Gaius winced at the sharp movement, but could not resist retorting, "So, I can put my foot on your lap, but not my hand on your face?"
"You're treading dangerously thin ice, you worm," she fumed while being incongruously gentle in removing his boot and setting it aside.
"Well, Twinkles, you make it kinda easy," he chaffed, winking and flashing a dazzling grin.
The reversal in Maribelle's mood was instantaneous and she shoved his foot off her knee. "Fine!" she bellowed abruptly, ire evident in her blazing brown eyes. "Take care of it yourself then!" She lobbed the vulnerary she held at him and it thumped against his chest armor harmlessly.
"Wait! C'mon. At least one of these toes is broken... I'm sorry, okay?" he pleaded, but she was already marching off to the far side of the yard. She just stood by herself, taut as a bowstring, arms crossed and staring fixedly at the main gate. "Bollocks," he muttered to himself.
Gaius regretted the gibe. The woman was clearly shaken from the previous events of the day and jittery about the impending return of their companions; he knew that she was trying hard to suppress her feelings and be courageous. His foot throbbed rhythmically, but, if he was being completely honest, the injury wasn't as severe as he put on. The erstwhile bandit raked his fingers down his face in defeat and his hands found their way into his pockets again. "Oh," he mouthed as the notion dawned on him.
He gathered a generous handful of the rosewater lokum, bouncing them playfully in his palm. Chancing another look at Maribelle – still as hard and unmoving as a marble statue – he surreptitiously slipped the morsels into her satchel along with the wayward vulnerary she had chucked at him. It's not much at all, he thought, echoing the troubadour's earlier doubts.
The faintest of smiles began to form on his lips, but the reverie was short-lived. A brusque shout ripped through the grounds, "BIRD!" It was Sully, her pointed finger following the path of a descending white-grey pigeon. The red knight stooped down to the bird with understandable apprehension and Gaius knew the message bore ill news when her shoulders slumped and she crushed the paper in her hand. Sully's body quaked and the steel of her armor rattled threateningly.
Cold sweat prickled the man's flesh and he, along with the others, made his way toward Sully's shuddering form. She was now spewing profanities and slamming her fists against the dirt repeatedly; Kellam and Virion crouched down in an attempt to assuage her. The accursed note slid from the knight's grasp and skittered across the soil only to be halted by the well-timed pinning of Maribelle's boot. Dread consumed her as she bent low to retrieve it.
"Emmeryn…" she breathed.