Books can only teach so much about affairs of the heart. There are somethings that one just has to learn on their own.
That Which Can't Be Taught
Neither one had quite known what they were feeling in the beginning.
They'd both read books on the subject, of course. One out of curiosity, a desire for knowledge burning within, driving him ever onward in pursuit of that he couldn't readily test. The other in more secluded moments when the ever present followers of the flame had found their beds, when she could find her own and the book hidden far beneath it.
Yet, all the books they'd read had always defined it in vague, absolute terms. Some would describe their heroes feeling it for the first time as they grazed hands with their future partner, a tingling, palpable sensation running through their body like electricity as their eyes met, a realisation deep within them that was lost as soon as someone approached and tore their bashful gaze away from one another. Others would describe it not in sensations, but dialogue, absolute with no room for error.
Confessions deep and moving often kept the cleric awake at night in a hot flush, as she turned page after page, drinking in the pretty words they told one another or the tension seeping off the pages as the hero found out their feelings were one sided. Sensations so plainly described they could be felt by all bested the scholar day after day as he struggled to replicate the feeling himself, ever unaware of the hearts he broke as he tried.
Yet, still, neither had known the feeling when it first took root within them. Neither had expected it to blossom quite as it had, quite unlike anything they'd ever read.
Because, as they found out, everyone had their own, unique experience with the emotion. For some, it was instantaneous, a heart stopping moment as they froze and everything disappeared but the person before them… Then, all too suddenly, time would start again, life would move on, and they'd be forced to deal with their emotions on their own as they hoped the person of their attraction noticed them, felt the same way about them.
For others, it would burn slow, ever under the surface as they drew closer to the person. They'd laugh and smile more in their presence until finally they'd realise there was something special about them, something they wanted to pursue alone with them, out of sight of the group they'd met through. When the time came to ask and they realised their feelings were, in fact, requited, there would always be the same questions hovering over their lips: Why hadn't they acted sooner?
Why had they waited?
That had been the question on both the cleric and scholar's lips the first night they'd stumbled into bed together.
They'd experience a few iterations of the emotion before it finally decided to take matters into it's own hands. Undiscouraged by their inability to noticed their feelings before, the emotion had erupted quite suddenly one stormy night in the Frostlands. And a night that would've otherwise been quite cold suddenly seemed all too hot. And the atmosphere that had once felt suffocating and tense suddenly burst under the weight of expectations, crashing around them as they found one another's arms.
It was a night unlike any other, answering questions both had felt hanging over their heads for years, providing answers to an emotion they'd read yet never experienced, never known could feel quite like this.
Neither of them had expected so much laughter, so many honest and carefree smiles. Neither had expected the breathlessness that came over them when they were apart, a tightness in their chest that was quite unlike any other, quite like a lingering heartburn with no sign of release as breath after breath caught in their throat. Neither had expected the moments of frozen clarity as they saw one another dishevelled for the first time, as they saw so different a smile on their face, as they saw a wicked look in their eye that brought not fear of what was coming, but intrigue. A raised eyebrow that lead to a quiet giggle and bright blush as they made their way onwards.
And to think, just months earlier, they'd been perfect strangers crossing paths by happenstance...
"Excuse me?" Ophilia had approached the scholar cautiously, confusion clear on her face as she'd searched both left and right for a landmark she recognised.
"Hm?" Cyrus had turned on his heel and raised his own perplexed eyes from his map at the sound of the woman's voice. "Can I help you?"
And then his eyes had met her own. And then the world had seemed to slow to a stop.
For all of a moment, all he could see was the wayward lock of hair the blonde twisted between her thumb and forefinger, the beauty hidden deep behind her vaguely lost eyes. All he could see was the cleric and the light – not of her faith or the flame, but of her very spirit – burning within her.
Then he'd let out a breath and all that was lost. Time had resumed and his heart had returned to its usual pace as he'd waited for her to reply.
"Might I borrow your map for a moment?" She'd asked, delicately pointing to his map as she toyed with her staff.
"But of course, my dear!" He'd responded all too quickly, all too ready to help anyone in need as he offered her his map.
"Thank you." She'd graciously accepted, running her eyes over the scribbled lines in even more confusion.
"Might I ask, Sister?" He'd asked, piecing together her identity as she struggled to find her place. "Where are you headed?"
"Oh!" Ophilia had looked up from the map with such a start that an immediate blush came to her cheeks as she fought back her desire to look away from the charming man before her. "S-Saintsbridge. In the Riverlands."
"Ah, I see." He'd smiled gently, a smile quite like a hug from a kitten, a smile that had put her immediately at ease.
Then he'd moved to stand behind her shoulder to look at the map and she'd immediately tensed back up.
"My apologies." He'd noticed her tension immediately and backed off quickly, indicating with his finger that he'd only intended to show her where they were on the map. "May I, my dear?"
Ophilia had returned the map immediately, her face slightly turned away as Cyrus took it. As soon as her hands were emptied, she'd gripped her staff tight in both of them, uneasy around this charming man yet to provide her with his name.
"Here it is." Conscious not to get too close, he'd shown her the town on the map and watched as she'd let out a clear sigh of relief.
"I am on the right path, after all!" She chuckled softly to herself, letting her guard down ever so slightly.
"That you are, my dear Sister…?"
"Ophilia." She'd offered with a drop of a curtsy. "Ophilia Clement."
"A pleasure to meet so lovely a cleric, Sister Ophilia." He'd offered a slight bow and easy smile in response. "Professor Cyrus Albright of Atlasdam."
"Thank you for your guidance, Professor. May the Sacred Flame light your path."
"And may it ever shine its warmth upon you." He'd completed the ritual greeting to the cleric's surprise. For whatever reason, she'd not expected him to know the correct response. "Might I ask for what purpose you travel so far from Flamesgrace?"
"I am making a pilgrimage to light the Sacred Flames across Orsterra."
"You're completing the Kindling!" Cyrus' eyes had come quite suddenly alight as he realised her purpose for travelling so far from home. "Sister Ophilia, I must ask, would you permit me to travel with you? Would you allow me to be your guide during your journey in exchange for me witnessing this once in a lifetime opportunity?"
"I..." Ophilia hadn't known why she'd hesitated. Yet, she undeniably had. There was something about this scholar that… well, it tugged at her in a way she couldn't quite explain. It wasn't unpleasant, not in the slightest, but it elicited a different enough feeling inside her that she couldn't help but hesitate when he looked at her as he did now: his eyes so bright and young, his desire to help her on her journey just as clear on his face as his desire for knowledge. "I… Suppose your assistance could prove useful..."
"Thank you, my dear!" A smile had quite completely lit up his face, bring one back to Ophilia's own as they began their journey together. "My, what an experience this will be! A chance to watch the Kindling performed before my very eyes… By a beautiful woman, no less!"
Turning her face ever so subtly away from the scholar, Ophilia had willed her blush to die. It wasn't all that much of a compliment, after all. Yet, hearing so charming a stranger call her beautiful was enough to turn her as red as a rose as this new, pleasant feeling began to fester in her heart.
Over the months they travelled together, that feeling only grew ever stronger as Cyrus continued to shower her with compliments that – despite their frequency – always felt sincere and never lost their power over her. One morning he'd compliment her intelligence and she'd let out a dainty little laugh as she willed the blush climbing onto her cheeks to bury itself once again; the next, he'd gush about how brave she was, or how beautiful she was, and she'd have to excuse herself to a secluded corner as she fanned her cheeks and begged her small, slightly different smile to hide itself. She'd will the feeling in her heart to disappear since she had no right to feel that way about her travelling companion.
Love had no place in so holy a pilgrimage.
Cyrus, also, felt something new take root inside of him as he travelled with the cleric. Something quite difficult to explain, impossible to rationalise. At first, it only seemed to rise to the surface when the cleric looked him full in the face, a beautiful, gentle smile on her own. But, as they journeyed on and got to know each other better, it reared it's head more and more frequently. A sly look out the corner of her eye made his heart hammer, an angry glare that gave way to giggles when he complimented her without warning never failed to bring the world around him to a stop.
Then there was the day he'd nearly lost her. The day he'd found her on the floor, barely breathing, her heart barely beating. What had come over him in that moment was a feeling unlike any other, a complete collapse of his mind as he panicked and shouted, a complete stopping of his heart as it sunk so deep he was sure it would never rise again.
In that moment, he'd realised what he emotion could only be. For there was only one emotion that could cause so inexplicable a feeling of loss, so unwavering a desire to see her journey complete and her safely returned to the arms of those who cared for her.
Yet, as they travelled back to her home town, as they made their final journey together to return the Flame to Flamesgrace, something inside Cyrus broke. Something screamed that this was wrong, that the only place he could be sure she was safe and protected was by his side.
Something in him finally shouted through his thick head that he was in love with the cleric and that he needed to tell her before they parted ways.
So, when the snowstorm forced them to set up camp for the night on the path to Flamesgrace, Cyrus thanked the Gods for this singular chance. This one opportunity for him to tell the beautiful woman sat in the tent besides him what he thought of her.
Ophilia thanked the Gods for this one final opportunity to be besides the man she'd come to love, this one final chance to tell him how she felt before she returned to the cathedral she called home.
"I don't think this will let up any time soon..." She noted, listening to the wind howl outside their shelter. "Storms like this one tend to last a few days this side of the mountain."
"I see..." Cyrus responded, quieter than usual as he lit a small, well contained fire for the two of them to huddle around.
"Are you feeling well, Cyrus?" Asked Ophilia, noting that his face was far paler than usual, his countenance much changed from his usual charming smile as he stared deep into his fire.
"Hm?" Raising his face, he offered her a smile, a weary tired one at that. "Of course, my dear. Why do you ask?"
"You're very pale," removing her glove, she outstretched a hand to press against his forehead. "And you look like you could be running a fever…!"
The scholar grabbed her hand with his own before she could press it against his face, holding it tight as he turned his eyes away from her. For the first time since she'd met him, Cyrus was struggling to find his words. Struggling to look her in the eye as his thoughts clearly ran rampant before coming to a complete stop, leaving his head empty as his heart hammered and cheeks flushed bright red.
"Cyrus!" Of course, Ophilia didn't quite realise the cause of these strange actions. She saw only symptoms of an oncoming fever as her logical, medical brain took over. "You're red as a beet! Lay down this instant! I'll prepare you some water-"
"Ophilia..." His voice was hoarse, lacking its usual grandeur as he looked her square in the eye. Once again, the world around him seemed to melt away, all noises seemed to hum into static as he saw only her worried eyes, her desperation to help him burning deep behind them. Once again, time started moving all too quickly as his heart beat returned with a sigh as he moved the hand in his grip to his cup his cheek. "I am… Well, I'm quite well."
"Cyrus?" An immediate blush climbed her cheeks at the contact.
"In fact, I think, before I started travelling with you, everything I knew as 'feeling well' was just an illusion."
Simply raising an eyebrow, Ophilia watched as the scholar battled through his brain fog to articulate - in perhaps less cheesy words - this feeling that had taken root inside of him.
"Because, well Ophilia, I don't think I've ever felt as well as I have in your company. Or, rather I suppose, as unwell as I have when we're apart, for however long that may be. It's almost as though, when we're not besides one another, I'm being constantly tortured by a tiny devil, poking his trident into my every organ as I wonder when I might see you again."
Closing his eyes as he leant into the hand cupping his cheek, Cyrus didn't see the look in Ophilia's wide eyes as she realised this wasn't just flattery. As she understood what he was trying to convey through words that just couldn't do the emotion justice.
As she realised, after all this time, after reading all those books, that a flowery, overly long confession was not what she wanted to hear as the man she loved confessed his love for her. No, she wanted something more absolute than words.
So, she took matters into her own hands.
"And, when I am with you, my dear sweet… Ophilia?" Opening his eyes as he felt her other – still gloved hand – grip his other cheek, Cyrus saw the cleric's face shockingly close to his own. He saw his weary, somehow sad eyes reflected back in her soft, determined own as she smiled.
As she pulled his face even closer to her own.
"Ophilia, what are you-"
With such a simple, direct gesture, Ophilia silence the scholar as she put her lips to his and smiled into what was meant to be a brief kiss. A show of her love without a confession, a show of affection without need of words.
And there was no fireworks within them, not crackle of electricity as some of the books had claimed appeared with the first kiss. Instead, there was a completely incapacitating tingle down her spine as he let out the softest of moans. Instead, there was an indescribable release of butterflies from her stomach as she drew as close to his body as she could as his hand found her hip. Instead, there was a heart stopping moment as his hand started to trace the tingle back up her spine before running into her hair.
In that moment, words were obsolete, flowery confessions were meaningless and inaccurate when compared to the sensations that ran through their bodies, the emotions that they had kept hidden becoming all too clear as their hands explored each other's curves.
Soon, what could have quite easily been a cold night of storms and farewells became a warm night of new hellos and experiences the books had never quite explained. And, as the storm raged on outside their tent the next morning, they awoke not in the cold, but basking in each other's natural heat as they realised their journey was far from over.
In fact, they quite suspected their journey together was only just beginning.
