Teatime: Sunflowers

A moment in time wherein Sylf and Ephraim have tea, talk espionage, and plant sunflowers.

Timeframe: Rebellion

Sylf crossed her legs as she leaned back in the chair, assuming a lazy posture befitting the pleasant spring day. Taking a small bite out of the last lemon tart in their teatime, she savored the treat. When she finished, she breathed in deeply, the air thick and heavy. She looked up at the clouds in the sunny sky and frowned.

"It's going to rain. We'd better finish up."

Ephraim grunted as he heaved a shovel of dirt over to the side. "What else do you have for me?" Tomlyn would have made a joke or quip of some kind, but Sylf appreciated Ephraim's matter-of-fact nature when he was working.

"It's been a slow week," Sylf admitted. She paused to take another small bite of her tart. "My hounds are on their way to the next hunt and most of my puppies have moved into position, so there's not much. Considering the brief respite, I decided to expand the web."

Ephraim glanced over at her, interested. "Oh?"

She couldn't help her smug smile as she boasted to her liege. "Our reach now stretches across the sea to Dent and far down south to Astinos. You will have news of the four corners of this continent by the time I am finished."

Ephraim smiled, proud and confident. She liked that smile—it was a mix of boyish determination and his princely demeanor.

"That's excellent news!" He exclaimed. "This will certainly help in forging alliances. We will need them in the months and years to come." The gears in his mind were no doubt already starting to churn at the possibilities.

She finished her tart as Ephraim resumed turning the soil. He was insistent having a garden he could work in wherever they went, and the manor they resided in for the summer was no exception. Though he always asked her to help him with the garden, she always declined. She did enough work as it was in a day.

"My hound in Dent reports that the King has a new adviser that seems to have more influence than he should. There's nothing peculiar out of Astinos except-" She paused, unsure if it was even worth mentioning.

"What is it?" Ephraim asked, concerned.

"Superstition, I think," she shrugged. "Whispers of vampires and other foul creatures."

Ephraim considered this for a moment. "What do you think?" Then, he grinned. He raised his voice higher in an effort to mimic hers. "We'll just wait and see."

She glared at him. "That is a poor imitation."

"That doesn't mean I'm wrong. That is definitely what you were going to say."

Sylf forced herself to sit still. She didn't like being predictable, even with Ephraim. "Did you know Lady Sylvia keeps asking for you?" she said, switching the subject.

Ephraim groaned. "Please, can we talk about anything else?"

Sylf seized the opportunity. She shifted her demeanor into that of a simpering noblewoman, eyelash batting and all. "Oh, Your Highness! Do you like my bows, Your Highness? Won't you play cards with me, Your Highness? Won't you go riding with me, Your Highness? Won't you let me follow you around on your tail for forever, Your Highness?"

Ephraim shook his head at her disapprovingly, despite trying to hold back his laughter. "Perhaps I need impersonation lessons from you as well, Mistress Dawnwood." He shook his head, grinning. "Sylvia's difficult, but she's not that bad. You're just mad she said, more or less, that you are unfashionable."

Sylf's humorous mood disappeared at the reminder. "I am here to run a spy network. Not frolic around in gowns with bows in my hair and throwing myself futilely at princes," she sneered.

Ephraim's golden eyes locked onto her, his expression softening. "Indeed."

It wasn't fair, really. Ephraim had enough charm to rival Tomlyn, though they were quite different. Tomlyn was all swagger and could make anyone feel as though they were the most important person in the room. Ephraim, on the other hand, radiated a brightness and warmth that was unlike anyone she had ever known. His enduring warmth had the capacity to warm her bones on the coldest day but also caress her skin on the perfect spring day.

It was no wonder the ladies of the court swooned over him. But, Sylf mostly saw past his charm to the young boy that he was-a well-intentioned thirty-something half-elf who had no real experience in the world.

He looked away from her, bashful and shy. "If I may," he offered, "I like your fashion sense. It's very…you."

Sylf ignored the flutter in her heart (that did not just occur) and decided to resume the productive conversation. "We may not see anything that directly impacts us in Astinos, but they're worth keeping an eye on."

"Why is that?" He asked, resuming his work.

"Zealots make for the most dangerous soldiers; religion can touch a person's heart like nothing else."

Ephraim paused, his eyes inspecting her. "That was…quite prophetic."

"My father's saying," she admitted.

Ephraim resumed digging. "Wise words, from a wise man, I'm sure."

Sylf shrugged. "I suppose."

"Do we have hounds up north? In The Fingers?"

"No, not yet," Sylf said slowly. It would be easy for her to do. All it would take was a visit home to Bragdill and she knew she could have all the information she wanted. But that wasn't how she wanted to return home.

They fell into a comfortable silence as Ephraim worked his way to the corner, shoveling dirt around and working in the manure. The other reason why she never helped Ephraim with his gardens is that…well, she liked watching him work. She liked the way his shoulder blades worked in his skin as he dug into the ground, the way beads of sweat rolled down the middle of his chest, and the way he pursed his lips in determination as he hauled up the dirt and turned it over.

It was so different from when he stood at the War Table, serious and pensive as he listened to his advisers, or when he addressed the court in his regal pomp. Watching him work in the gardens felt…natural. Like a true calling. She wondered if he hadn't been born a prince, if he would have been a farmer instead.

Ephraim sighed as he finally finished his work and stuck the shovel upright into the ground. Hands on his hips, he looked up at the sky, squinting. "Are you sure it's going to rain? It's still sunny!"

"It's going to rain, Ephraim."

He shook his head, golden tresses falling in his face. He pushed his hair back with a dirty hand, smudging dirt across his pristine, albeit sweaty, cheek. "If you say so." He stared at her curiously, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Spit it out, Ephraim."

"Ah, well…" he trailed off. His pause was just a bit too long before he asked, "Won't you help me with these sunflower seeds?" Sylf immediately recognized that he wanted to ask her something but decided not to. It didn't bother her much—if he wanted to know the answer to his question, she had no doubt he would ask her anyway.

Sylf rose from her seat, making sure her hair was in its tidy, neat high ponytail. She supposed he did all the hard work, and planting was easy. She walked over to him and glanced at his messy, unkempt hair. Without hesitation, she reached up to the ribbon in his hair that was barely in place anymore and pulled it out.

"Sylf, what—"

"Turn around so I can redo it. Your hair is a mess."

"Oh," he said softly. She fixed his hair quickly, running her fingers through his scalp to make sure there weren't any bumps or missed strands. As she placed the tie, she realized his pointed ears were bright red. And then she realized exactly what she was doing.

"There, it's done," she said, her voice rougher than she intended. She turned to the seeds before she could see the look on Ephraim's face.

They set about the task in an awkward silence. She avoided looking at him and refused to think on her actions, focusing her attention on the sunflower seeds instead. She tried to move quickly as the frequency of rain drops on her arm was picking up, but Ephraim was moving so slowly. He kept casting glances at her instead of planting, which only made her annoyed.

"Hey Sylf," Ephraim asked carefully, breaking the silence.

"Ephraim, you need to finish planting or—"

But then, the gray clouds rolled in and unleashed their wrath—rain came pouring out of the sky, hard and fast.

"Wha-what?!" Ephraim sputtered.

Sylf tossed down her tools, already conceding she was going to be soaked to the bone. She started to head towards the palace, but Ephraim grabbed her wrist and led her in the opposite direction.

"This way!"

He led her to the nearby gazebo, and they rushed under the cover. Sylf didn't really glance at Ephraim as she set about undoing her high ponytail, the rainwater making her hair heavy and pulling against her head. She wrung out her hair as best she could before setting it in a long braid over her shoulder. Then, she shed her livery, exposing her undershirt, and propped it up on the edge of the bench to try and let it dry out. She looked over to see Ephraim pull his shirt over his head and start wringing his shirt out. The muscles in his arms flexed as he gave his shirt one final, hard, twist.

He laid the shirt on a dry part of the bench and sat down, pouting. "That rain came out of nowhere."

Sylf crossed her arms and glared at him. His cheeks colored a little, but he held her gaze. "Sorry, you were right."

"Of course I was," she snorted.

He grinned at her, "How dare I presume that the great Sylf Dawnwood could be anything other than right?"

Despite being soaked unnecessarily, Sylf couldn't help but smirk a little. He held her gaze in his warm visage and Sylf felt their comfortable silence settle between them.

Then, he perked up as if noticing something. He rose and strode towards her pulling the ribbon out of his hair.

"Here, you can use my ribbon for your braid." He stopped just short of her, but instead of handing the ribbon to Sylf, he reached down for her hair instead.

"As much as I hate to disturb your handiwork, with my hair wet I don't really need it anymore." He re-braided the end of her hair that had started to come loose, and he tied the ribbon around as he spoke. "Aaaand done!" he exclaimed, tying the ribbon into a neat bow.

He smiled at her before stepping back and looking out at the rain. He sighed dramatically and placed a hand on his hip, running his other hand slowly through his hair, slicking it back.

Sylf tried to remind herself that Ephraim was nothing more than a boy, who was her friend, sure, but a boy, nonetheless. But… in moments like these, she couldn't see Ephraim as anything other than a man. Handsome, well-built, and with bright golden eyes that sent heat straight into her core. He had no business looking so…desirable with his golden hair slicked back in a way that gave him a roguish air.

Sylf reached up, intending to ruffle his hair and make the manly vision in front of her go away, but instead her arm was wrapping around his neck and she was kissing him. Then, he was kissing her back, his arms wrapping around her body, holding her tightly to his bare chest. Her mind swam as she tried to get a hold of herself, but he was so warm. The bare skin of his chest, his soft hands, his hot mouth: he was warm and soft in all the ways that she would never be.

She certainly didn't deserve his warmth, but she couldn't help but give in. For this moment that was so long and too short, Sylf absorbed as much of Ephraim as she could, like a sunflower reaching up for the Sun.