The wyvern circled lower and lower over the bright little town, gleaming in the sunset, situated on the shores of an island barely bigger than the city limits. That was Leronde, if memory served, though Ivar had only heard of it a few times. And at least one of those instances had been in conjunction with the phony.
Why here? he moaned inwardly, hiding his head in his hands. Only as he did so did he remember to brace for landing, and grit his teeth as the wyvern landed heavily upon the ground, a safe distance outside the city limits. The people of Rashugal didn't take too kindly to monsters in their midst, after all. "Of all the places to need a break," muttered Ivar, patting the wyvern on the snout in affectionate exasperation.
She retorted with a snort and a roll of her reptilian eyes. It's just for the night, he felt her say, and her cold dismissiveness chilled him in the solstitial evening. Find one of your human inns. I'll be fine on my own.
Ivar turned over the options in his head before heaving a sigh of resignation, stroking the side of her scaly neck lightly. "We leave at dawn," he said, retrieving his bag from her pack. He definitely didn't want to stay here longer than he had to. It wasn't like he had anywhere to be, exactly, but staying in the phony's hometown longer than he absolutely had to was an almost physically painful thought.
Late morning, said the wyvern, staring at him unblinkingly. We've been flying for almost a day straight, and you aren't as light as you used to be.
Ivar shifted awkwardly; she did have a point. In an effort to find his true purpose in life now that Lady Milla had ascended, he'd been flying her all over Rieze Maxia, steering well clear of Elympios out of a sense of extreme guilt. He'd hardly given her a chance to rest…
Wait—damn it! How could she derail him so quickly?! They may have grown up together, but ever since Ivar had learned to hear her voice, he'd never been able to hold his own against her in an argument. (Granted, a part of that may have been because the wyvern was about a thousand pounds heavier than he was, and more than capable of destroying him if he didn't agree.)
"What am I going to do with myself until late morning?" muttered Ivar, half to himself, and crossed his arms.
The wyvern only turned away from him, making her unhurried way deeper into Voltea Woods. That's your problem, little handmaid, she growled, her rough voice edged with a harsh sort of laugh. Ivar could only stare sullenly after her before shaking his head, stretching, and finally turning his weary feet towards the town—praying to any spirits that would hear that he'd be able to avoid the phony.
After a pointless trip to the seahaven in a quest for the inn, Ivar was informed by a morose-looking sailor that it was actually almost all the way back towards the other end of town. It was called the Leronde Lodge, and apparently, it was run by a family by the name of Rolando.
Why this stupid town couldn't keep its inn at the seahaven like everybody else, Ivar had no idea, but at least the place was picturesque. Though the sunlight was fading fast, lanterns of bright colors—red, pink, yellow, violet, orange—splashed their color onto the cobblestone streets. The inn itself was no exception, as he discovered upon dragging himself up to the open door. Paying more attention to the festive décor than his own feet, Ivar stumbled over the threshold with a yelped curse.
Thankfully, no one heard him. The whole lobby was packed full of customers, drinking or chatting excitedly, and Ivar stopped and marveled at the sheer number of people. Yes, there was definitely some sort of celebration going on. But he didn't have long to get over his surprise, because a half-familiar voice called out to him from somewhere amid the din of talk and laughter.
"Hello, and welcome to the Leronde Lodge!" it exclaimed, and Ivar glanced around in alarm to find one of Lady Milla's flock. This girl had been one of few he had even noticed besides the phony, in large part due to her oddly whimsical aura—somewhat out of place among the generally more serious group Lady Milla had traveled with.
But oh, she was serious now. The girl's receptionist smile dropped off her face and shattered on the ground, and Ivar frowned. Oddly, of all the things to notice about her, what struck him most was that the belt she was wearing made her attire seem far more Auj Oulian than Rashugalian, made of string and beads and a larger jade hoop that wouldn't have been out of place in the Xian Du marketplace.
Silence extended between them, so oppressive it seemed to drown out some of the background noise. Though it wasn't as cold as Ivar expected, it was still so uncomfortable that Ivar was glad to be interrupted: just as the girl opened her mouth to say something, a woman's voice bellowed as though from a great distance. "Leia!"
Jumping, the girl gave Ivar an apologetic glance, and mumbled something along the lines of "Sorry—I'll be with you shortly." Ivar could barely hear her over the din of her other customers' conversation, especially as she was already hustling along as she spoke, as though she wanted nothing more to do with him.
Well, that served Ivar just fine. Biting his lip, he scooted awkwardly along the sidelines, mind racing. There was still time for him to leave, but where would he go? Under the wyvern's wing would be safe, as he had slept there countless times before, but she had practically kicked him into town, and he didn't dare turn up unexpectedly. She probably needed some alone time given how much time they'd had to spend together lately, and her bad moods tended to be… dangerous.
Ivar yelped as a family jostled past, flattening himself against the wall. Whatever he decided to do, the first step was to get out of this place and breathe. However, before he could inch out the door and run away like the coward he was, someone touched his shoulder, and he froze.
"Ivar," greeted Leia, somewhat warily, and rocked back and forth on her feet, but said nothing more. Ivar stared first at the ceiling, then at the floor, and finally—if accidentally—looked her in the eye.
Damn it. There was no escaping now.
"Do you have any rooms?" asked Ivar, forcefully so as to prevent himself from stuttering, and crossed his arms in an attempt to seem at least a little more in control. It had been quite some time since he'd come face-to-face with someone he knew, much less one of the phony's companions. And, if Ivar was being completely honest, he was beginning to lose touch of what was expected of him in an ordinary exchange between two humans.
Leia pursed her lips, scuffing a foot on the ground. "It's the first day of Efreeta, so we're pretty busy, since there's a festival tonight. Mom says we don't have any rooms." There was an edge to her voice that seemed almost… uncertain. Like she was lying. Ivar looked her up and down mistrustfully. She probably just didn't want to waste a room on him.
And who could blame her?
Ivar tried, with limited success, to stem the tide of sudden self-doubt. The entire time he'd opposed her and her friends, he'd only been acting in Lady Milla's best interests, but even she had called him annoying. That single word had awakened a nagging voice in his head that had never stopped talking since. Useless, it chided him in a pointed whisper, and he almost winced.
A soft hand on his wrist startled him, and he automatically tried to tug his arm back, but the fingers held fast. "I said, come with me," said Leia, her voice somewhere between concerned and exasperated.
Frowning, Ivar forced his feet to follow her, weaving through the crowd of people and wishing he were half as graceful as she. He had rarely felt so out of his element, surrounded by strangers in a strange land. Rieze Maxia may have become one nation under Gaius, but Rashugal and Auj Oule were still comprised of very different cultures. As he ascended the stares, he couldn't help but feel that he was getting some strange looks.
"Here," announced Leia, stopping in front of the door at the end of the hall. "It's not the cleanest, but it'll do." Pacing forward, Ivar turned the knob gingerly, keeping one eye on Leia. No loose and girlish attire could disguise the fact that she definitely had some muscle, and the strength of her grip only served to prove it.
Peering around the inside and shifting his bag's weight on his shoulder, Ivar blinked a few times as his eyes flicked around the room. This place was clearly not intended for guests. Turning back to Leia, he opened his mouth to refuse it, but she was already charging down the stairs with a blithe "Coming, Dad!"
After staring helplessly after her, Ivar turned back to the door, wavering. This was probably someone's personal space, and to put matters delicately, he no longer felt entitled to anyone's courtesy. If anything, his opinion had swung the opposite way: now, he felt acutely that he deserved just the opposite. However, Nia Khera tradition dictated that it was a sin to turn away someone else's hospitality if it was offered in earnest. And besides, he still didn't have anywhere else to go.
Taking a deep breath, Ivar stepped inside and shut the door behind him before he could change his mind.
It was a nice room, really, if a little small. Though the walls and ceiling of the room were mostly white, some areas were speckled with flecks in every color of the rainbow, as though someone had taken a brush and flung paint haphazardly at the walls. The window was open to the cool Efreeta breeze, gossamer curtains fluttering. A firefly or two drifted past the screen, which was apparently taped in places.
Leia's bed was in disarray, a brightly colored duvet bunched up in the center of worn white sheets, several pillows piled on the mattress with a few having fallen to the scratched hardwood floor. A half-empty glass of water and a shabby lamp rested on the nightstand, its ceramic body painted with wildflowers.
The closet door stood open, revealing several similar sets of outfits hanging from the bar. The bottom was covered in shoes and boots and sandals of every kind, hardly any of which were kept in pairs. Several dresser drawers were ajar in the corner and, upon realizing that a pair of panties hung halfway out, the color rose to Ivar's cheeks and he kicked the drawer shut in a hurry.
(It wasn't as though Ivar hadn't seen women's undergarments before, having provided quite a few of them to Lady Milla over the years—but, in light of her ascension to the spirit realm, he preferred not to be reminded of his former duties as her tailor.)
His bag slipped off his shoulder to his arm, and he lowered it to the ground, glancing around. This place may have been very different from the atmosphere of Nia Khera, but there was a strange brand of familiarity among the secondhand surroundings. Gradually, Ivar allowed himself to relax a little, taking a deep breath. He could definitely get used to this.
However, he immediately tensed up again as Leia's voice said from the doorway, "Is this okay?"
Ivar turned around stiffly to face her, surprised at the worry in her tone—no, not worry, almost fear. Giving a single nod in her direction, he managed a small smile, hoping that would suffice for social interaction. Unfortunately, she either didn't pick up on his awkwardness or didn't care, because she wandered further in, glancing around anxiously at the un-dusted overhead light and unswept floor.
"Sorry for the mess," said Leia, putting her hands behind her back and swaying back and forth with a somewhat pleading expression. "It's just the only room there really is. Do—do you mind sleeping on the floor, though?" Her timidity belied her apparently boundless energy, and she kept crossing and uncrossing her arms as though unsure what to do with herself.
Leia's fidgeting hardly did much to set Ivar's mind at ease, but her question was enough to distract him. To be asked if he minded something, to have his feelings taken into account, marked a change from the usual. "N-no, it's fine," he replied, and his voice, too, was somewhat unsteady. He preferred not to interact with her more than necessary, as though keeping quiet now could undo the only context in which she had ever known him.
"Good," said Leia, giving a relieved grin that seemed to light up the whole room. "I have to sleep in here, too. I just figure it's… less awkward, if I sleep in my own bed. But you won't be sleeping on just the wood." She walked over to her bedside and contemplated her pillows.
In the pause that followed, it occurred to Ivar that rooms at an inn weren't free, whether it was an ordinary guest room or not. However, as he sank to one knee and rummaged in his bag for some gald, Leia nailed him in the side of the head with a pillow. "You don't pay for a night on the floor!" she exclaimed, hands on her hips as she glared down at him, pillow clutched in her hand.
Ivar stared at her, brief and unsuccessful life flashing before his eyes, sparked by several similarly threatening experiences with a very different woman. Swallowing, he held his hands up in a gesture of surrender and got slowly to his feet. Although at first he felt some relief that he was a few inches taller, it was soon replaced with a new kind of unease as Leia looked up at him. All her nervousness seemed to have disappeared, but Ivar's had not.
After one more agonizing pause, Leia heaved a sigh. "Here," she said, thrusting her pillow into his hands. Its case was faded, but the pillow itself was soft, and in its comforting old scent lingered a trace of something like vanilla. "You look exhausted. We'll have to save the pillow fight for next time."
"Next time?" asked Ivar, forgetting to keep interactions to a bare minimum out of alarm. He never intended to come back to Leronde if he could possibly help it, and he didn't intend to let Leia change his mind. "I'm not going to come back. I'm really busy, now that… uh, I mean, I have things to do." He cursed himself even as he spoke. Even though he had come close to the truth, he couldn't have sounded less convincing if he'd tried.
"Uh-huh." Leia seemed to be trying not to smile, but her eyes were already laughing, and Ivar's heart twinged. It reminded him too much of the way it felt like everyone else always looked at him these days. Too often, he wondered whether it had been like that ever since he'd left Nia Khera, but he hadn't seen it. Then, he'd at least had something real and true to focus on and fight for, however misguided he may have been in doing so. Now…
"Look, what do you want from me?" demanded Ivar, stung. He hadn't come here to be insulted, and he fully intended to tell Leia so, but her giggle cut him off.
"Come on, I was joking!" she exclaimed, giving him a punch on the arm that was probably supposed to be light. Ivar yelped and, glowering, rubbed what he was sure was going to be a bruise. "Honestly, you need to lighten up a little. You've always been such a stick in the mud."
"A stick in the mud?" repeated Ivar, crossing his arms, and glared into Leia's eyes. "Maybe being just a stick in some mud would be better than what I am now. My whole life was dedicated to helping the Lord of Spirits, and now that she's gone back to the spirit realm—" What am I supposed to do? Ivar's throat closed itself off before he could ask the question that had possessed his consciousness for a few months now. He'd said more than enough.
Once he regained the courage to look at Leia, he found with some surprise that she was gazing up at him with a thousand emotions vying for dominance in her clear eyes. It was almost like looking into a mirror; he could pick out anger and annoyance, sorrow and pity, and felt every one of them in his own heart.
"I don't know," said Leia gently, as though she heard his unspoken question, and the last remnants of Ivar's grudge against her flickered and faded. "But I know she wouldn't want you to wander around aimlessly." She paused, lifting a thoughtful hand to her chin. "Why don't you go back to Nia Khera and look after the village? That would probably help her out."
Ivar shook his head. "No one listens to me." He'd always hated that part of his duties, not that he could ever tell Lady Milla so. He may have been her handmaid, but he was by no means particularly influential among his own people. The elders had always held much more sway than he, and they were reluctant to accept the advice of one so young and opinionated.
"You could start a circus or zoo," suggested Leia after another short silence, a glimmer of playfulness in her eyes. "You're really good at beastcraft. I guess that makes you a great… beastcraftsman?"
"I'm not going to embarrass animals by making perform in front of an audience," retorted Ivar, crossing his arms and looking down at Leia as snidely as he dared. He had never really gotten the point of a circus to begin with; they always seemed so inconsiderate. What if the animals had stage fright? And as for zoos, they were even worse. Captivity was hardly enjoyable, any way you put it.
Leia sighed, prodding Ivar in the chest, and he flinched. "You could always work for the Lodge," she said, her tone sharper than her fingernail. "A surprising amount of people do come through here, you know, and we'll be short of help once I leave for Elympios."
"You're… leaving Rieze Maxia?" asked Ivar, incredulous. Who would ever want to leave a place like this for somewhere like that—somewhere beautiful for somewhere desolate, somewhere thriving for somewhere dead? It didn't make any sense.
"Yeah," said Leia, leaning against the wall and staring at the ceiling. "A few days after the Efreeta Festival is over, actually. Alvin says a position as a journalist from the 'new world' just opened up in Trigleph, and…" She hesitated, ducking her head self-consciously. "I mean, I love my parents and I love the Lodge, but I don't want to be stuck here forever, you know? I gotta find my own path."
Ivar nodded in agreement, and for the moment, the fact that Leia had ever been associated with the phony—that Lady Milla had chosen her as a companion instead of him—vanished. She was just Leia Rolando, an unexpectedly kindred spirit, and here they stood talking, just like ordinary people would.
"She would have wanted that for us, I think," continued Leia, turning to stare out the window as if lost in thought. (Ivar took a few cautious steps forward to stand next to her.) "Milla, I mean. For us to find our mission, the way she always knew hers."
A lump of unspoken and undefined emotion burned suddenly in Ivar's throat at the thought of Lady Milla and her unswerving devotion to her cause, and he tried with limited success to swallow it. Leia, evidently sensing something wrong, glanced up at him with some concern. "Ivar," she murmured, resting a strong yet conciliatory hand on his shoulder. "It's okay for you to let yourself feel, you know."
Anger welled up so suddenly in his core that it took Ivar's breath away. "It's not!" he shot back, and Leia recoiled. "She's—gone."
Ivar didn't know what made him say it, and fell silent rather than attempt to put his tangled feelings into any more words. Lady Milla was gone not because of her departure from the human realm, but because anyone with eyes could see her heart belonged to her friends. To the phony. Even if she could afford to assume physical form again, she would never use it to visit Ivar. She may as well be dead.
"Don't say that," said Leia, her voice reproachful but barely audible, almost as though she could hear Ivar's thoughts. "She's not gone just because she loves him. Us."
Ivar scarcely had a moment to be astonished that she understood. There was such grief in her voice, even masked by superficial cheeriness, that Ivar frowned. At times like these, he realized how thin the line truly was between beast and human. From the beginning, he had understood beastcraft as speaking with the heart rather than the tongue. As a result, if he paid close enough attention to a human, there were times when he could understand their feelings almost as well.
Until now, he had never had a reason to listen, but he heard Leia as clearly as the wyvern now, saw the answer written in clouded eyes that did not quite meet his. "You… love him," he said, the words practically wrenching themselves out of him, and he realized their truth only as he spoke.
Leia tensed before nodding silently, a rosy blush rising to her cheeks, and her hands skimmed restlessly along the windowsill as she watched the wandering fireflies. "And you love her," she said, her voice taut and high and the slightest bit tremulous. "But we both know it can't work out the way we want. All we can do is be glad that they've found some kind of happiness."
"She's… happy like this," murmured Ivar under his breath, as if in a trance. He hadn't thought of it that way before—only that some phony was stealing his rightful place by her side. The voice in his head spat selfish as he bowed his head, in grief or thought or prayer.
Leia's hand rubbed slow and reassuring circles on his shoulder blade, gentler than he ever would have thought after the trick she pulled with her pillow. "I know you think Jude is a phony," she began hesitantly, and Ivar twitched uncomfortably at the title. It seemed more childish, somehow, on someone else's lips. "But he makes her smile, so he can't be all bad. Right?"
As Ivar looked down at the earnestness in Leia's eyes, something inside him cracked. It might have been the tone of voice in which she spoke, his exhaustion getting the better of him, or just sheer frustration, but suddenly he found that his eyes were burning as well as his throat, and that he was in very real danger of breaking down completely.
This was not made much easier when Leia's arms slipped comfortingly around Ivar's chest, and his breath caught. The instinct to push her away was overwhelming, but he swallowed it. How long had it been since anyone had embraced him? When she didn't let go as he expected, he remembered to exhale, then shelved his delusional pride and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She seemed like she could do with a little comfort herself.
Leia buried her face in his shoulder with a shuddering sort of sigh, and Ivar caught the faint aroma of vanilla in her hair. (So that was where the pillow's scent came from.) After a few more breaths, had the strangest urge to run his fingers through its silky strands, but held himself back. That would feel more than a little strange, considering their past interactions. More so even than holding one another like this.
A few more peaceful seconds passed before Leia gave him a final, gentle squeeze, and Ivar removed his arms warily from around her, understanding the universal signal to let go. Leia took a tiny step back, opening her mouth to say something, but apparently thought better of it and turned back towards the open window with downcast eyes.
They stood there for a long time, listening to the rapid chirps of crickets as the gradually cooler breeze washed refreshingly over them, before Ivar eventually broke the silence, his mouth dry and clumsy. "Sorry," he said, all his confused emotions consolidating themselves into a single hoarse word, though he couldn't imagine how that could possibly be the one that would encompass them all.
Leia glanced up at him, evidently surprised. "What for?"
That was a good question. For getting in their way so often? For falling apart, losing whatever little cool he ever possessed in Leia's eyes? Ivar shook his head haltingly. "Never mind," he muttered, running his fingers restively along the hilts of his swords, feeling along every familiar bump and scratch to distract himself. In the moment, nothing had felt amiss, but he could feel the heat rising to his cheeks.
Leia's laugh, light and soft, startled him, and he looked slowly down again to meet her even gaze. "Apology accepted."
Ivar blinked blankly down at her, focus scattered between slightly chapped lips parted in a small smile and eyelashes stuck together at the edges and a few freckles here and there. Besides Lady Milla, every inch of whose body he knew because he had to as her tailor (not that he spent any great length of time contemplating such things!), he had never really bothered to take note of anyone's physical features.
Suddenly, Ivar realized that a reply was expected of him, and cleared his throat self-consciously. "But… neither of us know what I was apologizing for," he protested, crossing his arms.
"And I don't know why I accepted it, either," returned Leia, eyes shimmering with amusement. "But I guess… you're not such a bad guy, Ivar. When you're not yelling at Jude or stalking Milla, that is." She put her hands on her hips, but there was a joking edge to her voice, more obvious now.
Ivar managed a smile for her sake, but couldn't help a twinge of annoyance. Leia had no right to be so easy to talk to. Perhaps it was because the wyvern rarely had the patience to listen to his problems, so many of the emotions he had conveyed had weighed him down long enough that he needed to share the burden with someone, anyone. But maybe it was the nature of Leia herself that encouraged him to open up. She was both strong and vulnerable, both boisterous and serene, both playful and solemn—full of enticing contradictions—and she captivated his attention in a specific way that no one, not even Lady Milla, ever had.
Leia leaned against the wall, elbow resting on the windowsill, and tapped her slender fingers in an arhythmic beat. "Now that it's nightfall, the festival finale should be starting up. There'll be fireworks, you know."
Ivar was shaking his head even before he registered the unspoken invitation, and hesitated when he recognized it, but staunchly refused to change his mind if there was a chance he could run into the phony. Glancing up to see his expression, Leia rolled her eyes. "Jude's not here," she added, crossing her arms in exasperation. "He went to Fennmont to complete his final year at medical school and start researching spyrites."
Relief washed over Ivar in waves, and he allowed himself a smile. Really, he knew in his heart that the phony wasn't a bad person, and he actually owed him quite a lot for keeping Lady Milla safe. He just had an incredibly frustrating habit of upstaging him in front of her, and even after her ascension to the spirit world, the phony's presence served as a painful reminder that her hand-picked handmaid was a good deal less competent than a boy about a year his junior.
Ivar blinked as Leia came into focus, waving her hand in front of his face. "Are you gonna zone out all night or are you coming with me?" she asked, tucking her thumb into her sash with a barely suppressed smirk.
"Yeah," said Ivar distractedly, his mind jumping ahead to the idea of fireworks. He'd heard of them, of course, and he knew what they were, but he'd never seen them in person. Personally, he was of the opinion that on principle, one should not risk mixing spirit artes with gunpowder, because seriously, that could be really dangerous.
"It wasn't a yes or no question," said Leia, grinning as easily as though nothing of note had passed between them, and swayed in place. "Come on, let's get down to the seahaven before the show starts without us." Ivar groaned, rubbing the back of his head. The last thing he wanted was to walk all the way through Leronde again—,but before he could explain his protest, Leia scooped up his bag, grasped his wrist, spun him enthusiastically around, and pushed him out the door.
Ivar wasn't sure whether being caught by a girl three inches shorter and at least twenty pounds lighter was more or less humiliating than actually falling, but either option was certainly less embarrassing than being carried.
How Leia had hoisted him onto her back without losing her balance, he had no idea, but apparently the phony was not the only one capable of making himself feel incredibly insecure at every opportunity. But Leia was at least sparing his feet from being trodden upon even more, reflected Ivar, resting his head wearily on her shoulder and readjusting his arms around her neck. To preserve his dignity by insisting on walking on his own would literally hurt him, so he closed his eyes and forced himself to relax into the rhythmic motion of her footsteps until finally, she grunted, "Down boy."
Opening his eyes, Ivar slid to the ground obediently and stared around in amazement. The vendors had set up shop so quickly that he never would have recognized this as the place he had visited what seemed like such a short time ago. The air was filled with an air of excitement, as well as a thousand different smells besides the sea—food, most prominently, though he couldn't pick out the specific dishes that contributed to the scent.
"Like it?" asked Leia, glancing at Ivar sideways, and he realized he was smiling as he nodded. He'd never spent any length of time anywhere besides Nia Khera, and though his people observed the spiritual days religiously, they weren't exactly festive folk. Something about the atmosphere here felt so happy, so alive, that for a moment Ivar felt that maybe, just maybe, things would turn out okay.
However, his heart skipped a nervous beat he didn't quite understand as he realized suddenly that Leia had vanished. Glancing around, he found her wandering between the stalls, exchanging friendly words with the shopkeepers. Her mannerisms were quick, her countenance cheery, her aura of somewhat childish playfulness endearing. How different she was from Lady Milla!
Ivar's eyes followed her to a booth selling cloth and snagged on a beautiful, wine-colored piece of silky fabric, flowing towards him in the light breeze as though beckoning him closer. Approaching somewhat warily, he nodded in response to the shopkeeper's greeting, and reached out to caress the crimson material.
"One hundred gald," said the woman tending the booth, and Ivar glanced up at her in some surprise. Only a hundred for a sash of this quality? The shopkeeper smiled at his expression. "Nothing special, but it's durable. And pretty, too." Ivar tried desperately to come up with an excuse not to buy it, but found none, and was about to rummage through his bag for money when he realized Leia still had it.
"Find anything you like?" asked her voice, before Ivar could so much as look for her. He whirled around to find her standing behind him, proffering his bag with one hand and holding a cup of some sort of fruit in the other.
Ivar snatched his satchel away from her, suspicious about how she was able to move around so stealthily when she had such a… distinctive… appearance and personality. To distract himself, he dug out all his gald, which came to about… "Seventy-nine?" he asked, holding out the coins hopefully.
The woman pursed her lips. "Ninety. That's the lowest I can go."
"He's with me," said Leia, stepping forward with an encouraging smile, and Ivar set his jaw. Did someone need to rescue him from everything? Couldn't he even fend for himself in the marketplace? The confident persona he had painstakingly built for himself, the one that Leia was used to, was fading fast—and truth be told, he missed the days when he could so easily believe himself superior to others.
"Oh, honey!" exclaimed the woman, smiling, and held out her hand. Ivar turned all his gald mutely over to her, and she pocketed it with a jingle, gesturing for Ivar to take the scarf. "You two go on and have some fun tonight. I think the show starts in a few minutes!"
"You didn't have to do that," hissed Ivar, folding his new purchase over his arm and glaring at Leia despite himself as they walked along the pier. He knew very well she was only trying to help, but she was really just making things worse. What use was a handmaid who couldn't even buy something without help? And besides, wasn't she worried about that shopkeeper starting rumors about whatever they were to each other?
"It was no trouble," said Leia with a confused frown, and Ivar made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, debating running back to Leronde Lodge and locking himself in her room. "I'm sorry, though," she added hastily as she observed his expression, though he doubted very much she understood his annoyance. "But let's find a good spot to watch the fireworks."
Ivar let out his breath in a long sigh, allowing her once more to lead him through the crowd. "Fine," he mumbled under his breath, making a mental vow that he would never let anyone do anything for him ever again—no matter how much it would hurt him to refuse their help.
Fireworks. Were. Awesome.
Sure, the wait was a little bit long ("Just a few more minutes," wheedled Leia whenever Ivar threatened to go back to the Lodge, and he had no idea what made him listen even after the seventh time) and the accommodations were a little bit cramped ("Stop breathing so much," complained Leia; "you're squashing me!")—but as soon as the first arte was cast, Ivar's growing annoyance was immediately replaced by wonder.
Colors and shapes exploded over the sea, illuminating the sky and reflecting in the dark waters. Though Ivar flinched at the unexpectedly loud noise at first, the sight was breathtaking enough that he quickly grew used to the sound of artificial thunder booming in the wake of the fireworks. Some were simple bursts of sparks in different colors; others were fully animated dragons and chimeras, more arte than gunpowder.
At some point, Leia's head came softly to rest on his shoulder, but Ivar's attention was on the fire dancing through the air and the smoke drifting delicately away and the night sky visible only between the flashes. But all too soon, the final firework burst into a spherical shower of red and orange and yellow which was quickly enveloped by actual flames, and everyone burst into applause and cheers and whistles as the light flared up and finally faded out.
Ivar grinned, pressed between the corner of a stall and Leia. The seahaven lanterns glowed to life once more, and the crowd returned to its talk and laughter, dissipating gradually. Ivar turned his head to thank Leia, and at the same time, she looked up with sparkling eyes to say something to him…
They halted, faces no more than a couple inches apart. He could almost taste the tart fruit on her sweet, laughing breath, and something stirred inside him, half-familiar and nameless, urging him with rising intensity to do it, do it, do it—but the distance between he and Leia was far too great to be bridged by something so trivial as a kiss. Green eyes met green, searching one another's depths, almost daring one another to make a move, but the only motion came from Leia's long eyelashes, fluttering in a quick blink.
Ivar closed his eyes briefly in defeat, exhaling in a futile attempt to clear his throat, and turned his head away. His voice was still hoarse as he got to his feet and mumbled, "Thank you," the words alien to his mouth.
Leia only nodded wordlessly in acceptance, closing her still half-open mouth, as he offered his free hand. She slid her soft warm hand hesitantly into his rough one, and he pulled her to her feet, letting go as soon as he was sure she would be stable. Then, they began a silent journey back up the street towards the inn—keeping their distance from one another, all too aware of what could have been.
"Where are you headed?" asked Leia eventually, glancing over at him, and he looked over at her with some surprise. "Like, I know you wouldn't just stop by Leronde on purpose."
Ivar paused, trying to gauge whether or not she would laugh at him if he admitted he was completely lost. The seconds ticked by until something inside he said now or never, and he paused at the side of the road. Leia halted as well, looking him up and down curiously. "I don't know," confessed Ivar quietly, staring up at a red lantern emblazoned with Efreet's name. "I'm just… traveling. Lady Milla didn't leave me with any specific instructions, and…"
He trailed off uncertainly, giving Leia a calculating glance. If he said any more, if he revealed his insecurities, he would run the risk of completely removing the confident mask he had built for himself over the years—the one he was always sure to wear around Lady Milla and the phony's group, including Leia. Would it be worth it to finally spit out the bitter words that had been lingering on his tongue for months?
Leia said nothing, only leaned against the fence and watched him, and somehow that was the reaction Ivar needed most. He swallowed, then finally spoke. "I didn't even know she had come back from the dead until my aunt told me she'd stopped by the village while I was gone. How am I supposed to serve her if she doesn't bother to tell me she's alive?" Ivar's eyes burned again, and he stared glassily at the stars rather than try to look Leia in the eye.
The truth was, he deserved it. He had activated the Lance of Kresnik. He had broken the schism. It was his fault that Elympios and Rieze Maxia had gone to war. It was his fault that the elders of Nia Khera—and that Lady Milla herself—had been killed. Why should she have given him any parting words?
But Ivar was drawn abruptly out of his thoughts as Leia's open palm smacked into his cheek.
Staggering at the force of the blow, he raised a hand to his face in shock to find it damp with unconscious tears. She examined her hand, just as surprised, before wiping it on her shirt and putting her hands on her hips. Though Leia looked Ivar full in the face with eyes blazing, he couldn't meet them. There went his last shred of dignity, and he couldn't tell whether it was his own fault or hers.
But then again, no one said he ever had to see her again. (At the thought of avoiding Leia for the rest of his life, Ivar felt a twinge of something a little like disappointment, but stifled it quickly.)
"I'll tell you what you're going to do," announced Leia matter-of-factly, and Ivar had no choice but to listen. "You're going to stay at the Lodge for a few days and rest up, and when I leave for Elympios, you're coming with me. You need a change of pace and something to do with yourself, and Elympios has both."
Ivar frowned. Wasn't she going to ridicule him for showing weakness? Wouldn't she point out how stupid his worries were? Ivar waited, but she said nothing, only looked at him as if waiting for something. "I—I don't need rest," protested Ivar, once he finally found his voice, and looked away.
That was not, strictly speaking, true. He needed to relax, he just didn't want to. The more downtime he had, the more time he had to reflect on what a miserable failure he was, and the more time he had to contemplate flying the wyvern to the highest point she would and then jumping off. Knowing her, though, she'd just swoop down and catch him before he hit the ground.
"Then you can help out," said Leia, marching forward and seizing Ivar's wrist with an iron grip. "Efreeta's the busy season, so there's plenty to do and we could use an extra pair of hands. Now let's move." She pulled him forward, giving a genuine smile. "Honestly, I kind of miss the overconfident, obnoxious version of you."
"I'll work on that," said Ivar, marveling privately that anyone could have preferred his old, brash self. Leia did not explain, her only response a tinkling laugh before she led him back home. As she started babbling about exchanging GHS numbers (and something hasty about giving him the phony's as well), he thought that even though this was probably a temporary fix, maybe this was what it would be like to have a human friend.
And perhaps, someday, he would find out for sure.