Her bones creak with every twirl, but nothing will stop Tethys from dancing.
The campfire burns low, little more than burning embers. It is long past dinner and the rest of the camp has mostly gone to bed, trying to rest under the dark night sky, stars twinkling as they count them.
Tethys hums softly as she flits about, dancing to a beat that only she hears. She doesn't need music, she can feel the thrum of a rhythm in her bones. War is long-gone, so there's no need to worry. The only things on their minds nowadays are odd jobs here and there, and making enough to just keep moving.
Decades have passed since their adventure with Eirika and Ephraim. Tethys never imagined a mercenary's life for her, but it's funny how things take a turn, and where one finds themself. She wouldn't change it. She loves the feel of the dirt under her feet, grounding, and the brightness of the stars above.
Far better than dancing in dingy old streets where the tips are shit and no one is kind. Here, there is freedom. Here, there is comfort. Tethys doesn't have to watch her back, or dance around on eggshells, she is free to do as she wishes.
And so she does, dancing around even though her joints ache. Even though she sags a little in places and her well-known beauty is now marred with wrinkles. Tethys finds that she does not care.
"My lady." It is Gerik, standing off to the side, watching with affectionate eyes.
Tethys comes to a pause, smiling. "Ah, a handsome customer, I presume?"
"Depends," he says, holding a hand out. She goes to him, settling her dainty palm against his calloused fingers. Gerik squeezes tight and pulls her close, and Tethys happily falls against him. They are flush, Gerik's hand sliding down to cup her waist. He laughs, leaning close, his mouth near his ear. "Do I get a discount?"
Tethys laughs too, pulling back to watch him. "That also depends. Did you do the laundry today?" Judging by his face, no.
"I am busy, you know. I've got a company to run."
"Oh, surely," says Tethys, nodding as she mildly mocks him.
"And to think that I came for a dance."
"Did you, now? I suppose that I might be able to empty my schedule."
They move effortlessly on practiced feet, Tethys guiding Gerik along as he follows. He's alright with it even though he doesn't hear the music in his mind as she does. He just watches her sweetly and lets her lead. It is nice and quiet. Intimate. Gerik slips his fingers between hers as they swirl around.
They are not a new thing, but it still feels fresh. There are mornings when Tethys wakes up and marvels at the idea that she is not alone, and there are nights when she slips into bed, expecting cold sheets only to find warmth.
Gerik makes it effortless.
Once upon a time, she felt a little bit like a flightless bird, shackled to the ground by heavy, leather dancing shoes. Worn and faded silk, just like that died a little in her eyes. Bruised and buckled ankles tied daintily with soft ribbons. Back then, Tethys danced for scraps on broken and bleeding feet. She'd tend to her crooked toenails in back alleys while Ewan slept, and bind her sore muscles while hoping for a better day on the morrow.
It wasn't so much a rescue as it was an opportunity when they met Gerik. He did not whisk them away and promise them a good life, but he told them if they put in the work, they'd have food and a tent over their head. And as time wore on, those rough edges of his Gerik wore down, and Tethys caught glimpse after glimpse of the good man that he is.
"What are you thinking?" he asks her, hush-like even though there is no one else around. They spin around in their own little world, his voice soft.
"Oh, many things," she says. Tethys feels her face crinkle as she smiles. "But mostly you."
"That sounds both terrible and wonderful." A pause. "Do you think that it's time to retire?"
It is not the first time he's asked her this. There is enough money, and they have the means to do so. She ponders it, settling down with this man by her side. Nothing would change, she thinks. Gerik will not tie her down and she'd be free to roam the stages of the world if she saw fit.
Tethys reaches up to grab his chin, smoothing her thumb across his bottom lip. He kisses it, and then he dips lower to kiss her on the mouth as well.
They fall quiet, the only sound surrounding them the chirping of the night bugs. And then, Gerik hums something nonsensical.
They are not married. He expects nothing and gives her everything. Tethys loves him all the more for it. She is not pampered, but her toes no longer bleed. She does not dance for food, she dances for the thrill of it. "Perhaps," she says, pressing their foreheads together. It is the first time she has given him an answer.
When Gerik laughs with happiness, it's music in its own right.
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