The smell of blood was what woke her. Maribelle hadn't even realized she was unconscious, only that the sharp and metallic scent pierced through the haze over her mind, rousing her back into the world.
The first thing she noticed as she opened her eyes was the sky overhead, and white streaks swept across it. A breeze tickled her cheek, rustling leaves as it passed over her. Her backside felt cold and damp, seeping through her clothes and leaving the skin beneath slick. As her eyes trailed down, she noted with minor disgust that her frilly pink robes were smeared with dirt and grass.
How long has it been? she thought, and her brows pulled down into a frown. Already, an orange glow had begun to overtake the sky. A chill crawled over her skin as the evening set in around her.
It was the afternoon, last I remember. Whatever happened to that? Groaning, Maribelle tried to drag into a sitting position.
Pain shot up her leg. She let out a pained hiss, and when she looked down, she saw blood pooling under her, dripping out onto the grass from a gash running across her thigh. The cloth at her hip lay in tatters.
Then it all came back to her. A skirmish with the Grimleal in north-east Valm. Running in to save someone. Something slamming into her. Being thrown down a hill and tumbling into the forest. Hitting her head.
And now, waking up here.
What disturbed her the most was the fact that she was still lying on the grass, possibly hours after the battle had passed.
Did... did they forget about me? Maribelle thought. Surely someone, anyone would have cared enough to bring me back with them?
The silence all around her told her a different story. In the distance, she could hear the sound of crickets rise into the air, and as seconds turned to minutes, her worry only grew.
She attempted to rise again. This time, she tried pushing off the ground, managing to prop herself up without too much struggle. She rubbed the back of her head, grumbling as she did. Through her tangle of blonde hair, she felt something wet slip over her fingers, and when she brought away her hand, she found it covered in red.
Is this my fate? To bleed out in the middle of nowhere, lost and alone, forsaken by my only friends? I wasn't good enough for anyone but my dear Lissa, and now I'm not even good enough for her to remember me?
There was only one thing she could do. Shedding her dignity and tossing it into the trees, Maribelle cleared her throat.
"Help!" she shouted. "Somebody help me!"
A few seconds passed. There was no response. She scowled, and she opened her mouth to call out again.
To her right, she heard the leaves rustle. She turned, hope flaring in her chest. It could have been the wind, but it could have also been movement, and when she saw a familiar figure step out from behind a tree, she had to hold back a cry of relief.
With a cape that fluttered behind him as he approached her and the sword at his side, it would be nearly impossible to mistake who it was.
"Chrom!" A warm feeling bubbled in her chest, and she was half-tempted to jump to her feet. "You returned for me–"
Then he stepped into the light, and her face fell as the warm feeling died an ugly death. Somehow she'd managed to make the almost impossible mistake.
"You're not Chrom," she said, keeping her voice flat to hide her disappointment. Or was it disdain?
"Who's to say I'm not?" the man before her asked.
"You look nothing like him."
Taking a closer look, not even she could guess why she had been fooled in the first place, even in the low light. His face was much too thin, pinched together like a sour taste lingered in his mouth, and the sword at his hip was no Falchion. He carried himself with a steady strut like a dancer, and his wavy brown hair bore no resemblance to the mop of blue atop Chrom's head.
He was clearly no Chrom, and she had never seen this man with the Shepherds. Yet she couldn't shake the feeling she'd seen him before.
To herself, she murmured, "Well, it's not as if I have any options, do I?"
"You look like you could lose–er, use a hand, missy," the man said, and he offered her a hand to help her to her feet.
Maribelle narrowed her eyes. Not that she didn't appreciate the gesture–she wasn't an ungrateful brute, thank you very much–but it wasn't as if she could do anything about it, not with the cut running down her leg.
"What is this, some crude practical joke?" she said. "You can't expect me to stand with my leg like this!"
His eyes drifted down to the wound on her leg.
"Ah! How foolish of me," the man said. "It must have slipped through my notice."
Maribelle rolled her eyes. "Yes. How utterly foolish."
The man licked his lips. "What's someone of your standing doing out here, away from the flock? Where are your guards, or attendants, or... perhaps comrades in arms?"
"No. They've all left me for dead, it seems."
"A shame. I would have loved to eat–I mean meet them."
Maribelle caught the reflection of her raised eyebrow on the hilt of the man's sword. She only had just enough time to correct it before his bony hand came down to cover it.
From the corner of her eye, she saw movement. Another man stepped out from the forest, clad in plain blue armor with flowing, olive-colored hair. The second his eyes fell on her, they widened. Maribelle met his gaze, her look pleading, and he nodded, a silent message passing between them.
Rather quick for a commoner to be on the uptake, she'd admit.
"What are you looking for?" the first man said, and he started to follow his gaze.
"Nothing!" Maribelle's voice almost rose to a shriek, desperate to keep his eyes on her. It worked, and he stopped turning. "I simply have something in my eye. It's just..." She faked a sniffle, suppressing her urge to gag. "I'm so relieved someone came to help me. I thought I would die all alone."
"Oh, I'm not here to help you, missy."
The rasp of his sword masked the second man's approach. Maribelle let her eyes grow wide, and she watched him close in.
Leaves crunched underfoot. Maribelle tried to pull herself back again. The pain in her leg cried out in protest. Had she moved, she might have more time to watch as the man's sword raised into the air, its edge gleaming wickedly in the air.
In the end, she had to work with what she had, didn't she?
"You're not very alert, are you?" she said.
The man's brows furrowed, and he snarled. "What do you mean?"
"Look behind you, you dolt!"
"Behind me? Hah. You think I'd fall for that, you noble bra–urk."
The bandit's eyes fell to his chest just in time to see the tip of a sword pierce through. He coughed once, blood splashing out from the wound in his chest.
Maribelle shrieked as red splattered over her pink dress.
"Watch it!" she said, the last traces of her patience slipping away. "You just ruined my favorite dress!"
"Ah. My apologies," her savior said. "What do you say we hit the town after this, and I'll buy you a brand new one, buttercup?" He swept his sword to the side, and as the body dislodged itself, it tumbled to the side.
On any other day, she might have had the strength to play along. As she was, cold and wet, her hair and now her dress smeared with blood, the retort came out in an instant. "It's going to take a lot more than a new dress to impress me."
"How about saving your life, then?"
"Not like that. Couldn't you have, I don't know, stabbed him from the side or something?"
"In a perfect world? Absolutely. But you're unharmed, and that's good enough for me."
At his raised eyebrow, Maribelle growled. "Good enough for a rapscallion, perhaps." She ran her hand over the growing red stains on her dress, and when it made a wet squelch, she shuddered. "I can't go back looking like this!"
A ragged cough came from beside him. "Lord Grima," the bandit rasped between shallow breaths, "avenge me–"
Maribelle silenced him with a swift kick. "Shut up! I'm talking here!" His head snapped back, and, to her satisfaction, he spoke no more.
"Now," she said, turning back to the man, "as I was saying–what are you doing?"
The man glanced up from where he had knelt down by her side. "What does it look like? I'm helping you up." He paused, and his smirk faltered. "That is what it looks like, right?"
"I wouldn't know what else it would look like, but helping me up is the last thing that comes to mind. Besides, I don't recall asking for your help."
"Well I thought a lovely lady as yourself might not appreciate being left to die alone."
"And there's another thing!" She raised an accusing finger at him. "I don't appreciate all that incessant flirting."
"What's the matter? Never had someone compliment your beautiful face? Because if not, I'd say your friends have poor taste."
"I'm married!" She wasn't, but he wouldn't know that, would he?
For a moment, she thought she saw uncertainty flash across his face. It was gone before she could make sense of it, hastily covered by that infuriating smirk of his, like the finality of her tone amused him.
"It's never stopped me before."
Maribelle did a double-take. "That is hardly proper!" she shouted. On second thought, she should have hardly expected anything different, especially from a commoner. Not everyone had the same standards as her.
The man had no reply to that. It showed he had, at the very least, some standards. His stupid grin remained, though, so it hardly painted a better picture.
"Well, I suppose since you are here, and you did save me, you're the only one I can ask for help."
"Are you asking right now?"
"Of course!"
The man chuckled. He reached out for her again, only to pause inches away. An uncertain look crossed his face. At first, Maribelle thought she'd just imagined it, but he really did seem to be unsure of whether to follow through.
"What are you waiting for? I'm not going to bite!"
"It's just... I've never done this kind of thing before."
Maribelle huffed. "Oh please. It's not all that different from carrying cattle or pigs, or any other livestock you have lying around."
"Sunshine. I'm a mercenary, not a cattle-herd."
"Well you must have been raised somewhere, and I doubt mercenary parents would have a stable place to raise a child of their own."
For some reason, the man felt it necessary to give her a flat stare. She saw little point in mulling it over. Whatever he didn't know, he didn't know, so it fell on her to keep him from mucking it up.
"One arm under the knees, one arm around the back." Keeping one hand under her to hold her up, she motioned for him forward. "It's so simple, a boy half your age could probably do it. Chop chop!"
The man complied, strangely silent as he slid his arms under her. Maribelle would have expected some crude compliment about her legs or her back or, if he was desperate enough, her blood, but to her surprise, he didn't speak.
It wasn't as if she was about to spur him out of it, though.
"Now, lift me up slowly, and for Naga's sake, lift with your legs! If I hear one comment about how you pulled your back from my weight, I will strangle you, my survival be damned."
After a few seconds of him awkwardly struggling, he finally managed to find a firm hold on her. It took a bit longer than she expected, but when she tried to ask him about it, he refused to meet her eyes.
"So..." he said, shuffling his feet. "Where should I take you?"
She opened her mouth to speak, but she stopped herself. She hadn't thought this far ahead. She glanced down at the wound in her leg, still bright red.
All the blood loss must be marring her sense of judgment.
"Where is the nearest town?"
"A day's walk from here." He paused, before he added, "Though that might be a little far."
"Then surely you must have a camp a little closer to here?"
"Well, yes. But–"
"I don't want to hear it! Once we get there, I can patch myself up, and we'll never have to see each other again."
The man didn't speak. Maribelle looked up at him, growing impatient. In his eyes, she saw conflicting emotions flash between them, his face glowing pink in the evening sun.
In the end, he gave a resigned sigh. "I'll take you to my camp, but may I ask you to refrain from making any... sudden movements?"
"Oh, I'm sure you won't have to worry about that in an hour or so."
"Pardon?"
"You wouldn't understand. Just get on with it. The only thing going anywhere is my blood, which, if you didn't know, is not a good thing."
Being carried off into the forest by a stranger was not anything Maribelle would have ever wanted to do, but with the Shepherds off who knows where, she was out of options. Still, as the trees closed in around them, she wished she could have been found by someone with a little more grace.
"Ouch! Watch what you push my face into! I don't want to have to spit out leaves every other step you take!"
"Sorry. I told you before, I'm not exactly used to this. A little patience won't kill you, buttercup."
"With how much of my blood is on the forest floor, I don't think I'd want to take that chance."
Boy, I didn't think I'd find myself back here so soon.
I think I might have said something about doing a Smash fic for Saturday, but this one jumped out at me. Besides, I tried writing an opening for that one, and it just wasn't fun enough for me, so it's going to be some time before I get that done.
Why did I feel like pushing this particular ship? Well, firstly, I was disappointed that the children characters (aside from Nah and Lucina) can't support characters outside of their generation besides their parents, even platonically. That, and I just sort of rolled a die and came up with these two. (It's like a budget Virion x Maribelle, except with less flowery language and insecurities abound)
This is sort of a pet project of mine. While I won't hold back any effort, I don't plan on planning out this story. Like Hitting the Books, this is a stab at romance writing. Unlike Hitting the Books, I don't think I'll abide by any update schedule. This will get updated whenever I'm free.
If you thought my sense of humor is terrible, or if you think Little Mac is a viable character, feel free to share your thoughts. Or don't, whichever suits you. As always, I wish you all well, and stay safe.