It had been decided that most of the royalty in this little holy army of theirs were to stay with their retainers on this hopefully diplomatic trip to Solm.
Louis thought it was a shame of a missed opportunity. While the fast-growing trust and bond between peoples of different countries could be strengthened through a shared journey, marching side by side; the logic behind the decision was that the royalty would be better served and protected by the familiar fighting styles of those retainers they had been serviced by for years.
Prince Alfred also lamented the sentiment. He fanned his face with his hand.
"If only we were alongside Princess Ivy," he sighed, trying to hide a coy grin from growing. "I would give anything for a blast of that wind magic right about now."
Princess Céline snickered, her hand flying up to her own face to try and hide the giggle.
Louis… also would gladly pay any price for a refreshing breeze. The winds whipping the Solmic landscape were hot during the day, only cooling at dusk. While the army did take care to break for a few hours around midday, the sun was still going to be blazing in the sky for the afternoon's trek inland.
Worse still, while he had shed a lot of his usual armour plating in order to beat the heat of the desert… it was not working. He had ended up carrying about the same amount of weight in water anyway. All of the weight, and only a third of the usual protection.
Chloé was in the sky ahead, scouting. She had kindly helped Céline braid her hair into an updo before she had left their midday camp, trying to relieve Her Highness of the heat and issues her typical loose hairstyle had posed in their morning march. She seemed sorry to have to leave the ground troops sweltering below, but quite eager and relieved to return to soar back into the winds and sky.
That led to a loose formation of the royal siblings walking side by side, Etie at the rear, and Boucheron and Louis leading.
Boucheron's nose and cheeks grew rosier by the hour, as sweat dripped from his neck and onto his already soaked collar. Of his typical armour, he had only his breastplate on – but like Louis, was fitted with heavy weapons and field rations.
With both men suffering the heat, listening for any alarms, scanning ahead for potential allies or enemies… there was no spare energy to converse.
'What a shame indeed.' Louis thought.
While this Fogado character was certainly helpful, happily leading them all towards sure signs of civilisation, it seemed clear that he knew more than he was letting on.
While friendly enough to offer help to a lost diplomatic mission, he seemed to be measuring their alliances by leading them close to a Corrupted attack.
Undoubtably an intelligent move.
But Louis still bemoaned the fact that he had not the chance to at least wipe the sweat off his brow first.
The Divine Dragon and Fogado whisked away the more mobile units of the army to rescue the villagers surrounded by corrupted; leaving the Firenese and Brodians with the other two Sentinels to carve a path for them to return through.
Arrows shrieked through the crowds, piercing body after body. Magics collided and shattered, charging the air with a dangerous electricity. Alfred and Boucheron fought in tandem, skewering and slashing the enemy who was backing the group into hazardous ground.
"Watch for quicksand!" the red-haired Sentinel yelled from the distance, before striking a warrior off their mount.
The heat, the cacti, the damnable sand itself was trying to kill them, let alone the corrupted. Louis dug his heels into the ground as he thrusted his lance through the gut of another twisted form.
But a light, whistling, sailed through the air on the horizon, before exploding into colourful fires.
Princess Ivy's signal.
The villagers and army would be rejoining soon.
Now wasn't the time Louis to jest that it was just as unsafe here, in the middle of this apparent battalion of corrupted.
But he did think about it.
"Cover me!" Céline yelled, having just blasted another body backwards with fire.
"Of course!" Louis replied.
Céline needed to concentrate and stand still, to harness enough power to project her magic far enough in the sky to be seen by the other party. While a risky move, it was their fastest plan.
The men encircled her, as she summoned the effort to gather fire and wind in each hand. While the corrupted were thinning, no one wanted to risk her getting interrupted.
While Louis and Céline had a reprieve from the enemy to the North, Boucheron –
Had three corrupted stumbling at him from the south. He hurled a hand axe as they approached, knocking one into the dust, but the other two launched at him as he tried in vain to swing again with his broad axe.
The left one fell to Alfred, but the one on the right sliced through Boucheron's hand to the bones, forcing him to release his axe and howl in pain.
Louis wrenched his head back to see, and was horrified to be met with the sight of such blood and gore. The corrupted reared backwards –
"No!" Louis growled, heaving his lance overhead to strike the foul corruption in the neck, and twist it as the creature fell down. Back into the earth from which it came.
Alfred rifled through his field pouch for gauze, uncharacteristically silent, then turning to Boucheron as the other man groaned through his teeth.
"Heads up!" Céline gasped, as she finally launched the signal.
Her fireball whirled through the sky, pushed further by the funnel of wind magic, before exploding as ferociously as Ivy's had.
The siblings' words then blended into each other, as Alfred – shaken back to normalcy by the signal – tried to distract Boucheron with cheery chatter while Céline was already at Boucheron's arm. Praying under her breath as she infused her staff with magic.
As if sutured with an invisible touch, Boucheron's flesh warped together, barely clotting, leaving a violent scar.
"Thanks," Boucheron sighed, wiping off stray blood with the already soaked gauze.
"Thank goodness." Céline whispered to herself.
And yet Boucheron flexed his fingers, impatiently testing his regained strength, before reaching back to the ground to grab his axe.
Alfred laughed nervously, "Surely, we can afford a moment's rest."
"We can't." Boucheron answered, trying to plaster a reassuring smile on his face. He wiped his own, slick, blood off the handle of the axe.
They all knew it would be remiss to do.
But it still pained Louis to know it, nonetheless.
Louis' morning routine was interrupted by the scent of fried eggs.
He frowned, and decided to give up on preening and just sling his tie around his neck before charging through the Somniel's tower at dawn.
There were few in the tower who had the gall to awaken with the sun like he did, and fewer still who would not wait for Louis to start making breakfast.
So while Boucheron did not expect the interruption, Louis knew exactly who he was on his way to interrupt.
"Oh!" Boucheron said, looking up from the pile of fruits he was slicing. "Good morning."
Louis hummed, crossing his hands, and standing in the doorway. "I am unsurprised, but I did find myself still hoping that you would heed the medical advice Her Highness gave you."
Boucheron looked down at the chopping board. He hummed, while trying to think of a rebuttal. "Some time without battle is quite restful, you know."
"You know that wasn't what she meant." Louis chided gently. He walked across the kitchen, stopping to be directly across the bench from him.
Boucheron chopped another mealy apple in half.
Louis cocked an eyebrow. "Why aren't you resting your hands?"
"That can always happen after breakfast and morning chores." He said, intending to dismiss Louis' apparent worries. But his confidence in his answer faltered, like his grin, as he paused.
He shrugged, sheepishly slicing the apple again. "Besides, I need the distraction."
Louis' expression fell, too.
If his suspicion was right, he knew this need well.
But…
"Well. If you need distraction, why not ask for some good company?" he said, waiting for Boucheron to look up again.
And when he did acknowledge Louis with a small sigh and exaggerated eye roll and grin, Louis then raised his palm into the air between them.
"Indulge me for a moment."
Boucheron had consistently been a man to 'soldier on', as it were; Despite his love of novels, from war stories to romance, rich in exploration of emotions and confrontation; despite his willingness to be a shoulder to cry on (or with) for others; he was reluctant to extend himself the same kindness.
So perhaps if Louis asked as a favour, as if it were for his own peace of mind, Boucheron may not mind... opening up a little.
"Your hand, if I may?"
Boucheron furrowed his brow in confusion, before murmuring an okay and offering his hand.
Louis took it into his, and stroked the fresh pink scar that splashed across Boucheron's flesh and knuckles.
"You were healed nearly immediately." Louis recounted, "That being said, staves are but an aid for use in conjunction with comprehensive medical care. Have you regained all feeling in your hand? Noticed any twinges when extending and using your fingers? Experienced any unusual sensations, as if pins were pricking your arm?"
Boucheron exhaled deeply, hopefully in consideration. He stared at Louis' fingers as they massaged his hand. "Nothing like any of that, thankfully. It feels like normal."
Louis gently stretched each finger, before forming Boucheron's hand into a fist. Not seeing any flashes of pain on his face. "Excellent. Her abilities are developing well, if she was able to conjure the power to heal such extraordinary tendon and bone damage..."
"It's just a shame about this scaring." He said, unable to stop himself from saying such an… unexpected, thought aloud.
"Ah, well." Boucheron cleared his throat. "I… don't mind it much. If it works, it works. I don't have to be pretty." He tried to laugh it off.
Louis hummed, relaxing Boucheron's hand and patting it firmly before letting it go. "I suppose not, but I would not discredit you so. You cut a dashing figure regardless."
Louis' gaze returned to Boucheron's face, which seemed to be tinged pink by the rising sun filtering in from the window.
"Ah, hmm." Boucheron caught himself. He closed his lips and nodded, finding himself looking down and also tracing over his scar. And where Louis had been holding him.
"Now." Louis cocked an eyebrow for emphasis. "Regardless of how well Céline healed you and how well you feel now. Would you really disregard Her Highness' direct orders to rest?"
Boucheron chuckled – finally relenting, with a smile on his face. "I would not."
"Come." Louis smiled in return, as he gestured to the mountain of fruits and the now cool eggs. "Hand me the knife, and I shall resume breakfast. I ask that you sit down and grant me the pleasure of your company."
Boucheron nodded, not meeting Louis' eyes in that moment. He instead chose to smile through the feeling, and thank Louis kindly.