This was a very big deal.

Inigo had no idea how the very nice lady–Brady's mother, he reminded himself–thought otherwise, but then again, she likely had no idea who he was, helping herself onto the room's one bed like nothing had changed.

Inigo missed when he'd known no better. Ignorance was bliss, after all. And he'd flirted with her too, oh Gods he'd flirted with her! The others always said he would flirt with just about anything and everything, and he'd gone and tried to make moves on a woman old enough to be his mother. Obviously because she was friends with his mother, but...

No, no. She couldn't be that much older than him. Not in this timeline, anyway. And it wasn't like he'd done anything weird yet, aside from maybe risk erasing this timeline's Brady by accident. Of course, Brady's mother wasn't that shallow that she'd fall for his stupid tricks–but he didn't want to risk erasing one of the few friends he had left!

His friends could not find out about this, or he would hear no end to it from them! Don't alter the timeline this, don't bed my mother that... He was going to take this to his grave. But would Brady's mother?

As Inigo watched Maribelle throw herself onto the bed again from his chair on the other side of the room, he winced.

No, of course she wasn't. If she acted anything like this when she was with the Shepherds, she was sure to blab. Not that he could fault her for that–he loved a good gossip as much as anyone else–but when it was sure to bite him in the ass...

Inigo cleared his throat. "Hey, Miss Maribelle?"

Brady's mother looked back at him and batted her eyelashes. "Yes, dear?" she asked.

"When we–that is to say, when you–get back with... the others. You won't say anything about me, will you? A man's got to keep his secrets." He winked, then immediately cringed. So much for not trying to bed Brady's mother. He'd done it out of habit, he'd swear it!

"Oh, is that what this is about?" she said, her voice sounding just an octave too high. "Of course not. I can respect a man's needs just as much as anyone else. Can't you?"

"Okay. That's good. Great, even!" Clearing his throat again, Inigo reached up to adjust his collar–not that it needed adjusting or anything, but it was something to do. "I–if you'll excuse me, I need to take a breath of fresh air."

"Do you, now?" There was something about the way she said it that said he'd missed something important.

Inigo pointed at her. "You're hungry."

Brady's mother frowned. "No."

"You're thirsty?"

"No." Her foot tapped against the floor.

Inigo paused, thought really hard, then said, "You're having your time of the month."

That remark earned him a thrown boot to the face. "No!" Maribelle said, and she kicked the bed. "I want you to help me get back in bed!"

Inigo's face flushed, and he stumbled back. "But–but why?"

Maribelle just tapped the side of her wounded leg. "I won't be asking if I could do it myself, dolt! Unless I am to sleep on the floor tonight."

"No, no. I'll help, I'll help!"

Inigo tripped over his own boots as he rushed to her side–if anyone else had seen him, they would hardly believe he was a trained dancer. He got as far as placing his hands under her before he realized what he was doing and hesitated. Was he really about to lift up his friend's mother and put her to bed?

Then he looked up and caught Maribelle's scalding glare, and decided that, yes, he was. Brady would kill him if he ever found out, but Brady's mother would kill him right now if he didn't.

Inigo hooked an arm under hers, and another arm under her legs. Maribelle yelped as he swept her off her feet. Inigo tried to ignore that. In hindsight, he probably should have given her a warning first.

Carefully, but not too slowly, he lowered her down onto the bed. As soon as he pulled his arms out from her, Maribelle opened her mouth, but Inigo dashed out of the room as fast as his two left feet could carry him, slamming the door shut behind him and throwing his hands up over his face to hide the growing heat creeping up his neck.

He just did that. Oh Gods, he just did that. Why did he ever agree to this? Why did he agree to keep doing this? Why were her clothes so soft?

Of course, she was a Ylissean noblewoman, so it shouldn't have surprised him that she would wear such nice clothes, but when he actually got to hold her close, a voice in his head urged him to never let go.

Inigo drew a deep breath. Slowly, the heat faded from his cheeks, and he let out a sigh.

He'd thought it strange to meet a Ylissean noblewoman out in the wilderness of Valm, at first. Of course, who wouldn't? But then again, he'd assumed she was maybe an emissary, or someone's wife. The possibility that she could have been with the Shepherds had crossed his mind too, but he'd dismissed that theory fairly early because when had the Shepherds ever left their own behind?

Evidently, he'd been wrong about that.

But none of that mattered now. He was going to have to get this under control. He'd gone too far to back out now. If he left now, then when he tried to join the Shepherds later, Maribelle was sure to call him out for abandoning her. Of course, Inigo would never abandon a lady in need, but there was also the fact that Chrom may never let him join.

And Maribelle had no idea who he was right now. She acted like nothing had changed, like everything was just the same as before. He was going to have to be the same.

If she was here, then the Shepherds must be nearby. Even if they left her on her own, they'd notice she was missing and go look for her. They'd find her, he'd ask to be brought into the Shepherds, and he would save the future. Simple as that.

Inigo just needed to pretend like things were the same for just a little longer. He could do that. Sure, she was a lot prettier than he remembered, and sure he had said all those things about her, but compliments came to him as easy as dancing. They didn't change anything, and they never would.

Would they?

Something had changed with her mercenary.

As someone training to practice law, Maribelle had learned to be quick to pick up on that kind of stuff.

Despite his crass mannerisms and lack of tact, he'd always been such a gentleman to her. He'd stood by her, done well to guard and watch over her, never complained when she asked him of anything, and had taken to her teachings like a boat in a pond. For that, she had to commend him greatly. If–no, when they met up with the Shepherds again, she would have to give Chrom her glowing commendations for his performance, and should he ask to join them–with how the war was turning, she couldn't imagine anyone would not want to–she would put in her utmost effort to ensure they took him with them.

Which was why his behavior last night had confounded her so. Her mercenary–Naga forgive her, but she'd already forgotten his name–had always been so quick and eager to follow, but now even just asking for him to open the door, she noticed him hesitate and turn to her before he turned the knob.

Was there something on her face? Maribelle reached up to check, but she didn't think there was anything on her.

She followed closely behind him until they reached the stairs. Maribelle paused, expecting help down, but her mercenary had the audacity to start walking down the stairs without her.

Maribelle reached up to clear her throat, but it came out as a fit of coughs that nearly dislodged her throat. The sound still caught his attention, and he scrambled back to help her up, so Maribelle pretended like it was intentional.

"What's wrong?" he asked, catching her before she could fall.

"Leg. Stairs," she wheezed out.

Her mercenary glanced down the stairs, frowning, before he reached out and, carefully, helped her down the stairs. Too carefully, almost as if he was afraid to touch her at all.

Did she smell? It had been rather long since she'd last had a bath, and when Maribelle turned to sniff herself under the arms, she was not daft enough to deny that it was rather unpleasant, but it wasn't as if she particularly stood out among the rabble.

At least Maribelle had enough strength in her to seat herself, so she brushed off her mercenary and hobbled over to a nearby table. As her mercenary settled himself across from her, the innkeeper stopped by their table with a notepad in hand.

"Can I get you two lunch?" he asked. "We're serving rabbit stew and bread today."

"Yes, I'd–" Maribelle frowned. Lunch? She'd just woke up. She reached up to knead her forehead and sighed. Just how long had she been sleeping?

"Just the stew sounds nice," she said through the palm of her hand.

"I'll have what she's having," her mercenary said.

The innkeeper nodded with a grin as he left their table. They hardly had to wait long before he returned, a pair of steaming bowls in his hands, and placed them between them. Personally, Maribelle would have preferred if he'd actually given them their bowls, but it wasn't as if she was back in Ylisse, so she couldn't expect top-notch service here, could she?

Maribelle reached for the bowl. The same bowl her mercenary was reaching for, as it turned out. The realization struck Maribelle too late for her to pull back, and their fingers touched for the briefest moment.

Almost immediately, her mercenary recoiled as if he'd been burned.

Maribelle's chair scraped against the floor, and she jumped to her feet. "Okay, what is wrong with you?" she said.

Her mercenary–what was his name again, Iago?–winced, and he replied, "Nothing!"

"Hah. Were you a toddler, I might believe you. You have been pretending I've been made of ice this whole time. What is your issue with me? Out with it!"

'Iago' opened his mouth, likely to give her another excuse. Maribelle would not have it. She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms, tapping her foot against the ground until she saw him wilt.

"Well... you're a woman..."

"You never had a problem with it before. Quite the opposite, actually." Scowling, Maribelle leaned him, hands on the table. "Is there something wrong with the way I look? The way I smell? Are my bandages coming undone? What is it, what?"

"It's because you're... well... you're Maribelle of Themis!"

Immediately, Maribelle fell back on her seat and turned away defensively. Oh, yes, she'd given him her name yesterday evening. She'd been far too exhausted to consider it, but there had always been the risk she'd be recognized. That said...

"How does a Valmese mercenary know of the House of Themis?" she asked, eyebrow raised.

'Iago' jolted, eyes wide. He glanced around wildly, rapping the table, before he cleared his throat. "Word gets around."

"What, of me?"

"Yes."

Nevermind she was just a minor noblewoman living smack dab in the middle of Ylisse, let alone one who was not well liked, what had she even done that would garner such recognition?

"And just what have you heard of me?" Maribelle said, moving her face closer to see if he was lying and not at all because she was curious just what foreign countries were saying about her. Of course, people in Valm would have things to say about the Ylissean Exalts, or the Feroxi Khans, but little old her? Surely it must be a lie. Surely!

"Well... there was that thing you did... that great and noble thing..."

"Yes, yes, I am great and noble. What about it?"

"Ah... you know, during the Ylisse-Plegia war."

Maribelle blinked. She had done a great deal during the Second Ylisse-Plegia war, hadn't she? It was a war that spanned an entire continent, so of course it would be such a big deal, wouldn't it?

"What specifically of the Ylisse-Plegia war?" she asked, just to make sure.

"Uh... there was that thing you did against Gangrel... you know, to protect the Exalt and his sister and risked your own life?"

"You mean that time at the border pass where I'd been taken hostage by Gangrel?"

"Yes, that's the one!"

Maribelle did not consider herself a proud woman–she simply knew how to take credit where it was due. And take credit she did, straightening herself with a big grin. "Yes, it was risky, wasn't it? But it all paid off in the end, so it was all worth it."

"I see."

"I'd expect common folk in Valm to hear of the deeds of the Ylissean Exalts or Feroxi Khans, but to hear of the deeds of little old me–I have to say, it's flattering."

"I'm sure it would," 'Iago' replied, and the beginning of a grin crept up his face.

It took every effort she had to bring her face back to normal and fall back into her seat. Maribelle would have liked to press on there, she really would, but she wasn't blind enough to miss his smile. A smile she'd brought out of him. Whatever it was that had him acting strange, she seemed to have dispelled it.

A part of her wanted to keep asking, but if she could keep him like that, she was more than happy to let things be. After all, they had places to be, and lunch was not going to finish itself.

Hey, sorry for taking so long. I've been trying to figure out what to do for my other stories, so this one's not been on my mind recently.

Also been trying my hand at doing more art, which has eaten into more of my time, but who knows, maybe I'll finally get that cover art done that I keep promising I'll do.

Again, sorry it's been so long. That's totally on me, I'm not very good at doing stuff very consistently. I'll try to get one out within two weeks, but until then, take care of yourself out there, and stay safe!