Maybe you will hear stories of it, ballads perhaps, of the young prince Elwin and the young Lady Hanna of Eastpool; of how they could have had it all, that they could have sailed the seas and changed the realm.

but they didn't.

first. he touches you and you light on fire. your wrist blazes where his fingers meet your skin. the burns don't show, but it's hard to breathe with ash in your lungs. it's so hard to breathe. you're suffocating daily.

(year 839)

The coffee that the bearers serve today is scorching to the touch but despite this she does not recoil — she graciously thanks the young girl assisting for the day.

Her dainty finger threads into the loop-shaped handle of the teacup, she ignores the slight burn that radiates from the delicately hot ceramic when it comes into contact with her knuckle. She raises her small cup up to her lips. She takes a deep breath before inhaling the steam rising from the hot liquid and appreciates the soothing scent of the black coffee that makes her think so much of home. It's almost as if she can feel the dampness of the river or take in the rich, earthy scent of the forest: Eastpool where love and the most fertile of Rosarian soil settles into mounds of crops eager for harvest. Where the beaks of chocobos are full of the sweetest honeycomb and wheat, where the windmills turn, where everyone, regardless of their marks, are treated as alive and sun-kissed and eased. Eastpool where life resides.

The feeling of homesickness washes away upon her exhale, she is going to enjoy this cup of coffee even if it's absolutely the last thing she does.

Around her in the dining hall of Phoenix Gate are close to twenty other healers and bearers that are able to wield light magic. Even though they are separated by their station all of them relish in the short half hour break that they are permitted to have.

Some of them are at the basins, scrubbing at their hands frantically, trying to remove the stains that may wash away but would never truly leave them; others had resigned themselves, leaving the red liquid where it marred their once pristine clothes. She often wonders why they even bothered making their aprons white. They never even lasted the morning, and blood was incredibly hard to get out of white fabric.

Taking a sip, Hanna tries relaxing, allowing the scalding liquid to run down her throat and warm her from the inside out. She always enjoys her drinks incredibly hot. Almost all of them chastise her, "Pray to Metia Lady Hanna!" they scold "It can burn down your throat if you are not careful". The young woman, all of nineteen with golden curls and a force of nature as her smile, pacifies them gently but firmly with the reminder that they are in the middle of a war and so few things made her happy; if she wanted to drink blisteringly hot drinks, then she is going to do so.

After the tiring morning that happened, she deserves to enjoy this small piece of serenity.

Everyone here does.

Perhaps being the daughter of the Earl and Countess of Eastpool, the main physickers of the royal court, had already made her invested in medicine and healing. Her childhood days consisted of tailing Lord and Lady Montgomery when they were visiting and staying in the capital, helping both nobility and bearers alike. There is a kindness within both her parents that she wanted to instill in herself, a generosity extended through both wisdom and care, regardless of the circumstances of their birth. Hanna insisted on studying medicine in Kanver, where she could learn midwifery from some of the best healers in the land. Her parents objected at first, their worries rooting more to the fact that she would be in battlefields more often than helping women due to Rosaria's campaign against the looming threats of the northern territories and the almost tyrannical Iron Kingdom.

When she reasoned they were both doing the same mission the protests died in favor of the three of them praying together to Metia for all their safe return home everyday.

Hanna places her teacup back down its saucer with a small clatter, her sight begins to wander over her hands. There are already tremors in her hands that she has not noticed. What once had been young and smooth are now transformed into rough, calloused surfaces. Her fingernails, that she used to indulge in some clear polish, trimmed and naked. The constant need to scrub her hands in boiling vinegar or wine to sanitize herself properly had taken away their youthful appearance.

Currently, there is still blood caked into her cuticles from that morning. As to whose it is, she cannot quite remember. It could have belonged to any number of people. It could have belonged to the young boy who had been crying for his mother, whose cut forehead she'd stitched up. Or it could have belonged to a female bearer, no older than herself, whom she'd helped transfer from the stretcher to her bed; missing a leg and it's oozing out blood and stone. Or perhaps it belonged to the shield who appeared to be as old as her sire, who lay limp on the bed, covered from head to toe in blood that couldn't be his, due to his lack of wounds.

Hanna had pounded on the man's chest for ten minutes, trying to shock his heart into starting again.

It never got any easier.

The acrid smell of blood and sweat in the air is permanently ingrained into her senses that even if she stands up and walks out of the mess hall into the open grounds of the castle, the stench of rust still follows her.

It never would.

She nurses the piping coffee in her hand as she makes her way through the tents and triages set up, helping pass along a pack of gauze or two on the way. The sound of swords clashing and explosions can still be heard in the distance, a constant reminder of the violence and chaos of war. The wounded soldiers lie on makeshift cots, their faces grimacing in pain as they await treatment.

She looks up at the sky; the sun is almost saying goodbye, dyeing its clouds scarlet, it was maroon. She slightly stretches her neck from side to side to try to alleviate the ache, the approaching night only means that she would start working and tending once more. Villagers and bearers caught in the crossfire, and injured shields would come pouring in as the fighting would cease momentarily, only for the chaos to arrive once more as the sun would say hello again.

Hanna enters the dimly lit tent assigned to her, putting down her cup and lights more candles for light to float. While she rummages through her workstation to start creating tonics that are going to be used for the next day, she heats up a boiling pot to her side. Thankfully the imports of powders, cloth and some crystals from Lazarus and Port Isolde came in just a few hours ago. This would suffice for another five days – if the shields are to be successful in their campaign and minimize the need for aid, these will last for about a week.

She measures out the ingredients with a steady hand, adding just the right amount to the mortar before grinding the traveling herbs of chamomile, burnet, daisy leaves and sorrels into a fine powder, carefully ensuring their efficacy; smashing them down to impart much needed strength, stamina and precision. She drowns out the sounds of violence by focusing on the pounding of the mortar to the pestle, her hands carefully spreading the powder into the boiling pot. Just like how the hot coffee left her unbothered this did not elicit any pain as well.

While the tonics are being brewed, she gets one of her knives and opens the crate of herbs to prepare a new batch of potions to be used tomorrow – The elderly physickers expected that the company led by the Crown Prince will consume more than they had anticipated, they sent out stolases to the nearby villages for help. Fortunately, Eastpool is the nearest village to Phoenix Gate and her mother spared no time preparing an abundance of herbs and roots from their garden.

There is a longing twinkle in her eyes as the endless sea of greens greet her, neat pink bows tying them all together. Her lady mother, truly the most benevolent of all women, even labeled them for her just in case the hustle and fast paced nature of their work leaves Hanna in mild confusion for a while.

In the wooden chest lay brooms and horsetails that her fellow ladies specifically requested, carefully selecting the ones that would best alleviate the soldiers' pain. These past weeks saw more people having broken limbs and minor wounds that may end up being fatal if the infections eat away at the flesh and bone. Having poultices for them at the ready would give everyone a sense of comfort. Elder leaves are also tucked in, despite the hisses from anyone receiving them, they soothe out sprains and tight muscles that hinder workers and soldiers from their range of motions.

Hanna inspects each herb diligently to make sure none of them have wilted or rendered unusable; cutting down leaves, stems that had rotted. As soon as she finishes, her hands carry the remaining roots from the crate to the basin of water so she can wash them. These burdock roots must be from Rosalith Castle itself, her father would often prepare this for the Archduke Edmund. These are grown by more advanced healers of the duchy from the surrounding fields that aren't destroyed by the blight. The crushed pulp aids in blood infections as well and can aid in the most gruesome stab wounds

While she expects that there will be a sudden uproar of men shouting, it nevertheless still jolts her from her flow and concentration.

"His highness has taken grave injuries! Hanna strains to hear a commander shouting, "Hold your front lines!" The desperation causes a slight panic in her. She has never quite heard the heir to the dukedom compromised this badly. Shouts and clamor for defense resonates and the falling of the feet of a group of soldiers make their way hurriedly to the infirmary tent

That is enough for her to go out of her tent to see what is truly happening.

Shields carrying their fellow brothers in arms came rushing through the tents. Impaled shoulders, tired grunts, they all look worse for wear. Every working hand already in the field lends itself to the effort, ushering the injured and fallen into the stretchers, the tents or worse back to the castle.

Hanna closes her eyes, her soft lips reverently murmuring a quick prayer. She quickly retreats back to her tent, quickly putting out the fires that are boiling and preparing the makeshift cot. She lost the headcount on the men that came through. She grips her fingers to the opposite wrist to steady herself, her pulse quickening to pull her back to her reality. She needs to be strong for the ones that are already giving this nation their all.

This will be a long night.

"Hanna!" Someone shouts for her name frantically outside and her head whips immediately. With how diffused and how loud the environment outside is, voices mix and mingle and she does not know whose voice it belongs to. Her name gets shouted again and again until she hears the other physickers direct whomever is pleading for her to where she is.

"I am here! Second tent to the right!" She shouts back and waits.

In her head she prepares for the many possibilities on who might enter.

Perhaps it is the crying boy that was watching his mother earlier that she gave a gumdrop to.

It could be the female bearer, on the brink of death, that she sang a lullaby to.

It could be the ghost of the shield that she could not save and brokenly said sorry to.

Hanna gulps down the last of her coffee savoring its comfort before turning to face the injured.

She sees a whirl of familiar flaxen hair enter and that at least calms her blazing pulse. She inspected the entirety of his body to look for any grave injuries. She looks into Rodney's relieved eyes and bites her lip as she notices the deep cut on his forehead, one that would lead into a possible scar. "By the flames, thank the founder that you are stationed here."

She is so focused on making sure her best friend of too many childish summers is safe that she did not notice Rodney is supporting someone and brought someone with him. This big tree of a man might have been in one piece but she cannot say the same thing for the man heaving against his strong shoulder.

Even if she was in the free cities of Kanver studying for the last five years, the friends that she made in her time in the university would pass around portraits of the princes and noblemen of Valisthea. Some catch her eye like the handsome young crown prince Slyvestre Lesage or the Lord Commander of Waloed who even in the dead of night, his eyes so green.

They teased her how lady luck shines her smile at her, as a Rosarian noblewoman she would have much more opportunities to gaze upon them than any other girl in the dorms. They tease that they must meet during the remembrance ceremony, then dance the night away and then Hanna just throws a pillow at their faces half-heartedly.

But her youthful heart beats strong, Hanna did share with them that there was a remembrance ceremony, when she was eight and she got lost in the gardens. She swears to herself that the heat that she felt that night all those years ago was not from flickering candlelight – she remembers running her fingers over a painted portrait of the Archduke's first born son, over his sharp features and deep ocean eyes.

Hanna immediately curtsies upon recognizing the crown prince Elwin.

A faint blush sweeps across her cheeks but it quickly fades as her gaze shifts to the point of a lance buried into the heir's shoulder and Hanna is almost taken aback at the sheepish grins both men in her tent have. "Rodney," she almost barks at him as she starts to rub her fingers near her temple "Can you please make sure he drinks a hi-potion for the pain?"

Thank the founder for the foresight of the elders.

She puts on her gloves, gathers her scalpel and scissors. She motions for Rodney to place the man on the stool near her table and support his weight if need be. She starts cutting through the red and bloodied surcoat, Rodney helps remove the chainmail as well. She will need to have access to the prince's bare skin to assess the possibility of obstructed breathing in case he was losing too much blood by the time or his chest is internally wounded. When she took his pulse it was rapidly normal. Looking into Elwin's eyes imploring his trust, she proceeds to press her ear against his chest.

His breathing is quite rushed for her liking but it is stable. The murmurs of his heart are continuous and steady. "Your heart is strong, your highness," She reassures the two men.

She asks Rodney to pass her the metal bowl that had a cloth already soaked in vinegar. She wrings it out and murmurs quick apologies as she disinfects the area around where the lance's tip is buried; stabbed through at least a few centimeters under his clavicle, narrowly missing the chance to rupture any major blood vessels.

She can feel her brows furrowing so she can focus on steadying her trembling hands, she listens to Rodney snorting fondly at her. "Spare me the headache Rodney, you brought the crown prince to me. "

Rodney flashes his stupidly boyish grin at her, his voice proud and teasing at the same time "Of course I would bring his highness to you, Little One."

The rest of the physickers stationed here outside made up of the volunteers who always aided around their respective villages, although they had their expertise it is Hanna who was a level higher than the rest; she is a Kanver graduate, younger and quicker on her feet and wit. She is their first line of aid before any complex surgeries that call for crystals or more immersed specialties are needed to be done by their proficients inside Phoenix Gate' stronger halls.

While it has been a almost a year since she started her medical duties in service, sometimes the chaos still threatens to engulf her mind and heart; Hanna knows the history of crystals like the back of her palm, knows the best way to calm down a child confused, knows the correct way bind around the chests of men twice her size, but no amount of reviewing, reciting and reliving could ever fully describe to her how heavy the weight of a child dying in your arms, could never fully describe to her how easily stones in a bearer's body can crumble, could never fully describe how one must feel when you have the possible future of Rosaria bleeding at your hands.

Seemingly noticing the pause in her otherwise fast pace, Elwin looks directly at her "I am in your gracious hands then, Lady Hanna." giving her his trust verbally.

That's more than enough.

This is no place to doubt her abilities, no place to feel nervous and forget which poultice she will use otherwise, and certainly this is no time to feel nervous under the watchful gaze of the two men. These can come at a later time, what more is important is she needs the prince to be stabilized. Hanna braves through this.

Her now steady hands feel around the area where the tip is buried.

"Rodney," She leads his hand towards Elwin's torn shoulder and presses through his fingers the proper amount of strength "Press firm here."

Elwin grunts in pain as his second-in-command follows suit, the pressure Rodney is exerting making him grind his teeth and contort his face, Hanna readies her scalpel and breathes in deeply, slicing away at his flesh to reveal the lance inside; whoever aimed this at him could have been a soldier younger than all of them but no less a child.

"I'll do my best to remove this as quickly as I can." Slowly but surely, Hanna extracts the lodged tip from his body, it came out cleanly meaning that there were no torn ligaments that can leave his arm paralyzed. She places the bloody lance tip into an empty bowl at her table, she will have time to discard that after this.

"You will need stitches for your wound, your highness." she informs as she prepares the needed materials for suturing and Elwin nods at her.

"Rodney…" Elwin struggles to form his sentence but still manages to fight through to order a directive "Tell the men that I am fine and being well taken care of." Even in his state he still manages to bump his arm against Rodney's chest, an encouraging smile shown through his eyes. "Make note that the captains of the companies will lead the army in my stead tomorrow. Tell them I trust them and that I know they will do their best."

Before Rodney lifts the flap of her tent and goes to take command, he lightly ruffles her already messy bun, still manages to jest that he would see her after getting his forehead patched up and salutes to Elwin.

This leaves her and their prince alone.

Hanna wrings out another vinegar-soaked cloth to clean his clavicle area before she makes small talk to know what happened to be able to write his medical reports. He recounts that he took a lance that was aimed at a young shield named Tyler, Hanna's eyes soften in understanding as he tells her that it was the boy's first time out in the field and he would not have him so gravely injured.

There is not much between them as Hanna starts stitching at his flesh, they both can sense that the other is exhausted and they do not want to add more uneasiness and stress to an already blood filled day. He does not push for more conversation and Hanna is grateful for she has already exhausted all her gumdrops, her lullabies and her sorrys.

Fire and water only start to produce smoke when Hanna is finished stitching him up, now that his skin can now withstand more pressure, she proceeds to pressing cloth to stop any more left over bleeding.

Elwin starts to protest "There are more of my men on the field, save your energy for them."

Hanna hears her father's words echoing in her head, how stubborn these Rosfields men are when it comes to being treated and Prince Elwin here confirms that it was something passed on.

Hanna is adamant on continuing until the man who is clearly hurt all over catches her wrist.

She feels herself puff her cheek at his insistence and shuts him down "A prince is no prince without his shield, yes but these honorable shields without their prince will be lost as well."

Her head finally breaks into a sweat.

She feels another objection on his lips but instead he offers another one of his small smiles to her in defeat. "Truly well spoken for a woman of your caliber, my lady."

She watches as he digs out something from his leather pants, a handkerchief with the crest of the royal family embroidery, he wipes it across her forehead and temples.

She whispers a soft thank you at his politeness and kindness, it seems as she is busy taking care of other people she had forgotten to take care of herself.

"I am in your debt, Lady Hanna."

Hanna informs him that he can grip on her if need be as she continues to rid him of the bleeders. He does not hesitate to make contact. His grip is not soft, but it is not rough either. It is firm, his grasp around her arm like a clamp. Sturdy, steady, and unyielding. She should know. He does not need to solicit attention. From the way he takes ahold of her arm, he only demands it.

Her eyes fall on the cloth that is slowly turning crimson as she is pressing it into him but her focus is on the hand that has encircled around her arm.

Something has finally managed to burn her today.

She snaps out of her haze, as she feels blood completely soaking through her fingers.

Hanna gets another cloth, but the young prince's touch burns her skin; the sensation scorches and only spreads until the heat has consumed her entire body. Hanna prepares a poultice out of elder leaves and burdock root to alleviate his injury. She knows that this will sting and she can feel his gaze stay on her the whole time.

Hanna continues to bandage him as Elwin who did not want to remain passive helps her into taking part of the medical gauze, their fingers graze for the briefest of moments and the feeling of smoke returns.

Her breath hitches.

She takes a sharp breath of air.

She does not dare to look at his eyes.

Once she finishes and takes his pulse again, she smiles back politely at him telling him that is her honor and explains to him that she will be making rounds because he needs to recuperate here. She still needs to continue helping more of the wounded outside. She will assign a close by lady or lord to assist him if needed.

As Hanna turns to leave, she traces her fingers around the bruises already forming on her forearm that his highness has left. She absent-mindedly presses into the surfacing bluish purple hue and she winces at the dents forming from his fingers that digged into her skin. The next morning she can still see the faint marks of the shape of his nails and the redness that follows through.

She finds talking to Elwin easy and casual, there is no stiffness in him, no pretense or the feeling of superiority that most noblemen all fall down to. She doesn't mind his company. If anything else his words and details are welcoming: they exchange stories of their travels, she would love to feel the snow falling to her palms and he would love to know how to differentiate the medicinal plants. They laugh at how they were both horrible pianists in their youth.

They chatter away about her journey in Kanver as Hanna prepares poultices and boils roots and crush herbs. How she found her purpose in charity in all the softest ways imaginable, she confides to him that it was difficult for her to be away from her parents' lofty home and had to face the practicums they had gone through before her.

Their talks would sometimes be at the dead of the night, where truly everyone is quiet, on his insights on the war, finally telling her that this is the first time that he was apart from his father in battle, the Archduke is in Amber battling against the Iron Kingdom. He opens up that this is the first time he is tasked to battle; leading the charge against the northern territories to himself.

Hanna finds herself marveling at the determined look on his face. He is truly endearing, the way he talks about his father even more so.

When Elwin is back to his vigor, he teases her lightly, threading the waters with her with his sparks, asking if she will return the handkerchief he gave her the past day.

She gives back the handkerchief that her mother embroiders with her initials instead.

This happens once or twice, or at least four times in a month that Elwin would choose to be aided by her instead of the other available, and it is because he notices the bruises on her arm. She does not really say it was from him but he knows better.

"Your highness if I may be so bold," Hanna peers into his blue eyes ``May I also ask for your favor for these trying times?" Elwin looks back at her and his gaze filled with muted mirth.

"Well you do live up to your reputation" he laughs adoringly and Hanna feels her heart stir at his youth, he props himself up so they can engage in better conversation "In what way may I repay your debt, my lady?"

Elwin glances at her arm, still quite red from the sear of his palms, "It is only fair that you receive the best for helping me, though it is your duty, i should be showing you gratitude."

"I simply ask for something to remind me of you, that handkerchief was the one sewn by my lady mother before I was stationed here in phoenix gate."

"Perhaps some balm to my arm?" she jokes, since the moment he entered her tent in excuse for her to patch up his shoulder he could not remove his glare on her arm "It has been a full week and yet your fingerprints still imprint my skin."

Elwin reaches to take her arm in his hand this time his touch is soothing to her skin, no more sparks of heat from his stubbornness or playfulness. He is in deep thought as if he is considering his next actions carefully. Times like this are when Hanna sees him as the heir to the Dukedom and not the boy who hopefully considers her as a friend. He then takes hold of his scabbard that holds two phoenix feathers, his patrician hands takes one of its notches and places it over the imprints of Hanna's pale skin.

"I do not want to exhaust my father's blessings on myself so allow me to use it on his people instead." he presses the feather with his palm and mutters his sacred prayers.

Hanna's hazel eyes widen in childlike awe as she sees the phoenix' blessing on her for the first time. There's a faint calming glow radiating from the crevices of his fingers that could warm the hearts of anyone who looked at it. That its gentle kiss of life empowers anyone that can receive it. It's not only the sores on her arm that are starting to heal, she feels her hands strengthen again and her mind ridding her of the anxieties.

When Elwin finishes he picks the feather up and turns Hanna's palm, he gently places it in her grasp "A meaningful gift for another, from my family to yours." he says, patting down her fingers so she could keep it secure "May Metia bless you forevermore, my lady."

And all Hanna can think while the phoenix feather is glowing brightly in her hands is that there is just something about the prince's touch that goes way beyond magic, dominants and eikons.

His touch was human and it burns much brighter, much deeper, and much more safe because of it.