Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Back in the castle, her bed was enormous and soft, with thick quilts and an embroidered duvet cover; with fluffy pillows in silken pillow cases. Everything about it was comforting to the touch.

Now on the road, her bed was the floor of a tent, a thin blanket all that kept the cold at bay; even when they could afford to stay at an inn, the beds were small and hard and she often had to share.

Everything about it was uncomfortable.

So why was it, Estelle wondered, that she slept better now than she ever had before.

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He wonders how many times he's thought he was dying, only to be brought back from that brink by someone else's hands.

He wonders how many times he was ready to die, so much more ready to die than to keep on living.

He's a tired old man. He's lived his life. He's lived more lives than most. He's tired of the tug-of-war, tired of holding on, tied of giving life just one more try.

And he isn't sure what it is about these kids, these ignorant passionate kids, that makes him want to try — for the first time, ever.

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"Of course we respect Nordopolica's independence." The sound of his bootheels echoed, an even click, click over marble. "But..."

Realizing the time, Flynn faltered. "Forgive me. We'll reconvene in the morning."

A murmur of surprise from the council, looks of approval from his men: Flynn ignored both. Exhausted though he was, he hadn't done that for himself.

"About damn time." Yuri's grin was a promise; the fluid way he stretched up off the bed, more a threat. "Ten more minutes and I would've been asleep."

The kiss only half-worked to shut him up, but Yuri's warm laughter was decidedly invigorating.

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What he makes her feel, more than anything else, is safe.

At first, Estelle can't imagine why. She has never been less safe in her entire life! They leave Zaphias's barrier behind for a world teeming with monsters, they enter cursed woods, and yet — somehow...

It only really comes to her on the verge of sleep that night, lulled by the sound of his steady breathing nearby.

She knows Flynn would have done his utmost to protect her from ever being cursed, but it was Yuri who promised to take care of her, even if she became a frog.

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Prematurely middle-aged: that was what they'd always called her. Even in Aspio, where manners were a distant fifth to skill, she stood out as sour and grouchy.

So she told Yuri, "Of course I can be nice," but it wasn't really the truth.

The truth was that she'd never tried to be nice to anyone before. The truth was... that she'd never wanted to be nice to anyone before.

Surly, rude, cold, heartless... those were words she understood. Rita preferred expedient — she got the job done, what else mattered?

But that was all B.E.: Before Estellise had smiled at her.

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She doesn't have friends or family — but she does have a partner; a purpose. And that's enough, she thinks.

Until he decides that the name she was born with is too unwieldy, until he slots her into his merry band as if she had always belonged there.

Now she has friends. Now she has family. But it will be weeks before she understands why each breath comes easier — and years before she turns to press her lips to the back of his neck while he lays sleeping, her eyes oddly damp from the pure joy of not being alone anymore.

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Flynn stiffens, at first embarrassed. "M— Miss Judith...?"

He feels her smile against the back of his neck and can't help the shiver. "Always so formal," she purrs, and he can't help the hard swallow either.

"I... I'm sorry?" he tries, because he will be if she wants it.

Then her hands are on his belt and he is seizing them, mortified as much by his body's quick response as the fact that they are almost in public.

She laughs in his ear, dark and wild, but it's when she says, "Yuri was right about you," that he is completely lost.

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It was dark in the Lower Quarter at night; lighting candles and burning oil were expenses no one there could afford except on special occasions. If they needed light badly enough, there were stoves to curl up in front of together, and stars to sleep beneath, but the light these things provided was dim at best.

So from a very young age, Flynn and Yuri learned that sleeping back to back on a small bed kept all the monsters at bay.

And Yuri learned to sleep lightly, just in case there ever came a time when that wasn't good enough.

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They have no secrets, so Ba'ul knows what she feels when she does — before she does — and it's his voice that whispers the words in her mind as she slips away from camp:

You want to stay with him.

Strange and foreign and so, she thinks, untrue. Of course she doesn't want to stay in one small city, not after she's had the open sky all her life. And to share one one small room above an inn...

But Ba'ul rumbles in response, You do not want to stay here; you want to stay with him, and somehow that's so much worse.

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All her life, she dreamed of flying; the endless open sky waited like a friend whenever she closed her eyes. And Ba'ul was with her, nearly always, but as often as not in her dreams she flew under her own power: a dragon herself, perhaps. A fitting partner for her friend.

Higher and higher she climbed, dashing through cloud-cover, showering herself with the familiar bracing icy mist. Here she was home.

Only in the last, lingering moments of her dreams did she turn to face the mountain that was always at her back — remembering what home had once meant.

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They were newly knights, and he couldn't stop laughing because the uniform only suited one of them. Finally, Yuri had enough, scowling as he shed his greaves — belt, tunic...

And one second Flynn was sure he'd been trying to say, "No, don't," still laughing too hard to breathe; but the next, he was breathless for a different reason, as he watched Yuri skin out of his turtleneck.

Maybe he could blame it on that giddiness, lowering his guard for the first time in years, but suddenly their shared room felt too small, the air in it somehow stale and hot.

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She loves sweeping his legs out from under him. The way he picks himself back up, one-handed, muscles rippling... and the smirk on his face is even better.

"Careful," he says. "I might start thinking you want to hurt me."

"Only if you ask very nicely," she replies.

His laugh is incredulous and slightly unnerved, but she's not the least bit disappointed when it fails to distract and this time he catches her ankle. She twists midair to land on her feet, and she's even less disappointed to catch him admiring her in return.

It doesn't always need to hurt.

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It wasn't the first time she'd ever killed someone.

She smoothed her tunic, straightening the fabric conscientiously.

He was a criminal. Her job was to apprehend criminals. Sometimes, in the moment, these things just happened. He had certainly resisted arrest often enough — if he had only reached for his sword.

For some reason, she kept picturing his face. She could see it so clearly: that uncertain glance over his shoulder, the way his eyes had widened just before—

Sodia stayed in front of her mirror for more than an hour. There was one, persistent crease she couldn't quite smooth away.

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"I'm sorry," Estelle whispered, as soon as they were alone. "I... I never thought..."

Rita raised her eyebrows, waiting. The bite of omelet also waited, halfway to her mouth.

"I mean, I'm glad they like my stories," Estelle went on, shredding the napkin slowly between her fingers. "Really, really glad. But..."

Rita waited.

"...I didn't expect people to — come up to us like that," Estelle finished shyly. "I know you prefer being — left alone, usually, so... If you wanted to get breakfast alone, I'd understand!"

Oh. Rita tried not to flush. "...It's fine," she muttered, slightly surprised to mean it.

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"And — that should do it!"

Karol straightened to his full height, flicking sweat from his forehead. The plaque shone brightly now, just as it had back when only Yuri had been tall enough to hang it, let alone clean or polish it.

"Are those really your only laws?"

Once, Nan's question might have sent him on the sputtering defensive. Now, Karol only smiled. "These are the most important."

She frowned but leaned in to read them again, close enough to brush his shoulder, and impulsively he kissed her.

Nan turned bright red and punched him, but it was worth it.

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He sat up slowly in the darkened room without completely knowing why. Then it came again, the gurgling but urgent cry, and Yuri scrubbed his eyes to clear them.

No movement from Judy's side of the bed, of course. Yuri spared it an amused glance before another cry propelled him out of bed.

When he bent over the crib, the baby quieted, her face unscrunching.

"You never get up," he said, mostly over his shoulder.

"Why should I?" Warm and lazy. "You always do."

She had him there. "I guess I do," Yuri admitted, gathering their daughter to his chest.

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Don't hurt her.

The words sear into her skin. She can't help flinching. And Rita knows she should be indignant at his implication, so she pretends to be.

But what does it say about her, that she isn't? That she can't quite bring herself to be outraged by the implication, even from a stranger?

That when she looks at Estelle, some part of her wonders what it would take to hurt such a gentle, trusting person? What it would feel like...

She pretends to be indignant because he doesn't, can't, know her. She pretends not to be afraid he's right.

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Cooking with her brings back memories Judith thought she had long discarded; it's an uneasy feeling, but she smiles all the same.

Rita's enthusiasm over the campfire that serves as their kitchen, the gleam in her eye as she stirs the pot and adds new ingredients with all the verve she usually reserves for blastia research... it's nice to see.

She wonders if she ever had this kind of passion and can't quite remember.

But the passion has its price, and she steps forward to catch Rita's hand, suggesting just in time, "I think that's probably enough chocolate, don't you?"

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"What did he mean, he liked the ears?" Rita grumbled.

Estelle glanced at her, and then slowed her pace so as to let the boys in the group get ahead of them. She wasn't quite sure what she wanted to say, but knew she had to say something — something... encouraging!

Yes, that was it! She would reassure her new friend that it meant Yuri thought she was cute — no, pretty! Pretty was a much more encouraging word than cute.

And maybe then Rita wouldn't think that Estelle (no, that Yuri) only thought she looked good in those clothes.