Another Archrival, chapter 2
Jun. 23rd, 2007 06:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shinonTitle: Another Archrival, chapter 2
Fandom: Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance
Character/Pairing: Kieran/Mia...ish, Rhys, various guest appearances.
Genre: Humor/friendship/romance/something. Mostly humor.
Word count: 4,035
Rating: PG
Warnings: I don't know. Nothing that objectionable. Probably some blood. Because it's Kieran.
Notes: N/A
Kieran was behaving differently lately.
Not that that was bad, in and of itself, though of course Rhys hesitated to call it “good.” It was not for him to say whether radical changes in demeanor were, objectively, improvements. Perhaps they decreased the immediate peril to random passersby, but there were merits to everything and no one personality was inherently superior to another.
However odd the knight’s new obsession, however precipitously he’d taken it up, whatever underlying issues it might signify, Rhys was relieved all the same. He tried not to think that it reflected badly on him as a person.
It was just so much harder to maim yourself, even with Kieran’s genius for self-injury, when you were cooking. Granted, there was still a fair amount of flinging-about of sharp metal objects, and this time without any armor – dented or otherwise – and the ultimate results were often patently disastrous, but… well, maybe nothing had really changed after all; cooking just sounded so much more peaceful and domestic. This was probably the part where Kieran would announce that a true Crimean Royal Knight, most especially a Crimean Royal Knight Fifth Platoon Captain, could turn anything into a war. Why, otherwise it would scarcely be worth his time.
The priest sighed, resting his chin in his hands. “I really think that fire’s too hot. You’ll scorch it.”
“Nonsense! It’s mostly water anyway,” Kieran scoffed, examining the pot into which he was cutting assorted vegetables. “Is potato juice red?”
“Let me see your hands,” Rhys said with a faint smile, picking up the Heal staff he still knew better than to leave behind. As expected, the knight’s hands were a network of small cuts, with a fairly impressive slice taken out of the base of his left thumb as an added bonus. He didn’t even bother with an admonition as he healed them, instead elaborating on his earlier point. “It’s thicker than water. You can ruin anything if you try to heat it up too fast. Cooking properly takes patience.”
Kieran ground his teeth. Audibly. Rhys winced. “Bah! Small wonder Oscar excels at it! He has the patience of a fiend. Always lurking in wait for the perfect opportunity to strike –”
“I’m not sure we know the same Oscar.”
“It’s a dark day that more than one of him stalks the earth.”
Rhys earnestly tried not to laugh, with mixed success. His unconvincing fake cough turned into a perfectly convincing real one, and before long he was doubled over and wheezing. At least that wasn’t generally taken for a sign of amusement. When he straightened, Kieran was only staring at him in a sort of subdued alarm. Subdued? Kieran? There’s a first.
“So, ah, Kieran,” he said once he’d recovered, if not all of it, enough of his breath that the prospect of conversation was no longer an absurdity, “why are you so taken with cooking lately anyway?”
“I’m beating that villain at his own game,” Kieran said, and promptly carved another slice out of his thumb when an innocent turnip yielded too easily before his fervor. He didn’t seem to notice. “Everyone knows I’m the better fighter. All that remains is to force him to acknowledge it. That will come easily enough” – he cut another gash into his palm, still oblivious – “once I’ve trounced him in single combat. How could he stand against a –”
“Royal Crimean Knight?” Rhys suggested dryly.
“That would be Crimean Royal Knight. And I meant to ask how he could stand against any man of honor and valor, which, incidentally, are the hallmarks of the Crimean Royal Knights.” Kieran gave Rhys a fierce glare and the priest struggled to look suitably chastened. “I will best Oscar in every area” – and he dragged his knife down through a misshapen heap of vegetal matter with such force that he seemed likely to cleave the cutting board in two. At least for once he’d had the sense not to cut towards his fingers. It was probably dumb luck, but Rhys rejected such cynical thoughts.
“But since your prowess in battle is already legendary, why do you need to prove yourself on other grounds?” It was rather a leading question, Rhys reflected with distaste, but guidance sometimes involved manipulation.
“Because!” Kieran whirled around, brandishing the knife so vigorously that a slice of onion flew off the blade to strike Rhys in the face. “I’ve figured it out. His cooking is but one of his many methods of deception, winning innocents to his cause!”
“And, ah, where did you come by this conclusion?”
“That sword girl.” He paused, trying to remember in more detail. “The one with the hair.”
Rhys was unaware of anyone in the company without hair. It was very fortunate that there was only one “sword girl” to begin with. “You mean Mia?”
“Yes. Mia.” Kieran frowned. “Lawrence seemed to like her. It was odd.”
Rhys didn’t bother to correct him, but Lawrence – hadn’t his name been Ravager a few days ago? – liked everyone female. Not even Marcia could explain it. “Did Mia tell you that?”
“No. It was already too late. But I can’t let him hold sway over her – if I let both of my rivals align against me, who knows what conspiracies he’d devise?”
This was suddenly becoming much clearer. The air in the mess hall, on the other hand, was doing quite the opposite. Rhys remembered suddenly that he’d had the chills for a day or so and was now quite comfortable… Which could only mean that…
He had to force himself to look at the fire. “Fire” barely described it now; it was working very seriously on attaining “blaze” status. Oh, that was right – you were probably supposed to assemble all the ingredients before lighting the fire, so it couldn’t get out of your control. Why exactly had he become Kieran’s supervisor in the kitchen?
“Rhys? …Rhys, are you listening? I’m sure he’s the one who short-sheeted me that one night back in training –”
“Kieran. Fire,” Rhys said bluntly, pointing at it. He fell to coughing again.
Kieran stared into the pot. “I’m almost finished –”
“No! Get Soren.” A good Wind spell would put out the fire, right? Or would that only make it worse? Maybe you were supposed to fight fire with Fire, since things didn’t get trite if they weren’t true. He was really a good bit more lightheaded than was usual around this time of day…
Is he really going to try to cook on that?
Rhys had sort of fallen out of the door. Kieran had followed, flapping his arms wildly as if he expected that to put out the fire. The whole business smacked of secrets, and Mia wanted in on them. She elbowed Oscar. “Hey. Any idea what’s going on?”
Kieran beat imaginary flames from his clothing and gave the other knight a murderous glare. “Not really,” Oscar said, unfazed. “I was just coming back here to start making dinner –”
“Hah!” Kieran barked, stalking over to join them. “A likely story.” He thrust a finger into Oscar’s face. “You tampered, didn’t you? Shame! I thought even you were above such cowardly acts of sabotage! It’s a wonder to me that you lasted even as long as you did in the service of Crimea. Fie! Fie!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, honestly,” said Oscar, cautiously deflecting Kieran’s accusing finger from his face with one hand.
“He only got here a little before I did,” said Mia. “He couldn’t have done it.”
“Maybe it was Volke.” Boyd had only just arrived but did not hesitate to offer his own opinion. “That guy’s just plain creepy.”
“Maybe there wasn’t any sabotage,” Oscar suggested.
“Try to deflect the blame, try to deny it, do what you will. I know it was you, Oscar!” Kieran fairly shouted. “And soon everyone else will, too!” He marched off, stiff with fury. Boyd, Mia, and Oscar exchanged glances.
“Do you think he’s all right?” Boyd asked. “In the head, I mean.” He tapped a finger against his temple in case the others had missed his meaning.
Oscar glanced at the knight’s receding back, eyebrows raised. “I wonder sometimes.”
She had to run to catch up to him. She also had to yell a lot to catch his attention. He finally turned and delivered a lengthy and fervent rant on the great evils of Oscar and how he, Crimean Royal Knight Fifth Platoon Captain Kieran, was the only one able to protect them from his insidious treachery – a rant to which she paid next to no attention. “Want to spar?” she asked when he paused for a breath.
He made an impatient silencing gesture. “And then he said ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ The gall of the man!”
This was becoming a disaster. Mia didn’t know anything about “that cretinous cretin’s myriad perfidies,” or even what half of those words meant. She’d been watching Commander Ike fight lately and was dying to try to incorporate some of his moves into her style, something she couldn’t do very well without anyone to try them on.
He was still fuming, but now he was only muttering some really interesting theories about Oscar’s lineage, and she thought she saw an opening. “Hey, I’m your rival, too, remember?”
He stared at her sharply. “Yes, well…”
Then her curiosity overrode her other concerns and she blurted out, “What happened in there, anyway?”
“Fire,” Kieran said evasively, suddenly looking uncomfortable.
“I know that part. How did it get there?”
“It was… started.” He was looking at a spot above and slightly to the left of her head instead of at her.
“Who started it?”
“There are plenty of perfectly legitimate reasons to start fires!” He shouted.
Mia stood staring at him for a moment or two before it fully sunk in. “You?”
“I may or may not have said something to that effect. Now prepare yourself, sword gi – uh, Mia! For when I return, I shall be armed fit to strike fear into the hearts of a thousand!” He started walking very purposefully in a direction that might lead him to his equipment once he’d crossed all of Tellius and all the world’s oceans.
Mia grabbed his arm. “Wait a minute, what were you starting fires for?”
“Not fires, fire. Only one.”
She made another connection. “Was it a cooking fire? I didn’t think you knew how. Or is that –” Realization dawned, and she broke into a sudden grin. “Is that the whole problem? Did you do that badly?”
“It was sabotage. Sabotage, I say! Now unhand me.”
Mia let him go. “Let’s meet up right here in a quarter of an hour, all right? We can just fight until the food’s ready, so you don’t have to work Maximillian too hard, either.”
“Don’t talk to me about food!” Kieran folded his arms stubbornly and gave her a narrow-eyed glare. “And his name is Lawrence,” he added belatedly.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I don’t plan on starving out of spite.” Mia shrugged. “Your loss, I guess. I’ll see you and, uh, Lawrence in a few, then?”
“If you don’t realize your error and flee in fear.”
“Not very likely.”
“Then yes.” He began walking in the correct direction this time. Mia waited only long enough to be certain of that before she closed her eyes and drew her blade. Fifteen minutes was more than long enough to prepare herself. Right foot there, left foot… there… She called up her memories of the most recent battle. Commander Ike’s stance was different, so try holding the sword like – ugh, that was awkward. Still, a horizontal slash, then step back –
A voice broke through her concentration. “…ia? Mia! Hey, watch it!” She opened her eyes to find her sword leveled at Commander Ike himself.
“Ah! Sorry.” She grinned apologetically, shrugged, and slid her sword back into its sheath. “What’s up, boss?”
“Have you seen Kieran?”
“Yeah, he went that way.” She jerked a thumb back over her shoulder. “We were just about to spar. Should I go get him?”
“You were about to spar,” said Ike, an odd expression on his face.
“Yup. I was just experimenting with your sword style –”
“I see.” On second thought, it wasn’t that odd; it was probably a scowl. “Do you know anything about the fire?”
“He says it’s Oscar’s fault.” Ike rolled his eyes and set off rather angrily in the direction Mia had indicated. She did not want to be Kieran when the commander caught up to him. She did sort of want to see that, though, so she forgot about training for the moment and tagged along.
When they found him, he was having a very one-sided argument with Lawrence: the horse was clearly winning. Kieran repeatedly attempted to put a bridle on his mount’s head, but Lawrence, though the rest of his posture suggested perfect laziness, continually craned his neck away from it. Ike snorted in amusement despite himself, and Mia smothered a laugh. That was enough to get Kieran’s attention. He turned to look at them, glowered briefly at Lawrence for making him look stupid, then saluted, hiding the bridle behind his back. “General Ike!”
“I wish people would stop doing that,” Ike muttered.
“Doing what?”
“Saluting – never mind. What happened in the mess hall today?”
“I was… cooking. Soup.”
“You’re telling me that this fortress has been standing for a century or more, we use it for a week to regroup, and you almost destroyed everything making soup?”
A lengthy pause. “Yes.”
Ike sighed. “And did you even bother checking on Rhys afterward?”
Mia had to interrupt. “What did he have to do with – oh, that’s right, wasn’t he there, too?” Man. She hoped he was all right.
They ignored her. “Kieran, I think I talked to you before about risking your life needlessly. The same applies to everyone else’s lives, all right?”
“How is Rhys?”
“Fine. Mostly.” He seemed about to say something else before Marcia ducked out of her tent and waved him over.
“Commander! Ilyana just fainted again!”
Ike gave Kieran a significant look before he left them to explain to the pegasus knight why food was on an indefinite hiatus.
“Still up for sparring?” Kieran asked lamely once he’d left.
“Actually, I think someone should check on Rhys,” said Mia, making discombobulated pointing gestures in a direction within ninety degrees of the healing tent.
Kieran nodded. “Someone should.”
Fifteen seconds passed.
“Well, uh, after you, I guess,” said Mia, waving him towards the healing tent.
“Hah!” He struck an arrogant pose, staring down his nose at her. “Do you think a real knight would fall for so simple a ruse? Whoever leaves the field of combat first forfeits the bout!”
“But aren’t you worried?”
“Aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but don’t think you can make me give up that way!” She crossed her arms and returned his stare. “Did you think that would work on me because I’m a woman? Because we’re supposed to be sitting around nurturing people instead of going to war?”
“I never said anything like –”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who thinks a sword shouldn’t be in a woman’s hands!”
“I’m not! But as a royal knight, I can’t stand down. You don’t have that kind of obligation. I thought –”
“Please! I’ll never give in.”
Several more seconds slid by, and it was ultimately Mia who made the concession. “Maybe if we went together?”
Kieran was plainly trying very hard not to look relieved. “You could have saved yourself grievous injury by backing down. As it is, we’ll have to fight again.”
“I’ll win.”
“Against a Crimean Royal Knight?”
“Just you wait.” Mia grinned, grabbed Kieran by the forearm, and hauled him several steps before he realized what was going on enough to take offense and start dragging her. They continued in this manner all the way to their destination.
“Rhys! Are you all right?” “The dead don’t generally cough that much.”
“Soren!”
“He’s fine.”
Rhys opened his eyes, but closed them immediately; he really preferred having the ability to focus before he used them much. He mentally checked his body over – no real pain, except that it felt as though the fire lived on in his mucous membranes. He could live with that, he just would rather not have that and this horrible disorientation at the same time. Ah, well. You couldn’t always get what you wanted.
“Rhys!”
“He still hasn’t died, despite your best efforts.”
Mist’s voice… and Soren’s. That was a good sign. He’d been healed, then, and pretty well – Mist was learning her way around a staff very quickly, and Soren was picking it up just as fast, albeit with considerably less subtlety. He tried opening his eyes again. His vision was less blurry already.
“Mist, Soren, thank you.”
“You’re okay!” Mist flung herself at him, forcing all the hard-earned air out of his lungs and triggering another coughing fit.
“Yes. I’m sorry to have worried you.”
“Don’t be.” She sat back on her heels. “It was Kieran’s fault, and I’m sure Ike’s talked to him already.”
“Speaking of which…” Soren grimaced, glancing over his shoulder towards the tent flap.
“What? Is he coming?”
“Yes. So is…” Soren cocked his head to one side as if to hear better, though Rhys wasn’t convinced that the young sage was using his ears at all. “That sword girl.”
“The one with the hair?” Rhys said under his breath, smiling faintly.
“I wasn’t aware of anyone in this army without,” said Soren, giving Rhys a critical glare.
Rhys made a dismissive gesture, fighting the urge to chuckle. They’d probably think he was delirious or something to that effect. “Never mind. It’s Mia.”
Soren scowled as though to question the relevance of any mere soldier’s name, then stood and left wordlessly. Mist stared after him. “He’s so weird.” She turned back to Rhys. “Are you sure you’re all right? If you don’t want company, I’ll tell them off.”
“I’m fine, Mist, and I wanted to talk to Kieran anyway.” Rhys propped himself up on his elbows, fighting off a wave of dizziness. “Really.”
“Well…” Mist looked skeptical. “I’ll stay here anyway in case you’re not.”
He smiled at her. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
The tent flap bulged inward, then fell slack. There were sounds of a scuffle outside and one unmistakable yell of “Perfidy!” Mist shot Rhys a questioning glance, and he nodded. She stood and opened the flap. Mia and Kieran were standing right outside, the latter glaring at the somewhat nonplussed former.
“Fine, I’ll go first, or whatever,” Mia said, shrugging, then almost walked into Mist. “Oh, hi, Mist. Is Rhys in?”
She looked about to chastise someone. “Well, he’s –”
“Mist,” Rhys said mock-sternly. She sighed and stepped aside. “Mia, come on in. You, too, Kieran.” Mia gave Kieran a significant stare which Rhys couldn’t quite interpret and stepped inside. The knight paused a moment wearing a superior smirk before following her. He grew quickly serious when his eyes fell on Rhys.
“Rhys,” he said gravely, “Please accept my apology and believe that I am doing everything in my power to avenge you –”
Rhys and Mia both spoke at once.
“Avenge me?”
“But you were talking to me the whole time!”
“I was planning to avenge you,” Kieran said sourly, glaring at Mia.
“Don’t you have to die to be avenged?” Mist asked Rhys.
“Not necessarily, though in general –”
He was interrupted by a yelp from Kieran as Mia elbowed him in the side. “Say you’re sorry!” the myrmidon hissed.
“That’s what ‘accept my apology’ means.”
“Not necessarily,” said Mist.
Sensing the faint beginnings of an all-out shouting match, Rhys intervened. “I forgive you, Kieran. I just hope you’ll be more careful in the future.”
“Caution? Caution is the mark by which timidity is recog – hey!” Mia had elbowed him again, quite forcefully. “I, er, yes.”
“If you’re serious about learning how to cook, maybe Mist will help you,” said Rhys, ostentatiously rolling his eyes toward the young cleric. “You’ll have to ask her, of course.”
“She can cook?”
“Yes, I can,” said Mist, looking a little miffed. “Oscar taught me.” Rhys put a cautionary hand on her arm, but too late. Kieran was already scowling thunderously. When he opened his mouth to speak, Mia moved to elbow him again, but he blocked her and evidently lost his line of thought in the process, for instead of the customary outburst he fell to half-hearted grumbling.
Rhys looked hopelessly at Mia. “Um, Mia, by any chance, can you…?”
“A little.” Mia frowned, gnawing thoughtfully on her thumbnail.
“That would defeat the whole purpose,” Kieran said bleakly. The others looked at him, but he did not explain, and they gave up before long.
Rhys sighed heavily. “The fact is that you somehow manage to get into as much trouble as half the army, even if it’s not always your fault. Today was just a really good example. And sadly, you’re not the only one. Mia, how many times did Mist or I have to heal you in the last battle?”
Mia grinned sheepishly and shrugged. “Eight or twelve? I would’ve been okay. I have vulneraries and stuff.”
“No, you wouldn’t have!” Mist interrupted. “You were bleeding like crazy. You could have died three or four times!”
Mia grinned wider in abashed acknowledgement, looking studiously at the ceiling. “But I didn’t.”
“Mercenaries are frequently reckless,” said Kieran, apparently recovered from his bout of ill temper. “It’s because they lack an ideal to which to aspire –”
“You’re worse,” said Mist.
“I am not!”
“Then how come Daniel had to overhaul all your armor?” Mia said.
“Enough.” Rhys spoke quietly, but so firmly that everyone immediately focused on him. Unsure what to do with that much attention, he quickly became flustered. “Um, look, since you’re both here and all, I have a favor to ask. Uh, if that’s all right?”
Mia didn’t hesitate. “Sure thing.”
“What is it?” Kieran asked.
“Well, you’re both really good fighters, but, um, you don’t always… notice things.”
“Do, too!” they said in unison, then each stared at the other in utter disbelief that anyone could be so deluded.
Rhys nodded in resignation. “Yes, yes, of course, bur hear me out. Can even someone as skilled as the two of you fend off three brigands and still get the one sneaking up behind them? Don’t answer that! I just think you’d both benefit if you sort of… looked out for each other.”
“He’s my rival!”
“She doesn’t have a horse!” Rhys and Mia stared questioningly at Kieran. “She’ll never be able to keep up. Lawrence and I once outran a stampede of –”
“Thank you, Kieran,” Rhys said somewhat impatiently. This was a really good idea, he was sure of it, and he thought he knew how to sell Mia on it, too.
“And she’s my… other rival!”
“Exactly. What kind of warrior would let his” – Mia was glaring at him – “or her rival be taken by some common brigand or a stray arrow? You have a contest to settle between yourselves, and you both have to be alive to do that, don’t you?” There was a long pause. Was this going to work? Oh, goddess, it would save him so much headache…
“Lawrence will bite her arm off.”
Both Mist and Mia snorted disparagement.
“Is that your only objection?” Rhys asked.
“Yes. I could use the opportunity to find all the weaknesses in her style, so that my victory will be all the more –”
“Great, and I have a spare,” Mia said cheerily.
“Spare what?”
“Arm.”
Suddenly Kieran was smiling his approval. Dear goddess, please don’t let him actually subscribe to that philosophy, Rhys prayed desperately. “Then it’s settled.”
“Yup.” Mia offered her hand, and Kieran shook it vigorously, leaving the myrmidon trying not to wince.
“Rhys?” Mist was leaning over him again. Wait, wasn’t he sitting up? It seemed not, and… oh, dear, things were getting blurry again…
Rhys fainted, quite possibly from sheer relief.
Fandom: Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance
Character/Pairing: Kieran/Mia...ish, Rhys, various guest appearances.
Genre: Humor/friendship/romance/something. Mostly humor.
Word count: 4,035
Rating: PG
Warnings: I don't know. Nothing that objectionable. Probably some blood. Because it's Kieran.
Notes: N/A
Kieran was behaving differently lately.
Not that that was bad, in and of itself, though of course Rhys hesitated to call it “good.” It was not for him to say whether radical changes in demeanor were, objectively, improvements. Perhaps they decreased the immediate peril to random passersby, but there were merits to everything and no one personality was inherently superior to another.
However odd the knight’s new obsession, however precipitously he’d taken it up, whatever underlying issues it might signify, Rhys was relieved all the same. He tried not to think that it reflected badly on him as a person.
It was just so much harder to maim yourself, even with Kieran’s genius for self-injury, when you were cooking. Granted, there was still a fair amount of flinging-about of sharp metal objects, and this time without any armor – dented or otherwise – and the ultimate results were often patently disastrous, but… well, maybe nothing had really changed after all; cooking just sounded so much more peaceful and domestic. This was probably the part where Kieran would announce that a true Crimean Royal Knight, most especially a Crimean Royal Knight Fifth Platoon Captain, could turn anything into a war. Why, otherwise it would scarcely be worth his time.
The priest sighed, resting his chin in his hands. “I really think that fire’s too hot. You’ll scorch it.”
“Nonsense! It’s mostly water anyway,” Kieran scoffed, examining the pot into which he was cutting assorted vegetables. “Is potato juice red?”
“Let me see your hands,” Rhys said with a faint smile, picking up the Heal staff he still knew better than to leave behind. As expected, the knight’s hands were a network of small cuts, with a fairly impressive slice taken out of the base of his left thumb as an added bonus. He didn’t even bother with an admonition as he healed them, instead elaborating on his earlier point. “It’s thicker than water. You can ruin anything if you try to heat it up too fast. Cooking properly takes patience.”
Kieran ground his teeth. Audibly. Rhys winced. “Bah! Small wonder Oscar excels at it! He has the patience of a fiend. Always lurking in wait for the perfect opportunity to strike –”
“I’m not sure we know the same Oscar.”
“It’s a dark day that more than one of him stalks the earth.”
Rhys earnestly tried not to laugh, with mixed success. His unconvincing fake cough turned into a perfectly convincing real one, and before long he was doubled over and wheezing. At least that wasn’t generally taken for a sign of amusement. When he straightened, Kieran was only staring at him in a sort of subdued alarm. Subdued? Kieran? There’s a first.
“So, ah, Kieran,” he said once he’d recovered, if not all of it, enough of his breath that the prospect of conversation was no longer an absurdity, “why are you so taken with cooking lately anyway?”
“I’m beating that villain at his own game,” Kieran said, and promptly carved another slice out of his thumb when an innocent turnip yielded too easily before his fervor. He didn’t seem to notice. “Everyone knows I’m the better fighter. All that remains is to force him to acknowledge it. That will come easily enough” – he cut another gash into his palm, still oblivious – “once I’ve trounced him in single combat. How could he stand against a –”
“Royal Crimean Knight?” Rhys suggested dryly.
“That would be Crimean Royal Knight. And I meant to ask how he could stand against any man of honor and valor, which, incidentally, are the hallmarks of the Crimean Royal Knights.” Kieran gave Rhys a fierce glare and the priest struggled to look suitably chastened. “I will best Oscar in every area” – and he dragged his knife down through a misshapen heap of vegetal matter with such force that he seemed likely to cleave the cutting board in two. At least for once he’d had the sense not to cut towards his fingers. It was probably dumb luck, but Rhys rejected such cynical thoughts.
“But since your prowess in battle is already legendary, why do you need to prove yourself on other grounds?” It was rather a leading question, Rhys reflected with distaste, but guidance sometimes involved manipulation.
“Because!” Kieran whirled around, brandishing the knife so vigorously that a slice of onion flew off the blade to strike Rhys in the face. “I’ve figured it out. His cooking is but one of his many methods of deception, winning innocents to his cause!”
“And, ah, where did you come by this conclusion?”
“That sword girl.” He paused, trying to remember in more detail. “The one with the hair.”
Rhys was unaware of anyone in the company without hair. It was very fortunate that there was only one “sword girl” to begin with. “You mean Mia?”
“Yes. Mia.” Kieran frowned. “Lawrence seemed to like her. It was odd.”
Rhys didn’t bother to correct him, but Lawrence – hadn’t his name been Ravager a few days ago? – liked everyone female. Not even Marcia could explain it. “Did Mia tell you that?”
“No. It was already too late. But I can’t let him hold sway over her – if I let both of my rivals align against me, who knows what conspiracies he’d devise?”
This was suddenly becoming much clearer. The air in the mess hall, on the other hand, was doing quite the opposite. Rhys remembered suddenly that he’d had the chills for a day or so and was now quite comfortable… Which could only mean that…
He had to force himself to look at the fire. “Fire” barely described it now; it was working very seriously on attaining “blaze” status. Oh, that was right – you were probably supposed to assemble all the ingredients before lighting the fire, so it couldn’t get out of your control. Why exactly had he become Kieran’s supervisor in the kitchen?
“Rhys? …Rhys, are you listening? I’m sure he’s the one who short-sheeted me that one night back in training –”
“Kieran. Fire,” Rhys said bluntly, pointing at it. He fell to coughing again.
Kieran stared into the pot. “I’m almost finished –”
“No! Get Soren.” A good Wind spell would put out the fire, right? Or would that only make it worse? Maybe you were supposed to fight fire with Fire, since things didn’t get trite if they weren’t true. He was really a good bit more lightheaded than was usual around this time of day…
Is he really going to try to cook on that?
Rhys had sort of fallen out of the door. Kieran had followed, flapping his arms wildly as if he expected that to put out the fire. The whole business smacked of secrets, and Mia wanted in on them. She elbowed Oscar. “Hey. Any idea what’s going on?”
Kieran beat imaginary flames from his clothing and gave the other knight a murderous glare. “Not really,” Oscar said, unfazed. “I was just coming back here to start making dinner –”
“Hah!” Kieran barked, stalking over to join them. “A likely story.” He thrust a finger into Oscar’s face. “You tampered, didn’t you? Shame! I thought even you were above such cowardly acts of sabotage! It’s a wonder to me that you lasted even as long as you did in the service of Crimea. Fie! Fie!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, honestly,” said Oscar, cautiously deflecting Kieran’s accusing finger from his face with one hand.
“He only got here a little before I did,” said Mia. “He couldn’t have done it.”
“Maybe it was Volke.” Boyd had only just arrived but did not hesitate to offer his own opinion. “That guy’s just plain creepy.”
“Maybe there wasn’t any sabotage,” Oscar suggested.
“Try to deflect the blame, try to deny it, do what you will. I know it was you, Oscar!” Kieran fairly shouted. “And soon everyone else will, too!” He marched off, stiff with fury. Boyd, Mia, and Oscar exchanged glances.
“Do you think he’s all right?” Boyd asked. “In the head, I mean.” He tapped a finger against his temple in case the others had missed his meaning.
Oscar glanced at the knight’s receding back, eyebrows raised. “I wonder sometimes.”
She had to run to catch up to him. She also had to yell a lot to catch his attention. He finally turned and delivered a lengthy and fervent rant on the great evils of Oscar and how he, Crimean Royal Knight Fifth Platoon Captain Kieran, was the only one able to protect them from his insidious treachery – a rant to which she paid next to no attention. “Want to spar?” she asked when he paused for a breath.
He made an impatient silencing gesture. “And then he said ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ The gall of the man!”
This was becoming a disaster. Mia didn’t know anything about “that cretinous cretin’s myriad perfidies,” or even what half of those words meant. She’d been watching Commander Ike fight lately and was dying to try to incorporate some of his moves into her style, something she couldn’t do very well without anyone to try them on.
He was still fuming, but now he was only muttering some really interesting theories about Oscar’s lineage, and she thought she saw an opening. “Hey, I’m your rival, too, remember?”
He stared at her sharply. “Yes, well…”
Then her curiosity overrode her other concerns and she blurted out, “What happened in there, anyway?”
“Fire,” Kieran said evasively, suddenly looking uncomfortable.
“I know that part. How did it get there?”
“It was… started.” He was looking at a spot above and slightly to the left of her head instead of at her.
“Who started it?”
“There are plenty of perfectly legitimate reasons to start fires!” He shouted.
Mia stood staring at him for a moment or two before it fully sunk in. “You?”
“I may or may not have said something to that effect. Now prepare yourself, sword gi – uh, Mia! For when I return, I shall be armed fit to strike fear into the hearts of a thousand!” He started walking very purposefully in a direction that might lead him to his equipment once he’d crossed all of Tellius and all the world’s oceans.
Mia grabbed his arm. “Wait a minute, what were you starting fires for?”
“Not fires, fire. Only one.”
She made another connection. “Was it a cooking fire? I didn’t think you knew how. Or is that –” Realization dawned, and she broke into a sudden grin. “Is that the whole problem? Did you do that badly?”
“It was sabotage. Sabotage, I say! Now unhand me.”
Mia let him go. “Let’s meet up right here in a quarter of an hour, all right? We can just fight until the food’s ready, so you don’t have to work Maximillian too hard, either.”
“Don’t talk to me about food!” Kieran folded his arms stubbornly and gave her a narrow-eyed glare. “And his name is Lawrence,” he added belatedly.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I don’t plan on starving out of spite.” Mia shrugged. “Your loss, I guess. I’ll see you and, uh, Lawrence in a few, then?”
“If you don’t realize your error and flee in fear.”
“Not very likely.”
“Then yes.” He began walking in the correct direction this time. Mia waited only long enough to be certain of that before she closed her eyes and drew her blade. Fifteen minutes was more than long enough to prepare herself. Right foot there, left foot… there… She called up her memories of the most recent battle. Commander Ike’s stance was different, so try holding the sword like – ugh, that was awkward. Still, a horizontal slash, then step back –
A voice broke through her concentration. “…ia? Mia! Hey, watch it!” She opened her eyes to find her sword leveled at Commander Ike himself.
“Ah! Sorry.” She grinned apologetically, shrugged, and slid her sword back into its sheath. “What’s up, boss?”
“Have you seen Kieran?”
“Yeah, he went that way.” She jerked a thumb back over her shoulder. “We were just about to spar. Should I go get him?”
“You were about to spar,” said Ike, an odd expression on his face.
“Yup. I was just experimenting with your sword style –”
“I see.” On second thought, it wasn’t that odd; it was probably a scowl. “Do you know anything about the fire?”
“He says it’s Oscar’s fault.” Ike rolled his eyes and set off rather angrily in the direction Mia had indicated. She did not want to be Kieran when the commander caught up to him. She did sort of want to see that, though, so she forgot about training for the moment and tagged along.
When they found him, he was having a very one-sided argument with Lawrence: the horse was clearly winning. Kieran repeatedly attempted to put a bridle on his mount’s head, but Lawrence, though the rest of his posture suggested perfect laziness, continually craned his neck away from it. Ike snorted in amusement despite himself, and Mia smothered a laugh. That was enough to get Kieran’s attention. He turned to look at them, glowered briefly at Lawrence for making him look stupid, then saluted, hiding the bridle behind his back. “General Ike!”
“I wish people would stop doing that,” Ike muttered.
“Doing what?”
“Saluting – never mind. What happened in the mess hall today?”
“I was… cooking. Soup.”
“You’re telling me that this fortress has been standing for a century or more, we use it for a week to regroup, and you almost destroyed everything making soup?”
A lengthy pause. “Yes.”
Ike sighed. “And did you even bother checking on Rhys afterward?”
Mia had to interrupt. “What did he have to do with – oh, that’s right, wasn’t he there, too?” Man. She hoped he was all right.
They ignored her. “Kieran, I think I talked to you before about risking your life needlessly. The same applies to everyone else’s lives, all right?”
“How is Rhys?”
“Fine. Mostly.” He seemed about to say something else before Marcia ducked out of her tent and waved him over.
“Commander! Ilyana just fainted again!”
Ike gave Kieran a significant look before he left them to explain to the pegasus knight why food was on an indefinite hiatus.
“Still up for sparring?” Kieran asked lamely once he’d left.
“Actually, I think someone should check on Rhys,” said Mia, making discombobulated pointing gestures in a direction within ninety degrees of the healing tent.
Kieran nodded. “Someone should.”
Fifteen seconds passed.
“Well, uh, after you, I guess,” said Mia, waving him towards the healing tent.
“Hah!” He struck an arrogant pose, staring down his nose at her. “Do you think a real knight would fall for so simple a ruse? Whoever leaves the field of combat first forfeits the bout!”
“But aren’t you worried?”
“Aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but don’t think you can make me give up that way!” She crossed her arms and returned his stare. “Did you think that would work on me because I’m a woman? Because we’re supposed to be sitting around nurturing people instead of going to war?”
“I never said anything like –”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who thinks a sword shouldn’t be in a woman’s hands!”
“I’m not! But as a royal knight, I can’t stand down. You don’t have that kind of obligation. I thought –”
“Please! I’ll never give in.”
Several more seconds slid by, and it was ultimately Mia who made the concession. “Maybe if we went together?”
Kieran was plainly trying very hard not to look relieved. “You could have saved yourself grievous injury by backing down. As it is, we’ll have to fight again.”
“I’ll win.”
“Against a Crimean Royal Knight?”
“Just you wait.” Mia grinned, grabbed Kieran by the forearm, and hauled him several steps before he realized what was going on enough to take offense and start dragging her. They continued in this manner all the way to their destination.
“Rhys! Are you all right?” “The dead don’t generally cough that much.”
“Soren!”
“He’s fine.”
Rhys opened his eyes, but closed them immediately; he really preferred having the ability to focus before he used them much. He mentally checked his body over – no real pain, except that it felt as though the fire lived on in his mucous membranes. He could live with that, he just would rather not have that and this horrible disorientation at the same time. Ah, well. You couldn’t always get what you wanted.
“Rhys!”
“He still hasn’t died, despite your best efforts.”
Mist’s voice… and Soren’s. That was a good sign. He’d been healed, then, and pretty well – Mist was learning her way around a staff very quickly, and Soren was picking it up just as fast, albeit with considerably less subtlety. He tried opening his eyes again. His vision was less blurry already.
“Mist, Soren, thank you.”
“You’re okay!” Mist flung herself at him, forcing all the hard-earned air out of his lungs and triggering another coughing fit.
“Yes. I’m sorry to have worried you.”
“Don’t be.” She sat back on her heels. “It was Kieran’s fault, and I’m sure Ike’s talked to him already.”
“Speaking of which…” Soren grimaced, glancing over his shoulder towards the tent flap.
“What? Is he coming?”
“Yes. So is…” Soren cocked his head to one side as if to hear better, though Rhys wasn’t convinced that the young sage was using his ears at all. “That sword girl.”
“The one with the hair?” Rhys said under his breath, smiling faintly.
“I wasn’t aware of anyone in this army without,” said Soren, giving Rhys a critical glare.
Rhys made a dismissive gesture, fighting the urge to chuckle. They’d probably think he was delirious or something to that effect. “Never mind. It’s Mia.”
Soren scowled as though to question the relevance of any mere soldier’s name, then stood and left wordlessly. Mist stared after him. “He’s so weird.” She turned back to Rhys. “Are you sure you’re all right? If you don’t want company, I’ll tell them off.”
“I’m fine, Mist, and I wanted to talk to Kieran anyway.” Rhys propped himself up on his elbows, fighting off a wave of dizziness. “Really.”
“Well…” Mist looked skeptical. “I’ll stay here anyway in case you’re not.”
He smiled at her. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
The tent flap bulged inward, then fell slack. There were sounds of a scuffle outside and one unmistakable yell of “Perfidy!” Mist shot Rhys a questioning glance, and he nodded. She stood and opened the flap. Mia and Kieran were standing right outside, the latter glaring at the somewhat nonplussed former.
“Fine, I’ll go first, or whatever,” Mia said, shrugging, then almost walked into Mist. “Oh, hi, Mist. Is Rhys in?”
She looked about to chastise someone. “Well, he’s –”
“Mist,” Rhys said mock-sternly. She sighed and stepped aside. “Mia, come on in. You, too, Kieran.” Mia gave Kieran a significant stare which Rhys couldn’t quite interpret and stepped inside. The knight paused a moment wearing a superior smirk before following her. He grew quickly serious when his eyes fell on Rhys.
“Rhys,” he said gravely, “Please accept my apology and believe that I am doing everything in my power to avenge you –”
Rhys and Mia both spoke at once.
“Avenge me?”
“But you were talking to me the whole time!”
“I was planning to avenge you,” Kieran said sourly, glaring at Mia.
“Don’t you have to die to be avenged?” Mist asked Rhys.
“Not necessarily, though in general –”
He was interrupted by a yelp from Kieran as Mia elbowed him in the side. “Say you’re sorry!” the myrmidon hissed.
“That’s what ‘accept my apology’ means.”
“Not necessarily,” said Mist.
Sensing the faint beginnings of an all-out shouting match, Rhys intervened. “I forgive you, Kieran. I just hope you’ll be more careful in the future.”
“Caution? Caution is the mark by which timidity is recog – hey!” Mia had elbowed him again, quite forcefully. “I, er, yes.”
“If you’re serious about learning how to cook, maybe Mist will help you,” said Rhys, ostentatiously rolling his eyes toward the young cleric. “You’ll have to ask her, of course.”
“She can cook?”
“Yes, I can,” said Mist, looking a little miffed. “Oscar taught me.” Rhys put a cautionary hand on her arm, but too late. Kieran was already scowling thunderously. When he opened his mouth to speak, Mia moved to elbow him again, but he blocked her and evidently lost his line of thought in the process, for instead of the customary outburst he fell to half-hearted grumbling.
Rhys looked hopelessly at Mia. “Um, Mia, by any chance, can you…?”
“A little.” Mia frowned, gnawing thoughtfully on her thumbnail.
“That would defeat the whole purpose,” Kieran said bleakly. The others looked at him, but he did not explain, and they gave up before long.
Rhys sighed heavily. “The fact is that you somehow manage to get into as much trouble as half the army, even if it’s not always your fault. Today was just a really good example. And sadly, you’re not the only one. Mia, how many times did Mist or I have to heal you in the last battle?”
Mia grinned sheepishly and shrugged. “Eight or twelve? I would’ve been okay. I have vulneraries and stuff.”
“No, you wouldn’t have!” Mist interrupted. “You were bleeding like crazy. You could have died three or four times!”
Mia grinned wider in abashed acknowledgement, looking studiously at the ceiling. “But I didn’t.”
“Mercenaries are frequently reckless,” said Kieran, apparently recovered from his bout of ill temper. “It’s because they lack an ideal to which to aspire –”
“You’re worse,” said Mist.
“I am not!”
“Then how come Daniel had to overhaul all your armor?” Mia said.
“Enough.” Rhys spoke quietly, but so firmly that everyone immediately focused on him. Unsure what to do with that much attention, he quickly became flustered. “Um, look, since you’re both here and all, I have a favor to ask. Uh, if that’s all right?”
Mia didn’t hesitate. “Sure thing.”
“What is it?” Kieran asked.
“Well, you’re both really good fighters, but, um, you don’t always… notice things.”
“Do, too!” they said in unison, then each stared at the other in utter disbelief that anyone could be so deluded.
Rhys nodded in resignation. “Yes, yes, of course, bur hear me out. Can even someone as skilled as the two of you fend off three brigands and still get the one sneaking up behind them? Don’t answer that! I just think you’d both benefit if you sort of… looked out for each other.”
“He’s my rival!”
“She doesn’t have a horse!” Rhys and Mia stared questioningly at Kieran. “She’ll never be able to keep up. Lawrence and I once outran a stampede of –”
“Thank you, Kieran,” Rhys said somewhat impatiently. This was a really good idea, he was sure of it, and he thought he knew how to sell Mia on it, too.
“And she’s my… other rival!”
“Exactly. What kind of warrior would let his” – Mia was glaring at him – “or her rival be taken by some common brigand or a stray arrow? You have a contest to settle between yourselves, and you both have to be alive to do that, don’t you?” There was a long pause. Was this going to work? Oh, goddess, it would save him so much headache…
“Lawrence will bite her arm off.”
Both Mist and Mia snorted disparagement.
“Is that your only objection?” Rhys asked.
“Yes. I could use the opportunity to find all the weaknesses in her style, so that my victory will be all the more –”
“Great, and I have a spare,” Mia said cheerily.
“Spare what?”
“Arm.”
Suddenly Kieran was smiling his approval. Dear goddess, please don’t let him actually subscribe to that philosophy, Rhys prayed desperately. “Then it’s settled.”
“Yup.” Mia offered her hand, and Kieran shook it vigorously, leaving the myrmidon trying not to wince.
“Rhys?” Mist was leaning over him again. Wait, wasn’t he sitting up? It seemed not, and… oh, dear, things were getting blurry again…
Rhys fainted, quite possibly from sheer relief.
