fic: Chamomile and Witch Hazel
Jul. 31st, 2019 12:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: Chamomile and Witch Hazel
Series: Fire Emblem Awakening
Character/Pairing: Laurent/Noire, ensemble
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 8,394
Summary: Future Past. The Risen have destroyed much of their world, but they left the mosquitoes, much to Noire's displeasure.
Author's note:
HC_bingo: Bites.
Set pre-time travel, back in the Grima ruined era. Laurent has Stahl as a father this time for potion-related plot reasons. Noire's dad is Henry, Severa's dad is Gregor.
Noire scratched desperately at the series of reddened bumps all down her arms. Even more were sprinkled over her neck. They were so large, they looked more like boils from some disease, or a curse, rather than just an insect bite.
Severa indignantly tossed her red pigtails. "Gawds, Noire, stop that itching--you'll just make it worse."
Noire paused in her itching for a moment. A cruel light filled her gray eyes.
"I WILL ITCH AS I PLEASE! Come closer and it will be you who feels my claws!"
Severa flinched at the outburst. Her expression twisted into a grimace. "Jeez, don't come running to me when your arms are all scarred up from how hard you're digging. Just remember, I told you so."
"Um, itching is the only bit of happiness I've had in a long time so..."
Laurent glanced back, flushed-faced at the outburst. "--Is Noire ill again?" Laurent said.
Severa had her arms crossed over her chest. "Who knows what it is this time."
Despite Brady technically being the healer of the group, Laurent's father had taught him all about potions, which he was far more suited than following in his footsteps to be a knight. He always had a book of herbs on hand, and often would stop in the middle of a battlefield to gather up herbs and flowers. By the light of the campfire he would boil them down to their essence and create vulneraries for the next battle.
"Hmm, let me see..." Laurent gently took her wrist and lifted up her arm to inspect her. Under her skin, there was a heat, her heartbeat grew so rapid, so desperate. Noire was sure she was blushing, she had to be.
"Bug bites, I would presume. Mosquitoes would be my guess." Laurent frowned. "This amount of bug bites would be concerning, especially given her anemia."
Severa rolled her eyes. "Great observation, Professor Egghead. Everyone else already knew that."
"I was ahead, and did not catch all of the conversation." Laurent's voice grew tight, though he kept somewhat polite. However, a crease had formed between his brows. A Surefire sign he'd been irritated.
Severa let out an annoyed sigh. "If only the Risen would be damn useful for once and start eating up these bugs. But no, they had to eat up our crops, our parents, our whole damn world. And they left the damn mosquitoes."
"That'd be nice..." Noire said.
Cynthia popped in, dark blue pigtails bouncing as she struck a heroic pose. "Can't you just cast some dark magic thing and banish them? Or get rid of your bites?" Cynthia said eagerly.
Noire shook her head. "Mom never taught me. Dad taught me how to make a happiness curse for my talismans, though. But...I don't know much else."
Cynthia let out a little giggle. "Aww, that would be really neat. You should, you'd have a knack for scary dark magic things~ You make a great villain~"
Cynthia was always painting Noire as her dark rival. Her actions caused such an irritation that even the sight of her would trigger Noire's other side alight.
And even now, Noire clutched to her talisman. "Repent and despair! If you want darkness, I will show you it! Come, I WILL BE YOUR VILLAIN!"
Cynthia grinned big. "See, just like that! You're so talented at being a villain, you should join the other side!"
"That is a bit drastic," Laurent said.
Cynthia giggled. "Figuratively speaking!"
"OTHER SIDE? I WILL SEND YOU TO IT, PERSONALLY!"
"Ehe, perfect villain impression! Wait, I need the perfect flower crown to accent this battle!"
Cynthia was always popping in unannounced, unintentionally interrupting whatever conversation was at hand, and leaving just as quickly. She was so caught up in her own world that she never seemed to realize when she broke back into reality, and whatever conversations were already occurring.
Severa rolled her eyes. "Ugh, that was sure something."
"How thoughtless of her," Laurent muttered. He let out a sigh and shook his head.
Noire came back to herself, surely, though this time she didn't apologize for her outburst. Cynthia wasn't here to hear her words, regardless.
"Hmmm... Strange, they seemed attracted to you. I don't have a single bite, nor does Kjelle," Laurent said.
Severa rolled her eyes. "No wonder. You two are covered head to toe, and you always smell like potions. Would it kill you to spray something nice on your satchel and gloves more?"
Laurent gave her a scathing look. "Yes, I shall surely purchase a royal cologne off of the nearest Entombed I see. They began to start shops on the battlefield, naturally."
"At least rub some flowers or something on your robes. You smell like an apothecary."
"Despite the limitations, I maintain excellent hygiene. You're simply being unreasonable. You did not seem to mind the scent when I brought out vulneraries for everyone after the last battle so Brady didn't exhaust himself using that Heal staff," Laurent said.
Severa scrunched up her nose. "You say that like I didn't pinch my nose while taking it," Severa said.
His teeth gritted. "You ungrateful--"
"Oh, climb up on that martyrdom some more, put on that crown of saintdom! It's a potion, get over it! It's like you expect us to worship at your feet just because you stink up the camp with you concoctions!"
Noire glanced from one to another as the fight went on. If someone didn't step in, they'd go on and on.... And their argument continued on. It always did.
The boiling process always left his clothes lingering of plants. Noire actually liked the way he smelled. The scent of herbs and bitter potions was nostalgic, like coming back to a home she had lost. He'd lent her his handkerchief once, and she'd put off returning it to him just because she found it so comforting to have a part of him. Sometimes she would take it out and turn it in her fingers, the scent of black walnuts and fall and burning herbs.
And sometimes, (make that often) when she was upset she would have this little want, this little fantasy on how she wanted to to sink against his robes, hands around his waist, her face to his cloak, how he would smile, and she would release her grip only to get pulled into an embrace, a kiss to her forehead. His collar would smell of spices and burnt herbs, and for that moment the horrors would fall away because she was safe in Laurent's arms and Laurent always knew what to do. Even in the worst situations. And for them, it was always the worst possible situations.
Then--he'd brush his hand through her hair and the nightmares would somehow be soothed away. (The true sign of it being a fantasy.)
But, she couldn't just say something like that. She was already afraid this thing she kept dealing with where she'd fall into a daydream or blush or have her heartbeat as desperately rapid as when she was in battle was making her act like her mother. The ghost of her mother was always near, reminding her that she too might fall to the kind of illness which claimed so many dark magic wielders. Rashes across the body, and slowly, the loss of senses.
And just because she hadn't done something like steal a bit of his hair in the night to curse him didn't mean that maybe she wasn't turning into just like her mother. That maybe the daydreams she fell into sometimes for comfort weren't creepy. She could barely even look at him without the worry that in the end she was her mother's daughter, and destined to be just as possessive and vengeful.
They were still fighting, and it was so grating...her fist closed about her talisman.
"QUIET, OR I WILL QUIET YOU BOTH!"
Laurent pulled his hat down, but not so fast that she missed his flushed face.
"Sorry to upset you, Noire. I know Severa is your friend."
Severa's eyes lit with renewed anger. "Oh, so we aren't friends now? I thought this whole group was some big happy family, all friends forever," Severa said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Laurent pushed up his glasses. "These actions you took were your own. I am not going to take the responsibility when you continually needle me like such a complete ingrate and pick fights to assuage your own insecurities. This is a complete avoidable fight which you yourself started, stoked, and continued long after attempts to stop it. As it is, for now, I demand a temporary stay for Noire's sake. If you wish to fight later, then so be it. Though I take no responsibility for any tears it may cause you. But I do not wish to further upset Noire," Laurent said.
Severa tossed her head. "'Any tears I may cause?' You sure think highly of yourself, don't you? You think you're just such a genius out there with your stinky potions."
Laurent gave her a scathing, withering glance, as if she were nothing more than the slime from a Risen's body. "A semi verbose child could bring you into tears. The holes within your armor are glaringingly obvious, and yet you battle with anyone as if you are invulnerable. A most foolhardy effort. As the saying goes, people in glass houses should not cast stones."
Severa blushed. "Ugh, you're awful! It's like you aren't even my ally!" She sniffled, and rubbed at her eyes. "I-I'm not crying, it's the stink from your potions!"
"You needle me into a fight and then cry that I started it?"
How strange to watch them fight on the outside. Her other side was near, nearer until she felt that rage surface.
"STOP YOUR PETTY BICKERING! I ONLY AM THE LIVING RAGE WITHIN THIS REALM! I WILL STOP YOUR MEANINGLESS ARGUMENTS BY MY OWN HAND!"
Noire caught herself, and covered her mouth before the rest of the awful rage could come out.
Severa crossed her arms. "Feh, an egghead like you isn't worth the trouble," Severa said.
She stalked off in a huff.
Laurent rubbed at the bridge of his head, and let out a sigh. "Insufferable, completely insufferable."
"Er, sorry for...that."
"It's not your fault. You cannot control your friend."
"I meant the outburst," Noire said softly.
"Ah...I needed that. I should have walked away, and not said a thing back. After all, loud noises can draw the Risen closer. She already has a poor view of me, so it was meaningless exercise in egotism to even respond to her, instead of ignoring her completely."
If anything, being ignored would've made Severa more angry.
"Yes, I got distracted from the important task at hand..." He pulled out a potion from his satchel.
Laurent removed some kind of bottle from his satchel, and a cloth. He removed his gloves, and set them aside with his bag.
"This will be rather rough, I am afraid. The only thing I have on hand. If I was at my father's family apothecary, I could use a bit of soft cotton, however..." He broke off.
All of them had nothing left. Their parents, childhood homes, all razed to ashes.
The scent was surprisingly fresh and clean, and her skin tingled slightly as he applied it. His thumb traced on her inner arm. It was an accident, it had to be an accident, but she wanted it to not be. Noire blushed at the warmth of his skin on hers,
"Um, what is it?" Noire said.
"Witch hazel. I still had some within my satchel. It was one I made--before."
"Witch?" Noire said with alarm.
He smiled. "Most assuredly, it was not made by a curse, and has nothing to do with Duma or his followers. The origin of the name is unclear, though mother theorized it was created by a greenwitch named Hazel."
"Duma?"
"The dragon god of power from ancient times in worshiped by a warlike cult. At the price of their souls, they would gain intense power. Some even consigned their own daughters without their consent."
Noire let out a cry. "That--that's--"
"Thankfully, Mila's mercy prevailed. that god was defeated by Alm and Celica. His cult no longer poses a threat. If only we could say the same of Grima and his Grimleal."
"There's so much about history I don't know yet," Noire said softly. The last thing she wanted to do was look stupid in front of Laurent. Though it was hard not to, given that he was the most well-read of all of them. He could name every flower he found, every herb and every purpose. And his mother had instructed him upon history back thousands of years, until he could effortlessly cite whole lecture's worth of knowledge.
Severa was always irritated when he'd go off on facts, but Noire rather liked it. He always knew such interesting things. But it was bittersweet, because when he got deep into historical legacies she did not know, dark thoughts crept in.
Noire had followed after her mother and learned to read from her mother's notes. She never had a book of alphabets, just a book of spells. She learned her alphabet through the ingredients her mother needed in her vengeance. She knew how to boil down essences and what plants to gather for her mother.
So now she was very adept in magic, and little else. And magic was something she didn't even use as an archer.
"So much knowledge was lost within this era. The Risen have destroyed not merely, our cities and families, but any hope for future generations. If we even managed to live, languages and histories could be entirely lost. I have done what I could to do
Her arm didn't itch anymore. The witch hazel had calmed all the irritation away, and left it feeling clean, and soft.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
Laurent smiled. "My pleasure. If you need more, please do tell."
At that moment, Noire almost wished she knew some kind of spell to attract all the mosquitoes, just so he'd touch her again. She'd gladly take all that itching just to feel him that close again.
Laurent went on ahead, and Noire lingered at the very end of their march onwards, towards what? More hopeless, more people they couldn't save. She bent and plucked up flowers, herbs and other weeds and shoved them into her satchel as she found them.
It was a gift, an excuse, a secret dried out and laid out, for all those words she never said. She shoved them into her satchel so no one else coud see.
*
Laurent often took the first watch, and spent the time with his tome on his lap, as he prepared the materials for his potion. Noire rarely slept until almost dawn, if even then, she would awake to some horrific nightmare.
After the inevitable night terrors, would lie awake, the scent of burning leaves and boiling down a comfort past the horrible sounds of people they couldn't save, of the Risen ever close, always hunting them down.
She lay on her side, and watched the way the firelight reflected off his glasses, and left mottled shadows over him. The rest of them were all pulled into tattered sleeping bags. Cynthia talked in her sleep, and for a moment she thought that Owain answered, but then realized he had his own dream heroics he was engaged in.
She had been trying to gather enough courage to get up, dried flowers in her pocket that she'd picked to ask him the meaning of. But, so many nights she hadn't. She laid, sleepless, a complete coward and let the flowers wither in her satchel until they were worthless, and had to be cast away like rubbish.
But today, she forced herself to push aside the rough wool blanket and sit up.
"Was something the matter, Noire? Another nightmare?"
She shook her head.
She took a seat closer near the fire. He quickly removed his cloak and handed it to her. "Here. Don't catch a chill, now."
Before she could raise a protest, he held up his hand.
"I'm quite close to the fire. In fact, I'm almost overheated at this point. Though, rather used to it. Making potions always brings a bit of discomfort. Stained fingernails, intensely hot temperatures, and hours bent over the cauldron for the right consistency. And that doesn't even note how hard it can be upon the back. All that stooping, you see."
"What if your robes catch flame?"
"They're woven and treated with spells that are resistant to flames and other elements. Mother pioneered the idea, and they had even patented a formula and begun to make them more available for other mages and apothecaries. However..."
There always was a however. And the unsaid was always the fell dragon Grima, and the Risen that had stolen everything from them.
Noire ducked down. "...Thank you."
His cloak smelled of ash and bitter herbs. She wrapped it tight about her.
"What troubles you, Noire?"
"Oh--nothing, er, well, everything. But that wasn't it."
Noire undid her satchel and pulled out a handful of flowers she had plucked along the way.
Laurent smiled, and it felt worth it in that moment. Everything they had faced, just to see him smile.
Well, maybe not everything. But at least the bug bites.
"Ah, what a find. That's Chamomile. A tea can be maid from the blossoms. I've wished to make some for you for a while. It's said to be soothing and aid in sleep."
"They smell like stinky feet," Noire said.
Laurent chuckled. "True, yet they contain so many health benefits," Laurent said.
"It'd be perfect for this blend I've been making," he said.
He stripped off the flours and put them in another pot he'd gleaned from the survivors. He began to boil down the essence.
"What are you making? A potion?"
"Yes. Something to calm you."
She twisted a stem in her hands. She'd heard wrong, obviously. Because he didn't think of her like that. "For everyone...or for me? Because Yarne could use some calming too...So..."
"A potion can be very personal. My father often would brew my mother herbal tea to help her focus. He'd bring her flowers picked when he was collecting specimens and leave them upon her desk in a vase. She'd label and study them, and he would take the herbs and make potions between his knight duty."
"That's really--sweet. And romantic."
Laurent nodded sadly. "I saw many such moments. My father was a very kind man. He taught me many things. To make potions, so none of my comrades will be hurt, and I learned how to cook to make him treats for he was always hungry...they were happy times."
It was like looking in on someone else's hearth fire. Her mother had been consumed with revenge for so long, Noire could hardly remember a true smile, or a time when she wasn't wreathed in the purple flames of vengeance. Father had been kind, but he had died so soon into the war that she only remembered faint things about him. His laugh, the way he always smiled, how he taught her the happiness curse so she could make her talismans.
And she remembered him bringing mother flowers from a graveyard that still had the scent of death on them, and how he'd once brought a Risen arm and they'd both laughed when he'd said I've come to give you a HAND
But Laurent, he had had a happy and normal life, and parents who loved him, and each other truly. She felt a little jealous, deep down. What she wouldn't give to be able to step back into time, and see her father and mother again. Even for just a short while.
She laid out the rest of what she'd picked. "They're probably useless. But, mother and father would make things from of these. So...I thought maybe, you'd like them too."
He lifted up one with jagged leaves, with a creased brow.
"I'm glad you had gloves on for this, that's stinging nettle. It can be brewed into a very useful tea, and can be quite nutritious, but the sting is intensely painful and lasts quite a while. It can be treated, but I might not have the right mix on hand."
He placed it at his side, and lifted up the next.
"Lambs quarter can be useful in healing, but it also provides a good compress and ahem, means of hygiene. It can make an excellent diaper when traveling."
"Oh, so they were useful...that's good. Um, Laurent, listen--I know Severa is difficult at times, but please don't hate her. I couldn't bear two people..."
She couldn't bring herself to say so important to me.
"--two of our group fighting."
Laurent let out a sigh. "You are right. She needled me into a fight today and I took the bait. A better man would've disregarded her words and not let their ego get hurt. Though I have no idea how to say an apology, given everything I said was true. I can hardly say 'sorry for calling you an ingrate' when she was most ungrateful."
"The battles are hard on everyone, so..."
"Yes, perhaps I was a bit harsh in saying that she wasn't my friend. I admit, I do not think fondly of her or enjoy her company in the slightest, however, she is my comrade at the very least. And she is your friend, and helps ensure your safety, something I am thankful for and must respect."
Being close to Noire was enough to earn Laurent's respect?
"When she wakes, I will make a truce. After all, allies should not war. Defeating Grima is far a more important than petty squabbles."
With a faint blush, Noire reached into her bag. "Um...there's more."
It wasn't like she was bringing him flowers romantically. She just wanted him to smile, and to help his potions.
At least, that's what she told herself over and over. Except no matter how many times she told herself, she couldn't make it true. Didn't want to make it true.
Her mind kept on the question is this creepy? is this creepy? am I acting like my parents too much? It isn't as if I've cast a hex upon him or brought him a rotted Risen arm as a gift, but still...will I scare him away?
No answer ever came, so she never said anything, lest she cause him to look at her like some kind of monster.
They had bright red flowers. She'd kept them held so tight to her gloved palms that the stalks were barely usable.
"Hawkweed. Rather lovely flowers, no? I do not know of any particular use for them offhand, though they bring a bit of color to any lab."
"Ah...I was hoping I'd found something good again."
"But you did. What bright colors they are. You could wear one, in your hair, if you wished... Behind your ear. Until it wilted, at least."
He reached out and slipped it behind one ear. "There. Lovely."
Noire wrapped his cloak tight about her to hide her blush.
"Thank you," she said very softly.
"If only making everything bright in this world was as easy as plucking a flower," he said.
"Yes.... Laurent....c-could you tell me more about...herbs and magic...?"
"What about them? Ahem, I mean, there is many topics to cover."
"Anything...just...maybe I'll feel calmer if you keep talking like...this."
When he talked at all, his mere presence, but she didn't say those words. She bit her tongue before it all spilled out in a scream.
"All right, I'll do my best to give a suitable lecture," Laurent said. He reached into his satchel and removed some kind of book.
"The most powerful potion known to man is an elixir. Due to how difficult they are to make, they are quite expensive. However, given that they will successfully bring someone from the brink of death to full health in seconds."
Her head dipped, eyes closed. She didn't mean to fall, (asleep, for him, in love) but it was calming, but she did. That scent, the sound of his voice..
"--Wind is the weakest of the elements, yet it has certain advantages over flighted enemies, thus making it strategically sound in many ways. Thunder is heavier, yet has a higher critical chance...."
Noire slipped off to a blissful dark.
*
Noire woke up with a start. It was still dark. For once, it wasn't a nightmare, but a sound which made her awaken. She craned her neck wildly.
"A RISEN?"
"Ah, no. I organizing my tomes and accidentally nudged a pan with my foot. Sorry for the comotion. At least the potion wasn't spoiled in the process, though some did spill."
"You managed to sleep, at least for a while. I'd call that a small improvement, though more data would be necessary..." Laurent said.
"I didn't have any nightmares, either," Noire said.
Laurent's expression softened at this. "Splendid! Perhaps we can get those under control as well with potions, since you are uncomfortable with any form of magic being cast upon you."
She dared to glance up and meet his brown eyes. "Um...Aren't you going to sleep yourself, Laurent?"
Laurent smiled. "My shift ends soon. I'll wake up Gerome in a few minutes and he can take his turn. The concoction I brewed up is almost done, anyways."
He lifted up the pot and poured the slightly golden liquid into a metal cup. "Try this. I believe it's cooled sufficiently."
"Is this that--which you mentioned?"
"No, it's a tea from some of the herbs you brought me."
She lifted the golden tea to her lips. She grimaced at the bitterness, let out a cough, but finally choked it down all at once.
"My apologies, it was rather potent and there was nothing to sweeten it. However, I was eager to give it a try with that gift of Chamomile."
"What is this--for?"
"Calming. Chamomile mixed with Valerian I still had in stock. I'm working to make it into a potions with a base of magnesium citrate, which causes the bitterness and some brewer's yeast, which is rather bitter and earthy, yet soothes the nerves. The taste, however...leaves something to desired."
"Well...if it helps, that's all that matters."
"Hopefully, by the next one, I'll be able to find a bee's nest and get some palatable."
"I wish you could make a potion to give me some courage," Noire said softly.
"Theoretically, it must exist in other forms. The main form I know is alcoholic in nature and not advised," Laurent said.
"Though perhaps if I mixed a strength tonic and a hp tonic together with a luck tonic....hmmm....."
Minerva let out a snuffle. "Yes, Minerva, I know. It is time for watch," Gerome muttered.
"And it seems that Minerva has done my work for me. Quite thoughtful of her," Laurent said.
Gerome brushed himself off and rose up.
Laurent began to pour the concoction into a slightly beat up flask. He didn't look up as he spoke. "No Risen sightings, as of late."
"Hmm. Yet, is the key word," Gerome said grimly.
"Always the optimist," Laurent said wryly.
Noire stared down at the fire. "Gerome's right. They'll come eventually. They always do."
"Some nights, they don't. Statistically, we must take that into account as well."
Somehow Laurent could look at the ruins and horrors and find some light and hope in it all, even if it was jotting down numbers and data, with herbs gathered in the burned out buildings. Then again, Laurent was the tactician of them all, so maybe if Laurent believed, there was a little bit of hope to be gleaned through it all.
Noire couldn't believe in the goodness of the world at large, or that things would work out, but she could believe in Laurent.
*
It became completely obvious that their battles against the Risen were hopeless as they were, without preforming the Awakening, so, it wasn't entirely a surprise when their marching orders came.
She was on the team with Kjelle, Nah, and Cynthia towards Plegia. Half of her wondered if she was assigned because having full Plegian blood would give her some insight to the country. Except, she'd been raised far away from those sandy boarders.
Laurent and Severa were on the same team, along with Gerome. Had they been picked because they were her most trusted, most beloved to Lucina?
At least Laurent and Severa had formed an unsteady truce through it all.
In the end, Noire couldn't see the logic of any of the picks, but she didn't doubt that somehow Lucina--and likely Laurent--had thoroughly chosen each for the best tactics for where they were assigned.
But, before any of them filed out (Towards what? Certain death? An impossible task?) Laurent cleared his throat.
"Don't leave just yet. I have something for all of you," Laurent said.
Laurent pulled out bottle of blue elixir after blue elixir from his bag. Had he been making potions these potent all this time?
"How do you even fit all those in your satchel? Magic?" Severa said.
"I am very efficient in packing. I made enough for everyone to have one. Brady won't be able to be everywhere at once. Each has three doses," Laurent said.
"Some teleportin' would be nice right now," Brady muttered. He ran his fingers through his blond, rough hair.
"Indeed. However, to gain that, one would have to become a Witch, and a follower of Duma. And be in the past, as Duma's power has been destroyed by Alm," Laurent said.
Brady grimaced. "Ech, I'll pass!"
Severa uncorked the elixir and took a whiff. "This one actually doesn't smell too bad. Maybe you're actually managing to improve," Severa said.
Laurent chuckled. "From you, that seems almost a compliment," Laurent said.
"Ech, don't push your luck!"
Noire carefully packed her things. Her bow was getting a bit ragged. She'd have to search the ruins as they went and try and find one to replace it. She got so caught up in packing that she lost track of the conversations, the goodbyes.
And she'd soon give her goodbyes, too. But she didn't want to have to face that this might be the last words she said to her friends, to--
Him.
She knew she was just wasting time, prolonging the moments, until she heard voices near.
Brady and Severa exchanged friendly banter, and Brady gave her a wave as he went back to his group. In that short amount of time, Owain had managed to nick his arm in an attempt at doing a pose with his sword.
"We're on opposite teams," Noire said. She instantly regretted it. What a stupid, obvious answer.
"Yeah. It's nice to be appreciated by Princess Lucina, though. I guess I could have worse company. I'll keep your boyfriend safe, just keep Kjelle from doing something foolhardy, okay?"
Noire blushed. "He--"
"I'm not blind. I was a little hard on him. But if you like him so much, then I'll just try and pinch my nose when he's around."
Noire glanced down. "Um, please be careful."
Severa smirked. "It's the fell dragon that should be careful. Heh, I sounded like Kjelle then." She suddenly blushed. "What? Don't look at me like that! We've just been sparring together a lot and she--rubbed off on me, that's all."
"Severa, could you please come here a moment?" Lucina called from across the room. Gerome was already by her side, a quiet, dark presence.
"Princess Lucina needs me. Never thought I'd be saying those words, but here I am. Don't do anything foolish, all right? I don't want to see you dead," Severa said.
"You too," Noire said softly.
Soon she'd have to say the rest of her goodbyes. Though what would she even say? To all who had been her friends and companions. No last words seemed enough.
A familiar, calming voice broke through her thoughts. She looked back to see Laurent behind her. Noire blushed and looked down. "Ah, you're here..."
"Wait, Noire. Please don't leave just yet. I have something for you."
"I was still saying my goodbyes. Though I should hurry, lest they leave before I even get a chance to gather my wits and say them."
"Ah, goodbyes are always difficult. Especially when faced against such seemingly insurmountable odds," Laurent said.
Laurent reached into his bag and pulled out a clear bottle. Pinkish liquid sloshed inside.
"A sweet tincture. It isn't quite as potent as a vulnerary or concoction, but it's much more agreeable to the palate. I finally got some honey to help make it."
"Oh, thank you," Noire said.
She uncapped it and caught the scent of nectar, honey and other herbs she didn't quite know.
Laurent pushed up his glasses. "I'm afraid I can't give you half the potions I'd like to, given you must travel light for your long journey. I'd give the last of my witch hazel, but there won't be many mosquitoes there." Laurent trailed off, and coughed, slightly awkwardly. "If I had the materials, I'd make sure you had a dozen elixirs on hand. But since I don't, this will have to suffice. And... Ahem, do take care, and be careful... And--come back safe to me."
Noire blushed, bright enough that she couldn't hide it away this time. What could she even say in this moment? It would take a miracle for even one of them to survive, let alone the whole of them, and to beat the fell dragon, Grima. But she had to try, at least.
"Please be safe out there too..." Noire said. It wasn't enough, but few words could explain the depth of--this between them. "And um, thank you for the potion."
She placed it carefully in her satchel without daring too look up at him, because surely then the words would surely spill out. Apologies and maybe even I love yous and where would she be then?
In the end, the talisman she'd been making was unfinished, and an unfinished talisman could bring bad luck, not good luck, if the curses or prayers stored inside were unleashed. She'd wanted so much to give him this, but it would have to wait for a later which might never come. "I--um--here."
Her fingers brushed across the hidden stem. She dared to pull out the slightly wilted flowers she'd gathered earlier.
"They're just--weeds, but--I thought they might be useful on your...trip. Sorry it's a poor gift. I wanted to give you something more, but I didn't have time to finish it."
Laurent took the flower and looked it over. "Dandelions can be boiled down into tea, thought that's usually the root or the leaves. It's quite bitter, but rather nutritious, too. The seeds can be used to stuff things, or children's wrappings--and be wished upon, too. Ah...but I'm rambling. Maybe by the time we next meet, I could turn it into a tea or potion."
"I'd like to try that sometime, even if it's bitter."
"Right, one day, there'll be Dandelion root tea."
There were so many things she wanted to say, yet how could she put them into words? That she liked so much about him, even the seemingly inconsequential, mundane things.
"Noire, we're heading out!" Cynthia called from the other side of the room.
"Um, I have a few more goodbyes. Please wait a few more moments!"
"Hurry it up, would you? At this rate, it'll take a decade to get there an the gem will be gone."
"I won't keep you any longer."
She watched him go, with all the unsaid things stuck in her mouth. She shook her head and headed out to the other teams for her farewells.
*
Somehow, they'd survived this long. It was almost as if Naga had heard her many prayers and given them a blessing after all. Though, Noire could hardly believe that they'd made it this far. She'd had to down the sweet tincture, and the taste still lingered on her tongue. Yet, they'd come out relatively unscathed, with minor injuries that hadn't even merited the use of the elixir's Laurent had brewed up.
The heat had lessened, finally near twilight. Cynthia and Nah had flown above the building, to scout it. Noire checked the periphery, the crumbling walls of the long-abandoned structure.
On the edge of a ruined wall, Noire bent to pick a desert flower. She didn't know the name, but Laurent surely would. Maybe if she kept it dry, it might last long enough for their return back. She pressed prayers to the petals over and over that Naga would bring a miracle. Keep them all safe. Even...bring him back to her.
She was picking flowers for a boy, and it wasn't just an excuse, just a potion. It was because the way he listed them, fact by fact, his smile at the gift of something so insignificant, a dried weed.
And she promised herself then that if she ever made it back on this impossible journey, this fool's errand of trying to stop the fell dragon Grima, she'd tell him. Even if he probably didn't feel the same way, there was a chance, even a small one that he might like her back. And she wouldn't die with these words stuck in her mouth, a bitter potion to swallow--How his gentle smile left her feeling, how she felt such a thrill of happiness lying awake, filled with the scent of herbs burning down to essence, of witch hazel and chamomile tea brewed for hers. A soft touch through gloves, the shift of pages. She liked it all, all facets of this hard-cut diamond.
And she'd be brave, even if she had to cling to her talisman and scream her feelings as a battle cry.
"Noire, come on! We finished scouting, and we're going to take shelter in this place!" Cynthia called from high above as she swooped through the air, heroic in her daydreams.
"C-Coming!"
Before she left, Noire plucked the last flower. Prayers, and his name were silently repeated in her mind as she ducked into the darkness, and whatever tomorrow would bring.
After.
She'd seen the Awakening herself, though she'd only come to the last battle against Grima in the final moments. Somehow, a miracle had come. And it'd come over and over, with their parents--or at least versions of them--appearing out of the ether to save them.
She'd even shot at the fell dragon himself. Something to tell the future generations. Even--her children. The concept of a future was still so distant, she could scarcely believe such a thing was possible.
She'd met her mother--or a younger version of her, at least, and that memory was held tight within her forever, her treasure.
In the sunset of that last day, she found him away from the spires of Ylissetol, peeling the bark off of willows. Orange clouds spilled over the distant view of the castle that had through it all, still stood. Water had come up to his knees, he was far from the castle, and he kept muttering to himself. "And them Alm united Valentia after defeating Duma--"
"Laurent? You disappeared after the battle."
Laurent looked up so quickly that his hat began to fall back. He quickly reached up to right it. "Noire? You followed me?"
"I asked around until I found out where you'd gone. I wanted to speak with you. Um, do you need help?"
"Actually, I could use some assistance. This tree is more stubborn than expected. Here, let me bring it over there so you don't have to be soaked.
She took hold of one side of the bark. Noire took a massive tug, and together they finally managed to free it. However, Noire tugged so hard that Laurent nearly tumbled down.
He was flushed faced. "So strong.."
"Sorry, I brushed against my talisman," Noire said sheepishly.
"Ah, no. I'm glad to witness such power. I feel honored, truly."
Noire bit her lower lip. "...Why were you here anyways?"
"Everyone is exhausted, and I wouldn't want to put all the burden of healing everyone upon Brady alone. There's analgesic properties within this bark once it's boiled down into a powder. If I could just get enough to form it, I could assistant him. Of course, if I could gain enough experience to promote, then I could use a staff to. Actually, I believe I have enough experience, I simply need the proper seal.""
Noire glanced back, almost expecting to see glowing red eyes. "Aren't you afraid of...being alone out here?"
"No Risen have appeared. And I hardly think brigands would be near...however, you're correct. This is somewhat reckless. I blame exhaustion. Indeed, I can scarcely believe we've survived this. It feels a waking dream."
"Were you talking to yourself to keep away the fear?" Noire said. "I do that sometimes...In the dark, when I could swear every sound is truly a Risen...."
He smiled. "Ah, no. Since the world is saved and Grima is gone for good, it logically follows that the magic schools will reopen. I must keep my knowledge fresh if I am to ever pass these exams. Since the task is rather tedious, I was reminding myself of the past of this land, even as we have worked hard to make a future a possibility.
"Ah," Noire said. He was already so industrious, even as tried as he must be. He (and the others) took a massive blow from the fell dragon himself. Though he'd been healed, he had to be exhausted. And yet, here he was, planning for the future and making potions to ensure everyone else was safe.
Every single time, he found a way to make her like him even more without even trying.
Noire held out dried flowers. Her hand trembled, but she forced herself to keep on, to not run away.
"I found these in Plegia. I tried to dry them the best I could to...bring them back to you. I don't know what they are, though. I just thought;..you might like them"
He pushed his glasses up and inspected them. "Hmm, I actually do not know these. I must check the books I managed to save from the flames to try and identify them. Perhaps we've even made an entirely new discovery together."
She clutched her satchel to her chest tight, and blushed. "Can I come and help you brew? I always assisted my mother in her magic and she often made things...I could help...Even if just a little."
"I would deeply welcome your company."
He smiled then, and it warmed her entirely. Until she forgot the exhaustion of the march, being captured, and almost being killed by facing the fell dragon Grima himself. In that moment, all she knew and focused upon was him.
"Especially as brewing this will likely go deep into the night. If you could take over a second shift, then, perhaps it can be finished in time.
"A second shift? All night..."
Noire's voice went lower and lower, with a savage growing edge. "In the end...you're not taking care of yourself. You put everyone else first. You're a hypocrite when you tell me to eat more, to rest when you won't even....Repent and despair! Take care of yourself before I do!"
She covered her mouth. "I-I--"
"No, you're right. I simply got this notion within my head and began the project immediately, but some rest should surely be warranted. At this rate I could ruin the ingredients, or even worse, cause a fire from falling asleep while I am supposed to be brewing."
"I didn't intend to be that...mean, the truth is, what I was tying to say was... I...missed you. And I'm glad you're safe. And I don't want you to overwork yourself. You've already withstood so much and...." Noire trailed off. No, it wasn't enough... She reached for her talisman and clutched it tight.
"I LIKE YOU, DAMMIT!"
She blushed and broke off. His cheeks were flushed, but she couldn't tell if he--
Noire cast her gaze down. "Everything about you...I really love...I'm sorry, I'll just go--"
He caught her wrist before she ran away. She blushed deeper at the contact. "I..."
"Don't go."
Noire blushed at the contact, the warmth of his skin on hers. His gloves had been cast aside at some point, from wetness. His nails were cut short an stained green from working with herbs. Such an intense warmth grew under her skin. She stared down at his hand,
"I wanted to be brave and tell you how I feel but, it's all coming out wrong. And I yelled at you over and over... I'm sorry, I ruined everything. I always do this--I always have to ruin everything."
He cut her off. "You shouldn't apologize, and indeed, you have ruined nothing. I'm comforted that my feelings are returned. All this time I've brewed potion after potion for you and you alone, teas and tinctures and wished that you could taste my feelings in them. But they all were rather bitter and did not convey very well. It's easy to recite facts, magical tomes, what herbs would make a healing concoction, but not so easy to speak to a woman. Father made romance seem so easy with the way he would cook for mother, bring her flowers. But when I tried with you, it always seemed to be miscontrued as something simply friendship. And of course, I didn't wish to scare you away."
"Heh...me too. I thought I would come off as creepy."
"Creepy? How? Because of your other side?"
Noire nodded. "And...I sometimes fear that I'll turn out like my mother. Obsessive and dark."
"I am sure I would still like you, even if you did."
"You would? Truly?"
He nodded. "Truly."
"I'll be brave..." she said softly. "This time, on my own..." She didn't meet his eyes as she spoke the words, because she wasn't sure that she could manage if she saw the tender way he looked at her. The way it softened his brown eyes.
"I like the way you always support us, how hard you work to always make sure we're okay, and how strong you are on the battlefield, so clearheaded. Even when things go bad, you always keep your head...I just...like a lot about you and have...always felt this way." She closed her eyes. "I don't want to be creepy or scare you away. But..I even like that herb scent of you. It was really comforting to borrow your cloak because it smelled like you."
She felt a sudden pain. With her other hand, she slapped at her arm. Grima might have been gone, but the pesky mosquitoes were still here.
"They tend to draw about water. Actually, I read a note about how to bring down populations, as they can spread rather noxious diseases. The steps were ensuring that no standing water had their young, introducing more fish in things such as water barrels."
"Diseases!?"
"Ah, I didn't mean to alarm you."
He stepped away from the willow and came a little closer. The familiar scent of witch hazel filled her nose.
He release his grip on her wrist, only to pour out the faint smelling witch hazel onto his hand. He was touching her again. It left her kind of dazed that she could have this--all of this.
"Ah..."
"Noire? Is something the matter?"
"I'm just--still trying to adjust to the fact that I could be happy," Noire said softly. "Happy with you..."
"Indeed. It will take some time for us to adjust. We had almost nothing, and were constantly on the edge of death. But... it makes me happy to think you will begin to smile more."
"Really, the thought of you as my assistant makes me very happy. There is much to still be made, to be discovered. Many of those that survived are grievously injured. The magician's schools must be rebuilt, as will many other things..."
"I'm not strong. I'm a weak, cowardly person who can never see the good in anything but...you make me want to try and believe," Noire said. She smiled, sheepishly.
He gave her a pained look. "Oh, Noire. I wish I could craft a potion so you could see me as I see you. Perhaps it could be done with some form of magic, but you would not be comfortable with such a thing. If I were a stronger magician, perhaps I could call up an illusion of how I see you. Perhaps one day....you see, when you rage, when you smile... each fills me with such joy. Every side of you makes me so very happy."
"Wait, even when I'm yelling?"
Laurent smiled. "Oh, yes, very much so."
And it was as if a huge weight had been pulled from her shoulders. It would take some time for it to sink in. She could be loved for each side of her, she could be happy, she could have a future.
He squeezed her hand. His smile was such a comfort, that she couldn't even protest. If Laurent said so, it was true. He'd never lie to her.
Noire glanced back at the orange raiment of dusk turning to twilight.
"We should...get back before dark comes completely. Just in case some of the Risen still remain. Or, the brigands."
"An astute observation. One I should have made on my own," Laurent said.
She flushed in pleasure at his praise. Even if she didn't believe in herself, she believed in Laurent. And if he believed in her, then maybe, just maybe, she wasn't hopeless after all. Maybe she could one day learn how to become better, could learn to love and even like herself.
After all, miracles could happen. Their parents had returned, they'd survived, and Laurent loved her back.
Her fingers intertwined with his as they walked back. Ylisse had so much still to be rebuilt, but they could manage it together.
Series: Fire Emblem Awakening
Character/Pairing: Laurent/Noire, ensemble
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 8,394
Summary: Future Past. The Risen have destroyed much of their world, but they left the mosquitoes, much to Noire's displeasure.
Author's note:
HC_bingo: Bites.
Set pre-time travel, back in the Grima ruined era. Laurent has Stahl as a father this time for potion-related plot reasons. Noire's dad is Henry, Severa's dad is Gregor.
Noire scratched desperately at the series of reddened bumps all down her arms. Even more were sprinkled over her neck. They were so large, they looked more like boils from some disease, or a curse, rather than just an insect bite.
Severa indignantly tossed her red pigtails. "Gawds, Noire, stop that itching--you'll just make it worse."
Noire paused in her itching for a moment. A cruel light filled her gray eyes.
"I WILL ITCH AS I PLEASE! Come closer and it will be you who feels my claws!"
Severa flinched at the outburst. Her expression twisted into a grimace. "Jeez, don't come running to me when your arms are all scarred up from how hard you're digging. Just remember, I told you so."
"Um, itching is the only bit of happiness I've had in a long time so..."
Laurent glanced back, flushed-faced at the outburst. "--Is Noire ill again?" Laurent said.
Severa had her arms crossed over her chest. "Who knows what it is this time."
Despite Brady technically being the healer of the group, Laurent's father had taught him all about potions, which he was far more suited than following in his footsteps to be a knight. He always had a book of herbs on hand, and often would stop in the middle of a battlefield to gather up herbs and flowers. By the light of the campfire he would boil them down to their essence and create vulneraries for the next battle.
"Hmm, let me see..." Laurent gently took her wrist and lifted up her arm to inspect her. Under her skin, there was a heat, her heartbeat grew so rapid, so desperate. Noire was sure she was blushing, she had to be.
"Bug bites, I would presume. Mosquitoes would be my guess." Laurent frowned. "This amount of bug bites would be concerning, especially given her anemia."
Severa rolled her eyes. "Great observation, Professor Egghead. Everyone else already knew that."
"I was ahead, and did not catch all of the conversation." Laurent's voice grew tight, though he kept somewhat polite. However, a crease had formed between his brows. A Surefire sign he'd been irritated.
Severa let out an annoyed sigh. "If only the Risen would be damn useful for once and start eating up these bugs. But no, they had to eat up our crops, our parents, our whole damn world. And they left the damn mosquitoes."
"That'd be nice..." Noire said.
Cynthia popped in, dark blue pigtails bouncing as she struck a heroic pose. "Can't you just cast some dark magic thing and banish them? Or get rid of your bites?" Cynthia said eagerly.
Noire shook her head. "Mom never taught me. Dad taught me how to make a happiness curse for my talismans, though. But...I don't know much else."
Cynthia let out a little giggle. "Aww, that would be really neat. You should, you'd have a knack for scary dark magic things~ You make a great villain~"
Cynthia was always painting Noire as her dark rival. Her actions caused such an irritation that even the sight of her would trigger Noire's other side alight.
And even now, Noire clutched to her talisman. "Repent and despair! If you want darkness, I will show you it! Come, I WILL BE YOUR VILLAIN!"
Cynthia grinned big. "See, just like that! You're so talented at being a villain, you should join the other side!"
"That is a bit drastic," Laurent said.
Cynthia giggled. "Figuratively speaking!"
"OTHER SIDE? I WILL SEND YOU TO IT, PERSONALLY!"
"Ehe, perfect villain impression! Wait, I need the perfect flower crown to accent this battle!"
Cynthia was always popping in unannounced, unintentionally interrupting whatever conversation was at hand, and leaving just as quickly. She was so caught up in her own world that she never seemed to realize when she broke back into reality, and whatever conversations were already occurring.
Severa rolled her eyes. "Ugh, that was sure something."
"How thoughtless of her," Laurent muttered. He let out a sigh and shook his head.
Noire came back to herself, surely, though this time she didn't apologize for her outburst. Cynthia wasn't here to hear her words, regardless.
"Hmmm... Strange, they seemed attracted to you. I don't have a single bite, nor does Kjelle," Laurent said.
Severa rolled her eyes. "No wonder. You two are covered head to toe, and you always smell like potions. Would it kill you to spray something nice on your satchel and gloves more?"
Laurent gave her a scathing look. "Yes, I shall surely purchase a royal cologne off of the nearest Entombed I see. They began to start shops on the battlefield, naturally."
"At least rub some flowers or something on your robes. You smell like an apothecary."
"Despite the limitations, I maintain excellent hygiene. You're simply being unreasonable. You did not seem to mind the scent when I brought out vulneraries for everyone after the last battle so Brady didn't exhaust himself using that Heal staff," Laurent said.
Severa scrunched up her nose. "You say that like I didn't pinch my nose while taking it," Severa said.
His teeth gritted. "You ungrateful--"
"Oh, climb up on that martyrdom some more, put on that crown of saintdom! It's a potion, get over it! It's like you expect us to worship at your feet just because you stink up the camp with you concoctions!"
Noire glanced from one to another as the fight went on. If someone didn't step in, they'd go on and on.... And their argument continued on. It always did.
The boiling process always left his clothes lingering of plants. Noire actually liked the way he smelled. The scent of herbs and bitter potions was nostalgic, like coming back to a home she had lost. He'd lent her his handkerchief once, and she'd put off returning it to him just because she found it so comforting to have a part of him. Sometimes she would take it out and turn it in her fingers, the scent of black walnuts and fall and burning herbs.
And sometimes, (make that often) when she was upset she would have this little want, this little fantasy on how she wanted to to sink against his robes, hands around his waist, her face to his cloak, how he would smile, and she would release her grip only to get pulled into an embrace, a kiss to her forehead. His collar would smell of spices and burnt herbs, and for that moment the horrors would fall away because she was safe in Laurent's arms and Laurent always knew what to do. Even in the worst situations. And for them, it was always the worst possible situations.
Then--he'd brush his hand through her hair and the nightmares would somehow be soothed away. (The true sign of it being a fantasy.)
But, she couldn't just say something like that. She was already afraid this thing she kept dealing with where she'd fall into a daydream or blush or have her heartbeat as desperately rapid as when she was in battle was making her act like her mother. The ghost of her mother was always near, reminding her that she too might fall to the kind of illness which claimed so many dark magic wielders. Rashes across the body, and slowly, the loss of senses.
And just because she hadn't done something like steal a bit of his hair in the night to curse him didn't mean that maybe she wasn't turning into just like her mother. That maybe the daydreams she fell into sometimes for comfort weren't creepy. She could barely even look at him without the worry that in the end she was her mother's daughter, and destined to be just as possessive and vengeful.
They were still fighting, and it was so grating...her fist closed about her talisman.
"QUIET, OR I WILL QUIET YOU BOTH!"
Laurent pulled his hat down, but not so fast that she missed his flushed face.
"Sorry to upset you, Noire. I know Severa is your friend."
Severa's eyes lit with renewed anger. "Oh, so we aren't friends now? I thought this whole group was some big happy family, all friends forever," Severa said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Laurent pushed up his glasses. "These actions you took were your own. I am not going to take the responsibility when you continually needle me like such a complete ingrate and pick fights to assuage your own insecurities. This is a complete avoidable fight which you yourself started, stoked, and continued long after attempts to stop it. As it is, for now, I demand a temporary stay for Noire's sake. If you wish to fight later, then so be it. Though I take no responsibility for any tears it may cause you. But I do not wish to further upset Noire," Laurent said.
Severa tossed her head. "'Any tears I may cause?' You sure think highly of yourself, don't you? You think you're just such a genius out there with your stinky potions."
Laurent gave her a scathing, withering glance, as if she were nothing more than the slime from a Risen's body. "A semi verbose child could bring you into tears. The holes within your armor are glaringingly obvious, and yet you battle with anyone as if you are invulnerable. A most foolhardy effort. As the saying goes, people in glass houses should not cast stones."
Severa blushed. "Ugh, you're awful! It's like you aren't even my ally!" She sniffled, and rubbed at her eyes. "I-I'm not crying, it's the stink from your potions!"
"You needle me into a fight and then cry that I started it?"
How strange to watch them fight on the outside. Her other side was near, nearer until she felt that rage surface.
"STOP YOUR PETTY BICKERING! I ONLY AM THE LIVING RAGE WITHIN THIS REALM! I WILL STOP YOUR MEANINGLESS ARGUMENTS BY MY OWN HAND!"
Noire caught herself, and covered her mouth before the rest of the awful rage could come out.
Severa crossed her arms. "Feh, an egghead like you isn't worth the trouble," Severa said.
She stalked off in a huff.
Laurent rubbed at the bridge of his head, and let out a sigh. "Insufferable, completely insufferable."
"Er, sorry for...that."
"It's not your fault. You cannot control your friend."
"I meant the outburst," Noire said softly.
"Ah...I needed that. I should have walked away, and not said a thing back. After all, loud noises can draw the Risen closer. She already has a poor view of me, so it was meaningless exercise in egotism to even respond to her, instead of ignoring her completely."
If anything, being ignored would've made Severa more angry.
"Yes, I got distracted from the important task at hand..." He pulled out a potion from his satchel.
Laurent removed some kind of bottle from his satchel, and a cloth. He removed his gloves, and set them aside with his bag.
"This will be rather rough, I am afraid. The only thing I have on hand. If I was at my father's family apothecary, I could use a bit of soft cotton, however..." He broke off.
All of them had nothing left. Their parents, childhood homes, all razed to ashes.
The scent was surprisingly fresh and clean, and her skin tingled slightly as he applied it. His thumb traced on her inner arm. It was an accident, it had to be an accident, but she wanted it to not be. Noire blushed at the warmth of his skin on hers,
"Um, what is it?" Noire said.
"Witch hazel. I still had some within my satchel. It was one I made--before."
"Witch?" Noire said with alarm.
He smiled. "Most assuredly, it was not made by a curse, and has nothing to do with Duma or his followers. The origin of the name is unclear, though mother theorized it was created by a greenwitch named Hazel."
"Duma?"
"The dragon god of power from ancient times in worshiped by a warlike cult. At the price of their souls, they would gain intense power. Some even consigned their own daughters without their consent."
Noire let out a cry. "That--that's--"
"Thankfully, Mila's mercy prevailed. that god was defeated by Alm and Celica. His cult no longer poses a threat. If only we could say the same of Grima and his Grimleal."
"There's so much about history I don't know yet," Noire said softly. The last thing she wanted to do was look stupid in front of Laurent. Though it was hard not to, given that he was the most well-read of all of them. He could name every flower he found, every herb and every purpose. And his mother had instructed him upon history back thousands of years, until he could effortlessly cite whole lecture's worth of knowledge.
Severa was always irritated when he'd go off on facts, but Noire rather liked it. He always knew such interesting things. But it was bittersweet, because when he got deep into historical legacies she did not know, dark thoughts crept in.
Noire had followed after her mother and learned to read from her mother's notes. She never had a book of alphabets, just a book of spells. She learned her alphabet through the ingredients her mother needed in her vengeance. She knew how to boil down essences and what plants to gather for her mother.
So now she was very adept in magic, and little else. And magic was something she didn't even use as an archer.
"So much knowledge was lost within this era. The Risen have destroyed not merely, our cities and families, but any hope for future generations. If we even managed to live, languages and histories could be entirely lost. I have done what I could to do
Her arm didn't itch anymore. The witch hazel had calmed all the irritation away, and left it feeling clean, and soft.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
Laurent smiled. "My pleasure. If you need more, please do tell."
At that moment, Noire almost wished she knew some kind of spell to attract all the mosquitoes, just so he'd touch her again. She'd gladly take all that itching just to feel him that close again.
Laurent went on ahead, and Noire lingered at the very end of their march onwards, towards what? More hopeless, more people they couldn't save. She bent and plucked up flowers, herbs and other weeds and shoved them into her satchel as she found them.
It was a gift, an excuse, a secret dried out and laid out, for all those words she never said. She shoved them into her satchel so no one else coud see.
*
Laurent often took the first watch, and spent the time with his tome on his lap, as he prepared the materials for his potion. Noire rarely slept until almost dawn, if even then, she would awake to some horrific nightmare.
After the inevitable night terrors, would lie awake, the scent of burning leaves and boiling down a comfort past the horrible sounds of people they couldn't save, of the Risen ever close, always hunting them down.
She lay on her side, and watched the way the firelight reflected off his glasses, and left mottled shadows over him. The rest of them were all pulled into tattered sleeping bags. Cynthia talked in her sleep, and for a moment she thought that Owain answered, but then realized he had his own dream heroics he was engaged in.
She had been trying to gather enough courage to get up, dried flowers in her pocket that she'd picked to ask him the meaning of. But, so many nights she hadn't. She laid, sleepless, a complete coward and let the flowers wither in her satchel until they were worthless, and had to be cast away like rubbish.
But today, she forced herself to push aside the rough wool blanket and sit up.
"Was something the matter, Noire? Another nightmare?"
She shook her head.
She took a seat closer near the fire. He quickly removed his cloak and handed it to her. "Here. Don't catch a chill, now."
Before she could raise a protest, he held up his hand.
"I'm quite close to the fire. In fact, I'm almost overheated at this point. Though, rather used to it. Making potions always brings a bit of discomfort. Stained fingernails, intensely hot temperatures, and hours bent over the cauldron for the right consistency. And that doesn't even note how hard it can be upon the back. All that stooping, you see."
"What if your robes catch flame?"
"They're woven and treated with spells that are resistant to flames and other elements. Mother pioneered the idea, and they had even patented a formula and begun to make them more available for other mages and apothecaries. However..."
There always was a however. And the unsaid was always the fell dragon Grima, and the Risen that had stolen everything from them.
Noire ducked down. "...Thank you."
His cloak smelled of ash and bitter herbs. She wrapped it tight about her.
"What troubles you, Noire?"
"Oh--nothing, er, well, everything. But that wasn't it."
Noire undid her satchel and pulled out a handful of flowers she had plucked along the way.
Laurent smiled, and it felt worth it in that moment. Everything they had faced, just to see him smile.
Well, maybe not everything. But at least the bug bites.
"Ah, what a find. That's Chamomile. A tea can be maid from the blossoms. I've wished to make some for you for a while. It's said to be soothing and aid in sleep."
"They smell like stinky feet," Noire said.
Laurent chuckled. "True, yet they contain so many health benefits," Laurent said.
"It'd be perfect for this blend I've been making," he said.
He stripped off the flours and put them in another pot he'd gleaned from the survivors. He began to boil down the essence.
"What are you making? A potion?"
"Yes. Something to calm you."
She twisted a stem in her hands. She'd heard wrong, obviously. Because he didn't think of her like that. "For everyone...or for me? Because Yarne could use some calming too...So..."
"A potion can be very personal. My father often would brew my mother herbal tea to help her focus. He'd bring her flowers picked when he was collecting specimens and leave them upon her desk in a vase. She'd label and study them, and he would take the herbs and make potions between his knight duty."
"That's really--sweet. And romantic."
Laurent nodded sadly. "I saw many such moments. My father was a very kind man. He taught me many things. To make potions, so none of my comrades will be hurt, and I learned how to cook to make him treats for he was always hungry...they were happy times."
It was like looking in on someone else's hearth fire. Her mother had been consumed with revenge for so long, Noire could hardly remember a true smile, or a time when she wasn't wreathed in the purple flames of vengeance. Father had been kind, but he had died so soon into the war that she only remembered faint things about him. His laugh, the way he always smiled, how he taught her the happiness curse so she could make her talismans.
And she remembered him bringing mother flowers from a graveyard that still had the scent of death on them, and how he'd once brought a Risen arm and they'd both laughed when he'd said I've come to give you a HAND
But Laurent, he had had a happy and normal life, and parents who loved him, and each other truly. She felt a little jealous, deep down. What she wouldn't give to be able to step back into time, and see her father and mother again. Even for just a short while.
She laid out the rest of what she'd picked. "They're probably useless. But, mother and father would make things from of these. So...I thought maybe, you'd like them too."
He lifted up one with jagged leaves, with a creased brow.
"I'm glad you had gloves on for this, that's stinging nettle. It can be brewed into a very useful tea, and can be quite nutritious, but the sting is intensely painful and lasts quite a while. It can be treated, but I might not have the right mix on hand."
He placed it at his side, and lifted up the next.
"Lambs quarter can be useful in healing, but it also provides a good compress and ahem, means of hygiene. It can make an excellent diaper when traveling."
"Oh, so they were useful...that's good. Um, Laurent, listen--I know Severa is difficult at times, but please don't hate her. I couldn't bear two people..."
She couldn't bring herself to say so important to me.
"--two of our group fighting."
Laurent let out a sigh. "You are right. She needled me into a fight today and I took the bait. A better man would've disregarded her words and not let their ego get hurt. Though I have no idea how to say an apology, given everything I said was true. I can hardly say 'sorry for calling you an ingrate' when she was most ungrateful."
"The battles are hard on everyone, so..."
"Yes, perhaps I was a bit harsh in saying that she wasn't my friend. I admit, I do not think fondly of her or enjoy her company in the slightest, however, she is my comrade at the very least. And she is your friend, and helps ensure your safety, something I am thankful for and must respect."
Being close to Noire was enough to earn Laurent's respect?
"When she wakes, I will make a truce. After all, allies should not war. Defeating Grima is far a more important than petty squabbles."
With a faint blush, Noire reached into her bag. "Um...there's more."
It wasn't like she was bringing him flowers romantically. She just wanted him to smile, and to help his potions.
At least, that's what she told herself over and over. Except no matter how many times she told herself, she couldn't make it true. Didn't want to make it true.
Her mind kept on the question is this creepy? is this creepy? am I acting like my parents too much? It isn't as if I've cast a hex upon him or brought him a rotted Risen arm as a gift, but still...will I scare him away?
No answer ever came, so she never said anything, lest she cause him to look at her like some kind of monster.
They had bright red flowers. She'd kept them held so tight to her gloved palms that the stalks were barely usable.
"Hawkweed. Rather lovely flowers, no? I do not know of any particular use for them offhand, though they bring a bit of color to any lab."
"Ah...I was hoping I'd found something good again."
"But you did. What bright colors they are. You could wear one, in your hair, if you wished... Behind your ear. Until it wilted, at least."
He reached out and slipped it behind one ear. "There. Lovely."
Noire wrapped his cloak tight about her to hide her blush.
"Thank you," she said very softly.
"If only making everything bright in this world was as easy as plucking a flower," he said.
"Yes.... Laurent....c-could you tell me more about...herbs and magic...?"
"What about them? Ahem, I mean, there is many topics to cover."
"Anything...just...maybe I'll feel calmer if you keep talking like...this."
When he talked at all, his mere presence, but she didn't say those words. She bit her tongue before it all spilled out in a scream.
"All right, I'll do my best to give a suitable lecture," Laurent said. He reached into his satchel and removed some kind of book.
"The most powerful potion known to man is an elixir. Due to how difficult they are to make, they are quite expensive. However, given that they will successfully bring someone from the brink of death to full health in seconds."
Her head dipped, eyes closed. She didn't mean to fall, (asleep, for him, in love) but it was calming, but she did. That scent, the sound of his voice..
"--Wind is the weakest of the elements, yet it has certain advantages over flighted enemies, thus making it strategically sound in many ways. Thunder is heavier, yet has a higher critical chance...."
Noire slipped off to a blissful dark.
*
Noire woke up with a start. It was still dark. For once, it wasn't a nightmare, but a sound which made her awaken. She craned her neck wildly.
"A RISEN?"
"Ah, no. I organizing my tomes and accidentally nudged a pan with my foot. Sorry for the comotion. At least the potion wasn't spoiled in the process, though some did spill."
"You managed to sleep, at least for a while. I'd call that a small improvement, though more data would be necessary..." Laurent said.
"I didn't have any nightmares, either," Noire said.
Laurent's expression softened at this. "Splendid! Perhaps we can get those under control as well with potions, since you are uncomfortable with any form of magic being cast upon you."
She dared to glance up and meet his brown eyes. "Um...Aren't you going to sleep yourself, Laurent?"
Laurent smiled. "My shift ends soon. I'll wake up Gerome in a few minutes and he can take his turn. The concoction I brewed up is almost done, anyways."
He lifted up the pot and poured the slightly golden liquid into a metal cup. "Try this. I believe it's cooled sufficiently."
"Is this that--which you mentioned?"
"No, it's a tea from some of the herbs you brought me."
She lifted the golden tea to her lips. She grimaced at the bitterness, let out a cough, but finally choked it down all at once.
"My apologies, it was rather potent and there was nothing to sweeten it. However, I was eager to give it a try with that gift of Chamomile."
"What is this--for?"
"Calming. Chamomile mixed with Valerian I still had in stock. I'm working to make it into a potions with a base of magnesium citrate, which causes the bitterness and some brewer's yeast, which is rather bitter and earthy, yet soothes the nerves. The taste, however...leaves something to desired."
"Well...if it helps, that's all that matters."
"Hopefully, by the next one, I'll be able to find a bee's nest and get some palatable."
"I wish you could make a potion to give me some courage," Noire said softly.
"Theoretically, it must exist in other forms. The main form I know is alcoholic in nature and not advised," Laurent said.
"Though perhaps if I mixed a strength tonic and a hp tonic together with a luck tonic....hmmm....."
Minerva let out a snuffle. "Yes, Minerva, I know. It is time for watch," Gerome muttered.
"And it seems that Minerva has done my work for me. Quite thoughtful of her," Laurent said.
Gerome brushed himself off and rose up.
Laurent began to pour the concoction into a slightly beat up flask. He didn't look up as he spoke. "No Risen sightings, as of late."
"Hmm. Yet, is the key word," Gerome said grimly.
"Always the optimist," Laurent said wryly.
Noire stared down at the fire. "Gerome's right. They'll come eventually. They always do."
"Some nights, they don't. Statistically, we must take that into account as well."
Somehow Laurent could look at the ruins and horrors and find some light and hope in it all, even if it was jotting down numbers and data, with herbs gathered in the burned out buildings. Then again, Laurent was the tactician of them all, so maybe if Laurent believed, there was a little bit of hope to be gleaned through it all.
Noire couldn't believe in the goodness of the world at large, or that things would work out, but she could believe in Laurent.
*
It became completely obvious that their battles against the Risen were hopeless as they were, without preforming the Awakening, so, it wasn't entirely a surprise when their marching orders came.
She was on the team with Kjelle, Nah, and Cynthia towards Plegia. Half of her wondered if she was assigned because having full Plegian blood would give her some insight to the country. Except, she'd been raised far away from those sandy boarders.
Laurent and Severa were on the same team, along with Gerome. Had they been picked because they were her most trusted, most beloved to Lucina?
At least Laurent and Severa had formed an unsteady truce through it all.
In the end, Noire couldn't see the logic of any of the picks, but she didn't doubt that somehow Lucina--and likely Laurent--had thoroughly chosen each for the best tactics for where they were assigned.
But, before any of them filed out (Towards what? Certain death? An impossible task?) Laurent cleared his throat.
"Don't leave just yet. I have something for all of you," Laurent said.
Laurent pulled out bottle of blue elixir after blue elixir from his bag. Had he been making potions these potent all this time?
"How do you even fit all those in your satchel? Magic?" Severa said.
"I am very efficient in packing. I made enough for everyone to have one. Brady won't be able to be everywhere at once. Each has three doses," Laurent said.
"Some teleportin' would be nice right now," Brady muttered. He ran his fingers through his blond, rough hair.
"Indeed. However, to gain that, one would have to become a Witch, and a follower of Duma. And be in the past, as Duma's power has been destroyed by Alm," Laurent said.
Brady grimaced. "Ech, I'll pass!"
Severa uncorked the elixir and took a whiff. "This one actually doesn't smell too bad. Maybe you're actually managing to improve," Severa said.
Laurent chuckled. "From you, that seems almost a compliment," Laurent said.
"Ech, don't push your luck!"
Noire carefully packed her things. Her bow was getting a bit ragged. She'd have to search the ruins as they went and try and find one to replace it. She got so caught up in packing that she lost track of the conversations, the goodbyes.
And she'd soon give her goodbyes, too. But she didn't want to have to face that this might be the last words she said to her friends, to--
Him.
She knew she was just wasting time, prolonging the moments, until she heard voices near.
Brady and Severa exchanged friendly banter, and Brady gave her a wave as he went back to his group. In that short amount of time, Owain had managed to nick his arm in an attempt at doing a pose with his sword.
"We're on opposite teams," Noire said. She instantly regretted it. What a stupid, obvious answer.
"Yeah. It's nice to be appreciated by Princess Lucina, though. I guess I could have worse company. I'll keep your boyfriend safe, just keep Kjelle from doing something foolhardy, okay?"
Noire blushed. "He--"
"I'm not blind. I was a little hard on him. But if you like him so much, then I'll just try and pinch my nose when he's around."
Noire glanced down. "Um, please be careful."
Severa smirked. "It's the fell dragon that should be careful. Heh, I sounded like Kjelle then." She suddenly blushed. "What? Don't look at me like that! We've just been sparring together a lot and she--rubbed off on me, that's all."
"Severa, could you please come here a moment?" Lucina called from across the room. Gerome was already by her side, a quiet, dark presence.
"Princess Lucina needs me. Never thought I'd be saying those words, but here I am. Don't do anything foolish, all right? I don't want to see you dead," Severa said.
"You too," Noire said softly.
Soon she'd have to say the rest of her goodbyes. Though what would she even say? To all who had been her friends and companions. No last words seemed enough.
A familiar, calming voice broke through her thoughts. She looked back to see Laurent behind her. Noire blushed and looked down. "Ah, you're here..."
"Wait, Noire. Please don't leave just yet. I have something for you."
"I was still saying my goodbyes. Though I should hurry, lest they leave before I even get a chance to gather my wits and say them."
"Ah, goodbyes are always difficult. Especially when faced against such seemingly insurmountable odds," Laurent said.
Laurent reached into his bag and pulled out a clear bottle. Pinkish liquid sloshed inside.
"A sweet tincture. It isn't quite as potent as a vulnerary or concoction, but it's much more agreeable to the palate. I finally got some honey to help make it."
"Oh, thank you," Noire said.
She uncapped it and caught the scent of nectar, honey and other herbs she didn't quite know.
Laurent pushed up his glasses. "I'm afraid I can't give you half the potions I'd like to, given you must travel light for your long journey. I'd give the last of my witch hazel, but there won't be many mosquitoes there." Laurent trailed off, and coughed, slightly awkwardly. "If I had the materials, I'd make sure you had a dozen elixirs on hand. But since I don't, this will have to suffice. And... Ahem, do take care, and be careful... And--come back safe to me."
Noire blushed, bright enough that she couldn't hide it away this time. What could she even say in this moment? It would take a miracle for even one of them to survive, let alone the whole of them, and to beat the fell dragon, Grima. But she had to try, at least.
"Please be safe out there too..." Noire said. It wasn't enough, but few words could explain the depth of--this between them. "And um, thank you for the potion."
She placed it carefully in her satchel without daring too look up at him, because surely then the words would surely spill out. Apologies and maybe even I love yous and where would she be then?
In the end, the talisman she'd been making was unfinished, and an unfinished talisman could bring bad luck, not good luck, if the curses or prayers stored inside were unleashed. She'd wanted so much to give him this, but it would have to wait for a later which might never come. "I--um--here."
Her fingers brushed across the hidden stem. She dared to pull out the slightly wilted flowers she'd gathered earlier.
"They're just--weeds, but--I thought they might be useful on your...trip. Sorry it's a poor gift. I wanted to give you something more, but I didn't have time to finish it."
Laurent took the flower and looked it over. "Dandelions can be boiled down into tea, thought that's usually the root or the leaves. It's quite bitter, but rather nutritious, too. The seeds can be used to stuff things, or children's wrappings--and be wished upon, too. Ah...but I'm rambling. Maybe by the time we next meet, I could turn it into a tea or potion."
"I'd like to try that sometime, even if it's bitter."
"Right, one day, there'll be Dandelion root tea."
There were so many things she wanted to say, yet how could she put them into words? That she liked so much about him, even the seemingly inconsequential, mundane things.
"Noire, we're heading out!" Cynthia called from the other side of the room.
"Um, I have a few more goodbyes. Please wait a few more moments!"
"Hurry it up, would you? At this rate, it'll take a decade to get there an the gem will be gone."
"I won't keep you any longer."
She watched him go, with all the unsaid things stuck in her mouth. She shook her head and headed out to the other teams for her farewells.
*
Somehow, they'd survived this long. It was almost as if Naga had heard her many prayers and given them a blessing after all. Though, Noire could hardly believe that they'd made it this far. She'd had to down the sweet tincture, and the taste still lingered on her tongue. Yet, they'd come out relatively unscathed, with minor injuries that hadn't even merited the use of the elixir's Laurent had brewed up.
The heat had lessened, finally near twilight. Cynthia and Nah had flown above the building, to scout it. Noire checked the periphery, the crumbling walls of the long-abandoned structure.
On the edge of a ruined wall, Noire bent to pick a desert flower. She didn't know the name, but Laurent surely would. Maybe if she kept it dry, it might last long enough for their return back. She pressed prayers to the petals over and over that Naga would bring a miracle. Keep them all safe. Even...bring him back to her.
She was picking flowers for a boy, and it wasn't just an excuse, just a potion. It was because the way he listed them, fact by fact, his smile at the gift of something so insignificant, a dried weed.
And she promised herself then that if she ever made it back on this impossible journey, this fool's errand of trying to stop the fell dragon Grima, she'd tell him. Even if he probably didn't feel the same way, there was a chance, even a small one that he might like her back. And she wouldn't die with these words stuck in her mouth, a bitter potion to swallow--How his gentle smile left her feeling, how she felt such a thrill of happiness lying awake, filled with the scent of herbs burning down to essence, of witch hazel and chamomile tea brewed for hers. A soft touch through gloves, the shift of pages. She liked it all, all facets of this hard-cut diamond.
And she'd be brave, even if she had to cling to her talisman and scream her feelings as a battle cry.
"Noire, come on! We finished scouting, and we're going to take shelter in this place!" Cynthia called from high above as she swooped through the air, heroic in her daydreams.
"C-Coming!"
Before she left, Noire plucked the last flower. Prayers, and his name were silently repeated in her mind as she ducked into the darkness, and whatever tomorrow would bring.
After.
She'd seen the Awakening herself, though she'd only come to the last battle against Grima in the final moments. Somehow, a miracle had come. And it'd come over and over, with their parents--or at least versions of them--appearing out of the ether to save them.
She'd even shot at the fell dragon himself. Something to tell the future generations. Even--her children. The concept of a future was still so distant, she could scarcely believe such a thing was possible.
She'd met her mother--or a younger version of her, at least, and that memory was held tight within her forever, her treasure.
In the sunset of that last day, she found him away from the spires of Ylissetol, peeling the bark off of willows. Orange clouds spilled over the distant view of the castle that had through it all, still stood. Water had come up to his knees, he was far from the castle, and he kept muttering to himself. "And them Alm united Valentia after defeating Duma--"
"Laurent? You disappeared after the battle."
Laurent looked up so quickly that his hat began to fall back. He quickly reached up to right it. "Noire? You followed me?"
"I asked around until I found out where you'd gone. I wanted to speak with you. Um, do you need help?"
"Actually, I could use some assistance. This tree is more stubborn than expected. Here, let me bring it over there so you don't have to be soaked.
She took hold of one side of the bark. Noire took a massive tug, and together they finally managed to free it. However, Noire tugged so hard that Laurent nearly tumbled down.
He was flushed faced. "So strong.."
"Sorry, I brushed against my talisman," Noire said sheepishly.
"Ah, no. I'm glad to witness such power. I feel honored, truly."
Noire bit her lower lip. "...Why were you here anyways?"
"Everyone is exhausted, and I wouldn't want to put all the burden of healing everyone upon Brady alone. There's analgesic properties within this bark once it's boiled down into a powder. If I could just get enough to form it, I could assistant him. Of course, if I could gain enough experience to promote, then I could use a staff to. Actually, I believe I have enough experience, I simply need the proper seal.""
Noire glanced back, almost expecting to see glowing red eyes. "Aren't you afraid of...being alone out here?"
"No Risen have appeared. And I hardly think brigands would be near...however, you're correct. This is somewhat reckless. I blame exhaustion. Indeed, I can scarcely believe we've survived this. It feels a waking dream."
"Were you talking to yourself to keep away the fear?" Noire said. "I do that sometimes...In the dark, when I could swear every sound is truly a Risen...."
He smiled. "Ah, no. Since the world is saved and Grima is gone for good, it logically follows that the magic schools will reopen. I must keep my knowledge fresh if I am to ever pass these exams. Since the task is rather tedious, I was reminding myself of the past of this land, even as we have worked hard to make a future a possibility.
"Ah," Noire said. He was already so industrious, even as tried as he must be. He (and the others) took a massive blow from the fell dragon himself. Though he'd been healed, he had to be exhausted. And yet, here he was, planning for the future and making potions to ensure everyone else was safe.
Every single time, he found a way to make her like him even more without even trying.
Noire held out dried flowers. Her hand trembled, but she forced herself to keep on, to not run away.
"I found these in Plegia. I tried to dry them the best I could to...bring them back to you. I don't know what they are, though. I just thought;..you might like them"
He pushed his glasses up and inspected them. "Hmm, I actually do not know these. I must check the books I managed to save from the flames to try and identify them. Perhaps we've even made an entirely new discovery together."
She clutched her satchel to her chest tight, and blushed. "Can I come and help you brew? I always assisted my mother in her magic and she often made things...I could help...Even if just a little."
"I would deeply welcome your company."
He smiled then, and it warmed her entirely. Until she forgot the exhaustion of the march, being captured, and almost being killed by facing the fell dragon Grima himself. In that moment, all she knew and focused upon was him.
"Especially as brewing this will likely go deep into the night. If you could take over a second shift, then, perhaps it can be finished in time.
"A second shift? All night..."
Noire's voice went lower and lower, with a savage growing edge. "In the end...you're not taking care of yourself. You put everyone else first. You're a hypocrite when you tell me to eat more, to rest when you won't even....Repent and despair! Take care of yourself before I do!"
She covered her mouth. "I-I--"
"No, you're right. I simply got this notion within my head and began the project immediately, but some rest should surely be warranted. At this rate I could ruin the ingredients, or even worse, cause a fire from falling asleep while I am supposed to be brewing."
"I didn't intend to be that...mean, the truth is, what I was tying to say was... I...missed you. And I'm glad you're safe. And I don't want you to overwork yourself. You've already withstood so much and...." Noire trailed off. No, it wasn't enough... She reached for her talisman and clutched it tight.
"I LIKE YOU, DAMMIT!"
She blushed and broke off. His cheeks were flushed, but she couldn't tell if he--
Noire cast her gaze down. "Everything about you...I really love...I'm sorry, I'll just go--"
He caught her wrist before she ran away. She blushed deeper at the contact. "I..."
"Don't go."
Noire blushed at the contact, the warmth of his skin on hers. His gloves had been cast aside at some point, from wetness. His nails were cut short an stained green from working with herbs. Such an intense warmth grew under her skin. She stared down at his hand,
"I wanted to be brave and tell you how I feel but, it's all coming out wrong. And I yelled at you over and over... I'm sorry, I ruined everything. I always do this--I always have to ruin everything."
He cut her off. "You shouldn't apologize, and indeed, you have ruined nothing. I'm comforted that my feelings are returned. All this time I've brewed potion after potion for you and you alone, teas and tinctures and wished that you could taste my feelings in them. But they all were rather bitter and did not convey very well. It's easy to recite facts, magical tomes, what herbs would make a healing concoction, but not so easy to speak to a woman. Father made romance seem so easy with the way he would cook for mother, bring her flowers. But when I tried with you, it always seemed to be miscontrued as something simply friendship. And of course, I didn't wish to scare you away."
"Heh...me too. I thought I would come off as creepy."
"Creepy? How? Because of your other side?"
Noire nodded. "And...I sometimes fear that I'll turn out like my mother. Obsessive and dark."
"I am sure I would still like you, even if you did."
"You would? Truly?"
He nodded. "Truly."
"I'll be brave..." she said softly. "This time, on my own..." She didn't meet his eyes as she spoke the words, because she wasn't sure that she could manage if she saw the tender way he looked at her. The way it softened his brown eyes.
"I like the way you always support us, how hard you work to always make sure we're okay, and how strong you are on the battlefield, so clearheaded. Even when things go bad, you always keep your head...I just...like a lot about you and have...always felt this way." She closed her eyes. "I don't want to be creepy or scare you away. But..I even like that herb scent of you. It was really comforting to borrow your cloak because it smelled like you."
She felt a sudden pain. With her other hand, she slapped at her arm. Grima might have been gone, but the pesky mosquitoes were still here.
"They tend to draw about water. Actually, I read a note about how to bring down populations, as they can spread rather noxious diseases. The steps were ensuring that no standing water had their young, introducing more fish in things such as water barrels."
"Diseases!?"
"Ah, I didn't mean to alarm you."
He stepped away from the willow and came a little closer. The familiar scent of witch hazel filled her nose.
He release his grip on her wrist, only to pour out the faint smelling witch hazel onto his hand. He was touching her again. It left her kind of dazed that she could have this--all of this.
"Ah..."
"Noire? Is something the matter?"
"I'm just--still trying to adjust to the fact that I could be happy," Noire said softly. "Happy with you..."
"Indeed. It will take some time for us to adjust. We had almost nothing, and were constantly on the edge of death. But... it makes me happy to think you will begin to smile more."
"Really, the thought of you as my assistant makes me very happy. There is much to still be made, to be discovered. Many of those that survived are grievously injured. The magician's schools must be rebuilt, as will many other things..."
"I'm not strong. I'm a weak, cowardly person who can never see the good in anything but...you make me want to try and believe," Noire said. She smiled, sheepishly.
He gave her a pained look. "Oh, Noire. I wish I could craft a potion so you could see me as I see you. Perhaps it could be done with some form of magic, but you would not be comfortable with such a thing. If I were a stronger magician, perhaps I could call up an illusion of how I see you. Perhaps one day....you see, when you rage, when you smile... each fills me with such joy. Every side of you makes me so very happy."
"Wait, even when I'm yelling?"
Laurent smiled. "Oh, yes, very much so."
And it was as if a huge weight had been pulled from her shoulders. It would take some time for it to sink in. She could be loved for each side of her, she could be happy, she could have a future.
He squeezed her hand. His smile was such a comfort, that she couldn't even protest. If Laurent said so, it was true. He'd never lie to her.
Noire glanced back at the orange raiment of dusk turning to twilight.
"We should...get back before dark comes completely. Just in case some of the Risen still remain. Or, the brigands."
"An astute observation. One I should have made on my own," Laurent said.
She flushed in pleasure at his praise. Even if she didn't believe in herself, she believed in Laurent. And if he believed in her, then maybe, just maybe, she wasn't hopeless after all. Maybe she could one day learn how to become better, could learn to love and even like herself.
After all, miracles could happen. Their parents had returned, they'd survived, and Laurent loved her back.
Her fingers intertwined with his as they walked back. Ylisse had so much still to be rebuilt, but they could manage it together.
