Chapter Text
Three weeks since the end of the battle with Duma, and they are still in the imperial capital of Rigel. The castle is large enough to house their forces, and it’s also good for them all to be in one place to allow the clerics to heal them. It feels like a rather dull place, with gray stone walls and drab banners; it could not be any more different from the vibrant and sparkling Zofian castle. Yet, there is something warm about it, in the decoration and the way it is structured.
Celica spends much of her time after the fight in the Rigelian castle’s library, doing her research. She figures that if she and Alm are to unite Zofia and Rigel, she’ll need to know more about Rigelian customs and traditions than she does now. Having both been raised Zofian, they have their work cut out for them; Alm sometimes comes into the library to join her, sitting on the ground with his cheeks in his hands while he stares at the same page of a book for five minutes.
She has meetings with a few people: Alm, Mycen, Nomah, Saber, and a couple of Alm’s people, including Ezekiel and Mathilda. They have long, long discussions about the best way to go about uniting the continent underneath Celica and Alm’s rule as representatives for Zofia and Rigel respectively. Mycen brings up that this might not be as easy as they want, considering the fact that Alm is culturally more Zofian than he is Rigelian. The Rigelian court may not want to merge without a few bumps in the road. Ezekiel agrees with him.
This greatly stresses Celica. She tries to come up with ways they can bribe the Rigelian nobility into becoming part of the One Kingdom—Saber tells her that there will likely always be dissenters. Everyone agrees that there will be problems, and it won’t flow like they want. This makes her squirm; she doesn’t like the thought of a possible civil war, not after what they just went through. They’re all tired. They’re all weary. Celica doesn’t know how much fight they have left in them.
She’s very stressed by all of this, and it’s all that consumes her thoughts. Boey tells her she seems distant and not herself. She looks tired and anxious. But, while Boey says this, Mae tells her that she looks like she has a blaze in her eye and a sureness in her stance. Celica takes comfort now that she knows that at least people think she knows what she’s doing, but she still worries, especially as they start having negotiations with the Rigelian court. They’re stubborn, certainly, but she also senses that they are nervous.
Celica doesn’t blame them. She can’t. How could she?
There’s a woman that has been tending to Alm in the past while, and who has extended her care to Celica as well. Her features and accent scream Rigelian, so Celica assumes she’s some sort of castle servant, but Alm later tells her that she’s one of the Deliverance’s healers. Her name is Tatiana, and Celica finds that, to put it lightly, she’s in very high demand. She’ll bring them lunch and stay to help organize books, and soon enough, someone will come crashing into the library to look for her. To be honest, this is the way she winds up meeting many of the Deliverance’s members.
Celica is in the library again one day, going over notes about Rigelian politics. Alm is somewhere on the other side of the library, and almost like clockwork, Tatiana comes in, a tray of food and drink in her hands. She sets a plate with sandwiches and salad down on the table Celica is working at, a cup of water too, and smiles at her before going to Alm with his food. The heels of her shoes click gently against the hardwood floor, rhythmically echoing throughout the quiet room, but the sound doesn’t distract Celica. She idly stabs at the salad with her fork, never peeling her eyes from her research.
And then, also like clockwork, someone comes barging into the library for Tatiana. Celica does not look up to see who it is, far too enthralled in what she is reading, but dully notes in the back of her mind that she has never heard this person’s voice before. They sound like a young woman, with very clear and articulate annunciation.
“Tatiana, I do need your help! My poor pegasus bruised her lovely wing somehow, and she is in such pain. I don’t suppose you could give her a look?”
“Oh, my. I don’t know if I’ve ever treated a pegasus before, but I’ve never heard of healing magic not working on them. Give me just a moment to take this back to the kitchen, and we can go look at her together.”
Celica’s eyes trace the last word of the chapter. She picks it up and thumbs through the rest of it, but doesn’t see anything relevant to the topic she is currently researching. Carefully, she closes it, puts her quill back in its inkwell, and spares a glance towards Tatiana and the newcomer, both of whom are now speaking with Alm on the far side of the room. The girl looks like she’s not that much younger than Tatiana—Celica would pin her around her own age, probably. Her build is somewhat slight, and she has wavy blonde hair tied up in a high ponytail. She looks nice, but she doesn’t want to interrupt whatever conversation they’re having, so she moves quietly between bookshelves.
“How did she bruise her wing?”
“The poor thing got a little fussy when Clive’s horse got close to her. She hit her wing against a post in the stables very hard.”
Celica stares at the book titles as she moves through the aisles, searching for an entry that she hears details Rigel’s nomadic tribes. She sees what she is looking for on the second-to-top shelf of a very tall bookcase, but it’s no problem; there’s a sliding ladder at the end of the aisle, and she drags it over to the book. Alm is still speaking with Tatiana and the newcomer a couple of bookcases away, but she doesn’t want to eavesdrop.
She climbs the ladder, carefully placing her feet on the rungs, and pauses to warily check if the ladder is going to suddenly slide around and dislodge her. Satisfied that it’s sturdy and she isn’t going to go sprawling, possibly for everyone else in the library to see, she keeps climbing. She doesn’t fancy embarrassing herself in front of Alm, and especially not in front of strangers.
Celica climbs halfway up the ladder, holds to the side of it, and strains upwards for the book. The tips of her fingers brush over the edge, but she can’t get a grip on it. Sighing, she climbs another rung, reaches higher, and— success!—gets a nice, solid grip on it. Satisfied with her success, she starts to pull it from its place, and she makes a move to descend as she does so.
And her foot slips.
Her heel slides in forward over the rung, towards the bookshelf, and she starts to slip backwards. She doesn’t shriek, but she does let out a little alarmed squeak as she feels the world start to flip around. Her foot is stuck uncomfortably against the ladder, and she’s going to get her leg all mangled. The ladder is attached to the bookshelf, and Celica starts to wonder if, after she literally trekked across the continent and helped put a god out of his misery, this is how she’s going to go: Smushed underneath a bookshelf because her shoe didn’t have enough grip.
Suddenly, hands are pressed against her back, someone says, “Gracious!,” and Celica isn’t falling anymore. Someone is holding her up, her foot is still tangled up in the rungs, and she’s at a perfect right angle with the ladder.
With her head still spinning a little, Celica blinks, looks up, and sees that girl who came for Tatiana. She’s holding her up a little awkwardly, but with great strength, and is staring down at her with an alarmed expression. Up close, she would certainly pin her as around her own age, and she- she’s prettier than Celica expected. Zofian, certainly, with pale yellow hair and high cheekbones. Her eyes a warm, striking, smoky brown, framed by thick lashes. Her lips are also perfectly pink, obviously painted expertly with care, and Celica simply forgets what words are.
Fortunately, the girl speaks first, asking, “Are you alright? I heard a cry of distress and came rushing! You could have bumped your head terribly…”
Celica swallows, looks down, and sees her desired book sitting open-faced on the ground. “Y-yes, I am fine. I was grabbing that book, and I suppose my shoe just didn’t have a good grip as I was climbing down.”
“No fault of yours. We all slip and fall, correct?” The girl shifts Celica in her arms, pushing her upwards back towards the ladder. “Let’s get you on your feet, shall we?”
Celica grips the sides of the ladder, her balance aided by the girl’s strong hands holding her up, and rights herself. She climbs down the rest of the ladder, watched closely by the girl, along with Alm and Tatiana, and feels immense relief as she puts her feet on steady ground. Unconsciously, she reaches up to pat her hair for anything out of place before turning around.
The girl has Celica’s book in her hand, outstretched towards her. She’s dressed in fine riding clothes that fit her athletic frame well: Leggings, knee-high boots tied with white ribbons, and a flowing, dark blue coat with ruffles flaring out at the waist. Her presence is warm, and her straight posture and polite bearing speak to her mannerisms and breeding. This girl has “nobility” writ all over her, but she doesn’t quite fit the image of Zofian nobility that Celica has come to expect.
A moment passes, Alm asks, “Are you okay?” and Celica remembers herself. She runs a hand over her dress, takes the book from the girl, and offers a slight curtsy in thanks. She sees her open her mouth, but before she can speak, Tatiana comes over with wide eyes, pressed lips, and fussing hands.
“Are you alright?” she asks as her hand hovers over Celica. “Oh, that could’ve been real bad! Did you bump your head? Twist an ankle? I can heal you if-”
Celica takes a step back, waving a hand, and Alm steps in with, “She’s sturdy, so a stumble like that wouldn’t have hurt her at all.”
The girl is still staring at Celica, almost expectantly, and it embarrasses her. She absently turns the book over in her hands, blankly staring at the cover, and says, “I’m fine. There’s no need to worry for me. The lady here caught me just in time, and I owe her my thanks.”
The girl’s smile shifts into bright delight. One of her hands comes up to play with a strand of hair framing her face, and she says, “I have absolutely no need for thanks! It is simply my pleasure to rescue nice girls, and certainly my duty to protect the future queen.”
Celica looks up from her book, into the bright face of the girl, and dares to smile back.
“This is Clair,” Alm introduces suddenly. “A close friend of mine. She’s the best pegasus knight in the Deliverance.”
Clair.
Clair puts a cheek in a hand, waving a gloved hand dismissively. “Poppycock! You flatter me so much.”
“A pegasus knight, you say?” Celica holds the book loosely in both hands, arranging herself in a polite, regal pose. “How wonderful. I worked with three delightful pegasus knights in my party. It takes quite some skill and poise to be one, doesn’t it?”
She’s red to the point of glowing now, but smiling greatly. “Just so! I’m so glad to meet someone who appreciates my calling. Most people would like to say we’re inferior to bow and gold knights.”
Celica hears Tatiana murmur quietly, awkwardly, “Are you sure you’re alright?” before Alm guides her away, past the bookshelves and out of sight. And yet, she doesn’t notice their departure. Clair has such a sweet face that she feels naturally drawn to look at, and nothing else around them seems to be of much import anymore.
Clair lowers her hand from her hair and looks shocked, so suddenly that Celica reaches up to touch her hair and looks down to observe her dress, worried that something about her looks off. Yet, all Clair says is, “Oh my, you must let me introduce myself properly, beyond Alm’s niceties. You will allow me, Lady Anthiese?”
“Celica,” she says instinctively, and then clears her throat. “If you- if you so wish, I’d be delighted to make your acquaintance.”
Clair repeats, “Lady Celica,” places an arm behind her back in proper military form, and then reaches for Celica’s hand. Celica jumps a little as she grabs it, but relaxes immediately when all that happens is her lifting it. Clair’s hand is gloved, but she feels the warmth and hard calluses beneath the fabric.
“My name is Lady Clair of House Chatelain, and I am a knight of the Zofian Deliverance. I am beyond pleased to make the acquaintance of a lovely woman such as yourself, Princess Celica.”
And then, Clair bows, raises Celica’s hand to her lips, and kisses it.
It’s just a little thing, the kiss. It’s more manners and customs than anything else, a common show of respect in the Zofian court, as Celica understands it. It’s only a light brushing of Clair’s lips over Celica’s knuckles, but it sends a pleasant tingle thrumming through her body. She almost says something like Oh, my, but she has once more forgotten what words are, and she finds herself watching the way the Rigelian sunlight coming in from the windows hits Clair’s hair from this angle.
Clair stands up straight and gently releases Celica’s hand after what feels like thirty minutes, but was only seconds. “I am so honored to finally know you, princess.”
Celica smiles again, smiles very honestly, and looks down to the hand that Clair kissed. There is a little smear of pink lip paint left behind.