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If there was an enchantment for cleaning, Lyn would have dropped everything to learn it.
Under normal circumstances, Lyn definitely wouldn’t mind doing her share and helping out around camp—even more than what was expected of her. But she was already getting dizzy just looking at the remnants of a typhoon that went through the supply tent. The company had made camp for the night, just shortly after dusk set in, and the rule had been to only take from Merlinus exactly what was needed and when it was needed to make the picking-up part easier.
Though that seemed to be only a theory.
And after the last battle, more bandages and staves were needed. Whomever had decided to dig for them had left things in an uproar, and left the young lord to clean up.
Disrespectful, Lyn had thought, beginning to gather things in her arms and sorting them into piles for the time being. Her life on the plains and her heritage had raised her on the ideals of practicality and proper stewardship. The careless treatment of their precious resources was digging under her skin. She shook her head, her forest-green ponytail swishing behind her with her obvious distaste.
But it didn’t stop her. Even though it did bother her to a degree, as she began to work at it there was something oddly calming about simply working on putting things back into order. This was not fighting to the death in battle like the past few days had been filled with. Really, the past few weeks.
The past forever is what it felt like.
Lyn worked in the low lamp-light, the candle flame flickering dancing shadows in the tent. Shortly, she found a rhythm in her movements, her bending and reaching as she stored and sorted looked nearly balletic from the shadows outside.
The tent flap opened—the red-headed healer strode inside, a burned out staff in her hand. Lyn turned to her, noting the staff in her clutches that had definitely seen better days. She reached inside a crate, revealing a cache of staves.
“Looks like you need another one,” Lyn said, doing her best to find a staff that matched the remains in Priscilla’s hands.
Priscilla sighed with a tired smile. “This is number two. Lord Hector’s wound requires significant effort in tending to.”
“I think you just mean Hector himself requires significant effort in tending to,” Lyn teased dryly. Priscilla took the new staff, handing Lyn the used up one. In turn, Lyn shut the crate, locking the clasp into place to keep the lid down. She didn’t look at Priscilla when she asked, “How is he?”
“He’s much better now, but the wound is still a little touchy,” Priscilla replied. “He won’t lose the leg, thank goodness. The problem I have is keeping him still.”
“And shutting him up?”
Priscilla tilted her head, unable to deny an amused smile. “I never said that per se, but…” She turned to leave before pausing, looking at Lyn as she ducked out of the tent. “He nearly wandered out earlier. I think he was looking for you.”
Lyn instinctively reached to her middle, the small bandage that had been wrapped around her waist felt a little less constricting now. Images of their earlier battle flashed in her mind.
“Serra did a good job,” she replied after taking a breath, removing her hand. “I’ll see him soon, after I finish up here.”
There was a pause. Priscilla still stood in the entrance, clutching the rough fabric of the tent flap in her delicate fingers. “Are you sure you’re all right, Lady Lyn? I’d be willing to take a look since I’m here.”
“No, thank you, Priscilla. It’ll be fine. I think Hector needs the attention more than I do.”
Lyn watched as the young cleric considered her for a moment, obviously not convinced but exited the supply tent anyway. Taking one last glance around, Lyn decided there was nothing more she could really sort or pick up and headed for Hector’s tent.
She realized just how long she had been inside the supply tent. Dusk was just looming overhead, where now night had completely fallen, leaving only the light of the moon overhead to illuminate the earth. A fire had been lit in the center of camp for cooking, now reduced to smoldering embers.
Once she approached Hector’s tent, Lyn paused. It wasn’t proper to simply just enter (though Hector likely wouldn’t care anyway, if he were in her shoes he would have), but one couldn’t exactly knock on tent canvas.
“Hector?” Lyn asked. “Are you in there?”
“Ugh!” Hector groaned from inside. Lyn frowned. She knew Hector well enough to know that that groan wasn’t one of annoyance. She reached in and pulled the tent flap open, revealing Hector sprawled out off his bedroll near the entrance. Red blood stained his bandages wrapped tightly around his left knee.
“Father Sky,” Lyn cursed. “Hector, you oaf! Don’t tell me you tried to walk on that! Again.”
“Yes I tried to walk on it, it’s my fucking leg, what'd you expect?” Hector retorted, his face scrunching in pain.
“Serra said you almost lost your leg,” Lyn sighed, exasperated. “You need to rest and let it heal.”
“I was trying to find you!” Hector reluctantly let her help him back onto his bedroll, propping his knee back up onto the tower of pillows so it was raised into the air higher than the rest of his body. “All I remember was you going down and then waking up here. Wherever here is. Excuse me for trying to help.”
Lyn paused, biting her lip to hold back another sharp retort. She knew when she and Hector were frustrated with one another, sometimes things came out wrong or unintentional. They had agreed a while ago to try and not let their heated discourse get out of hand. They couldn’t stop it from happening—that much was certain. But at the very least they could try to make amends.
An awkward pause set in as Lyn helped him settle in, not meeting his gaze. His massive frame finally stopped wiggling around against the bedroll signaling he had found a comfy spot. Lyn adjusted the bandages on his wound, making sure they held proper tension even after all his squirming. Hector sighed, rubbing his face with a free hand.
“I didn’t mean to snap,” he finally said, his voice quieter than Lyn was used to. “I’m sorry, Lyn. I just…I only remember you going down and…” He trailed off, his hands dropping to his sides helplessly. “That lancer nearly skewered you.”
“I’m sorry, too,” she replied after a moment. Her voice was even and calm, making Hector stop in his tracks as well as she explained herself. “My wound wasn’t bad, so they took care of it right away. I’ve been checking in on you since we set up camp a few hours ago, but you’ve been out cold since. Serra and Priscilla both assured me that they told you what happened when you came to, but you might not remember it.”
She felt a warm arm wrap around her, pulling her closer to him, but further than Lyn expected. With a surprised yelp, Hector had pulled her all the way on top of him, her legs straddling his sides. Nose to nose. His deep blue eyes full of mischief. Lyn groaned, a hint of growl in her tone. “Hector!”
“What?” He eyed her playfully. His wandering hands made their way southward, soon finding her hips and resting comfortably around her rear.
“What are you doing?” She pushed herself upright against his chest, but didn’t move from his middle. Mounting him like she would a horse. “Didn’t I tell you that you need to rest?”
“I’m sure horsin’ around would be good for my circulation.”
“You are impossible,” Lyn concluded. “You share this tent with Eliwood for one thing. At any moment he’ll be coming in—”
“Eliwood is with Ninian, and he will be with Ninian until Nils comes turns in. But it could be a while since Sain is telling him and Nino ghost stories.”
“Liar. You’re just looking for an excuse to have your way with me.” Lyn just watched as he chuckled, pulling her back in towards him. An opportunity probably lost at that moment to enjoy some privacy, but this was hardly the place to indulge one another, and they both knew it. His mischievousness simmered down. The low tone of his voice rumbled like distant thunder in her ears as he pressed a tender kiss to her cheek. Far more gentle than she ever expected Hector to be capable of.
“I’m just teasing you, Lyn,” he said. “Things have been too serious and rigid lately. You’re doing okay, though, right? I mean, you said your wound wasn’t too bad?”
Lyn nodded. “A little tender, but nothing too horrible. I just lost my footing is all when I was trying to dodge, so I fell. You’re the one we worried about.”
“Go ahead and lecture me on being reckless. I’m sure Serra already gave me an earful earlier,” he said with a sigh, gazing towards the corner of the tent. “Guess that’s one good thing about not remembering anything.”
Lyn settled in against him, resting her head against his chest. His chin found its nook, resting atop of her evergreen locks. She must have managed to wash her hair when they made camp—Hector could feel the still slightly damp locks touch his skin. She smelled of a light, sweet-smelling soap the girls in the company had frequently used. As he stroked her back, holding her flesh with him, he noticed his knee started bothering him less and less. The noble plainswoman was his best medicine.
“I did tell you to not die on me, right?” Lyn finally asked softly, breaking the silence that had settled atop them like a warm blanket.
Hector gave her a squeeze. “You did. I did one better than that—I promised I wouldn’t. Just don’t go expecting me to hold back.”
“I never would. I know you too well for that.”
Time passed peacefully. Lyn eventually slid off from Hector to curl next to him, nestling into the place under his arm and against his chest. He lifted his blanket overtop her to accommodate the extra warmth of his partner, drawing her as close to him as he possibly could. Lyn didn’t let herself sleep, knowing at any moment Eliwood would return. Everyone knew she and Hector were an item by now, but she still preferred their affections be mostly private. Even though it was completely decent, sharing a bedroll together was something she didn’t exactly want anyone witnessing (and teasing her about it later).
But Eliwood never came. Lyn overheard Sain and Kent escort Nino and Nils, who had apparently fallen asleep during story time, to the tent where Serra and Priscilla slept. Ninian and Eliwood never emerged from her tent.
Lyn’s eyelids began to droop. Hector leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Goodnight, Lyn.”