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Chapter Text

Once there was a knight, with burn marks on her cheeks and flames all around her. A knight, who hoisted her vast axe through the fires of the Raven Bridge, and hit her mark.

The knight’s hair was frizzled and curled by the graze from General Petrine’s Flame Lance, but not fire nor pain could compare to that furious, soulful glisten of the knight’s gaze.

Petrine would dream of her. Through shivers and near-death fevers, those images remained.

Curse that knight. Curse her, a thousand times.

Because of her, Petrine had been afraid. Of a darkness so cold and cruel. Of a prolonged suffering that didn’t seem to end. Of the rise of dawn, when her wounds were healed and her fevers gone, when no purpose remained.

Petrine should not have lived. But when the bridge she had failed to defend burned, when the victorious soldiers marched past her, Petrine was still breathing. No one looked at her, apart from the flame-haired knight who walked up to see if she’d finished the job.

And like a heartless demon, she’d seen Petrine’s signs of life and decided she deserved to lie broken and gasping until death take her, instead of just ending her.

She was a fool, that knight. Petrine was breathing. She would rise and see the knight's ‘favor’ returned, see the sea of red hair sink into the mud. Yes, Petrine would watch her drown.

That was the only thought keeping Petrine’s heart beating. It was the only thought that surged life back into her body, surged energy through muscles that had been weakened by months of atrophy.

Her life had been given back to her by the people of Daein. By clerics, scorned by Petrine in the past. Rightfully so – they were fools, all of them fools. With their kind hearts open and vulnerable, just waiting to get torn apart by a strong arm.

Though when those strong arms arrived, Petrine had left her sickbed and regained her ability to walk.

And with her walking support, she’d beaten all four bandits to death. A cane wasn’t that different from a lance.

As thanks for her actions, the clerics had sent her away. Perhaps they were intimidated by her, just like everyone-–human or laguz–-were, in the end. Everyone, apart from the King Ashnard himself. He had been the first to stare Petrine right in the eye with a grin.

None other could compare, none other had earned her respect.

Yet that king was dead. Torn to shreds by the Lion King, the Hawk king and the Queen of Crimea, and then ended by a mere boy. A boy now celebrated as a hero.

So it had taken four whole kingdoms to topple the great Ashnard. Four combined kingdoms needed, to burn down all Petrine had lived for.

She needed a new purpose. She’d been gone for three years, and Daein was not the same. The world was not the same. It had no need for a mighty general, and this new Queen of Daein would not welcome someone like Petrine to her army. She’d spent a few desperate months finding a way back in, but all too soon realized that this new army wanted nothing to do with the past king.

Fools, all of them… fools.

Petrine had not wanted to die. She did not want to die. But becoming an irrelevant fly, not remembered of acknowledged, was almost the same. Almost.

The difference was that now she had a chance to change it. To prove herself.

She would lock blades with that flaming knight once again – and stand victorious. It was her fate. It was where the gods, old and new, drew her path.

Thus, after three long years, Petrine had sharpened her lance, and begun her search.

---

 A small, Crimean town. That was where the coward of a knight hid.

It had taken Petrine less than a month to find her – she was famous, after all. Her and her squadron of mercenaries, the heroes that took down a Mad King and Restored A Goddess… Exaggerated tales, obviously. Petrine would prove that.

She observed their little cottage from afar, first. There was a purple-haired one, who hummed as she tended a garden and practiced her sword stance. There was a ginger-haired one, who prayed in the sunlight with a smile on his face. Three green-haired ones, who cooked food and yelled about incoherent things.

And there was a red-haired one. Their chief, who stood tall with her axe over her shoulder and greeted whatever small-time villager who sought her aid.

Petrine stayed hidden for a day and a night. She could have snuck around the cottage covered by the darkness and cut the Red Haired one’s throat. Be done with it. But Petrine did not sneak. She was a knight, the best in the world, and she would do this a knight’s way.

So, when the mercenaries were preparing for dinner and the entire yard outside the cottage smelled of garlic and caramelized red onions, Petrine kicked their door. She had meant to kick it in, but it stayed in place. Instead, her kick worked as a hard kind of knock, and that was fine too, because the Red Haired one answered.

“Hello”, the Red Haired one said as she opened the door. “Is this urgent? We’re about to have dinner.”

Petrine grabbed the door and pushed it fully open, revealing her lance.

“I challenge you”, she spat, and readied her stance.

The Red-Haired knight’s eyes shifted immediately. They turned from gentle sunrise to molten steel within a heartbeat, and she used her war axe’s handle to coax Petrine away from the door.

 “Explain yourself”, she demanded, and Petrine felt her own lips curl at the sound of her voice. So harsh, so sure of itself...

“You defected from our last duel”, Petrine said, sure to make every syllable count. “You did not claim your win. And now, pity shall be your undoing!”

The knight’s eyes glimmered with her axe. She measured Petrine with her gaze.

“There are worse things to die from”, she said and backed away for a few steps. “But you’d have to kill me first, General Petrine.”

“That I shall”, Petrine shot back, pleased to know that the Red Haired one finally recognized her.

Her lance crossed the axe’s handle, marking the beginning of the duel. And the knight complied.

Her strokes were vicious, the strength of pure muscle and determination, and Petrine knew she could not match that. She was no brute, unlike this knight. She had to outsmart her, use the primal force within her blood, the blood of a tiger—

“Mia, now!”

A kick hit into the back of her knees, and a sword slammed down on her pauldron. Petrine lost her balance, and all she had time to think before the Knight’s fist connected with her face was ‘cowar—‘

Her world was blacked out for a few seconds.

She regained consciousness quickly enough, but by then it was too late. She was already held down by the three siblings, on unstable, swaying ground…

Petrine should have cut her blasted throat! There was no honor in her, damn her! Damn her to burn!

“Die”, was all Petrine managed to hiss, before she was hit by a wave of nausea.

“I’m sorry, General Petrine”, the knight said as she crouched beside the most muscular of the three siblings. “But if you come to my house and threaten me, you threaten my house and my family. So both I and my family shall answer.”

“You spineless rat—“ Petrine managed to force through clenched teeth, before her body relaxed and her world blacked out for a few seconds again.

---

She fought back. Every second, she fought back, but to no avail. She was bound and thrown in the back of a wagon, with no one but the healer-priest and the Cursed Red Knight as company.

It was the sort of wagon with thick walls and a metal-enforced door, clearly meant for prisoners. To think that a small Crimean town would be so well-stocked…

Petrine stopped her struggle as soon as the door closed and the wagon began to move. She was on the floor, unable to reach any of her captors sitting on their benches – except maybe biting their legs, but she’d better not waste her strength on such futile aggression.

“My apologies for the discomfort”, the Knight said as she leaned down over her knees to look at Petrine. “Were it up to me, I’d skip the ropes, but it is not.”

The healer muttered ‘skip the ropes?’ like he was absolutely sure he’d misheard, but then merely groaned and dragged his hand across his face.

Were Petrine a little bit more like old self, she’d revel in his fear and discomfort, but that wasn’t easy considering her situation. And that she was not her old self.

She was New Petrine; Petrine Who Cheated Death. Now rolling toward it, and for certain this time. The Queen of Crimea would probably make Petrine’s execution a spectacle, and Petrine would lie if she said she wasn’t afraid. She’d come to know that fear all too well. She thought she’d be rid of it if she just eliminated the cause, yet…

“Titania”, the healer mumbled over to Red. “Is this a good idea?”

Titania – an all too fitting name, Petrine had to begrudgingly admit – tapped her fingers over her crossed arms.

“Questioning your leader, Rhys?” she smiled, then met Petrine’s gaze and her smiled died away. “Don’t. I know what I’m doing. Gallia will surely welcome us.”

Petrine’s spine grew cold. Gallia? She hulked, and Titania bent down to the floor to roll her on her side.

“Get it out if you need to, General Petrine”, she said. “You have quite a concussion. There’s no dishonor in feeling ill.”

She dared speak of dishonor! Petrine clenched her teeth and shut her eyes. Refused to give in.

When she opened them, Rhys’ face was suddenly close by hers, with that examining squint Petrine recognized from the healers in Daein that had saved her.

“Are you seeing double, General?” he asked, holding up a small spatula.

He was not the same as those healers – he looked tired and worn and spoke like such a Crimean it was enough to make her even more nauseous—

“Get lost, you rotten fig”, Petrine croaked.

Rhys put the spatula back in his pocket, and returned to his seat with a sigh. “Titania, you know I appreciate you to the moon and back, but do you really need me with you all the way to Gallia?”

Titania didn’t answer. Instead, she glanced out over the trees passing by of the moving cart. She looked so calm and serene, as if she were a mere girl on her way to the farmers market and not a dishonorable craven. Wind in her crimson hair, a tender smile on her face – it was unbearable to see someone (especially her) so at peace! How could she have that, so easily? Petrine had never lived such luxury, ever.

It fueled her even further, and she swore to herself. If they were going to Gallia… It wasn’t a journey made without rest. They had to let Petrine out at some point. And when they did, Petrine would be ready; she’d tackle Titania over the edge of a cliff, or stab her with a piece of sharp wood with bound hands, or headbutt her unconscious... Whatever presented itself. Titania clearly wasn’t interested in fair games, but at the same time, she seemed to greatly underestimate Petrine by speaking of releasing her from her bounds.

She wasn’t without hope, then. Breaking an enemy without regard for honor had once been Petrine’s expertise.

This was her game, now.

Chapter Text

Gallia was nothing but a lingering stench of laguz. Petrine hated it, always had.

Titania pushed her forward. She carried a small bruise on her jaw, courtesy of Petrine’s shoulder, something she hadn’t let the healer help her with. It was a way to deny Petrine any acknowledgement – as if she was saying ‘you did not hurt me enough for me to bother’.

In a different world, in a different past… Petrine would have done anything to have a woman like her on her side. Titania was everything Ashnard’s Daein had valued – a natural commander, a warrior with a mind of steel and ferocity. Crimean or no, she was… Frustratingly close to Petrine’s level. Though not above it. Not above it. If they’d unbound her, Petrine would show everyone just how superior Daein’s General was. This time… She’d be ready.

Then again, all her escape plans on the way to Gallia had all been stomped out like embers by Titania’s boot.

So Petrine walked among the laguz, now. The people that had shunned her, like the animals they were.

“Rhys, would you do me a favor and walk ahead, ask Mordecai if there’s a dungeon ready in Stefan’s camp?” Titania smiled at her companion, who didn’t object. He disappeared down a slithering path, walked rather briskly for a healer; hopefully in a hurry to get away from Petrine’s grins and kicks. That would mean Petrine had managed to get into one of their heads.

Titania pushed Petrine’s shoulder, signaling at her to sit down.

Petrine measured her chances of causing injury yet again, but there was nothing for her to do with Titania’s knife in her back that wouldn’t result in a severed spinal cord. So she obeyed.

Petrine hadn’t asked a single question for their entire journey. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. The conversations between Titania and the healer was enough for her to catch onto bits and pieces.

Apparently, there was a branded living in the outskirts of Gallia, creating his own little camp of half-breeds, hoping to turn it into a kingdom. That was where they intended to take her; though not to die, it seemed.

Well. If they hoped for her to join their childish dreamland, she’d do all she could to disappoint.

---

What greeted them was a tiger laguz. A smiling tiger laguz, with bird seeds in his too-large hands and a squirrel clawing onto his leg.

He’d clearly been waiting for them, and he got rid of the squirrel by yielding all the seeds at once on top of an elevated feeding disc. The little pest released him and swirled up the pole to the feeding disc, and the tiger chuckled like he’d just had a good kind of interaction. As he walked toward them, he took astonishingly great care in not bumping into the feeding table with his large shoulders.

“Titania”, he gruffed, still with a smile meant to disarm. “You bring a friend, as Rhys say. Hello, tiger child. The dungeon is warm! I put on fire in there.”

For once, Petrine was speechless. The tiger was big as a house, with a build that would intimidate even the most fearless of warriors; and he’d readied… a fire for their prisoner?

She didn’t like the conflicting instincts his presence gave her, so she did the only thing that made sense. Snarled, and tried to kick his shin.

“Oh!” he exclaimed and took a slight step back. “Tiger cub has to be careful! Mordecai carries seeds in pocket! Don’t want to drop them.”

Titania chuckled. She chuckled. Petrine’s cheeks burned—she, the High General of Daein, was like a pathetic schoolchild, unable to fight, unable to see the most obvious of traps, unable to kill a knight that was barely taking her seriously, and now to top it all off she was being ridiculed.

“Thank you kindly, Mordecai”, Titania said, still with laughter in her voice. “How about we get to that dungeon then?”

She wasn’t actually asking. She pushed Petrine forward, past half-finished buildings and sparring grounds and bits and pieces of a marketplace; toward the only complete structure in the area. An ancient fortress of stone.

The thought of walls surrounding her awakened something within her. The old, familiar enemy that was her Fear.

She tried to tear free, but there was no escaping the blade against her back, or the hand that held her.

“No”, she said.

She said it again when they passed through doors. And again when they struggled down a deep set of stairs. It didn’t help.

Despite that, she repeated it even as bars were slid to the side and her body was flailed inside.

She hit the floor hard. She couldn’t keep up balance with her hands bound. Her teeth rattled with the barred gate as it was slammed shut. The pain was nothing compared to the humiliation.

“I’m sorry”, Titania’s voice carried through the bars. “I underestimated your capability for steadiness. I didn't mean to hurt you.”

Spitting on the floor, Petrine slithered up to sitting. Her gaze filled with hot anger as she stared daggers into Titania's calm eyes.

“I’ll gouge the life from you“, Petrine snarled, hair in her mouth. “I’ll end you when there’s no one there to save you, a thousand curses upon you—!“

Titania didn’t move a muscle in her face, but she shifted the angle of the knife, pointed it downward.

“Please come to the bars”, she said, now with an indifferent tone. “So I can cut your ropes.”

Petrine stopped snarling.

On the one hand, it was too much to let this woman help her. On the other… it was a chance to get her kill.

She obliged and shimmied over to the bars, and got to standing. She let the knife cut, let the ropes fall. Then, her hands moved, quickly as they could. She caught Titania’s collar, pulled her towards herself trying to get a grip around her throat. Not that she succeeded before Titania had nearly twisted her finger off, and forced her to let go.

“You don’t imprison me and get to live long—“ Petrine coughed through the pain and clutched her aching fingers, but she quickly interrupted her threats. Titania didn't even listen, she merely turned to walk away.

And Petrine was hit with the horrifying notion that they weren’t going to explain their reasons for putting her there. She reached out again, but not to harm. Now, curse her newfound insecurity, she just wanted answers. 

“Halt!” she shouted after Titania. “Halt, I say! What is the meaning of this? What are your wicked plans for me?”

Titania turned back around, her shoulder against the door leading to the stairs. “You ask now, of all times? There’s been plenty of time to chat before.”

Petrine didn’t answer. She’d wanted to keep them guessing, to not give them the satisfaction of a typical, frightened prisoner, but… She’d been the one to suffer, because of it.

“Well, I suppose…” Titania hesitated for a moment, a scowl on her face. “The easy answer is that you’re here because Stefan is willing to welcome other Branded who have nowhere else to go. Find people like you a place where you can live in peace. And I suppose I hope you deserve a third chance."

Her eyes were embers of pity, and Petrine could barely stand to stare back into them.

"Truth is that I used to think that if I was to cross paths with you again”, Titania continued, “I’d hoped I’d be able to leave you with better conscience than last time.”

The flaming hair moved with her, and the doors closed. Leaving Petrine alone. There was a fireplace warming her, but her heart was cold with hatred.

Chapter Text

“Stefan tells me you refuse to speak with anyone but me”, Titania greeted her, arms crossed on the other side of the bars.

Petrine grinned at her.

A week had helped Petrine regain some of her strength. Sure, she’d been in a cell the entire time, but the food was plentiful and good, the quiet nice to listen to and the preparations a joy to make. She'd known Titania was still around, heard her voice through the walls as she spoke to the large tiger laguz or lion branded about matters Petrine coulnd't care less about. And for as long as Petrine still felt the presence of her nemesis, she had insisted to speak to her only. And with Titania finally in front of her, Petrine’s hands twitched with the longing to reach out and scratch that damned indifference from her face, but she couldn't. She had a plan to stay true to.

“There’s really no reason for you to be so rude to him”, Titania went on. “Stefan is offering you a new life. A life with those of similar situations to your own, a family—”

“Spare the speech”, Petrine interrupted her, lifting a hand. “Those people are nothing but unworthy ants. But with you, I’m willing to… agree to a stalemate.”

Titania cocked her head. Petrine had her attention, and that caused a surge of eagerness within her.

“If you let me kill you”, Petrine continued, “I will spare the rest of this worthless pack.”

Titania leaned her back against the wall opposite Petrine’s barred door, clearly unimpressed.

“Spare them”, Titania repeated and arched a brow. “From what, exactly?”

Petrine began her walk, letting her fingers thrum against the metal bars, without letting go of their eye-contact.

“You think you can keep me contained? I knew you were a coward…” She angled her chin and smiled at the slight flash of rage in Titania’s gaze, then continued with the sweetest voice she could muster; “…But that you’d be this naïve…?” Petrine ended the show of smiles and met flame with flame. “You know I will escape, and when I do, I’ll kill every single one of them. I am of the true Daein, and we do not show mercy.”

Petrine hadn’t spoken to anyone for this last week, at least nothing aside from ‘bring that red-haired knight to me, then I’ll talk’. Saying the same thing over and over had gotten old real fast. It was nice to finally release the venom she’d hoarded inside her mind. Titania was a perfect target, and more satisfying still as the indifference on her face crumbled.

“So the way I see it”, Titania frowned, “you either remain a difficult prisoner, or I get to see Stefan lose his patience and kill you.”

A string of hair had loosened from Titania's braid, and she twisted it around her thumb, all while keeping Petrine’s gaze.

“I find both options distasteful”, Titania added. “But on the other hand, Stefan has spent hours upon hours standing on the same sand dune in the middle of a boiling desert. You’re but a fly in his hair, I’d imagine. He’ll outlast you.”

Petrine hadn’t expected that, and she couldn’t help a scoff from escaping her.

“Do you have anything else to say, General Petrine”, Titania asked. “Or shall I take my leave?”

Petrine drew a short breath, regained her mind on the track she’d planned for a whole week. Of course Titania wouldn’t consider such an offer. Petrine's plan relied on her not accepting her terms right away. Now she had to play her cards right.

“I’d expected such from one who lacks a spine”, Petrine pretended to sigh deeply, and waved her fingers in the direction of the door. “Well then. Take your leave.”

Titania’s steps were not hesitant in the slightest. Annoying how Petrine couldn’t really tell if she’d managed to get under that freckled skin or not. Either way, there wasn’t much else to do than to put her final card on the table.

“On second thought”, Petrine said. “I can tolerate a compromise. I only ask… for a chance.”

Petrine had spoken just as Titania stood with her hand on the doorknob, where it now lingered. Hearthfire eyes squinted at her from beneath flaming forelocks.

“I believe that’s what you’re already given", Titania said. "Take it or leave it.”

“Don’t toy with me”, Petrine said, her face deadpan. “I speak of a chance for me to get what I want, but no less and no more. If you prefer a death in battle, I shall give that to you. A duel between just you and me, with none of your soldiers to help you.”

Petrine left a pause for Titania to ponder it, but that wasn’t necessary.

“Is it also a chance for me to get what I want?” Titania’s reply came quickly. “I very much dislike putting people in cages, even people who try to stab me. So here’s the deal. If I win, you will spare me, and everyone else here. Even as you go free.”

Petrine grinned, confidence surging through her bloodstream. Titania still wouldn’t aim to kill, and the fool even told Petrine so outright! The waiting game had been the right one to play.

“You have my word”, Petrine swore, performing a lazy version of the Daein soldier salute for good measure.

“That too”, Titania said. “But I was thinking more of the reassurance that a dozen branded and laguz will hunt you to the edges of the continent to tear your head off, should you break it.”

Titania was smiling, her brows deep over her eyes. There was confidence in her, too. Misplaced, Petrine quickly assured herself; but still impressive.

“I shall come for you once everything is prepared”, Titania continued. “And get used to the thought of losing already, so it’s not too much of a disappointment for you.”

If Petrine didn’t know any better, she’d say that Titania was teasing with her. And as the door closed, Petrine huffed in indignation. Well. No matter what Titania's intent had been, she’d soon regret speaking.

---

The stage was set on a meadow, not far from the half-finished buildings of the so-called town. It was about nineteen gallops across and sixteen gallops wide, surrounded by small hills and trees in a more obscure, field-like landscape. Gallia had plenty of those sudden interruptions in the thick forests, and it was perfect for an open, honest battle.

There wasn’t a single pair of arms on that field except for Petrine’s and Titania’s. No one to sneak up on them or place an arrow if things went sour for Titania.

She’d held true to the bargain. The branded might come running from across the field to attempt a surprise attack, but Petrine would spot them if they did. And she didn’t need much time to finish this, once and for all.

Four gallop-strides away from Petrine, Titania rested the head of her battleaxe on the ground, her mass of hair carefully braided out of her face.

“I hope you have prepared your friends for your demise”, Petrine said as she dug her feet into the ground and readied her lance. It was made of steel, which wasn’t as fancy as Petrine was used to, but it was good enough.

Titania didn’t answer, except for lifting her axe.

There was no official start.

It was just a pure battle; one that got Petrine’s blood pumping and her hands itching to end it.

Their minds were melded in the same manner, and they leapt toward one another.

Titania wore a full set of armor, and the only places Petrine could wound her were in the gaps between the arms and chest. Petrine wore a similar set of armor to Titania, but one more open around the shoulders for more flexibility. It was so familiar to her, she knew exactly how to move to inflict lethal injuries. If she could get through the visor of Titania's helmet, Petrine could slice her face up, but that required a horse. Something both of them were used to having. Titania would aim high with her strikes, and so would Petrine.

Petrine’s first move was a feint toward the face. Petrine had reach, so she could dance back when the axe head swished toward her and follow up with her second move – a hard stab toward Titania's left arm. It yielded only a scratch, for now. Titania’s strike twisted, aimed for Petrine’s abdomen on the way back like a deadly pendulum. 

During their first battle, three years ago, that was the move that had left Petrine gasping and nearly dying in the mud.

It was a bit different, since back then they’d both been on horseback, but Petrine recognized it, and did not repeat her mistake.

She dodged.

For a few moments, their entire world was that of a duel stage.

They kept their distance, Petrine jabbing with her lance. Her arms moved like clockwork, knew precisely where to aim and how to force her opponent to dance the way she wanted to—but in one sudden dash from Titania, they got locked. Titania’s axe handle forced the lance across Petrine’s chest, and allowed Titania to step into Petrine’s defenses.

It was an expected move – Titania wanted to get in close in order to even get a hit, and Petrine drew her dagger she’d prepared for close combat, but Titania managed a hit on her wrist. Her hand buzzed and Petrine could not get her angle right; she had to back away.

Titania had a powerful jaw, Petrine noticed when they were so close. Everything about her radiated strength, which was just abhorrently frustrating. Petrine squinted and stretched her fingers, more annoyed at this than ever.

Titania fought to spare her. It was obvious how she wanted to pin her opponent down, but 'obvious' didn't mean Petrine knew how to counter it. She had to end it, now.

She raised her spear, and Titania didn’t back away. The knight delved in once again, and Petrine answered. 

A gamble. That was what it was. Petrie dug her spear down, not more than a hair away from skewering Titania’s neck like a grilled apple, as Titania slithered to the side, and, now with Petrine thrown off her balance, the battle ended as quickly as it had begun. 

Titania plummeted into her chest.

Petrine was by no means small, but with that amount of force, she was chanceless. The ground slammed into her armor plates, all the way from her shoulders to her calves. 

Her head spun. The healers had said she should be careful with her head, since anything minor could cause loss of consciousness in her vulnerable brain tissue. Something Petrine had pushed aside, because she wasn't vulnerable, damn it. 

A blade lay cold against her throat. The steel over Titania's knee scraped against the steel over Petrine's ribs. Breathing was difficult enough as it was, but with Titania’s full weight on her chest—

"Don't think I won't do what I have to", Titania said through her teeth, her face coming in closer. "If you force my hand, I will not hesitate. Do you yield?"

She had freckles all over her throat. Small, humble things that Petrine hadn't noticed from a distance. And those freckles were spinning with the rest of the world, spinning and taunting her.

Petrine had practiced these scenarios before. Lived through a couple of them, too – she knew what she had to do, but with her gaze unable to fixate on her goal, she couldn’t. Her hands flailed, found nothing but air. But then a nail scraped into skin, and a rush of energy tore through her. She lacked a tiger's claws, but had every part of their conviction—

Her hand cracked against the soft earth. The silky meadow’s grass… hurt. It didn’t make sense to her at first, but then she noticed the boot, and the cold, familiar pain of a fracture that came as Titania stepped off her.

"Do you yield", Titania repeated, "or must I break every bone in your body, first?"

Petrine narrowed her eyes. Titania's freckles finally came into focus, as did her heavy, determined breathing.

‘Third time’s the charm’, people said. Or foolish people did. Petrine didn't believe in charms or trinkets or luck. She believed in skill, and right then and there, hers had matched against Titania's, fair and square, and she’d still lost.

Petrine wasn’t afraid of that word. She’d used to be, because she knew it would mean her end. But now, death wouldn’t come for her. Titania had made that abundantly clear. She might have had a blade lodging into her skin, and yet she felt… oddly safe.

And it was a terrible feeling. She was so damn tired of giving up.

"You think a broken wrist will stop me?" Petrine sneered.

Titania didn't look away, the molten iron in her eyes burning into something deep and uncomfortable in Petrine's mind.

"I thought you had the opposite of a death wish", Titania said, the blade still hard and sharp against Petrine's throat. "If this is to taunt me, it seems rather costly a price on your end. You have two words to speak, or you'll be without both of your hands."

Petrine tried to ignore the pain, but that was harder by the second. Her anger burned, but it didn’t burn not like Titania did. The knight was a constant flame, and Petrine felt pale in comparison.

"I yield", Petrine said. The words tasted like bile.

The pressure on her throat eased immediately. Her pain didn't.

Titania slumped down beside her. Her dagger was still drawn, but in every other way, she acted like they were friends who'd just gone through nothing more than a sparring session.

Curse her to oblivion and beyond. 

Titania tilted her head as she watched the trees around them, once again so perfectly calm.

"You are a lot of trouble, Petrine."

"Call me general", Petrine snapped back at her. "And if that's what you think, why do you bother with me?"

Titania looked straight ahead, absentmindedly stroked the dagger handle with her thumb.

"I'm going to inform Stefan that you have a home here, now", she said, avoiding the question completely. "Once you're well enough to stand, you can go to Evir - he's a raven branded and he knows the healing arts. Or he knows them better than most of us, anyway."

With that, Titania hoisted herself up to standing, her battleaxe over her shoulder.

“Honor our deal”, were her final words to Petrine. “And try to be a little less of a nuisance. Then I’m sure they’ll welcome you with open arms.”

Chapter Text

Petrine hadn’t believed Titania’s final words, but she’d been proven wrong the second she stepped out of that meadow.

It wasn’t that anyone literally embraced her (thankfully), but there was an eagerness and interest Petrine had never seen before. The armies of Daein had never been so… open. Newcomers were shunned and bullied until they adapted or broke apart—Petrine had broken a number of them herself—but here, everyone smiled at her.

Stefan had an aura of leadership around him, Petrine had noticed that pretty early on. That didn't mean she liked admitting it, though. She did what he asked of her, only because she knew no other way at the moment.

Her tasks piled up, even as seven days passed. Every time Petrine finished one, Stefan found another, without fault.  And Petrine knew that wasn’t a coincidence.

This way, she was forced to spend time with every annoying member of this so-called kingdom. She learned their names, despite not wanting to. There were three hawk-branded; Tve, Hundra, and Ilkrese, all of them weirdly fascinated by fish. Then there was the other tiger-branded, a quiet boy named Ginn, and fourteen cat-branded that Petrine got mixed up but she did connect their faces to names eventually – and finally, there was Evir, the raven-branded.

He fancied himself a healer, but that wasn’t his true calling.

“Hey Lady Petrine, if I wave the sword like this”, Evir yelled at her during lunch (one of the few times she was usually blessed by silence). “Can I disarm a lance?”

Petrine closed her eyes with a frown. “You don’t wave a sword, fool.”

“Oh”, Evir said and halted his stance, then adjusted his feet. “Well, I meant—hey Lady Petrine, look! I’m gonna show what I mean!”

Petrine might as well humor him, she knew. Or he would never shut up. She watched him in silence as he repeatedly arced his sword through the air, muttering ‘no, that’s not right either’.

After a few painful minutes, Petrine sighed.

“Just eat your lunch, Evir.”

“I will, I will, just— can you put out your lance so I can practice hitting it? Please?”

Petrine clenched her teeth, but hoisted her lance off the ground and raised it horizontally. She kept it in place, took a few sips of stew, before she watched the landscape.

It was nice, in a strange way, to just watch the sunlight filter through the trees. It was nice, to notice how blue the sky could be. And Petrine had learned how to zone out of Evir’s constant yammering, even if she’d just spent one week in freedom. Now he hammered his sword against her lance, and she barely noticed him.

When she’d finished her bowl, Evir was still going at it, and she’d had enough. Petrine had better stuff to do. As Evir raised his sword for the hundredth time, she pulled her lance away with a flick of her wrist and shoved the blunt part into his abdomen.

“Eat your lunch, Evir.”

 The boy panted back at her, his eyes shining. His joy of getting something close to a spar was… annoying. Incredibly annoying. He wasn’t worthy of her lectures.

“Were any of my moves good, Lady Petrine?”

Petrine didn’t look at him. “If your goal is to turn into a skewered fool instead of a regular one.”

In the corner of her eye, Petrine saw him drag his fingers through his hair with a slight look of agony. “Oh… Oh no. Thanks, though, I’ll keep it up – I’ll show you some more tomorrow lunch, all right?”

Petrine could only roll her eyes.

Two more days passed, and by the goddesses, Petrine had no other choice than to teach him. It was either that or death by pure infuriation.

And his joy at the prospect was annoying. Nothing else. She bruised him up a little and he thanked her for it, and he nearly burst of pride whenever he got his stance right. Annoying, and not in the least bit gratifying.

Same thing went for when they rested afterwards. Petrine leaned her arms over a fence, overlooking the edge of the large woods, while Evir talked to nothing and everything. He probably thought he was talking to her, but he wasn’t. Or sometimes he was, actually. His constant incorrect facts and ideas grated her defenses down, and eventually Petrine couldn’t keep from responding. To put him into his place, at first, but eventually, she noticed how much easier everything went if she tried to teach him why and how instead of scoffing at him.

And it wasn’t in the least bit gratifying, Petrine repeated to herself. She did this because she had to.

“Hey, Lady Petrine”, Evir said on Petrine's eleventh day as a part of camp, leaning on the fence with his sweaty hair sticking out in every direction. “Hundra betted that you would’ve run away by now, and I just wanted to say… thanks. For staying. Now I’m three silvers richer.”

Petrine scoffed, but to her surprise, there was a little bit of laughter in there, too. “Betting? I thought you didn’t even talk to the hawks, Evir.”

“Right”, Evir said, a flush spreading over his throat. “I don’t! My raven blood, uhm, curls in their presence.”

“Sure it does”, Petrine said, and she couldn’t hold back a small smile. Before this, Petrine had liked to think teenagers were nothing but a nuisance, but Evir was a teen she’d gotten used to, and at times he could be… genuinely funny.

It was stupid.

But true.

She glanced over her shoulder, allowing the smile to stay on her face.

And immediately, she let it die.

What met her eyes was the living flame herself, her back proud and straight as she rode into the camp on a warhorse fit for her size and a battleaxe gleaming over her back.

After eleven days of Petrine's peace of mind, Titania had returned to shatter it.

---

“That's right", Mordecai said with his deep and gentle voice. “You hold hand still. Bird friends come to you.” 

Petrine stood motionless, hand outstretched.

She’d spoken to the old tiger despite her better judgement, and let slip that nature itself shunned and feared her. Petrine had said this with pride, but Mordecai had a different idea.

“Nature doesn't hate Tiger cub", Mordecai insisted, as he had for the last few days until Petrine had finally agreed to do this.

Just to prove he was wrong, so he could leave her alone. And sure enough, not a single of the tweeting ‘friends' in the brushes around them moved to her hand. Maybe this would go quicker than expected, if Mordecai would admit that she was right. 

“Just let me leave", Petrine hissed. “The pests aren't worth my time.” 

Which was technically not true, because Petrine's time meant nothing these days. All she did was wander to fetch new building rocks, and teach Evir how to mend armor and not be terrible at swordplay. Although what kept Petrine the busiest was to try to look unbothered whenever Titania returned into her vision, which was harder than it seemed. 

What a sad life she lived. But better than none at all. Better than sitting in a cell. Better than fighting every moment just to survive— 

A chill ran down her spine. Petrine, General and Death-bringer, tired of armies and battle? She WAS armies and battle!

She tried to shove the awful thought away, her heart like a lump in her throat. Peace didn’t fit her, it didn’t—These people were ruining her. 

“If a bird comes", Petrine said through her teeth, “I'll cook it. Or eat it raw.” 

She’d hoped some of her defense would return if she got to see the fear in Mordecai’s eyes, but looking up, he simply frowned at her and snapped his tail. 

“You harm no bird", he said. The bastard sounded terrifying, without even trying. Petrine got none of her defense back, she just felt… vulnerable. Bloody vulnerable. 

She let none of it show. She snorted a laugh. 

“So, I'm supposed to be scared by that?” she sneered. “Prove it. A mighty beast like you – how many have you killed? There must be whole battlefields marked by your claws.” 

She knew that sort of talk made Mordecai uncomfortable, but that was the point. She wanted to anger him further. A fight was just what she needed, and he was a worthy foe. 

But Mordecai’s shoulders didn’t rise, his growl never came. His face merely softened and his gaze turned distant. 

“All are friends", he said. “No fight is good.” 

There was no sight in the world more pathetic than that of a sad tiger laguz. On top of it all, Petrine's arm had started to hurt from the static pose. She was sick of this. 

“If everyone is such a buddy to you”, Petrine snarled, “why don’t you tell me why your friend Titania has returned? It's to taunt me, isn’t it? To revel in my misery!?” 

Mordecai blinked slowly, with a bewildered frown.

“Titania has work to do”, was his only answer before he leaned forward and smiled again. 

Something tickled on her finger, and when Petrine looked, a small blue bird was pecking at the seeds in her hand, its tiny claws trying to hold on to her index finger. It puffed its feathers when she looked at it, yet it remained. 

Mordecai's stupid smile was unbearable.

“Nature does not hate Tiger cub", he said, sounding all too pleased with himself for being proven right. And in the distance, Titania walked beside Stefan deep in conversation, but her eyes moved up to scan her surroundings, and her gaze met with Petrine's.

Even from all the way across a camp, Titania's smug little smile was visible.

This was a very bad day for Petrine. 

Chapter Text

The nights grew colder. A change that happened quickly in the eastern outskirts of Gallia, much like the familiar air of Daein.

Petrine wasn't so immature as to have a favorite season. Every day of the year had its own opportunities as well as hindrances; and whatever the weather threw at her could be overcome if she was determined enough.

But if Petrine had to choose, she figured she liked the sullen darkness of autumn's first whispers. She liked the smell of rich earth. And it was especially nice since she didn't have to navigate an army through those muddy roads—

The thought brought a cold chill at the base of her skull, but she didn't fight herself over it. Thoughts like that popped up more often for each day she spent here, and they wrapped her into the false security of peacefulness. She knew better than to believe them. There was nothing that could compare to commanding an army, obviously. Not calm nights, not rich food, not the praise from her stupid student.

Petrine knew the truth. Peace was not for her. And her sudden thoughts of 'but this is actually better in some ways' had no effect on that knowledge. None at all.

It was Petrine’s fifteenth day in the camp (‘kingdom’ sounded too ridiculous) of branded, and Titania was still around. The knight disappeared some days, but only to return in the evenings. She'd attempted to speak to Petrine at times, but Petrine had only glared at her.

She'd honor her promise and not lop Titania’s head off, but that didn't mean Petrine would start liking Titania's company. It was frustrating enough just looking at her, but small talk, too? The goddess must enjoy tormenting her.

Maybe it wasn’t all bad, though. At least Petrine had learned why Titania was there; she’d been hired by none other than Stefan himself. Nearby villagers had been overrun and robbed by bandits that had made the forest their new home. There were lots of them, and the sudden influx was probably caused by Daein’s new rule. In the old Daein, Ashnard wouldn’t have cared, but the punishment and search for bandits were much stricter with the fancy Queen Micaiah on the throne. 

While Stefan’s little kingdom was unknown to the bandits at the moment, they still roamed incredibly close to the border. Thus, Titania could use the branded camp as a sort of base of operations while the rest of her mercenaries moved from the other villages.

It was a good plan to corner the bastards. Too bad Titania was the one lurking in Petrine’s home.

She'd rather take anyone else of the other Mercs. Didn’t matter if it was Rhys with his sad little frown, Mia with her cheap kick into Petrine's knee, Oscar with his stupid lanky arms—and YES Petrine had learned their names, there was no escaping it with Mordecai dotingly mentioning them in every other conversation and Stefan boastfully reporting about their successes every other night.

The only one that wasn't totally impossible to be around was Evir. He, at least, didn't go on and on about the amazing feats of Titania's Mercs (although he did mention them on too many occasions with an admiring gleam in his eye). Thankfully, he was busy with the usual babble. So Petrine spent as many hours as he could with him, and hid behind the excuse of him needing training (that was at least true). Which was to his absolute delight. The way his eyes shone was not improving Petrine's mood one bit, but she didn't snap at him.

Which was weird. She was getting weird.

---

It was the seventeenth day. As the afternoon sun hid behind thick clouds, Petrine and Evir rested with their backs against the stone walls of the fortress. Evir had wrapped himself into his green wool cloak (one that he refused to let go of, insisting that it had been his mother's) and poked at his sword's edge. For once, he wasn't grinning or blabbing. He seemed deep in thought, and had been for the entire day.

Maybe that was normal for teenagers. Petrine certainly didn’t mind, but she occasionally glanced over at him just to make sure he hadn’t stopped breathing or anything (could teenagers do that? Should she watch him closer?), and he noticed her attention. He shifted a little.

"Hey, Lady Petrine..." he began, and Petrine prepared for the worst. Had he stolen something? Broken one of her few belongings? Killed someone? She almost hoped it was the latter, because that, at least, she knew how to respond to.

Though there was no way for her to prepare for what came out of his mouth.

"Do you think... Hundra likes me?"

Petrine narrowed her eyes. She might not have heard him correctly; but no, her ears had never failed her before.

"How should I know?" she asked, and abruptly added; "And who cares?"

"I care", Evir said, very quietly. "... Sorry. Just, uhm... In case you’d picked up on anything like that..."

Where in the name of the deepest damnation was this coming from? Petrine considered simply standing up and walking away, but the awkward and hesitant aura around her student spread over to her. She knew he’d be hurt if she left him, and… She didn’t want that.

"You talk with each other a lot", Petrine scoffed as her answer. "At least for two fools who pretend to hate each other."

"I don't hate the hawks", Evir admitted. Which was incredibly weird. What was wrong with him?

"Ilkrese is annoying, though", he added. "No doubt about it. But Hundra... he's pretty neat. I'd just want for him to think that of me, too, is all."

"I'm sure he does", Petrine said, feeling completely lost. One instinct told her to pat his shoulder, which was odder than everything else combined. "You're... friends, right?"

Evir frowned and thrummed his finger against the blade, his face growing red. "I'm talking ROMANTICALLY, Lady Petrine."

Petrine would have preferred being dropped armorless and weaponless in the center of a world-ending battle. That would be comfortable in comparison.

"Friends are a good start", Evir clarified with a little rise of his finger. "But... how do I get him to like… appreciate me?"

Petrine lit up a little. Finally, a question she could answer.

"Respect", she grunted and hit her hand into her palm. Evir reined back in surprise. "You get them to respect you! You impress them with your physical prowess, you make them see you as their superior, you show them who they ought to turn to when things need to be done!"

Evir looked at her with a puzzled expression. "That... doesn't sound very romantic, Lady Petrine."

“You asked me about appreciation!” Petrine shouted. “Romance won’t help you survive out there, but what I’m telling you, that will save your guts!”

“I get the feeling you’re just trying to change the subject”, Evir said. He kept watching her with his eyes that were nearly completely black in the dull light. "I mean… have you ever liked someone romantically, Lady Petrine? Oh, sorry, anyone that you, what was it… respected?"

She threw a pebble at him. Missed on purpose because she might hurt him otherwise, but she hoped he got the message.

"Oop", Evir said as he ducked. "Sorry—I’m shutting up, now."

“That’s the first sensible thing you’ve ever said”, Petrine glared at him, and they didn't talk of much else after that.

Though unfortunately, the silence didn't last.

---

The following day, Petrine was enjoying her breakfast on the outskirts of the little camp when she once again heard the phrase that she’d come to know so well during her stay. 

“Hey, Lady Petrine?” 

The first week, Petrine had rolled her eyes every time she heard Evir’s greeting. The second, she’d sighed or grunted or waved him away. This was the end of the third week, and now she turned her head, looked him in the eye. 

He was uncomfortable, she noticed. It didn't seem to be because of her gaze, because he actually relaxed a little when she looked at him. Though he still squirmed a little and pulled at his sleeves. 

“I’m sorry if I upset you, yesterday.” 

Petrine raised her brows. She stared at him in stunned silence for a few moments, unable to respond. 

She had never… had anyone apologize to her like that before.

Of course, there had been her former inferiors that trembled beneath their helmets as they squealed something like ‘I’m sorry, My Lord General!’. Sometimes because they’d done something wrong and deserved her fury. Sometimes because Petrine herself had bullied them into submission. 

It was to teach them their place. It was to elevate her place. And it had been satisfying, but in hindsight… A trembling soldier was nothing extraordinary compared to the simple sight of a young raven-branded nervously balancing on his heels. Why was that? She couldn't figure it out, exactly, but her cheeks felt hot with sudden discomfort. 

She'd come to know shame after her failures. Every apology she'd received before felt downright wrong, and her cheeks were burning because of it.

Goddess bones, she was feeling nauseous. 

“It is… all right”, Petrine told him, the words uncomfortable in her mouth. 

Evir relaxed his shoulders, and nodded. He took a few uncertain steps closer to her, then sat down beside her. Not too close, but not leagues away, either.

Something was missing, though, some big chunk of... comfort. 

Because Evir had stepped up to her, and she had yet to do the same for him. Petrine cleared her throat. 

“I…” she began, then trailed off. Her mind screeched at her to stop talking, but some strange part of her persisted. 

“I’m sorry for throwing a rock”, she said in a single released breath. 

She’d expected to feel the world crash around her. She’d expected her whole sense of self to implode. But instead, saying those two words… She felt stable and… strong. 

Evir chuckled and leaned his arms over his knees. “You missed, though”, he answered her. 

“Because I wanted to”, Petrine snapped back, out of pure instinct. 

Evir shrugged, his smile growing wider. And the aura around him was softer. Open. They were back to normal again, then. Whatever was 'normal' for Petrine, anymore. 

“So…” Evir said after a few moments of silence. “I've been meaning to ask, as your devoted student... When do you think I’m done with my training?”

Petrine couldn't help the small smile that formed on her face. 

“Give it a few more hundred years", she answered. 

Evir snorted a laugh. “That’s what the healing priest that taught me used to say, you know. Said that I might just be absolutely terrible at everything I try. Great thing to tell an eight-year-old kid, I know. But that old coot should see me now; I’m basically the royal healer of this kingdom!” 

“A kingdom of twenty people”, Petrine felt it necessary to add. 

Evir shrugged again, added a dramatic wave of his hand. “You take what you get.” Then he rested his cheek on his arms, his black eyes peering up at Petrine. “In your most honest opinion… Can I ever become a mercenary?"

Petrine tilted her head to meet his gaze. 

“My honest opinion?” She rested her breakfast bowl in her lap. Set her full attention to him, reflected on the things his unique little figure could provide on a battlefield, and her old military senses got to work. He could heal decently enough, and his sword skills weren't all bad, and he was not easily deterred, not even by the living memory of Daein's best general.

“Yes", she said. "One day. Tenacity is a fine trait... And you clearly do not lack it."

Evir brightened like a little sun beneath his dark forelocks.

“Damn”, he whispered. “Really?"

Petrine felt his unabashed joy seep over toward her; something she couldn’t push away or close off anymore. She'd lost all her filters that usually kept such useless feelings away, at least whenever Evir was around.

"So if I'm THAT good", Evir began and grinned, his eyes set on some sort of distant dream. "Do you think I could join up with Titania’s Mercs?  Before she leaves, even?” 

And just like that, Petrine’s mood was spoiled. Goddess be damned. Just hearing the name was enough to ruin her day. She hated the reminder of Titania’s self-pleased face in the distance, hated her little smiles that got Petrine’s shoulders all tensed up and her belly to knot itself— 

She raised a finger, and without warning, she poked it into Evir’s throat. 

“Ow”, he said. “What—“ 

She poked him in the cheek, harder. 

“Defend”, she said. 

He flailed his arm a little, and Petrine redirected her aim to his flank, then his neck. 

“Defend”, she repeated, and he released a confused grunt before he crawled away from her and got to standing. 

“I wasn’t ready”, he huffed indignantly. 

Petrine snapped her fingers and gave him a pointed look. 

"Oh, look at that", she said venomously. “You’re dead, Evir. Your enemies killed you. What, you think they’d wait for you to get ‘ready’? If you're a mercenary paid to kill them?” 

“Point taken”, Evir grumbled, and cautiously sat down again. Then, after a few moments and with equal caution, he poked his finger into her arm.

"Except I was just playing dead", he whispered. "And I fooled them all."

Petrine shook her head, her reminder of Titania's existence fading just a little, and she laughed.

Not the bubbling kind that some people let out in a sort of unfiltered joy, not the snorting laugh of someone free of the chains of unnecessary embarrassment. It was a harsh, croaked sound. And it was the same as Evir's. Maybe that was the laughter of lost people trying to find their place in a world that hadn't made room for them before.

Either way, they chuckled together, and it was nice.

---

Evening assemblies were an important part of the routine of the Branded Kingdom, and as their leader, Stefan was always present to share stories or plans or joke about how the flamelight made his hair look bigger.

Petrine had never liked Stefan’s evening assemblies very much, but she’d stopped trying to avoid them at this point. Though now that Titania was included every damned day, it was torture.

Her calm stance and reports on how successful she’d been and whatnot were about as pleasant to take part of as walking on coals – but it was torture of a much worse kind whenever Petrine wasn’t there to hear her. 

Not because Petrine liked observing her and feeling herself subconsciously try to imitate her - it was because this was Petrine’s home and she refused to be the one hiding. She stared at Titania almost without blinking, trying to intimidate her into losing her thread of speech; though Titania took the stares in stride. ‘Glad to see you pay such close attention, lady Petrine’, she’d laugh. All while Petrine could do nothing but quietly boil of anger.

Well. No matter. She’d be gone soon. Titania had boasted such herself. 

Because apparently, the rest of Titania's mercs had left to work for other patrons. Titania was so confident she could finish these last bandits off herself, she didn’t need the help of her crew. 

It was incredibly annoying how Petrine was convinced of that, too. 

But on this evening assembly, Titania didn’t show up. Not even as the evening cloaked them in the damp light of dusk. The fog swirled in a lonely fashion around the edges of camp, cloaking the figures of Stefan and Mordecai as they walked the perimeter.

They returned to the campfire with puzzled expressions, and immediately, worried glances were thrown between those gathered.

“She should be back by now”, Stefan said. His usual light demeanor nowhere to be found.

“Go search?” Mordecai asked him, swirling his tail in a worried manner. “I stay with cubs.”

“Yes, good”, Stefan said and dragged his fingers through his hair. “I’m sure no bandit could get the upper hand on her, but the forest can be treacherous, especially in this weather—“

Petrine didn’t care to hear the rest. This had to be the best assembly in weeks.

And it was, until Evir raised his hand. “I’ll help!”

Petrine went from pleased to completely cold. She took his hand and pulled it back down.

“Are you mad?” she hissed. “Have you listened to what these bandits do— They’ll kill you, damn it!”

Evir flushed and glanced at Hundra for a moment. Petrine wanted to shake him. Wanted to yell ‘you can’t impress him if you’re DEAD’, but she managed to keep herself contained.

“Someone’s gotta help”, Evir mumbled and squirmed out of her grip.

Petrine got to her feet, and she could tell from the wide stares that she’d surprised every single one in the assembly, but she didn’t care. She’d surprised herself even more.

“Then let it be me”, she said, her fists clenched. “I won’t see your foolish face on the end of a spear! And that’s final.”

Evir didn’t answer. He just looked pale.

Ilkrese, one of the hawks, snorted a quiet laugh. “Looks like Evir’s got a mom”, he said. “Why look for your real one when you got a deranged old general, huh?”

“Shut up, Ilkrese”, Hundra snapped back, and Petrine nodded.

“Indeed”, Petrine agreed. “Shut up, Ilkrese. I wouldn’t mind seeing your face skewered; I could even see to it myself and spare the bandits the pleasure.”

“Cubs should not fight”, Mordecai tried to interject, but Petrine clenched her fists and glared at him.

“For the hundredth time”, she hissed. “I’m close to forty years old, not a cub.”

Mordecai watched her thoughtfully, a frown on his face, before he shook his head. “Still cub”, he insisted, in his gentle ‘you know I’m right’-kind of way.

Petrine let out a sound she herself didn't know what it was, and in a jerky movement she crouched down to snatch Evir's training sword. She might not be the image of maturity right then, which didn’t help her point against Mordecai’s claims, but all that be damned.

"I'm going", she told Stefan, who only watched her with his mouth a thin line. He didn't protest, but he didn't seem too keen on letting her out on her own.

Ridiculous. Like Petrine would run away now.

She spun around and shot her gaze into Evir's.

"If I see you out there", she hissed. "...I'll..."

She didn't like to threaten him, she realized, and nothing she could come up with felt right. So she just left it unsaid, and turned on her heel again.

---

Tracking was a child's play to Petrine. Always had been. She had keen senses and she knew how a careless human walked and talked. Even in the thick fog, the bandits' hideout was simple enough to find. It was a simple thing, just a few leather skins lumped together into tents and a fireplace to make food. And most importantly, it was devoid of any life.

Petrine found first one bandit, then two, then three—

All still. All dead.

The work of a battleaxe, evidently. 

Petrine stopped in the middle of the cheap furs and wind protection, and with her hands on her hips, she sighed.

Why was she even here? Titania was obviously too good to be harmed by these lowly criminals. Petrine might not like it, but the fact remained inescapable and true.

Well then, wherever she was, Titania was not a corpse on these grounds. Maybe she’d fallen into a chasm on her way back. She lacked the advantages of branded blood, and the fog could hide many things from a simple human.

Petrine glared out over the field, lifted a few pots - there might be gold around a place like this. She didn’t like wasting her time to track this place without having something to show for it, and if Evir kept being this reckless, he at least needed proper armor.

Though something caught her attention as she searched other bandit corpses. Four, five, six— The bandits lay closer together, almost like a trail. Petrine dropped the pot and walked through the brushwork, her sword drawn.

Seven, eight—

"Who goes there?" 

Petrine recognized that voice. Hard and stern and powerful - she hadn't heard it like that in a while, though. In later days, Petrine had heard it ring softer, kinder, and teasing and friendly. But she hadn't realized the difference until now.

"Don’t come closer", Titania barked, a blade gleaming through the brushes. “I can still fight!”

Petrine separated the last branches, and immediately realized the blatant lie.

Titania sat with her back to a tree, her face pale beneath flaming curls, and her left leg angled and swollen from the knee down.

Petrine stopped, her blade still drawn, and watched Titania lower her dagger. 

"Petrine", she greeted her, quietly and defensively.

"I’ve told you to call me General", Petrine answered her, but there was no fire behind her words. Just a statement, a simple fact.

Then they were quiet.

Petrine didn’t move, and Titania didn't beg.

They both realized what would happen.

Petrine wouldn't get a chance like this again. One slice with her sword, and she'd have peace, finally,  FINALLY. And no one would know she’d broken her promise. Petrine could claim to Stefan and the rest of her camp that she’d found Titania as a body and nothing more.

But it would be much more fitting to simply leave. Walk away, like Titania had done. Leave her to die alone and frightened.

Wouldn't it?

Petrine stayed. Her eyes narrowed. Then she walked those final steps. Titania's chin moved away from her, in a small sign of fear, but the rest of her stayed brave. Her eyes didn’t falter. She’d die with pride, with courage; that was what her gaze told Petrine.

Petrine bent down beside her.

"Give me your arm."

Titania had small beads of sweat on her brow. Her movement was slow, but she did what Petrine asked. And Petrine slung it over her shoulders before she could change her mind.

It wasn't that Petrine didn’t want peace. It wasn't because it would be a shame to see those numerous freckles fade away. It wasn’t because it'd be a shame to see such radiant hair and strong jawbones be covered and buried beneath the earth.

It was because lately, Petrine had watched her own reflection and not been filled with spite over past mistakes. And if she went through with her kill, Petrine would be back again, living in that spite. She’d return to the Old Petrine, and she didn't want that.

She liked being New Petrine. And she didn’t hunt that thought away for fear of weakness, anymore.

Petrine adjusted her hold, and Titania groaned in pain.

"I'm sorry", Titania said, and it was the strangest thing. What would she be apologizing for, exactly?

"He looked so much like Greil", she panted through closed eyes and clenched teeth. "I shouldn't have been hesitating, but I—"

"Greil who?" Petrine felt compelled to ask, even though she shouldn’t care. But by the sounds of it, this Greil must be an arch-nemesis of sorts, and a powerful one to shake even Titania, and that was undeniably interesting.

Titania didn't answer. Her body grew slacker. And Petrine realized the fact that she might be bringing a dead Titania home, after all. Petrine shook her a little.

"Hey, keep talking!" She sounded like Evir. He was rubbing off on her, and it wasn't that embarrassing, strangely enough. "Greil who?"

"A ghost from the past", Titania muttered. "Where my heart once belonged. Not that he ever knew, because I never speak of such things... I always hoped he'd simply pick up on my... signs, I suppose. Which is how I keep doing things to this day... I never had much luck in love."

"Hearts betray you", Petrine nodded, satisfied with Titania staying conscious. "Keep you unwell in a fight."

Titania gasped a slow protest. "That's... not true."

"I think your leg proves my point", Petrine was quick to answer.

Titania grimaced. Stumbled onwards, past the bodies of bandits.

"I've always wondered if I'd meet him in the beyond", Titania said, looking down. "And that I'd be... brave enough to tell him, that time... But now I don't want to... do either of those things."

"Good", Petrine scowled and readjusted her grip on Titania. "Because you're not going to any afterlife yet. It would be unfit for your station, and your family would be—"

She had to stop herself then, because the warm worry in her chest was completely new to her. Never before had she felt the ache of watching a companion wither, never been so... clumsily desperate. It was similar to actually being the one dying, and that was just... unspeakably strange.

"Since when", Titania chuckled darkly, "do you care about either my station or my family, General Petrine?"

"Well, Mia has a good kick technique", Petrine babbled, trying to cover up the odd swirl of feelings in her mind. "And Oscar's stew was sublime when you brought it over to the camp. Rhys is actually a great healer and I hope he can convince Evir to give up his fighting dreams. And…  They all deserve to have a leader to depend on."

"Who are you?" Titania snorted. "And what have you done to the Petrine I know?"

"I killed her", Petrine answered blankly. "That's what I was taught to do with the weak, and past me was an embarrassment. There's no strength in loneliness."

"Oh", Titania said, and there were a lot of hidden meanings behind that simple sound, Petrine could tell.

"You’re the one who kept preaching that", Petrine snapped, annoyed at the swirl that kept going in her mind, spread down to her chest. "So why did you send your crew back home?" 

Titania wheezed. She was probably trying to chuckle again, but her breathing was already so strained. "Maybe I was secretly hoping you'd come and rescue me."

There it was again. That teasing smile. Petrine only glanced at Titania for a brief moment, and it was deeply hidden behind cold beads of sweat and tired eyes, but Petrine saw it nonetheless.

"When did I ever give you the impression that I would?"

"Can't say", Titania mumbled. "But you... did."

Petrine scoffed. The fog cooled them both down, and by now Petrine had to fight to keep Titania upright.

But she knew the shape of the trees, she still saw the bends of the branches, the trails of her own feet – they were close to home.

Though they might not make it. Petrine’s shoulder ached, her arm trembled, and Titania slowed down. Her limp more accentuated. 

"You gotta keep up", Petrine said and hugged her toward herself. Her words didn’t come out as harshly as she intended. 

Titania didn't answer, slacked further.

Petrine let out a groan. "All right then! Have it your way." 

She grabbed Titania by the back and legs, and tipped her into her arms. 

Titania’s eyes opened for a brief moment in surprise, then mumbled something like ‘no, I’m too heavy’. Petrine merely scoffed again. 

"What do you take me for?” She took one step, then another. “Just support your own head, do some of the work around here!" 

Titania obeyed, put her head against Petrine’s shoulder. Her hair was soft and tickling on her cheek, her breaths warm against her throat. 

Soggy. Strange. And somehow not terrible. 

"I'm not used to injury", Titania mumbled. 

Petrine rolled her eyes. "Of course not, a legend like you is probably invincible, right?" She glanced on Titania's leg - it was swelling so much, they probably had to cut the armor plates to free it. Hopefully not cut the leg along with it.

It was ugly and frightening. The swirl of worry had reached the center of Petrine’s chest, and she didn’t like it.

“Yes, invincible.” Titania cringed and moved her head closer to Petrine’s chin. "That must be why I feel absolutely splendid right now." 

Petrine could hear the camp on the other side. Recognized the trees being the ones she and Evir often rested beneath after a long day of sparring.

“You’re about to feel way better, either way”, Petrine said – in some strange urge to comfort another fellow knight in pain. “Because we’re here. We’re home.”

Titania didn’t answer. Her head fit comfortably on Petrine’s shoulder, but not at all comfortable in her arms. They were equal in size, and Petrine couldn’t hold her for much longer. 

And yet she stayed where she was. Hesitated right on the border.

For a moment, she feared the image of General Petrine that would shatter as soon as she entered their vision. 

But she was new Petrine now, and she feared nothing. 

She climbed over the fence and stepped over the grass. 

Chapter Text

-Two years later- 

It was getting warmer. Southern Tellius was not the best place to be when summer drew to a close, but a job was a job, and Petrine wasn't going to be scared off by something so simple as heat. Neither would her crew. They had a reputation to uphold, after all. 

And refusing the Empress of Begnion just wouldn’t look good on her resume. Petrine straightened her back and shoved the branches out of her way through the forest path, and kept holding them so her crew could go past, too. 

"Nice as ever, chief Petrine", Evir grinned at her. 

"It's not for you", she scoffed. "I'd let it whack you in the face if you weren’t so short." 

"Keep saying that and he'll never grow", Drek, a cat branded who never let go of his axe, said. "Kids need love and support to become tall. Like plants. Basic stuff." 

"Not a plant, though", Evir added. "Nor am I a kid. I'm seventeen." 

"You’re right, that’s being a baby", Drek shot back. “If you’re under twenty-five, you’re a kid."

"You don't say that to Rolf", Evir complained, ducking beneath another branch as the path opened up toward a clearing. 

"Yes he does", Rolf shouted from ahead of them. "Because he’s an old coot!”

"Be nice to your elders, kid", someone else shouted from where the branches were nothing but a thin veil. Judging by the voice, Petrine determined it had to be Boyd.

Petrine smiled, and as she walked out into the clearing, so did her crew. And thus, two mercenary teams joined one another in the middle of a forest, far away from any trace of society.

"How about that”, Petrine said with feigned surprise, and stretched her back with a sly grin at Titania. “You’re here too. Opposite sides?”

“That day has yet to come”, Titania answered her, hand on her hip. “Considering how common it is for the ones hiring us to consider our crews the same.”

“They’re basically right, though”, Evir said with his arm slung lazily over Rolf’s shoulder. Those two always hugged when they met, and as soon as the basic greetings were over with, they couldn’t stop yammering about their significant others waiting back home, which wasn’t as annoying as it sounded. Surprisingly.

“Well”, Petrine said and angled her chin. “Should we be put against each other, I’m at least confident which side would win.”

Her comment awarded her with a few lighthearted boos and cheers, and Titania’s smile grew wider. She waved at her own to follow, and Petrine’s crew fell in step too. Their path led them far up in the mountains, and with the prickling pines, they were forced to walk in pairs.

Although, Petrine walked alone in the back.  Her job was to guard the rear, as Titania took on the front. Her job was also to watch the sun through the leaves – one of her favorite sights. It wasn’t part of any job description, but she was the boss, and she decided when she could take time to appreciate nature.

She tried to keep this habit a secret from Mordecai whenever they met, but considering his broad and content smile when he saw her, he probably already knew. Wise old bastard, he was.

Dusk came for them, and although the nights stayed bright, it was time for them to set up a place to rest. This time, with Mia at the front, eagerly waving the rest of the band up a curving path, while Titania had subtly found her way to the rear. Stepping in close beside Petrine.

“Really”, Titania hummed as her greeting and watched Petrine from beneath her eyelashes. “You say you’re confident you would win against me? Sounds awfully familiar, lady Petrine.”

“Sweet old fool”, Petrine said with a wicked tilt of her head. “I have gained more than a few tricks since that time.“

“Tricks? Doesn’t that sound exciting.”

They were separated from their mercenaries by not more than a turn in the path, but to Petrine, it was like they were the only two people in the entire world. Titania reflected the sun and her deep red eyebrows were arched in a tender kind of taunt.

“Why don’t you show a trick or two to me now, then? Or would that spoil the surprise?”

 Her little grin was absolutely maddening. Petrine caught her hand and stepped closer in the same movement, and it shoved Titania against one of the pines. Not violently. Never violently. Petrine had moved, and as soon as Titania caught on, she followed. They still knew how to duel, but this was a different sort of dance.

Her lips smiled against Petrine’s. Fingers curled into the hold, while Titania’s other hand found her cheek, with a silver ring cold against Petrine’s skin.

Once there had been a knight, with burn marks on her face and fire all around her. The knight herself was the true center of the flames, and she had a soul that could scorch. But instead, she always chose to embrace those who were freezing in her warmth.

Warmth that had thawed a mind and heart, both stiffened in ice and cruelty.

Once there was a knight, and Petrine often dreamed of her. But no dream ended better than the reality; that this knight – the wild, the warm, the soft and the strong – was, and would remain, her wife.

It was not a marriage of the traditional kind, with the two of them traveling separately, but it was no less real. And while Petrine felt as strong as she always had, she knew they were both getting older and their work was of a dangerous kind. The time when Titania’s light burned in her life may be temporary, but the mark she would leave was no less eternal.

And they were there now. Just the two of them. Their union repeated in whispers and little laughs. Time had no power, there.

The sun simmered through the roof of pine needles above them, and cast a light. Red as the fires of Raven Bridge. And Petrine kissed her again.