Chapter Text
part i: white clouds
fall & the first snow
Seulgi has never put much stock into love and romance for herself.
It's not that she's not been known to indulge in a book of fairy-tales from time to time, nor does she quite shy away from stories of star-crossed lovers, and she certainly tunes into the vines of gossip that is curled across all of Garreg Mach.
In her heart, she knows that these things aren't meant for her.
Her brother perished at Duscur, a hole that her heart hasn't quite healed from even though it has been more than a year. The only thing that's left for her to do is to take his place as a Knight in His Majesty's service when he takes the throne.
But even before that, the only thing she's longed for is to soar to the skies on the back of her pegasus, sword strapped to her hip as she wields her lance high above all of Fódlan. Up there, nothing else quite mattered.
So she trains hard. Tries harder than any of the Blue Lions. She doesn't need a crest to fuel her way up into the skies. Knighthood will be hers.
* * *
Or at least, things go that way for a few short moons at Garreg Mach.
The coming of the warm winds bring rain with them, and she has to spend more days than she'd care for indoors. Holed up in the library, she curses the weather daily for the rain.
Seulgi cannot begrudge her friend for leaving her (alone) in the Blue Lions. Seulgi understands. Or at least, she tries to.
Seungwan had leapt at the chance to study at the Officers Academy, and spent every day she could in the Infirmary, learning all she could from Professor Manuela from the very start. Or she'd spend so much time with her now-Professor in the cathedral, their Goddess-blessed voices carrying their songs to the heavens. Her own Professor bores Seulgi to death when he starts talking about crests. It’s no wonder that Seungwan, crestless as she is, would prefer to get out of his classes.
Still, she's glad that now, now that they're in the library, she's finally gotten to spend more time with her. Her housemates are always welcoming, and Baron Dominic's son makes for an excellent training partner. And it’s not like she’s alone – she Hedvig Galatea’s cheery demeanour earns Seulgi’s trust quickly, and she’s sure they’re on their way to becoming decent friends.
But—
Seungwan's brought a friend with her.
It's Irene.
Irene, whose fire magic burnt Seulgi's blonde hair into a fried crisp at the mock battle all those months ago. It's unfortunate that that had happened, and Seulgi was forced to run off the battlefield soon after when another Eagle's training arrow found her shoulder as her hair sizzled.
That Irene.
But…
She can't hate Irene too much. The Blue Lions still won their first mock battle.
And it's Irene, whose long purple hair cascades over her shoulders in a way that makes Seulgi wonder what it’ll be like to braid it.
(She braids her own hair all the time, the frizz would whip across her face when she flies otherwise.)
And it's Irene, whom, as she's learned recently, is frightened by practically everything. The poor girl had been assigned to stable duty for the past two weeks. Every Friday, she'd come in alone, her whole frame shaking as she went through her assigned tasks.
It was a soft whinny from Seulgi's own pegasus that sends Irene scurrying behind Seulgi that one morning, hiding behind the knight-hopeful as she came to the stables to groom Vindr. A questioning brow from herself had led to the quiet admission that Irene was scared of the pegasi and horses alike, never mind the few wyverns the monastery kept.
She’s only ever admitted this to Seungwan, but Irene had intimidated her for the whole of the Great Tree Moon. After getting her hair singed to bits by an axe wielder, of all people, she only has more reason to be scared of her.
(Seungwan doesn’t know that Irene’s fire spell managed to burn Seulgi’s hair was because Seulgi was distracted by a certain pretty visage. It still embarrasses Seulgi to think about this.)
In the time Before Singeing, she knew Irene as the small girl that always holds her small frame so determinedly, steel in her dark eyes as she assesses the room she walks into. She isn’t even a noble and has no titles to her name, but somehow, she’s in the Black Eagles. How did she manage that?
Now?
Irene doesn’t exactly terrify her anymore. And Seulgi even wants to spend time with her. She’s been matching her visits to the stables with Irene’s schedule, offering to brush the equines for her instead. She has even scolded Vindr for scaring Irene. She’s sure he wasn’t very impressed with her, if his snort is anything to go by.
She’s interrupted from her musings when Irene clears her throat. She’s saying something, and it takes her too many seconds to realise that Irene’s asking for her help to grab one of the books from the shelf.
Seulgi jumps to her feet immediately, the chair scrapping loudly against the wooden floor. Everyone around her turns to glare at her. Oops. She smiles, sheepishly, apologetic.
Irene doesn’t like heights either. Ladders aren’t quite made for her. She’s seen Irene try to climb a ladder before. Her hands, pale against their dark uniform as they are, went white. Seulgi doesn’t quite understand how someone so fierce in battle can be scared of so many things.
She grabs the book on a tiptoe. The smile Irene flashes her in return makes Seulgi’s heart feel funny: she imagines herself on Vindr, the winged horse executing a looped arc across the sky.
It's probably just the spring fever, or what remains of the season.
* * *
It isn’t just spring fever. Her wretched heart betrays her every day she ventures into the library. Studying with Seungwan – and now Irene – becomes an exercise in not touching the Eagle.
She swears her heart will leave her throat when their knees even brush against each other. And that’s the most ridiculous thing she has to confess to Seungwan when she drags her friend into her room for a much-needed sleepover.
Seungwan throws her head back laughing. She laughs until she realises Seulgi’s being serious about it. Her laughter draws Sooyoung into Seulgi’s bedroom, whom Seulgi knows as a recent extension of Seungwan’s self.
There’s (probably) no harm telling Sooyoung about it too, and then it’s Sooyoung’s turn to rib Seulgi for her crush.
“A crush?” What?
“Or,” Sooyoung suggests sagely, “an infatuation. It might pass!”
“But how?” Seulgi demands. Nothing has quite seized her like this before. Can she make it go away?
Sooyoung laughs harder before Seungwan shushes her. Seulgi’s not sure if she should take offence when Seungwan tells Sooyoung that Seulgi’s never had a crush before. That the closest she’s ever been to love is when she whacks her training sword against the dummies long and hard enough to make her heart race.
Irene becomes an unknown quality in her life. Funnily enough, Seulgi realises that she doesn’t quite hate her for that.
* * *
Sooyoung’s the one who first proposes that Seulgi offer Irene a Garland crown.
Seulgi nearly chokes on her sweet-apple tea. “Come again?”
Sooyoung only repeats her suggestion, a devious smirk spreading across her face. “After all,” she says, “the white roses are only in bloom for so long.” They’ll only be around in the Academy for so long before the Garland Moon passes them by.
“But why?” Seulgi pursues the point, frowning.
Still, the very suggestion causes her stomach to twist into knots. And she sees Sooyoung smirk more widely because knows she's managed to make Seulgi squirm.
Thankfully, Sooyoung decides that being magnanimous is one of her finer qualities, deciding to spare Seulgi from further grief for the rest of their tea party.
Full on those delectable sweet rolls (that she’s sure Sooyoung stole from the kitchens), Seulgi kicks her boots off to lie on her bed after she finds a suitable moment to flee, mulling the idea. It’s not a bad one. Girls like to be gifted Garland blooms, don’t they? The only problem she can see is that Irene’s line of suitors will get to her first. How many crowns of white roses can one girl wear?
And, even if she does give her a crown… why is she doing it? Will Irene accept?
She can’t offer Irene much. Seulgi’s only place in the world is to ascend to knighthood. Her stepfather has been generous with her. When she was younger, he’d spin her around, calling her princess. Then after she read The Sword of Kyphon, he started to call her a knight. But his love cannot offer her any of his land, even if he may want it for her.
She cannot fathom why Irene would choose her when there are scores of proper nobles around the Academy. The Gerths have a member in attendance this year. So do the Dominics. Then the Golden Deer’s house leader is a fully-fledged heir to the Daphnel lands. And then there are the merchants from the Alliance.
It makes Seulgi’s head hurt to think of all this.
When she brings her conundrum up her friends, they start to snicker before realising that Seulgi’s serious about her concerns.
“Oh no. You’ve really got it bad, huh. Sorry, Seul.” Sooyoung apologises. Then, delicately, she points out, “You’re only gifting her a flower crown. Maybe even to make your heart known to her. Court her. It’s not a proposal, not by any long stretch.”
She realises she’s pouting when Sooyoung continues to tease her about it. “You Kingdom knights are all repressed fools.”
* * *
The rain stops one day late into the Garland Moon.
At the toll of the first bells, she treks her way out of the Monastery, thanking the stars it’s a Sunday. There aren’t any white roses to be found within the Monastery’s inner walls. After all, the place is an educational and religious institution. As much as the Goddess smiles upon young love – the monks would probably shrivel in their robes at the sight of every young student plucking the bushes clean of roses in this moon.
White roses are found easily enough. She pricks her hand a few times gathering enough roses for a crown. And she’s not particularly good at this. Not at all. She’s good with the lance, her sword, and on her mount. She’s passably decent with the brush and easel.
But weaving?
Her grandmother used to hit her hand with a ruler for every stitch she got wrong in their (mandatory) embroidery sessions. She hated having to meet her grandmother for tea, knowing her hands would bruise with the frequency of the hits.
Weaving a flower crown takes more time than it should. Her fingers fumble, her head confused by the twists she has to make.
Halfway through, she huffs. She thinks she’s getting it, but it still looks like a misshapen lump. How can something so simple be so complicated?
Nevertheless, she manages to finish her task. Seulgi lets pride swell her chest for a second, satisfied at a job done (even if it’s not well-done).
The next step’s harder.
She runs back to the Monastery, not caring that the mud splashes against her uniform. She’ll just wash it when she has to. When she’s finally on the first floor of the dormitories, she swallows.
What if Irene’s not already awake?
Oh, Seulgi, Seulgi, Seulgi, you’ll be annoying her! And she works so hard too, buries her nose in tomes that a warrior doesn’t quite need – you should probably let her sleep?
Her fist is hovering over the door to Irene’s room, seized by indecision, when the door opens. Irene’s still bleary eyed, clearly barely awake even though the sun has climbed almost midway into the sky.
“Oh, hello Seulgi,” Irene greets, raising a hand to squint against the light. “You’re at my door. Oh. Are you’re looking for me?”
Seulgi nods, not trusting her voice to speak. Her left hand is still clutching tightly at the flower crown, hidden behind her back. She’s not quite sure she’s meant to see this, a bare-faced Irene, free of any of the makeup she paints her pretty face with. But in this late morning light, an unadorned Irene is somehow lovelier to behold. Even in their mock battles, she has never quite seen Irene without at least a smidge of eyeliner. Should she come back later?
Irene shakes her head at Seulgi’s question. She says, “No. It’s fine, good morning.” This is before she frowns, asking, “is something the matter? You’ve never sought me out like this before.”
Seulgi hurriedly shakes her head at this. Everything is fine. It’s just that. Just that. She hands over the flower crown. “I made this for you.” Her eyes fix determinedly on the petals.
There’s a heart stopping moment when Irene doesn’t say anything, and Seulgi can feel her ribs sucking into her chest, tightly, painfully.
Seulgi nearly jumps back when Irene’s finger pushes against her chin, tilting her head upwards. Her lips are now curling upwards, her eyes dancing in the summer light. Her voice is soft, careful, as she asks, “Is this what I think it is?”
Seulgi’s head jerks. “I know it’s unexpected, but, if I may place this on your head, will you accept this as a… a token of my affection?”
“Yes.”
With that, Seulgi crowns Irene with roses. They’re brilliantly white against her lavender hair and Seulgi’s heart leaps at the sight.
Mirth coats Irene’s voice as she teases, “A token of your affection? My, my.”
Seulgi makes a noise, whining. Complains that Irene is teasing her. Irene points out that Seulgi is cute, that she is fun to tease. If she puts it that way, Seulgi can’t protest too much.
“I must ask, what does this make us?” Irene muses aloud.
“I… I can court you?” Seulgi’s reply is too hesitant for her liking, and she hates the way her voice trembles at the question.
Irene’s shoulders shake as she giggles, unbothered by Seulgi’s own uncertainty. “How formal. A noble knight courting a commoner. I am hardly worthy of being courted.”
Seulgi vehemently disagrees with this. Irene deserves every crown possible. Perhaps it’s not really heard of, a noble, however minor, courting a commoner, but Seulgi can’t think of any other way to keep Irene with her.
Is it because her crown’s imperfect? She can craft another crown, make it worthy of a gift for even the heir of the Kingdom.
“There’s no need,” Irene reassures. “Your gift is lovely. It’s more than I deserve.” Irene reaches out to smooth the furled lines of Seulgi’s forehead. “Since you’re the first to ask me today, and I’m in a good mood, yes, you may court me, Seulgi-yah.”
Hmm. Seulgi decides she quite likes that suffix affixed to her name.
* * *
Most of Garreg Mach knows about Seulgi’s intentions soon enough. Nobles are particularly fond of their gossip, as much as they like to scoff at it being a commoner’s pastime sometimes.
The Black Eagles are welcoming enough of Seulgi’s presence. They’ve already adopted Seungwan. Seulgi’s presence is accepted easily. When she joins the Eagles during mealtimes, they slide to the side, giving her a space beside Irene. The first time it happens, she doesn’t notice its significance. She only notices it when the Blue Lions offer Irene the same courtesy when Irene joins her at dinner one day, shyly asking to be better introduced to a house she doesn’t usually interact with.
Soon enough, Seulgi is the subject of jealous glances. Irene may be a commoner, but her face is a popular subject of envious discussions. What might it be like to walk through the halls with a Goddess-given face like that?
Or there are those comments that Seulgi always bristles at. There are those who whisper about how Irene must’ve seduced some noble for sponsorship into the Academy. How else would a base-born make it here? It’s a rumour everyone has heard of by now, not that Seulgi had the guts to ask Irene about it. Another point towards her self-loathing.
At the turn of the month, Seulgi is cornered by the Daphnel heir one morning in the training grounds.
The second Hirschel von Daphnel saunters through the wooden doors, he declares that he intends to duel Seulgi for Irene’s hand. What? He offers an easy smile as he continues his explanation. Surely, since Seulgi is bound by all those weird knightly codes, he has to beat her in something she understands to win Irene’s hand.
Seulgi accepts the duel. She’s not sure if Irene would want her to duel him on her behalf, but surely, she has to accept. She can’t be seen as a coward, unwilling to fight in defence of the girl she wants to continue courting.
Not that they’ve really done much in the way of courting. Seulgi remains caught up in her training, and Irene… Irene is mostly found in the library, regardless of the temporary reprieve from the rain.
She has also been nursing a slight grudge against Hirschel. For a house leader, he is utterly unchivalrous; he’s one of those who insulted Irene’s honour. But what can she expect of the Alliance’s mess?
The two of them pick up a wooden sword, readying themselves for a duel. Curious, Melchior declares that he’ll be judge of their duel.
“And… fight!”
They lunge at each other before it occurs to Seulgi that they’ve not even set the terms for their victory. Whatever. She’ll have to win then.
Hirschel reaches her first, his long limbs driving him forward. His blade swings at her from the side, and she jumps to the side, avoiding the arc of his sword. She barely has time to jump out of the way when he recklessly jerks his sword back at her, nearly smacking her face. When his blade doesn’t find purchase, he stumbles, and Seulgi takes the opportunity to hit his left arm, driving him towards the ground.
His fall kicks dust up, and she blinks, cursing herself for forgetting that it hasn’t been raining for almost a week already. She’s too used to sparring in the mud, where she’d only have to avoid slipping. She has forgotten that dust can blind her.
Hirschel takes the opportunity to recover, rolling back to his feet and they circle each other again, this time warier of the other. She takes the initiative this time, jabbing her sword at his side experimentally, but he easily parries it, expectedly.
They continue this dance, neither giving each other an opening, both moving carefully, restrainedly, but forcefully, until Hirschel’s yell startles her as he charges, his blade swinging wildly and he slams his body into her shoulder. He’s so much taller and broader than she is and the bulk of muscle allows him to topple her to the ground, her sword nearly falling from her hand as her shoulder bears the brunt of the momentum.
Thankfully, she doesn’t hear that tell-tale pop. Her shoulder’s fine. Even as she falls to the ground, she growls as Hirschel grins, tauntingly. She’ll show him. She’s not great sparring on foot, but she won’t allow him an easy victory.
Before he can land another hit on her, she’s back on her feet, but this time, he swings his leg out at her when she charges at him. She stops her advance neatly enough, but he takes that opening to let his blade connect against her ribs, and the pain from the blow sends her back onto the ground, dazed.
When she opens her eyes again, she sees him still grinning. Smarmy bastard.
She doesn’t quite realise that she abandons any basic sense of honour until she pulls him down with her, her fists flying at his face. He’s a better brawler than Seulgi by far. Instinct drives him to raise his arms to protect his face first before he starts to counter her blows.
He’s not smiling anymore now. Annoyance is clear on his face. How dare a lesser noble attempt to hit him? Goddess, is that the glow of the Crest of Daphnel—
Irene bursts into the training grounds, yelling, “What in the world are you doing? You’re going to kill her! Get off her.”
Ah, her nose is broken. Blood streams from her nose.
Hirschel has the grace to look sheepish as he pulls himself away. “I got carried away, didn’t I?”
Irene is entirely unimpressed. “Yes. Yes you did. Now go before I report you for using the strength of your Crest against another student.”
The von Albrecht boy apologises for running for Irene and interrupting their fight – he was terrified when the Crest started glowing. He didn’t know how to stop Hirschel from pummelling Seulgi to a grievous state of injury and, well, help was needed.
Seulgi starts to inch away, hoping to escape, but she’s too late. Irene rounds onto Seulgi.
“You. Explain this! Melchior came running for me, said that you and Hirschel were fighting and… look at you!”
Seulgi winces at the pain emanating from the middle of her face. “Sorry. It’s… my honour to fight for you. He wanted to fight me for you. I couldn’t just let him win.”
Irene shakes her head exasperatedly. Her voice is tired as she says, “I don’t need anyone to fight for me. Or whatever it was. I don’t care if it was for my honour or anything like that, okay? I’ve heard what Hirschel’s been saying. And I chose you. Remember that.”
Seulgi doesn’t quite understand that, but she nods, wincing again. The sound draws Irene’s concern, and she sighs, kneeling beside Seulgi as she commands Seulgi to remove her hand from her nose so she can see it.
Seulgi’s nose has obviously been knocked out of shape. Irene only sighs again, not trusting her skills at healing to restore her nose into a straight line.
“Come on. Let’s go to the infirmary.”
Seulgi groans at this. Can they not go? Seungwan will nag her ear off. Unfortunately, Irene’s patience is thin today, and Seulgi is unceremoniously marched upstairs, her friend and Professor Manuela exclaiming at the sight of her. She’ll certainly be in for a long talk from Seungwan later.
* * *
Seulgi teaches Irene how to ride.
Or at least, Seulgi tries to teach Irene how to ride.
And she only does so after she finds Irene waiting at the stables one morning, waiting for her to finish Vindr’s exercise routine. Seulgi is still nursing a slight hangover from the previous evening, from when all of her housemates decided to join the Golden Deer in the celebrations for the Alliance’s Founding Day. She is sure that the Lions only joined the Deer because of the drinking party. Drinks made for excellent interstate unity.
Susceptible as she is to Irene’s pleas, especially so when her head hurts, she agrees, rubbing absently at her temples. It’s still too bright and okay Irene, can you speak more softly than you usually do?
To which Irene only smirks and holds out a canister of water, making Seulgi drink up. She announces that she’ll just return on a weekend. No point falling into the mud on a weekday. But how is she going to survive classes later?
Beats her. She reasons, “If I sleep through Professor Hanneman’s class, it’ll not be anything new to him.”
“But you never sleep through classes.”
Seulgi can only shrug. There’s a first for everything. Goddess. How did the Deers get their hands on all that rum?
Come Saturday, Irene and Seulgi suffer through a mid-morning sermon by Seteth. He goes on and on and on about the virtues of… something.
Seulgi isn’t paying a lot of attention, for once. She’s too preoccupied staring across the pews at Irene, who isn’t making a very good show of looking engaged at all. The Church’s teachings are important, but she always looks immensely bored at these morning sermons. Then again, Seulgi is letting herself be distracted by the way the fractals of light catch in Irene’s hair.
When the lecture finally concludes, the three houses shuffle out, chattering noisily. Irene slips through the crowd and links her arm through Seulgi’s. If she was feeling sleepy a second ago, her ears are burning now, her head completely awake.
“What are you doing?”
“What?” Irene smiles, innocently. “I’m cold.”
Seulgi raises a brow. “In the Horsebow Moon, really?”
Irene nods. “Well, I do get cold easily. Before the moon ends I’d be decked out in some furs, I’m sure. But you’re warm. It’s nice.”
Seulgi’s not particularly warm. She gets cold sometimes too. Her brother was the furnace of the family, not her. It’s too nice a morning to think of him.
With Irene’s hand in hers, she pulls her as quick as she can towards the stables. If Irene catches the slight dip in Seulgi’s mood, she doesn’t say anything about it, and instead, she squeezes Seulgi’s hand more tightly. Like she’s reminding her of her presence.
Seulgi likes to think herself decent at teaching. She’s able to break down abstract concepts, pull them apart into manageable components and slap metaphors onto them. She’s familiar with the few theories out there about riding on horseback, and her skill is well-honed by years of instruction from her father. She was a wee babe when he first put her on an old gentle giant of a draft horse, and she had followed his instructions religiously. When she got to ride on their ponies, even when he was busy, she spent entire summers in the fields.
Irene still trembles next to Vindr’s towering form. That wouldn’t do.
Seulgi starts with the smaller horses. Garreg Mach’s ponies don’t like to carry any riders, so they are out. They’re here as pack-mule, and she’s content to let the ponies do what they do best. The other horses here were obviously purchased for their potential on the battlefield. But there are some of them that are even-tempered, and probably small enough for Irene to start out on. It won’t do for her to continue to be scared of these mounts.
At least, with Seulgi’s coaxing, Irene manages to saddle the horse. They find her an old mare, soon to be retired. A gentle thing that stood perfectly still as Seulgi tries to continue to soothe Irene’s fears. “It’s okay. She won’t hurt you. You put your hand here, and use it to help you get up…”
After what she guesses was twenty-five minutes of even the mare’s growing impatience, Seulgi gives up and tries to find something suitable to use as a mounting block. They try again. Irene makes it onto the horse’s back, but things don’t really go better from there.
They get through an hour without any injuries, thanks to the graciousness of the horse. But Irene’s no less scared of riding. “It’s not just the horse,” Irene points out. “I’m scared of heights.”
Seulgi truly has her work cut out for her. But if it lets her borrow some of Irene’s time, she’s not complaining.
As they take a break to sip on some water, Seulgi takes a moment to lean back against the bales of hay. Honestly, this exercise is harder than she thought it would be.
Seulgi’s always been a natural at riding. Sure, she has earned more than a good share of scraps and bruises over the years, carelessness and recklessness being high on the list of reasons, but she has never anticipated that learning how to ride could come with such difficulty to someone.
Her younger half-brother shared her natural talent for equestrian endeavours. She has a fond memory of the boy leaping on her one morning while she was still asleep to challenge her to a race. A race? She had wondered aloud. The boy had barely been able to shoot an arrow then, and yet, he deemed himself a good enough rider to race her.
As they grew older, her father got busier. Fate was kind to him over the years, and he spent more and more of his days in Fhirdiad. She felt a little guilty that the only children he managed to teach to ride were herself and her brother even though they weren’t truly his. But she strove to compensate for his absence as best as she could. Even his youngest daughter, who was terrible at most things requiring any form of hand-eye coordination, learned how to stay on a saddle without aid eventually.
Still, she’s glad that she has something to teach Irene. Perhaps she should try to get the girl to teach her how to fight with an axe? A knight riding into a battle on an axe is not entirely unheard of, even if a little unconventional. It may not fit with her ideal image of a storybook knight, but maybe she could stand to stray a little from her childhood ideals for a bit?
She turns her gaze to watch Irene attempt to approach Vindr again. She has spent the past moon trying to drill it into Vindr that Irene is a friend – he should be friendly, not try to bite her hair!
She doesn’t realise how tense she is until Irene’s tentative hand lowers against Vindr’s withers to scratch against it. Irene probably doesn’t even know that that’s the spot that he appreciates being scratched most. A lucky guess.
There’s hope to be had still.
She stretches, willing the soreness in her arms to dissipate, but continues to watch Irene’s cautious interactions with Vindr. Maybe they’re off to an okay start.
She joins Irene in patting Vindr, walking up to them carefully so as not to startle her. “Hey Irene, let’s get back at our lessons. We still have a lot to cover.”
There’s a slight groan. “I hate to say it, but this riding thing is kind of painful.”
Seulgi acknowledges this. “Yeah, it leaves you sore, doesn’t it? We’ll work on your posture.” Then, Seulgi brightly declares, I’ll get you a proper pair of gloves when I head to the town next.”
“Oh my, a gift isn’t necessary.”
Seulgi shakes her head. “We can treat it as a congratulatory gift, of sorts? That, and it’s useful to have a decent pair of gloves.” She reaches for Irene’s hand, thumbing against her callouses. “These help, but if you’re going to be riding for days, you’d risk blisters without proper covering.”
Irene laughs at this. “When will I be riding for days, Seulgi? Professor Manuela is hardly going to put me on a mount when we head out for missions.”
“I don’t know,” Seulgi whines, sounding a little petulant now, which only makes Irene’s eyes twinkle further. “But can’t I just get you a gift?”
Irene raises her free hand, placatingly. “Sure, sure. Now, shouldn’t we get back to it? I have a report to finish.”
Their day ends with Irene shrieking against Seulgi’s ears as the sun set in the distance, after she foolishly persuades Irene to ride with her on Vindr’s back. The pegasus seemingly smells her fear and, in direct defiance of Seulgi’s commands, takes to the sky. With that, Irene nearly squeezes Seulgi to her death and Seulgi comes too close to bursting her poor eardrums.
As much as it’s Irene who requests that Seulgi starts to teach her, it’s Seulgi who ends up trailing after her asking (nearly pleadingly) to continue their lessons. Irene finally concedes that at the minimum, she needs to not tumble from a horse each time she mounts one. And hey, she’s finally able to mount a horse.
Seulgi doesn’t want these lessons to end. She finally feels useful, instead of having Irene help her out with all the theoretical assignments that Professor Hanneman chooses to torment her with. She misses this feeling, really, being able to teach someone something she’s good at.
She misses teaching, really. Training isn’t quite the same. Seulgi’s skills in combat are on par, or better, than the bulk of her classmates, but training has started to blur together. Her friends always seem equally skilled to her day after day until an assessment rolls by and it’s only then that they realise how much they’ve improved since they’ve arrived at the monastery.
Watching Irene attempt to overcome her fear of riding, though? That’s something that makes Seulgi more determined to teach her how to get better at this. Confusingly, the feeling isn’t entirely the same as teaching her siblings how to ride. Sure, she feels proud, that’s a feeling that doesn’t diminish.
But there’s something else too. Maybe she’s pleased that she’s gotten the opportunity to impress her. That observation makes her feel a little like a puffed-up coloured bird. Hmm. But maybe it all boils down to being happy that she has something of herself to share with Irene. Ah. that’s quite possibly it. Still, this bubbly joy is strangely intense. Perhaps this comes in the territory of everything that led her to courting Irene in the first place.
Days later, Seungwan comes up to Seulgi and tells her something she overheard from a slightly tipsy Irene during one of the nights out the Black Eagles take.
Seungwan’s amusement is clear when she stage-whispers, “Irene only asked for riding lessons because she wanted to hug you.”
And when Seulgi frowns, confused, maybe she could’ve asked for a hug?
Seungwan only shakes her head. “You’d have frozen, idiot.”