Chapter Text
It was like a dream.
Only Nicolo was awake. He was aware. Yusuf's shoulder was close to his, his heat a solid comfort by Nicolo's side. No. This was not a dream. This was happening. At last.
Yusuf's fingertips tapped inside the loose curl of Nicolo's hand. It was the tapping that made Nicolo realize he was tensing up as the women approached.
Yet Nicolo felt outside of himself, a feeling he had not felt for a very long time and in a situation far less pleasant. But it was a feeling he knew. It was familiar. It was unsettling.
"I thought they would be taller," Yusuf murmured out of the corner of his mouth. Yusuf kept his eyes forward.
"They seem like giants even from afar," Nicolo mumbled as he stared into the distance. The taller of the two could meet his eyes without strain. She wore her dark brown hair in a thick braid, tossed over a shoulder like it was an afterthought.
"Only because you are short," Yusuf replied breezily. "All appear to stand high next to you." He lightly scratched out the symbol for the sun into Nicolo's palm.
"Short," Nicolo scoffed under his breath, half-heartedly returning barbs. He knew Yusuf was trying his best to distract him.
"You stand at the same height. Does that not make you short as well?"
"Lies. Falsehoods," Yusuf shot back cheerfully. "We are only the same height if you stood on my boot." He yelped when Nicolo did just that.
"Very well," Yusuf sighed, too loudly to be sincere. "Spare my poor feet. I will concur we are of the same height." He paused before adding, "if I was seated."
Nicolo grunted, but he could not compose a clever response. The words dried up in his mouth as his eyes drifted back to the women. They were on the path. They would be here soon. Very soon.
The one he and Yusuf thought was the leader walked with her shoulders and back straight despite the large ax strapped behind her. It was similar to the way Yusuf carried his scimitar. She descended the slope in an easy stride, stepping over the dip in the ground Nicolo himself avoided. And her eyes were on him and Yusuf, fixed upon them and not on the unknown terrain.
This was a warrior who crossed many lands—rock or grass or sand—and has for many years.
A chill twisted in Nicolo's belly. How many years, he wondered. How much has she seen? How long has she roamed?
His gaze now drifted to her companion. She was the archer in his and Yusuf's dreams. She has darker hair that reminded him of a starless night, kept loose under her head wrap. She wore the red robes as they have seen in the dreams, her bow and quivers slung over her shoulder. She has the features of a person from the Far East, a face of delicate brushstrokes. Nicolo knew it did not truly reflect the iron core he and Yusuf have witnessed many times.
Nicolo has only met one like her once on a coastal village during their first year traveling together. He had stared—the man was unlike anyone he met before—until Yusuf jerked him into an empty alley and hissed he was rude. Yusuf had calmed when a flustered Nicolo stammered—his Arabic still poor then—that he did not mean to be.
As the women reached the path where he and Yusuf waited at the end, Nicolo's heart pounded harder. It felt like he was running, yet his feet were firmly rooted to the earth
"You and I," Yusuf murmured suddenly. His warm fingers wove through Nicolo's stiff ones. Yusuf squeezed Nicolo's hand, again and again, until Nicolo gripped back.
"The same," Nicolo offered in a lightness he wished he felt.
Yusuf huffed out a quiet chuckle. Yusuf did not let go of his hand. He tightened his grasp as the women stopped an arm's length away.
They considered each other with no expression.
Then, the woman with the ax sniffed. She nodded to her companion. "Quynh," she offered in a voice that reminds Nicolo of faraway thunder.
Quynh gestured back to the other woman. "Andromache."
There was a light accent Nicolo could not place. She sounded like chimes Yusuf once hung in a hut they stayed by the sea.
The silence stretched as they stared at each other once again.
Nicolo suddenly remembered they never discussed what language the women might speak.
Yusuf cleared his throat. He glanced wild-eyed over to Nicolo. Yusuf came to the same realization.
Andromache canted her head, studying him and Yusuf. She looked at them with a warrior's eye, weighing her adversary.
Then, she bloomed into a smile, a hint of teeth and bright eyes the color of faraway horizons and fields.
"I thought you two would be taller," Andromache said in perfect Arabic.
Yusuf burst into a relieved laugh. "We have thought the same of you!"
"This is Yusuf," Nicolo offered. He pulled his hand out of Yusuf's grip with reluctance. He gestured to Yusuf, who bowed to the women's amusement.
"And the one with the atrocious accent—" Yusuf winked at Nicolo, hopping sideways to avoid an elbow, "Is Nicolo di Genova."
Yusuf said his name grandly. If Nicolo bore a longer name attached with titles, Nicolo was certain Yusuf would gladly say the entire thing. His ears flushed.
Out of the corner of his eye, Nicolo caught Quynh silently repeating his name. Her unblinking obsidian eyes were on him while Yusuf made introductions. But her eyes slid away immediately; he would have not seen it had he not been looking.
Quynh held up an arrow. Two hares hung skewered through the shaft.
Andromache's eyes held a gleam of pride as she gestured towards the arrow.
"Quynh thought we should contribute meat should you be in want." Andromache looked towards Nicolo. But she did not comment. Just as well, Yusuf still lamented he could count Nicolo's ribs.
"You are skilled with a bow," Yusuf remarked. "Nicolo—"
"Would like to offer you tea as Yusuf prepares the meat," Nicolo interrupted before Yusuf starts to sing his undeserving praises. Nicolo suspected Quynh has centuries more experience with the bow than he.
Yusuf glanced to Nicolo, his eyes flicking over Nicolo's expression. He quickly turned his attention back to the hares.
"We will talk after a good meal, yea?"
Andromache shrugged a shoulder. Nicolo could not help but notice her ax lifting on her back. He glanced down at her hands. Her wrists were wrapped with leather gauntlets that were worn and scarred. They have seen battles. Far more than what he and Yusuf had seen in their dreams.
"Eating is good," Andromache said. That bright smile faded to something cryptic yet also knowing. Her eyes lingered on Nicolo before she and Quynh turned as one towards the table.
Nicolo scrubbed his palms down his trousers. The weight of the women's gazes made his skin itch. He was startled to discover his hands were sticky with sweat. Yusuf did not complain before.
Yusuf stayed, hesitant, one hand gripping the laden arrow. His other hand edged closer towards one of Nicolo's again.
"Go," Nicolo murmured. He smiled faintly at the question in Yusuf's eyes and the hesitation in the half-step towards the house. "It is fine."
Yusuf stroked the back of Nicolo's hand. He turned away to fetch his knives to make halal.
Nicolo's smile faded.