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i. Florina
Florina was cute. Really cute. There was just something about her that drew Hector in, that made him want to know her. The way she swung into the saddle with confidence that contradicted her uncertain voice might have had something to do with it, or maybe it was the soft way she smiled when she was lost in thought. He doubted she knew how good-looking she was with her wayward curly hair and those large pretty eyes, and it was hard to imagine she’d believe him even if he told her so.
Heck, if he tried, she’d probably just run, and in fact, the whole “she runs away from him every time he approaches” problem did sort of put a damper on things.
So it was, with a bit of regret, that he let the idea of her go, that he stopped watching her and thinking about her. That was the easiest way to forget about someone, after all: to just stop thinking about them.
ii. Lyn
Lyn was bold and daring and she wasn’t bad on the eyes, even if she wasn’t conventionally attractive. She had no qualms about arguing with him and she was easy to piss off, but there was nothing more likable about her than the fact that, despite her quick-flaring temper, he knew she would always have his back; never before had he known a person so honest and loyal.
But she was so damn stupid, sometimes, and she took everything he said badly, even his attempts at compliments! At first it was amusing and he didn’t mind apologizing or popping in just to make sure things were okay between them, but it wasn’t long before it grew tiring, and then frustrating.
Finally, he cornered her in the communal tent.
“Don’t you get it?”he asked hotly, hands fisted so tightly he was sure his knuckles were white.
She didn’t look scared, only confused.
He bet she thought he’d had too much to drink, or that he’d finally snapped, but it was difficult to care. “This isn’t a contest to see if you can beat me in a sparring match,” he continued, “I don’t care about that stuff. I don’t give a shit!”
She’d lost every single match between them and he knew she could not win, anyway.
She backed up another step, the color draining a bit from her face. There was a chance she knew what he was about to say, but he doubted it; she had never been too quick on the uptake, much like him, but this was getting ridiculous.
“You’re strong, and we both know that,” he said, the anger fizzling out at the way she bit her lip. “When I said I wouldn’t hit a girl, I didn’t say it to hurt you. I said it because I think you’re—because I love you, and I couldn’t hit someone I cared about so much!”
She shook her head, eyes wide, and tried again to back away. In her haste, she nearly fell into the heavy canvas of the tent but righted herself and tried to form words. “Hector, I… I don’t…”
His heart dropped.
“Lyn, I—”
He wondered, briefly, if he’d destroyed their friendship, if he’d been slowly burning it to embers the moment he’d started caring about her a little too much.
“I’m sorry, Hector,” she said, and he knew she was trying not to hurt his feelings.
Well, it was too late for that and they both knew it. “Naw,” he said, sounding casual. “I didn’t think you did. I just thought, y’know, it wouldn’t hurt to say it…just in case.”
And the statement might have been convincing if not for the way his voice cracked toward the end.
iii. Farina
Farina reminded him a lot of Lyn, sometimes, with her brashness and general ability to argue with him, but nothing else about her felt the same. She was witty and clever and downright difficult to get to know.
“For the millionth time,” he said as he sat by her cot in the healer’s tent, “I am not here to wheedle you into giving me my gold back.” She’d taken the blunt side of an axe to her head, for the goddess’s sake; what kind of monster did she take him for?!
She stared at him, disbelieving, and he considered telling her he had mountains of gold back in Ostia anyway, but refrained. He’d made at least a cursory attempt at being more aware of the world, and if Farina’s weird fears about money said anything, it was that she hadn’t grown up with much. It was doubtful that his bragging would do more than wound her pride, perhaps worse than the concussion she’d already suffered.
“I don’t believe you, but okay,” she said, dark eyes narrow.
"How are you feeling?” he tried asking, and it was with a lot of reluctance that she admitted she felt like she’d been trampled by the cavalry.
A few months passed quickly. He’d always enjoyed a challenge, and Farina presented a big one; she was a tough nut to crack, but every smile he managed to coax out of her made him feel triumphant.
Still, she ran from him—not physically, like her younger sister, but in other ways.
She was just never really there, and it hurt more than the memory of Florina shying away from his hand or Lyn shaking her head at him.
“Why won’t you let me help you?” he finally made himself ask. “Why don’t you trust me? Why don’t you trust anyone?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, her voice harsh in the moonlight. She rolled out from beneath him and dressed herself with practiced ease.
Hector was sure he’d tried everything. He’d been a gentleman. He’d kissed her gently. And when she came to him tonight, unbidden, he’d even tried fucking her, thinking maybe that was the reassurance and validation she’d wanted from him all along.
But even his attempts to please her that way felt wrong. Her eyes were on his the whole time but she was far, far away and what he was doing felt like a sin, even though the idea had been hers and he’d found her wanting.
She looked over at him and he saw nothing in her gaze that spoke of devotion or affection or even love. “If you don’t like it,” she said, her voice softening just the smallest bit, “then we can stop this.”
He felt weary. “Are you ever going to want to talk about it?” he asked.
She hesitated, but shook her head, and so he left.
iv. Serra
Hector woke to find her side of the bed empty, and it was with some measure of alarm that he sat up to look for her, eyes scanning the room. She was sitting in one of the windows, curled up so tightly he might have missed her had he not known her better.
He moved to join her and when he drew near she leaned her head back against the stones, long hair spilling over her shoulder; it looked pale and washed out in the moonlight.
“I was awfully daft when I was younger,” Serra said to him by way of greeting, and he touched her hair, feeling it slip through his fingers. “I can’t believe I thought for even a second that my parents would come back to get me.” She laughed, but the sound was hollow.
He winced. “No,” he said after a moment of silence, “you weren’t daft.”
“No?” She smiled. “Well, you certainly were. At least I can admit to it. One of my better qualities, if I do say so myself.”
“I’ve done many stupid things in my life,” he assured her, and pressed himself into the other side of the window so that their knees bumped together awkwardly.
“You gave up on Florina, you scared Lady Lyn away, and you didn’t tell poor Farina what it was she most needed to hear.” Serra’s smile turned sad. “I know I’m not what you wanted. I might be beautiful, and the best healer to ever hold a staff, but I’m not stupid.”
“You do realize we’ve been married for—”
“Years,” she finished for him. “But I thought you ought to know.”
“Which part?” he asked.
“All of it.”
He looked out at the midnight sky and saw it dotted with stars. “I already knew some of it,” he said.
“Which parts?”
“The parts where I was a bloody idiot.”
Her smile widened. “That’s most of them,” she said. “But you know better than to speak so crudely in front of a lady such as myself, so shame on you.” Her nose wrinkled up in mock distaste but her hand touched his knee. “We all make mistakes, you know.”
“Some more than others.”
“Well, yes, but we mustn’t repeat the same mistake twice, to prove we’ve learned from it.”
“So you’ve learned from your mistakes?” he teased.
Her expression turned solemn and she picked at her gown as she looked down at the courtyard. “I’ve said a lot of hurtful things and I’ve been very selfish. And I must never let myself forget that I allowed myself to sleep when I was supposed to be watching over Oswin.”
He’d nearly forgotten. “You were awake for two full days already, back then,” he argued. “There’s no way you could have helped but rest.”
“It doesn’t change the fact that Oswin is dead because of me.”
“Don’t blame yourself,” he said, and found he meant it.
“It’s hard not to, sometimes,” she whispered, and it was then that he understood: she had loved him.
At least the women he’d cared for had walked away from him or he from them; they hadn’t died and left him suddenly and inexplicably alone.
He touched her hand. His wife, Serra. He wondered sometimes how they’d found themselves here, but when he closed his eyes he remembered the ease with which he’d chosen her. He hadn’t wanted to marry a stranger and there Serra had been, alone and perfectly unattached. He’d already grown used to her strange ways by then, and felt comfortable in her presence.
They’d never shared the emotional, heart-wrenching sort of love he’d wrestled with before, but the thought no longer bothered him; instead, he found a sort of relief in it.
No, their love was the comfort of a long and easy marriage, the quiet bond of familiarity that existed long after the initial physical attraction faded.
“Serra,” he ventured carefully, his fingers sliding between hers, “I won’t say that you were what I was looking for all along, but I still found you in the end.”
Her smile was genuine and affectionate. “And I, you,” she said, her fingers tightening around his.