Work Text:
(continued from Wintersteel: chapter 5, page 103)
…He pictured the drunken Sha Underlord facing them in a dueling arena, only to recognize them when the fight began, and chuckled. Yerin glanced at him, a smile playing on her lips, before asking if he wanted to hear another story at a restaurant. Although he accepted, something else momentarily distracted him.
They had recognized Lindon, but it was Yerin they really respected.
Siris’ guests had spoken of the Uncrowned in hushed tones, and he had invited the Uncrowned back whenever she wanted.
Lindon had fought well, but in the end, he wasn’t Uncrowned.
Beside him, Yerin projected Forged sword madra in the air by way of illustration, and Lindon realized how bitter he was being. His performance in the tournament certainly was disappointing, but ultimately, it wouldn’t define him. He shouldn't bemoan his failures, but enjoy his successes.
Especially this current one.
He turned his attention back to Yerin, who was using a wooden chopstick to trace her Forged depictions. The silvery inn floating before him was clumsily drawn, all shaky lines and strange proportions, but he found the effort endearing.
“During the mission, my master had to veil himself to the level of a Lowgold, which annoyed him to hell and back. I remember him grumbling all the way to the inn. Hold on-” Yerin’s voice deepened comically- “Bleed and bury me, I seem like a Lowgold.”
At the sight of Lindon’s twitching lips, she snapped, “Anything about my voice, and I gut you like a fish.”
“I just find it hard to imagine the Sage of the Endless Sword speaking like that.”
Yerin speared a small piece of meat with her chopstick before taking a ravenous bite. Through a mouthful of meat, she replied, “Powerful people can have personalities, you know. I heard a rumor that Sha Leiala- no, Sha Miara- secretly likes jokes. So not all of them have sticks up their-”
“Soulspace,” Lindon said hastily. “I assume the Monarch of the illustrious Ninecloud Court carries powerful items of great importance.”
He prayed no higher powers struck Yerin down.
None did.
He gave Yerin a please-don’t-get-us-killed look, which was thoroughly ignored as she inhaled a meat bun. Yerin’s lack of self-preservation instincts was going to get her smote one day, Lindon thought gravely, and she might as well enjoy her meat bun while the Monarchs ignored her.
Most of the time, Lindon enjoyed her bluntness and complete lack of deference. While his politeness was earnest, it often manifested as a frustrating mix of wheel-spinning and exaggerated courtesy. It was nice to have someone who could cut straight to the point.
Well. When it wouldn’t get them obliterated to dust.
“Your story,” he prompted.
“Right.” Yerin downed the only glass of water amongst the leftover alcohol, then Forged a picture of her and her old master, stick figures seated at a table. “We had dinner at the inn. When we got our food, my master noticed his fish wasn’t cut properly. He told the waiter, who told the chef.”
“Well, the chef-” she Forged a stick figure with rat's nest hair and a contemptuous frown- “was Truegold, and stomped up to our table. He told my master that his knife skills were honed by decades of experience and that he’d mastered a sword Path to assist him in the kitchen. My master got angry, and he insisted that mastery of a sword Path would have made a filet with no bones. The chef said that if he could do better, to be his guest.”
Lindon leaned in, raptured. “And what did your master do?”
“He stood up, holding his dinner knife like he was strangling a snake. In half a blink, the chef’s clothes were sliced right off!”
“No!”
“Right?” Yerin leaned back in her seat, dismissing the Forged madra with a wave. “The Endless Sword really is useful.”
Lindon, who was swallowing a slice of roast duck, nearly spat it out.
“Lindon. Lindon! Bleed me, did you survive all this time to die from some meat?”
The comment didn’t help at all, and he continued wheezing through his mouthful, shoulders shaking in silent laughter. Thanks to his Iron body, he couldn’t choke on food, but Yerin had called for water anyway. When a cup of water was thrust into his hand, he barely managed to take a sip without spraying it on Yerin’s fine clothes.
“What? What’s so funny?”
“Yerin,” he gasped, “I can’t choke, remember?”
“Maybe I just wanted to get water! That a problem?”
“And what are your training goals? To disrobe people?”
She gave him an indignant glare. “You never know! It might come in handy.”
Realization hit them like an Empty Palm.
Yerin’s neck and ears flushed violent red. “Not that I'd- I wasn’t saying that-”
Heat flooded Lindon’s cheeks, and he clutched his cup as he searched for a response. What could he say? It would be awkward to move on like nothing had happened, and even more awkward to bluster an apology.
He attempted a tried-and-true approach: pretending he didn’t understand the implications. “I think it could be quite useful in combat. If you could control the precise location of your sword madra, it could be used to cut… restraints…”
Monarchs strike him down. He’d made it worse.
Yerin stared at him for a long moment before determinedly tucking into a portion of rice noodles. Deciding that his voice was little more than a double agent, Lindon did the same, stuffing another dumpling into his mouth. Knowing Eithan, he was watching, maybe even filling Mercy in on the matter. He wasn’t looking forward to enduring the slew of jabs and prying questions tomorrow. If Dross piled on, Lindon might have to flee the nation and never return.
“Want to order anything?" Yerin asked suddenly. “The food’s good, but I don't know if you want anything specific."
Lindon pounced on the new subject matter. “I don’t mind if we do either. After that hassle we gave the staff, I wouldn’t want to trouble them, but I heard they have good specials."
“Alright. Should we get a menu?”
“Sounds good.”
Yerin called the nearest waitress over, who promptly left to fetch a menu. Lindon hoped that the mood would lighten, but instead a silence fell over them once more, leaving them playing with their food and fidgeting with their robes.
One unbearable minute passed. Then another.
Both of them pushed their plates away and turned to each other at the same time.
“Apologies-”
“Sorry-”
They stared at each other, stunned, before bursting into embarrassed laughter.
“I was sure I’d scared you off!”
“I don’t know how I made it even more awkward-”
“Cut restraints, Lindon?" Yerin’s eyes sparkled in the gold-lit room. "Really?"
“You didn’t say anything better," Lindon retorted, but the grin on his face was so wide his cheeks ached.
“At least I didn’t turn redder than a well-fed leech.”
“You have the strangest comparisons.”
“They get the point across,” Yerin scoffed, and Lindon felt his smile soften.
“Never change, Yerin. Never change."
Pink dusted Yerin’s cheeks, and harmless tendrils of sword madra began dancing around her ears. It was strangely cute.
The menus were soon delivered, and they only took a moment to order before the waitress was sent right back. It was smooth sailing from then on: topics came easily, from the fine foods to the tournament to their many adventures. When they ran out of current events, they began talking about nothing. Their favorite fruits. How Yerin sharpened her sword (apparently, she didn't, because it always stayed sharp). If they could pester Mercy into teaching them gymnastics. What they thought Orthos was doing.
Currently, they were discussing which of their friends they'd like to see duel all-out.
“Mercy’s so strong,” Lindon said enviously. “I would love to see the limits of what she can do. And as much as I hate to admit it, Eithan’s much stronger than I imagined. I can’t believe he beat Sha Miara.”
“I’d like to fight Eithan at his full strength… if I don’t set him on fire first.”
“I can store oil in my void key.”
Yerin grinned diabolically, and Lindon thought it was the prettiest expression he’d ever seen.
“Recently, he’s been pestering me like a mosquito cloud! Something about my lack of aesthetics. Let’s make his head a torch.”
“He’d hate that with all the money he spends on conditioners,” Lindon mused, popping steamed vegetables into his mouth. “If he spent his money on advancement resources instead of cosmetics, he’d be Archlord already.”
“Sage, even! His revelation: I practice sacred arts to annoy my underlings.”
“He manifests the Pest Icon,” said Lindon with a straight face, and Yerin stifled a snicker.
“What would his Sage name be?”
“The Nuisance Sage.”
“Sage of Bad Jokes.”
“Sage of the Skincare Routine.”
Yerin erupted into laughter.
In Sacred Valley, everyone had been taught to laugh delicately, as was polite. Any laughter was subdued- maybe a chuckle when appropriate or a slight titter when witnessing something amusing. Anything else louder than a whisper was considered uncouth.
Yerin lost it.
It was a real cackle, harsh and breathless and full of snorts that chopped through the wheezing and choking. Lindon didn’t think he was that funny, but Yerin’s laugh made him feel like the best comedian in all the Akura territories. He gazed in wonder at her for a long moment, too long to be appropriate, but he couldn’t think of doing anything else. For once, manners were his last priority.
The thought that had been roiling in his mind for months- no, years surfaced, and he wondered if it was okay to finally tell her. He’d stopped himself from voicing it all these years, for an irrational fear of something. He wasn’t sure what. Yerin wasn’t just his companion, but his trusted confidant, his reliable pillar of support, his role model, his closest friend. Asking her one innocent question wouldn’t drive her off… would it?
Before Lindon finished the thought, he knew it was stupid of him to assume Yerin would leave him over feelings. If he fell off a cliff, Yerin would dive off to save him. If he faced an enemy legion alone, Yerin would fight and die beside him. If he were on the brink of death, Yerin would give her right kidney to save him, whether he liked it or not.
And she was on a date with him. That had to say something.
Conflicted, Lindon worried his lip. These thoughts made no sense. Slowly, like water seeping into earth, he realized that confessing the extent of his feelings wasn’t the issue. It was the possibility of everything going right, of Yerin wanting everything he wanted and more.
What would happen then?
He was torn back to the present at the loud shattering of porcelain. In her fit of laughter, Yerin had slammed a fist on the table, accidentally breaking every dish with the sheer force of her blow. In an instant she jerked her hand back, but the damage was already done.
“Oh, rot!” Yerin yelled, already sweeping clean broken shards into her arms. Her Iron body wouldn’t be harmed, but the sleeves of her fine robes tore, strands of thread littering the food-stained wreckage.
“Let me help,” Lindon said, stifling his chuckles, and began wiping the table down with napkins.
It wasn’t long until they reached an impasse, unsure of what to do next. For a moment, they marveled at the table, which was curtained by noodles and dotted with dumplings and steamed buns. Chopped vegetables and strips of meat dotted rivers of spilled soup, and thick sauces languished in the wreckage of their tiny dipping bowls. Lindon and Yerin’s palms were stacked with porcelain, and wadded napkins, brown with broth, created a barrier from further spillage.
Yerin held up the porcelain shards. “Cheers and celebration for us?”
It was then a giddy smile spread across Lindon’s face, and subtly, his shoulders began to shake. On reflex, his fists tightened, and bits of porcelain shattered in his hands.
“Lindon- hey! It’s not my fault these plates aren’t Underlord.”
His smile refused to budge, even when the waitstaff came to clean up, even when their ordered food arrived, even when the owner, trembling with fear, begged them to be gentle on the expensive furniture and delicate dishes, even when Yerin promised the Akura Clan would personally pay for the damage.
Everything had gone wrong tonight. Some idiots had stolen their reservation, they'd implied some very inappropriate things, and they’d even inconvenienced some poor service workers.
But somehow, everything still felt right.
Slowly, surely, Lindon’s worries began crumbling to dust. Yerin smashing the plates had reminded him of something important- that she was human, just like him, and that no matter how incredible she was, she might turn a date into an impromptu janitor-duty session. Neither of them were perfect, and even if Lindon royally blustered, he couldn’t imagine Yerin responding unkindly- even if her words were rough around the edges. Just like him, she was forgiving and understanding and human.
The smile never seemed to fall away; he was on the verge of laughter for the rest of the dinner, his heart full to bursting. He and Yerin ate heartily, joking about the dent marking the madra-reinforced table and talking about nothing important. After dessert- floral tea and a platter of citrus fruits- they left the restaurant, leaving a generous tip behind for the trouble. When they stepped outside, night had fallen, and stars flecked the dark sky with twinkling pinpricks. Yerin strolled beside him, her outline stark against the city canvas, and together they admired shimmering rainbow architecture and talked amusedly between themselves.
Yerin commented something begrudging about the pretty scenery, and eyes fixed on her, he replied, “Yeah. It is beautiful.”
She flushed pink, and before he knew it a cool hand grabbed his own, fingers weaving effortlessly with his. Stunned, he stared at the girl beside him.
Yerin’s eyes glowed softly in the rainbow light, her irises a kaleidoscope of swirling colors. Her robes fluttered as they walked, drifting around her battle-hardened figure like mist around a mountain; while torn strands hung loosely off her sleeves, Lindon found it endearing. Her normally terse face was aflame with a patchy red flush that could’ve been seen across the continent, and although she seemed to struggle against it, the bow of her lips tugged uncontrollably.
And then Lindon knew he had to voice his thoughts now, if he didn't want them to be locked up until the end of time. Before the doubts returned, Lindon tugged on Yerin’s arm, leading them into a secluded alley.
Yerin’s stare was a question in itself. “What was that for?”
“Can- can I ask you something?”
Her hand tightened and then relaxed again as she took a deep breath. “You just did.”
An anxious giggle escaped Lindon, and he scrubbed his face with his unoccupied hand. “I don’t know where to start."
“What?”
“I mean- I want to be more than friends or teammates, but I don't have a clue what I'm doing. I don’t know if you want the same thing that I do, but if you do- it’s okay if you don’t, but- I don’t know how to proceed. I just… I don’t know how any of this wor-”
“Lindon.”
He glanced up, and dark eyes stared into his own, understanding but unflinching.
“Cut to the heart. What's bothering you?”
“I...”
“Use your head for a minute." She stepped closer until they were only a hand’s width apart. “I'll wait till you have the words."
"Gratitude."
The silence between them hummed with distant city bustling and wind like gentle breath.
"I'm scared of messing this up," he said finally. "I don't know what more would mean."
"Beats me."
Never had Lindon felt so off-guard. For a moment he stared at her, wide-eyed and mouth gaping.
"Isn’t… isn’t that a bad thing?” he said lamely.
She shrugged. “How’re we supposed to know? We’ve never tried.”
“But-”
“We’ll figure it out.”
Lindon withdrew, muttering more to himself than to her. “But what if we’re missing something? It can’t be that simple.”
Suddenly, Yerin’s hands were on his shoulders, and he was being gently shaken. “It is that simple.”
“I don’t believe you."
"Then what else are we supposed to do?"
"I don't know."
Yerin yelled in frustration, more to the sky than to Lindon. "Stubborn as a mule, even denser than one. We find out what we're supposed to do."
"And if we have nothing in common?"
"Then we'll find something."
"What if it interferes with our advancement?"
"You think I keep you around because you hinder me?"
Lindon pulled away, arms tightly crossed. "Even so. What if we don't work out?"
"We will," Yerin insisted. "And even if we don't, will anything change?"
"Even so-"
“Lindon,” she said fiercely, and suddenly cool hands cupped his cheeks, yanking his head down. For a moment, Lindon was lost in the intimacy of the closeness, of the breath of space between them, of her resolute words and glimmering eyes. “Do you trust me?”
Her words struck home, spearing through his chest like a javelin. Yerin was strong and resilient and decisive, with more than enough courage for the both of them. If she was by his side, everything would be alright.
“Of course I do,” he murmured.
Yerin wore a small, wry grin. “You think too much.”
Then she kissed him.
It was a clumsy affair- after all, neither of them had ever kissed anyone before. Their noses bumped, lips not fitting quite right, but when they pulled apart, it was only a second before they fell together again. This time, they slotted together like a key in a lock. And with that, Lindon’s world clicked into place, its puzzle pieces fitting snugly, for one perfect moment.
When they broke apart, Yerin rested her forehead against his. Lindon’s hands had slid to her waist, and Yerin’s cool hands still cupped his cheeks.
“See," she whispered, the gleam of her grin white in the darkness. “Not so hard, was it?”
“...No,” he admitted, and they laughed under the moonlight, holding each other close.
"Eithan'll be on our tails, you know. He won't leave us alone for weeks."
Lindon only held her tighter, burying his face in smooth dark hair. "Let him. We have all the time tonight."