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“You! Wizard, or whatever your name is—Auch! We march at Alain's command at once!”
Auch was already in a mad rush to prepare for battle, checking and double checking all his supplies, his equipment, going over the incantation for the new spell he had learned in his head, making sure his boots were properly laced and his cloak was firmly secure. The familiar rush of pre-battle anticipation mixed with the determination to prove himself made him overexcited and clumsy, and though she had the best of intentions (or however much her intentions could be considered good at all), Hilda shouting at him outside the weapons tent wasn't helping him.
“Give me a moment!” He called back, rifling through his bag for his sorcerer's medallion, and the small red pendant—damn, where was it—
“I've given you more than enough time! The rest of us have been waiting for far too long, wizard. We can always leave you behind if you're not suitable for the task.”
Auch stiffened, red hot fury boiling through him at the implication that he, he was incapable. With anger added to his haste, he grabbed his satchel and hurried out the tent door. It seemed he hadn't noticed the sound of approaching footsteps, as outside Monica had begun talking (arguing?) with Hilda.
“Hilda, is he ready yet? Alain wants us ready as soon as we possibly can.” Her soft, yet firm voice seemed to calm Hilda like it always did, but the wyvern rider still snapped back, impatient.
“No, and I've half a mind to force him out here myself. I know he can hear me, and I can't fathom why he'd be ignoring a command from his superiors. I knew there was going to be this kind of disorder when I joined your Liberation. But under my own nose…it's unacceptable, Monica. Entirely unacceptable.” She exclaimed, and Auch saw clear as the daylight the dangerous glint in her eyes when she called his insubordination unacceptable. In that way, she reminded Auch of his mother.
“I'm right here.” Auch huffed, crossing his arms. “Are you ready to depart?” He couldn't help the sarcastic lilt to his voice, and like usual, no amount of Monica's soothing words could keep the murderous glare she sent him.
“Do not test me, boy. Do you know how easily you would fall to my lance?” She seethed, taking a few steps forward and looming over him. “I've skewered many a sorcerer like you as easily as I do my breakfast sausages.”
Auch ignored the fact that she had compared him to a sausage and tilted his chin up in defiance. “Is that so? Well, you and your wyvern fall like skinny lizards in the face of my magic. I'm not scared of you.”
“That's quite enough.” Before Hilda could react, Monica stepped between the two of them, still pinning each other with looks made to kill, and pushed them apart. “There's little reason to kill each other before we're even on the battlefield. Save this for another time, or better still, find a way to coexist. We have been working together for a very long time, and I have no reason to believe that will change, meaning we are stuck with each other for the duration of this campaign. I suggest you make the most of it, or wait until the war is won to continue your conflict. For now, keep your focus on the battle ahead. You two are both capable soldiers in your own right, valuable to the Liberation and Alain. It would be a shame if either of you got yourselves or someone else hurt because of your…squabbling.”
Auch rolled his eyes, but nodded, still glaring at Hilda. She narrowed her eyes, and turned on her heel, dignified even when she was essentially storming off after a scolding. Auch felt smug, knowing that he had won the argument, one of the many he had with Hilda since Alain had placed them in a unit together back in Drakenhold. He had won a good deal of them, by no means because Hilda was lacking in stubbornness (she was likely the most stubborn woman he'd ever met, other than his mother, of course), but because Auch refused to ever back down when he knew he was right. It simply wasn't something he was capable of.
“We've wasted enough time here, Auch. Let us be off.” He started, called from his thoughts by Monica's amused remark.
“Of course.” He said, only slightly petulant, before following Hilda to the command post.
###
“Hilda, tell me something.” Berengaria crossed one knee over the other, resting her elbow on the bar counter and her chin on her palm. She had changed from her usual armor into a simple button-up shirt and breeches, the low light of the tavern casting her face beautifully, making her black hair look nearly gold. Hilda, despite herself, likely would have answered her every question at that moment. “Why were you working for Zenoira? I know all of us turncoats had our reasons for fighting under their banner, so what's yours?”
“Well, that's simple.” Hilda laughed and took a sip from her drink. “The plague in that part of Drakenhold had taken more lives than any conflict ever could. Zenoiran generals claimed they were putting an end to it, and so I joined the army and did all I could to slow the rampaging illness. Of course, there was nothing I could have done, but I didn't know that at the time. And, well, you know the rest.”
She huffed, blowing the hair off the obscured part of her face, revealing more of those high cheekbones. “You must have done one hell of a job if your performance in the Liberation is anything to go by.”
Hilda nodded. “Not a single incident passed while I was in command there, and I'm bringing my command to this place, too.” Hilda gestured to the rowdy army around them, drink sloshing in her glass with the motion. “This damned army would fall apart without me, Berengaria. There's no organization. It's chaos, impulsive, and reckless urges ruling the day. I cannot believe these soldiers or their general. If there is one thing Zenoira has over the Liberation, it is the structure, the discipline! Disorder like this would have never happened under their command.”
“And yet you sit here drinking with the rest of us.” There was doubt in her voice, with a slight hint of fondness underneath, and Hilda blushed, glad she could pass it off as a consequence of the alcohol and the heat in the cramped tavern. “I suppose that's as good of an answer as I'm going to get. That does explain why you're always shouting at the recruits, though. I thought you just enjoyed being in power over them.”
“Oh, Berengaria, it's not the power over them that drives me. It's the knowledge that I can inspire them to be the best versions of themselves with a firm, guiding hand. Honing and directing their motivation and energy into a single point is for their gain, no matter how harsh or seemingly cruel the methods may be.”
Berengaria raised an eyebrow, taking a sip from her drink. “Is that why you're so harsh towards the kid? Trying to make him the best version of himself?”
“The kid? Do you mean that mage?” Hilda frowned, eye twitching at the thought of that insufferable boy. “No, he's incapable of ever improving. I haven't the faintest inkling why Alain decided to put him in our unit at all. I suspect he wants us to get along, or something foolish like that. Or it could have been a mistake he never bothered to correct. Knowing him, it's equally possible.”
“To be fair, the kid deserves more credit.” Berengaria pointed out. “You two do work quite well together. You handle the cavalry, and he picks off the scraps. Paired with the rest of us, you two are a force to be reckoned with.”
Hilda scoffed. “Now, don't be unreasonable. I detest that sorcerer, and I see nothing redeemable in him. Always talking about his mother, looking for praise from whoever is willing to give it. It's sad, really.”
She must have not sounded convinced, as Berengaria rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say, Hilda.”
“I do hate him!” Hilda insisted, stamping her foot. “I swear I do!”
Berengaria just laughed, shaking her head. They moved on to a different topic shortly after, but Hilda still found herself thinking of Auch and how defiant he was…with a scowl and clenched fist, of course. She hated the kid. No, she wasn't reminded of her younger self at all when she looked at him. Absolutely improbable.
###
Hilda was leading her wyvern to its pen after a battle one day when she heard grunts of exertion and soft swearing from a familiar voice. Frowning, she quickly tied up Hyperion, giving her a few pats on the head before looking out at the training yard to see Auch, fists wrapped in tape, throwing truly pathetic swings at a sandbag. Hilda crossed her arms and shook her head. He was going to get himself hurt that way—not that Hilda was at all concerned about his health, but it would be a waste of resources and time if one of their clerics had to heal him due to his ineptitude.
“Sorcerer!” She barked, and he turned, eyes narrowing as soon as he realized who he was talking to. “What the hell are you doing?”
Auch huffed, putting his hands on his hips. “I am trying to train, and I would be grateful if you would leave me alone so I can continue.”
Hilda rolled her eyes. “I knew that, you fool. I mean, what are you doing brawling ?”
“It's a new technique Alain has asked me to perfect. Therefore, I work to grow my physickal strength in pursuit of that goal.” He said matter-of-factly.
She could hardly believe her ears. Their fool general had asked this mage, who was among those with the weakest physickal constitution in their army, to fight hand-to-hand?
With no small amount of skepticism, she accused, “Is he out of his mind? Has he seen your arms?”
His mouth dropped open, a wholly amusing look of utter disdain on his face. “There's nothing wrong with my arms! If you're going to continue questioning me about, frankly, menial things, I'm going to have to ask you to vacate the premises and leave me in peace!”
Hilda frowned. “Fine, then. But before I go, let me teach you something.” She strode over to the sandbag and threw a few punches of her own, her training in the subject coming back easily. Once she was satisfied with her demonstration, she shook her hands out and turned to Auch, who was tapping his foot impatiently. I could punch him as a lesson, she reasoned. If it weren't a waste of resources, that is.
“First of all,” she started, “You're making your fist wrong. Tucking your thumb under your fingers is an excellent way to break it.” She showed him the proper way to form a fist, and he copied her with a raised eyebrow. “Also, put the force on your first two knuckles, to protect the weaker parts of her hand.” She struck again and noted that perhaps gauntlets weren't the best equipment to be wearing at that moment. “Keep your wrists straight, and keep practicing.” Realizing that she sounded a bit too friendly, she added harshly, “If you get hurt, don't complain to me about it.” Without another word, she turned on her heel and strode off towards her tent. It had been a long day, and she was ready to spend a long evening with Berengaria—
“Hilda?” She stopped in her tracks, stunned at the hint of sincerity in his voice.
Hilda glanced back. “What do you want?” She snapped.
He crossed his arms, pointedly not looking at her, instead studying the dirt ground. “Thank you.” He mumbled.
She blinked, unsure how to react to his gratitude. “Don't expect this to happen again,” She replied, but even she could hear how insincere it sounded.
Before he could say anything else, she walked off, thinking about decidedly anything but that stupid little sorcerer and his awful form. When she sat in her tent, waiting for Berengaria to return from her trip to the nearby village so she could salvage the afternoon, she crossed her arms and pursed her lips, trying her best to ignore the dull thumping sounds of Auch's training. She didn't care about him, she reassured herself. He was insufferable. He was not growing on her in any capacity. That was impossible.
###
Auch was marching along with the rest of his unit, shivering like mad in the cold, cursing Alain for making them fight in weather like this, his past self for ever joining the Liberation (in his defense, he had been threatened by swordpoint at the time, it had been his only real option), all of Zenoira for existing in such a way that made going to the tundra necessary, and lastly, the tundra itself for being so fucking freezing. Alain had promised that it wasn't going to be a long battle and that it was a short flight to the enemy command post, but that didn't stop the fact that Auch was sure that he was going to drop dead from the wind and snow at any moment.
Looking around, it was clear that the others in his unit were suffering as much as he was. Clive and Monica were riding closer together than usual, muttering to themselves, their hands not being used to direct their steeds clasped together to stay just a hint warmer. Berengaria was wearing a coat over her armor, trudging through the thick snow with her head up, not looking even the slightest bit bothered, but the fact that she was wearing anything to keep the cold away betrayed just how miserable she was. Even Hilda looked bothered, flying next to Berengaria, hunched over just the slightest amount as compared to her usual rigid posture.
He pulled his robes tighter around himself, squinting against the harsh light of the sun against the snow, trying to gauge how much longer they had to go. Unfortunately, the enemy command post didn't look any closer than it had five minutes ago, and he sighed. He doubted anyone was in the mood for a chat. It seemed he would have to resign himself to his boredom. When he'd joined the Liberation, he hadn't thought that marching would be so dull, but here he was…
In front of him, Berengaria stopped, shrugging her coat off her shoulders and dropping it on the snow. Auch tensed, gripping his staff tighter, scanning the bleak landscape for whatever she had seen. Monica and Clive came to a halt as well, and for a moment the huff of their horses and the flapping of Hilda's wyvern's wings was the only noise he could hear.
“On your guard. We've got company,” Berengaria said softly, head turned to a point just beyond the mountains. She shifted her grip on her axe, taking her battle stance, and Auch followed suit.
He stepped back between Clive and Monica, who were searching for the opposing unit themselves, and he envied their vantage point, but not as much as he did Hilda's, as she was flying high above the rest of them, preparing to make the first strike with that deadly sharp trident of hers.
“Now!” She shouted, from high above them, and then the battle was upon them. As usual, Berengaria and Hilda were the first to strike, taking down all but one of the fighters, an angry-looking wolf bestral (though to be fair, they all looked angry) remained. Auch stepped up, looking into the face of the glorified angry dog who he was quite certain wanted to eat him, and (awkwardly) he shouted the incantation, and pulled his fist back to strike—
Keep your wrists straight. Unbidden, Hilda's unsolicited advice came to mind, and he scowled, untucking his thumb and keeping the weight on his first two knuckles when he struck.
And sure enough, the magick was channeled through his hand, just like he had practiced, and the werewolf was hit right in the chest, flying back and falling to the ground with a yowl of pain. He stepped back to his place between Clive and Monica, rubbing his knuckles.
As always, Monica healed the few wounds Berengaria and Hilda had gotten during the short battle, and Auch turned back to face the distant enemy command post, grumbling to himself. At the very least, the short fight had gotten his blood flowing a little.
He took a single step through the snow before noticing that Hilda wasn't in the front of the group like she normally was. He turned to see her staring at him with a furrowed brow, and (concern) annoyance shot through him at her lack of haste.
“We're waiting, Hilda,” Auch said snarkily. “Hurry up and join your girlfriend.”
Hilda's face turned as red as her hair, and she charged forward, fast enough that Auch genuinely considered if that comment would be his downfall. Instead, she stopped in front of him, seething.
“Shut your damn mouth, sorcerer. I had something good to say about you, but after that, I'd rather keep it to myself.” She flew off, clearly flustered, and Auch sputtered, chasing after her, realizing with no small amount of frustration that he was now the one flagging behind.
“Wait!” He called to her, tripping over his robe in his haste to catch up. “What were you going to say? Hilda!”
His cries fell on unhearing ears, and he thought he heard Berengaria laugh.
###
After the battle, Hilda marched up to the strategy tent where Alain surely was, and demanded that the soldier standing guard allow her entry. They visibly quivered under her rage and scampered away like a mouse would from a hungry cat.
Hilda threw the flaps open and stomped inside, blinking a few times in surprise, then flushing terribly and loudly proclaiming an apology when she saw just what Alain had been up to in the tent. Her King Gilbert had pushed him against the support pole in the center of the tent and, to use coarser words than Hilda would approve of, had his tongue down their general's throat, both of them thoroughly enjoying themselves. They both startled violently and sprang apart upon seeing her, stammering apologies that overlapped with Hilda's own, muttering to each other that perhaps this had been an unwise idea after all . Hilda politely stepped outside, covering her face with her hands in mortification.
Her king…and her general…she felt as if she was going to melt into the ground. Such things were not meant to be viewed by anyone, let alone an angry soldier…
After a few moments, His Majesty ducked out, face as red as Hyperion, and Hilda tried to apologize again, but she was cut off by Gilbert's raised hand.
He looked thoroughly embarrassed when he mumbled, “Hilda, I would appreciate it greatly if you were never to speak of this incident to me or anyone else. Consider it a command from your king, if it earns your silence.” He wouldn't meet her eye and was staring at the far-off horizon, and Hilda thought it best to not mention that she could see bright red marks on the side of his neck, or that she could offer advice on how to keep them properly hidden.
“Of course, Your Majesty.” She bowed, and he sighed, relief flickering across his face for a brief moment.
“Thank you, Hilda.” He coughed, pulling up his collar in a way she assumed he thought was discreet. “Now. I shall see you some other time, yes?” Before she could reply, he strode off as quickly as the guard had.
Hilda stared at the tent flap in front of her, considering turning around and going on a walk of camp to clear her mind of what she had seen. But she was meeting with Alain for a matter of the utmost importance, something that couldn't wait until the next battle. With a deep breath and gritted teeth, she pushed open the canvas flap and stepped inside, looking at the very interestingly textured back wall, and not Alain, sitting on top of one of the tables that had been set up.
“I have a request, general.” She said formally, willing her blush to die down. “It's about my unit structure.”
To Alain's credit, he hardly looked fazed, a bit flushed, maybe, but that could have been from the cold, and no one would have guessed that—
Hilda put the thought out of her mind as soon as it appeared. Now was not the time.
“What about your unit is causing you concern?” He asked in his usual quiet tone.
“Well, it's that sorcerer,” She started, clenching her fists. “His insubordination is getting out of hand. He hounds me at every turn, no matter what I do. Why, in this last battle, he dared to mock my, er, interpersonal relationships while we were still on an active battlefield. It's entirely unacceptable, Alain, and I insist that you either put this to heel or remove him from my unit at once!”
He just stared at her, tapping his fingers on the tabletop, wearing a calm and calculating expression that made Hilda slightly uncomfortable.
“I suspected as much, Hilda. Were you aware that not one hour ago, Auch approached me and asked the same thing, citing similar grievances?”
Hilda's eye twitched. Of course, the fool would have had the audacity to defy her command. He had likely asserted that she was intolerably cruel and that she was driving him mad with her constant criticism.
She shook her head. “No, I was not. But believe this, Alain, anything he told you is entirely false. I have only returned the treatment he has offered me, as is only fair.”
Alain laughed softly, shaking his head fondly. “Somehow, I doubt that. Regardless, I will not be making any changes to your unit, and I doubt that I will feel inclined to in the future, either.”
Hilda's jaw dropped, and she remembered how Auch did the same thing, and she quickly pressed her lips together. “You must give me an explanation for this, then.” She demanded, irritation sweeping through her at Alain's indifference to her predicament.
“In truth, it's simple.” He crossed his legs at the ankles and laced his fingers over his knee. “Hilda, your unit is the strongest one I have at my command. You each play an integral role in its function. Removing one person would cause the rest of the structure to collapse, and I simply cannot allow that to happen.”
Hilda's eyebrows flew up her forehead in surprise. “So that's it, then?” She resisted the urge to stamp her feet in front of her general. “You're just going to keep me with that child , after hearing both our testimonies? Can you not spare a single shred of concern for us?” She would well and truly resort to violence if she had to spend another second in the company of that wizard, either to Alain here, or Auch. Either way, she would never have to suffer Auch's presence again.
Alain, sensing her anger, sighed and covered his face with a hand. “Peace, Hilda. I mean no offense. If it is any consolation, our campaign is nearing its end, and we push out more of Zenoira's influence with every passing day. In no small part due to your strength, I should add. Think of this as a sacrifice you are making for the good of all of Fevrith.” He stopped and tilted his head to the side slightly. “Though, if I may make my opinion known, I do believe that it is in everyone's best interests for you and Auch to settle your differences. Our next battle shouldn't be for some time, by my estimate. I'd be immensely grateful, Hilda, if you two could talk with each other before then.”
A talk? With Auch? She was at a loss for words, entirely unwilling to do as he commanded, but also realizing the truth of what he had said. She couldn't remember the last time her unit had ever had a real struggle against anything. Ever since Auch had joined her unit, all the way back in Drakenhold, she had noticed that Alain was choosing her to handle progressively more and harder tasks on the battlefield, and she had yet to let him down. Perhaps Alain was a better strategist than she gave him credit for.
Hilda nodded slowly, and a sly smile broke across his face at the same time. “Thank you, Hilda. I appreciate it.”
“You told him the same thing, didn't you?” She accused. “I played right into your hands!”
He laughed again but didn't answer her question. “I wish you good fortune. And…” He paused, brow furrowed in thought. “I apologize that you had to see that—”
“Please don't remind me,” She pleaded, pinching the bridge of her nose. Just when she was starting to forget, too.
An idea came into her mind, suddenly, and she crossed her arms, finally meeting his eyes. “Though, if you're ever in need of some…privacy, Berengaria and I discovered a method of keeping the tent flaps tied shut. I think it could be of use to you.”
The tips of his ears turned pink, and he didn't reply, staring at his hands. Now it was Hilda's turn to laugh at how flustered she'd made him.
###
Auch was sitting on the ground by the fire he'd made for himself at the edges of the Liberation’s camp, wrapped in both his robes and a blanket he'd borrowed from Yunifi. It was enough to stop his shivering, and if he was in a generous mood, he might have even called his setup warm. He was thinking over what Alain had told him about making peace with Hilda…and what he remembered more, being praised for his achievements in the Liberation. He smirked to himself. See this, mother? I'm doing good things here.
He heard footsteps close by, and he whipped around to see Hilda approaching with a neutral look on her face for once. He huffed, sinking further into his blanket, knowing that this was providence, as he would have never talked to her himself. But knowing something didn't mean he had to like it.
She stopped to the left of him, and he stared into the fire instead of looking at her. “May I join you?” She asked politely, in a way that even he could tell was forced.
“Just don't sit next to me.” He mumbled, and Hilda rolled her eyes. He wanted to make a comeback, but he bit his tongue, Alain's words echoing in his ears. I'd be proud of you if you could put your feud with Hilda behind you, Auch. Who was he to ever let Alain down? He could weather this.
She sat cross-legged across the fire from him, wearing the same coat that Berengaria had been wearing recently. If he'd needed any further convincing that they were a couple beyond the blushing glances they'd send each other over dinner or the selfless (and often ridiculous) displays of heroism on the battlefield (never mind the hickeys he'd seen appearing on both their necks, they thought they were clever, but if Auch could see them, anyone could), this was it.
“Allow me to preface this by saying that I am only here because of Alain. Make no mistake, without his command, I wouldn't have bothered.” She shook her head, scowling. “But he insists that we gain some degree of cordiality in our relationship, so here I am.”
“So, then,” Auch said dryly. “Clearing the air.” He really shouldn't have gone on, but he couldn't help himself, and with a growing smile, he continued. “Breaking the ice. Building a bridge.”
“Please stop,” Hilda muttered, and Auch snickered. “I'll admit, I'm not entirely sure what we're supposed to be doing here.”
“Perhaps we should have brought a mediator to assist.” He mused, putting a finger on his chin. “If you'd like, I can get Monica or Alain and have them help us.”
“No, I don't think that will be necessary.” She hesitated, pursing her lips. “I…” She took a deep breath, and then slowly let it out through her teeth, as if what she was about to say would physickally injure her. He raised an eyebrow, anticipation nipping at his chest (thought that could have been the fire getting too hot).
“I feel as if I need to apologize, Auch,” Hilda said finally, clearly uncomfortable. Her tone was choppy and lacking in the stubborn confidence it usually held. “I will admit that…I have been somewhat unfair to you, Auch.”
The words sank in for a moment. Hilda? Feeling guilty for anything? He barked out a startled laugh, covering it up with a cough. “Excuse me. Apologies. Please continue.”
She glared at him but kept speaking regardless. “I apologize for my unfair treatment of you. My nature has always been, is, and will always be to maintain order, and in you, I saw a hint of my younger, more…unrefined self, before I learned how to use my strength to truly improve the imbalance I saw around me.” She rubbed the back of her neck, a heretofore unseen gesture of embarrassment. “Compassion for our younger selves isn't easy to come by,” she went on, “Especially when we make mistakes we regret. I apologize for directing that harshness towards you.”
Her younger self, hm? What had happened to make her change? The passage of time, or something else? He wondered if she had practiced that with Berengaria (she almost certainly had).
Auch blinked at her, then nodded. “Fine. I accept.” He closed his eyes, trying to make words out of his thoughts, to concoct a reason for being a bitch that would convince both himself and Hilda. “I suppose if I had to say my piece…”
He thought of his first impressions when he'd seen Hilda in Drakenhold as the commander of the enemy troops. She had been menacing, sitting on top of her wyvern, shouting at the unit chosen to fight her to face their demise. Auch had been too far to see the battle, but he heard it, and he had thought that Hilda was terrifying. That was until Alain put them together, and he realized that he wasn't fazed by her at all. Her presence was awfully familiar.
“You remind me of my mother.”
Hilda did much the same thing he had previously done in response, scoffing in surprise before coughing into her fist. “Ah, I'm not sure what came over me.” She said dryly, “Go on, now.”
He noticed that she seemed to be paying slightly more attention when he said, “You're so similar to her in demeanor, behavior, what have you. I didn't—don’t—like that, and so I acted accordingly. I'm sorry, if it makes you feel better.”
Hilda raised an eyebrow, leaning back and putting her weight on the balls of her hands. “So that's it? I'm similar to your dead mother, and you act like an absolute fool because of that ?”
Auch frowned. “What's wrong with that?” He thought it was perfectly reasonable to hate the person who reminded him of all the things he'd never have.
“You're a peculiar one, aren't you, Auch?” She pursed her lips again.
You're insufferable, too. He didn't say. Instead, he rolled his eyes, and muttered, “Of course you would say that.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” She hissed, but it obviously lacked fire. He just shook his head and scowled. “Well, if that's all we had to say to each other, I think we can consider the air…cleared.” She paused, and dread swept through Auch. “The ice broken. The bridge built.”
Despite himself, he chuckled, and even Hilda cracked a smile. “So you are capable of making a joke. I'm impressed.” He observed sarcastically.
“Out of the kindness of my heart, I won't make you regret that, sorcerer.” Ah, back to the status quo, then. But different. Auch thought it was strange that they had only shared a handful of words and came to a conclusion like this one.
He nodded to her. “Fair enough. Now, I think there's a very certain someone who wears black armor who's waiting for you—”
As expected, Hilda turned as red as her hair, and Auch politely excused himself, unable to keep the slight smile off his face for the rest of the day.
###
A short time later, Berengaria and Monica were polishing their weapons together in the weapons tent when they heard two familiar voices engaged in something that at best, was a verbal spar, and at worst, would turn into another fistfight at the wizard's expense. Monica gave a drawn-out, long-suffering sigh, pinching her nose, and Berengaria shook her head.
“It's your turn, Berengaria. Good luck,” Monica said, looking utterly defeated.
The other woman shrugged and stood up, peeking outside the tent, a diffusing remark on the tip of her tongue, but it dried up when she realized that Auch and Hilda were both…smiling? At each other?
Before they spotted her, she ducked back into the tent and shook her head again. “They're not fighting, Monica.”
The blonde looked shocked. “What could have possibly happened?”
Berengaria shrugged. “Whatever it is, I'm not going to question it. I just hope this lasts.”
“Agreed,” Monica said, nodding. “Perhaps we'll finally have some peace and quiet…”