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Maria was never close with her guild.
She never intended to take much involvement in the war. To her, neither side was ‘right’: a world under Daybreaks would mean a life of fear for herself and for millions of others like her who had no choice over the magic in their veins, but a world under Nightfalls was one of chaos and disorder and just as much fear in Maria’s mind. Really, she never intended on joining any guild at all, but when one of her teachers who had been so kind to her pushed her, what else could she say? She simply decided to be an occasional gatherer of information and continue her life as she always had.
Needless to say, things were different now, but hearing Nūt gush that she was the strongest person in the guild… it made her feel a little guilty for not helping more. Well, rather guilty actually. Especially when the situation was this severe, beyond what she could have ever imagined. But things were different now, of course. She was one of five, all just as strong as herself if not more so, and those were remarkably better odds and far more braincells to solve problems. Although… maybe not that many more braincells, though Yorsog, Amros, and Chi all had her strongest affections.
Maria was still reeling a little from the world-ending problem and being called the strongest in the guild (she thought there would be others in the guild stronger than her; after all she’s limited in what she can learn), so it took a few moments for Qiro to draw her attention, even with his clearing-throat noise.
“Maria, may I talk to you in private for a moment?”
“Hm?” The noise of acknowledgement comes even before Maria’s mind recenters itself and returns to the present. “Oh, of course, lead the way.” She stands, for she knows that speaking over this table is most likely not what Qiro has in mind.
“May I take your hand to guide you?” the voice asks that Maria has come to associate with sharp wit and calculated tones and veiled sneers that hide something underneath. She is not like the others, who are guided by sight and are dulled in their other senses. Maria has forever been dependent on people’s voices and tones and the way they form their vowels and letters, the implications underneath light words and the emotions carefully concealed by controlled measures. For her, it has always been easy to tell Chi apart and to distinguish each ghost from the next, though Maria is sure she hasn’t met many. It is fortunate for her they all speak with different tones and phrasings.
She lets Qiro lead her away, wanting him to be comfortable in his secrecy to her, despite not knowing what said secrecy will be. On the surface, it appears to simply be a matter of Qiro doubting his stance within the group, most particularly in her own eyes, and Maria is suddenly internally aware that she may have been a little abrupt with him earlier. Her disorientation at waking up away and safe from the confusing barrage of strange magic was little excuse for her rudeness. She assured him that she thought no less of him, adding that she appreciated his dry wit (which was very true; Maria could always appreciate some humour). And she thought that would be the end of it, until Qiro mentioned a second question and paused just long enough to strike a match over Maria’s polite curiosity before he spoke again.
“Are you and Bran together…?”
Something in her halts suddenly. “I…”
It… was a strange question. On the surface it seemed like a rather simple question, and yet the way Qiro’s tone became a guarded hesitant advance made Maria consider the possibilities of something more that was being implied. Or perhaps, something that he was taking care to not imply. She didn’t yet know him well enough to guess simply from the tone, so all she could do was strive for a more neutral answer and hope that would be sufficient or would prompt elaboration.
“We are both part of this group, yes?” she tries, confusion carefully sowed in her voice; not too much to be overwhelming and make her appear insufficient, but enough to get across that she doesn’t understand the full meaning behind Qiro’s tone. The nerves she hears in return do little to sooth her confusion.
“That you are. But I am actually asking if-“ The voice is cut off by a long breath of air forced out of tight lips. “Is Bran taken?”
Again, a strange question. There were certainly implications here, and ones that Maria couldn’t quite understand. Whatever topic Qiro was dancing around was one that Maria felt she had little to no experience with, making her unsure on how to properly progress. The simple answers Qiro seemed to be expecting did not come easily to Maria, who felt that to give them without preamble would be foolish in the most ludicrous of ways. And so she draws out her answer, unsure of the territory into which she is, quite aptly, blindly stepping.
“Nnnno?” she offers, and then gives the desperately needed elaboration that she feels is required for both of their sakes. “I feel that I'm missing something important that will help me understand you're trying to ask here, Qiro.”
The reply, when it came, is said simply and yet in a rush as if Qiro is regretting the conversation coming to this stage, and it was nothing like Maria could have ever expected.
“Maria, I am interested in Bran as a romantic or sexual partner. If you are also interested in him in that way, we can forget this conversation ever happened, and I will not make a move.”
For a moment, Maria is stunned into inaction. “I…” The answer fades off before she can form it, her thoughts snapping from stalled to rapidly problem solving. She feels the automatic shift of her body reacting to her surprise and her lashes hit against each other as she blinks, but in the silence comes Maria’s carefully considered thoughts.
The first thought was of Bran, and what his reaction would be to this news. She feels more than hears the tensions within the group, that Amros was already strung tight against Bran as the two grated on each other, and she did not wish for Bran to also strike up discontent against Qiro or any of his fellow ghosts and host, a path which is sure to shatter the already strained atmosphere. Bran really needed a break, and if he denied the request of Qiro, Maria was sure that he would take on guilt for that no matter how unnecessary it was. And she was rather sure he would deny Qiro’s request. While accepting to Amros’ supposed jaunts, Bran had given no indication of doing the same, despite the tales that went around of his fellow bards.
So it was all for Bran’s sake alone that Maria responded the way she did.
“Yes. Yes I am. Thank you asking me about it first, it is greatly appreciated and I am glad that you thought to check it with me first,” she responds after the long pause, morphing her expression into a gentle smile that she hopes bleed into her blind eyes.
“Oh. I. Okay.” The tampered regret and swallowed sorrow of the sentence could not go unheard by the blind sorceress. “I will repress this immediately. Thank you for being honest with me, Maria. I appreciate you as a friend and I hope this will not change your opinion of me.”
And not even guilt could change Maria’s mind as she gives another smile and a small nod of her head. “Of course it won't, Qiro and like I said, thank you for approaching me with this question.”
Qiro leads her back to the table, letting her take her seat beside Bran and it was just for Bran’s sake that Maria leans over a little towards him and whispers as a light joke. “I think you owe me.”
Or perhaps it wasn’t.
Perhaps it wasn’t just for Bran’s sake.
Because perhaps, when Qiro had informed Maria of his intentions, perhaps there had been an emotion that had suddenly burned to life in the centre of Maria’s chest, gripping her like the first winds of frigid winter. It was hot like anger and warming her from within and yet lacking the violent surge and foul taste. It was cold like jealousy and yet it didn’t have that sharp bitter edge that soured the soul. It shivered like excitement through her blood, screamed like terror in her heart, heavy in her chest like fear, light in her head like relief. And it was utterly, profoundly foreign. Something that Maria had never felt before, had no name for. And it had a tinge, a hint or a dollop or a surge or a torrent of some other feeling that made it so utterly unique from all the other emotions she knew.
So perhaps… perhaps… Maria was a little selfish when she gave Qiro his answer. Perhaps, for once, Maria decided to indulge in an emotion she couldn’t name, and perhaps, only for a moment, she delighted in a warm surge as Qiro accepted her answer. Perhaps her whisper to Bran had been a bit of a whisper to her future self as well, for an emotion she couldn’t name and a reason she didn’t understand.
There was one question that lingered in persistent murmurs in the back of Maria’s mind, drifting around her like a ghost of her own: What did Qiro see in Bran? For there had to be a reason for his proposal, for the desire and curiosity, and Maria had not yet seen (as it were) Bran being courteous towards Qiro. If anything, she had heard the opposite, unless there were actions going on in the silence behind closed doors that she was unaware of. And so perhaps, Maria would pay a little more attention to it in the future.
And so perhaps Maria’s question to Bran the next day wasn’t entirely separate from her and Qiro’s discussion of the day before. All influences aside, it had been a vague wish in the back of her mind for a long time – to rediscover the arrangement of wood and string that had a voice of its own and to perhaps find her own way to create that voice (for Maria was determined to achieve anything that someone with sight could achieve). And her request had been in the back of her mind ever since she had first heard Bran’s display of skill with the lute as they had met on the street, and his kind gestures and words had strengthened her resolve. So while she was quietly nervous in the quietness of her being, she was not surprised when Bran seemed willing to assist her with her wish, with only the advising words “Being blind might have a few challenges, but it is far from impossible”.
Maria’s playful streak made her words come easily, ready for the banter that it would no doubt bring. “I would like to learn, and I think you'll find that I have a habit of achieving what people call 'impossible'.”
“What a beautiful habit to have.”
Maria was hardly more ready for the surge of that strange emotion than she had been the first time, and for just as little reason! It was a simple sentence, an acknowledgement, a kind compliment that made that strange angry-happy-fearful-excited well up and crash down and very thoroughly wipe out any sort of cheeky remark she could have made in return. She felt her face grow a little warm and once again found herself blinking once or twice, her lips twitching as her smile morphed into a shape she did not understand.
“… Thank you. Bran,” she finally convinced her voice to say, unable to find her feet as she drifted in these foreign waves.
“Anytime Maria.”
And things were back to normal.
Or so she had believed, right until Bran had drawn her attention during their riding travels, carefully placing a carved wooden and stringed instrument into her hands and while Maria had never held a lute before, she could tell from the care of Bran’s movements that this was his prized possession he was trusting her with. This time, she was adept enough to set aside that awful yet lovely surge of warmth to focus on his voice and his instructions, carefully placing her fingers according to where he moved them and filing away each bit of teaching she was given. She was clumsy, she knew, but all masters of the craft were at first, and she felt that perhaps she was doing well enough to not make a mess of it on her first attempt.
Maria grew more and more convinced daily that Bran knew someone at home or had a family member who was blind like she. Why else would he be so willingly accommodating for her, describing the landscape and the animals and carefully directing her to ensure she didn’t stumble? Regardless of how unnecessary some of the gestures were, Maria was thankful for all of them, smiling warmly with each one. And the others in the party helped as well of course; Qiro quipping in alternate and extended descriptions, Amros helping her mind her step and teleporting with her, Yorsog remarking on the state of the grass and appearance of their food. But Bran did it a little more and a little faster and with a little less prompting, so he must have been close with someone who was blind. There were little alternate options, after all.
Still, perhaps… Well, if Maria lingered to hold Bran’s hand for a moment longer than necessary, it was simply to find her footing. Or to give him comfort. Or to reorientate herself in the world before she let go of the foundation. Or to wordlessly let him know that she supported him. Perhaps, if she let her smiles be more frequent towards him, it was because she was thankful for his extra effort on her behalf, because she knew most people didn’t bother. Perhaps, when he mentioned that her flying elephant tale would be worth hearing, she made a mental note to recall as much of it as possible to make it a story worth listening to over a campfire, a story worthy of a bard.
… Perhaps, when Maria offered for Bran to sit in her hood or shoulder as a cat, it was so she would be able to protect him. To keep him close and ensure that no harm would come to him that she could not defend him from. Perhaps the thought of leaving him behind or some strangers taking him away made that warm strangeness burn into something far more akin to anger.
Perhaps… Perhaps Maria could learn to be a little selfish. Even if she didn’t know the reason. Even if she didn’t understand why the change had come so suddenly.