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Chapter Text

The spring sunshine was stifling and the scorching belly of the forge rolled with fire, belching smoke into the air. Sweat dripped down the back of March's neck, even with the sleeves of his shirt pinned up. It pooled in the centre of his back, rendering his skin sticky. Gross. He huffed.

He'd been out at the forge since dawn, as usual. He couldn't deny that he missed the familiar chill of Winter. As Spring rolled once more, so had the familiar heaviness of dew-filled air. It was the first day of the new season and he was already sick of the blinding sun.

"March!" A yell that was a little too loud, easily heard over March's rhythmic hammering, split his attention. March heaved his hammer down one last time, decidedly. He thrust the metal into frigid water, sighing as the tension left his arms as quickly as the hot metal cooled.

"Olric, I've told you not to yell like that when I'm working." Olric ignored his needling, clasping a hand down on his shoulder as he passed by.

"Have you seen this new order?" Olric waved a neatly folded piece of paper at eye level.

"No." March sniffed, turning his attention back to his work. He didn't need to see it. It was nails. It was always nails.

"It's nails. Adeline says we're out." Olric chirped, making a show of examining the paper.

"You don't say." March replied, abandoning his tools and leaning back against the forge.

The birds flitted through the nearby trees. Without the din of the forge March could hear their familiar song from the Narrows. The weather was perfect – so perfect that for once that March wished he could enjoy it. Instead, he plucked the order form from Olric's gloved hand, taking in the all too familiar details.

"Let's get to work."

Olric was mercifully quiet as March focused on the order, drowning himself in the rhythmic hum of the forge. March wondered if he knew that the early morning and the humid air and the nails weren't the real issue. March's skin crawled, a familiar bubbling anxiety in his stomach accompanied every stroke of his hammer. No, there was no wondering. Olric knew what the real issue was – they just hadn't gotten around to broaching the very pressing, time-sensitive issue yet.

People used to pass through Mistria from time to time. The occasional adventurer. Maybe even a wealthy patron on their way to the city. Balor was practically a staple – despite his insistence that he was a travelling merchant. Before the earthquake they'd even see Vera, Darcy, Louis and Merri for the market. But it had been a long time since the forge became the home of small repairs and bulk batch nails orders - even longer still since they'd had anyone new come to town.

But any day now, his newest neighbour was due to arrive. And March wasn't ready.

He sighed. So loudly in fact, that Olric's searching gaze slipped from the anvil. March's hammer stilled.

"It's about lunch time, anyway." Olric smiled. He wiped his brow, patted March on the shoulder once more and wandered back into the shop, kicking his boots on door frame before he crossed the threshold. The door creaked loudly behind him.

March waited.

As though if he stood still long enough, Olric might forget he existed. Might take himself off to the inn and have a nice meal by himself so March could finish off the rest of his work. Bird song echoed around him. Somewhere in the distance children laughed. A bell peeled. Everything was peaceful. From inside the shop, there was a distinct thud, followed by an almighty yell.

He placed his gloves down beside his hammer and trudged inside.

The shop was mercifully quiet. March breathed deeply, clearing the metallic heat from his nose. The shop smelt of pine and soot and the familiar astringency of metal polish. The door creaked closed behind him, the sound as familiar as Olric's booming voice. Behind the counter, his brother was half buried under a pile of logs they kept stocked to fuel the forge.

"Olric?" He called.

"Oh, hey! They just – slipped." Olric was smiling as he replied.

"I see." March snorted.

They stacked the logs back efficiently. It was light work, in comparison to working the forge or in the mine, and thankfully, Orlic let it pass silently.

Smithing was the most natural thing in the world to March. Like breathing – if breathing was exhausting physical labour.

His whole life was built around his forge. Every day - he woke up. He assessed his orders. He did the best he could with their limited supplies to help as many of his neighbours as possible. He made the stupid nails. He tidied his work away piece by piece. He listened to the bird song as he did, lining his tools up in the perfect order. He assessed the condition of everything he'd forged that day and made notes in a notebook he kept stashed in his apron. He went to bed. He slept. He woke up before dawn. He did it all over again.

Measured. Methodical. Consistent.

He was grateful for that consistency.

So, when the door creaked open behind him, he continued to poke fun at Olric's clumsiness. He mentally bemoaned the never-ending requests for nails and hinges and minor repairs. He enjoyed the simple life he, and his brother, had built in Mistria – even if the Earthquake had thrown a bit of a metaphorical spanner in the works. March didn't turn to great the visitor, until Olric broke out into his best smile.

"Woah!" He exclaimed.

The footsteps behind him stopped still.

Olric rushed out from behind the counter, his gloved hands already reaching out to shake the arm of whoever had waltzed into their store. March turned – as slowly as he could. His breath shuddered in his chest. His heart beat furiously. The food he'd wolfed down at breakfast churned in his stomach.

It all stopped when he saw her.

"Are you the new farmer everyone's been talking about? The one who's come to help out the town?" Olric was still shaking the woman's hand as March contemplated how this had to be a joke.

When he heard "farmer", he expected someone who looked accustomed to hard labour. Hell, even someone from the Adventurer's Guild should look more rugged, right? But this woman looked too soft. Not only did Olric's palm dwarf hers, but the very top of her chestnut-coloured hair only reached his jawline – which continued to swing wildly as he spoke. Her face was heart-shaped, unlined and pale – like she was unaccustomed to the sunlight. Beneath a neatly styled fringe were a set of heavily lashed sky-blue eyes, which remained wide with what could only be anxiety. At her waist was a sword so battered he couldn't decide if it was battle-worn or picked up from a training yard, her boots were dust-covered from her journey but laced neatly to her mid-calf. Her dress, a loose smock with a long-sleeved shirt beneath it was uncreased, despite the long journey from the capital. She carried a backpack that was overfull, slung loosely over one of her shoulders. March traced the planes of her face, the line of her body, like he was evaluating an interesting brief. His discerning eye calculated just how useful she was going to be to the town.

And the verdict wasn't good.

His lip curled and as though she sensed the shift in his mood, her gentle eyes shifted to him.

"You brother, I take it?" She shot Olric a soft smile, taking one measured step toward March as she asked.

"The name's March… What do you want?" He sighed.

Her head snapped back toward him and the emotion he originally perceived as anxiety disappeared from her face. Her nose crinkled, creasing her freckles, as she had the audacity to smile at him. Was she excited? But what sort of crazy person would be excited about meeting him? His eyebrow twitched, desperate to raise in incredulity.

"I'm Ari, the new farmer in town!" She said, thrusting her hand out for him to shake.

March observed her.

"I don't know what that has to do with me. Regardless of what Adeline says, we really don't need an outsider to come in and solve our problems for us." March said, turning away from her outstretched hand. Behind her, Olric waved his hands in panic. No doubt his poor attempts at communication were meant something along the lines of please, be nice.

The shop was silent. But, somehow, his mouth didn't get the memo that it was time to shut up.

"I – We have everything under control. Just don't get in the way." He added. A sudden, sharp sting of regret shot down March's spine - his embarrassment red hot. Why did he say that? We have everything under control. No one was stupid enough to believe that. It was so bad that Adeline had to recruit a stranger to help rebuild Mistria.

Mercifully, Ari didn't reply. Her pale face set in a picture-perfect smile as her hand dropped back to her side.

"March." Olric hissed – his usual sunny disposition clouded by a brief shower of disapproval.

"It's ok, honestly! I'm looking forward to working with you – both of you – I'll see you around?" Ari said, her bright smile never once slipping as she headed toward the door.

"Of course, see you around!" Olric returned her warmth with a smile of his own.

And as the door creaked closed behind her, the once familiar sound set March's teeth on edge. He wasn't one to doubt Adeline – but what was she thinking?

Chapter Text

March's head hung low, his elbows rested on his workbench, diagrams and notepaper sprawled across the surface as his mind ached with boredom. Olric had long since headed up to the museum to catch-up with Errol, leaving March to hold down the metaphorical fort in his absence. Tending the shop was his least favourite part of being a blacksmith. Nothing was ever going to beat being by his forge, his body an extension of his hammer, as he worked metal into something magic, as though it was natural to him – as easy as breathing.

He sighed.

He missed work. Real work. Anything but stupid nails.

The door creaked as it swung open and he glanced at the clock – too late in the day for Ryis, too early for Olric to be back. His brow furrowed before she even opened her mouth.

"Hey, March!" Ari called.

He stood, his footsteps heavy as he slumped over to the counter.

"What do you want?" He asked.

"I brought you something." She stated.

She extended her arm toward him, in her outstretched hand was a neatly tied bag – it was a small thing, blue with a red drawstring. She rooted herself to the pine flooring a few steps away from him and waited – an expectant smile played on her full lips. March blinked. She was joking right?

"I don't want it." March said.

"You don't even know what it is!" She exclaimed as her bottom slipped into a pout.

"I know I don't want it." He insisted, crossing his arms.

Ari sighed. Loudly. Her soft, blue eyes narrowed as she approached the counter with heavy footsteps. The sunset had begun to pass through the windows, casting shafts of delicate light across the shop. In the orange glow, her chestnut hair was brighter than usual, her fair skin luminescent. Her nose creased; a momentary flicker of displeasure slipped free of her usual schooled expression.

"I'm leaving it here. Think of it as a peace offering." She insisted, placing the bag down on the counter.

"What for?"

"I think we got off on the wrong foot."

"I don't think of you at all." He shot back.

She twitched. His embarrassment was red-hot, instant and choked any form of apology he could have made the moment he considered it. He was being petty. Possibly even a little childish. He was sure if Olric could see him he'd shake his head in shame. And it wouldn't be so bad, if it wasn't also a complete lie.

In reality, he thought of Ari often. Of course he did. It was impossible not to. Every moment of his day somebody wasted their time extolling her virtues to him. If it wasn't Olric, who had taken to waving Ari over for a chat as they ate their breakfast in the inn, it was Ryis, who had received an extra order of hardwood within a day of her waltzing into town – something she apparently just foraged from her farm. Ari was a relentlessly helpful storm – she dished out gifts and kind words, fulfilled all sorts of requests and swanned around town like she belonged there. She was much too weak to be an effective farmer – a fact he felt sure of when he'd passed by her farm and found it still largely overrun with lumps of rock and fallen trees. She'd taken to foraging and fishing and nursed only a small plot of crops near the front of her cottage. Since Ari had arrived earlier in the week, March had collated every detail he, often unwillingly, learnt about her in a neat folder at the back of his mind – where he wanted any mention of her stay.

"March?" She called, he looked at her, albeit sheepishly.

"What?" He sighed, his anger abated, his internal tirade mostly finished.

"I'm going to do my best to help the people here. Get used to it, ok?" She said.

March blinked.

She blinked back. Seconds passed by. What was he supposed to say? Ok, I don't believe you. I can't wait for you to give up and leave. Even he wasn't that awful.

For a moment, she didn't smile. The soft skin of her face was sun-kissed, now overly-pink at the high points of her cheekbones. Her hair had been pulled back in a gingham bandana – green to match her creased dress – and cascaded down her back in loose curls. She'd upgraded her sword – her new blade was made of copper and bore his maker's mark on the hilt. He wondered when she'd bought it. He wondered why she hadn't put in a custom order. As she gazed at him in silence, he wondered how old she was. He wondered why no one had told him that yet. He scrambled through his neatly packed folder. But in every scrap of conversation, every word he'd pretended to ignore and filed away, there wasn't a single scrap of anything personal. Why didn't he know anything about her?

She rocked on her heels, the floor creaked, two people chattered loudly as they passed by the door. She sighed, ducked her head, signalling the end of their exchange, and turned on her heel. His brows lowered. His cheeks flamed. His heart beat raucously in his chest. He needed to leave. He needed her to leave. Why didn't he want her to leave?

"How old are you?" He asked. All but yelled, really.

She jumped – and he couldn't even blame her. She hovered in the doorway. Her expression flitted nervously, before she settled on her usual, gentle smile. The softness in her gaze made his skin crawl, warmth rushing into his cheeks, pooling down his back, until all he felt was an unfamiliar shiver in his chest.

"We're the same age." She replied.

"You know how old I am?" His eyebrows descended once more, clearly unable to withstand the gravitational pull of his discomfort.

"Olric told me." She spoke without taking a breath.

March nodded, slowly.

"You asked Olric how old I was?" He asked.

Her smile faltered.

"No! Maybe – I was just curious!"

"About me?" He asked. Teasing.

"Look, it's late, I'll see you around!" Ari smiled and waved as she bolted for the doorway, tripping over her boots as she all but ran out of the shop.

March remained completely still. He couldn't help but snort as Ari's curses drowned out the familiar creak of the door slamming closed behind her – for such a soft looking woman she had the mouth of a sailor.

Was she embarrassed?

He hated to admit it, but getting flustered was kind of his thing. March had always longed to be more like Olric. For his confidence to translate into charm – instead of his usual abruptness. By his reckoning, he'd put his foot in his mouth during every single limited encounter he'd had with Ari this week. If anyone was supposed to be bolting out of the door – it was him.

With a shake of his head, he collected himself.

There was new information to sort through, new facts about Ari to neatly file. New feelings that needed to be categorised. Embarrassed. Anxious. Uncomfortable. They were easy to pick through. What was more difficult to sort was the stubborn blush her words had encouraged in him.

They were the same age.

He wondered how close it was. He had to be older than her – right? He wondered if she was born in Spring, too. Not that it mattered, he would not be getting her a gift. Maybe Olric would know. Maybe he'd get to ask her when she next came by.

March wandered to his desk, preparing to close down the shop for the evening. Olric would be home soon. He'd need to pretend nothing had happened. The last thing he needed was another earful over dinner about how he should make more of an effort with Ari. After all, she'd only been there a couple of days, and he was still betting on her getting bored of Mistria by the time Summer came.

As he counted the measly profit they'd made that day, he noticed the addition of a few extra shining tesserae – 480 in total, to be exact – and remembered Ari's new sword. She must have come by early in the day. He couldn't help the twitch of his lips as he remembered her exit – and the purpose of her visit. He eyed the gift she'd deposited on the counter warily.

The bag itself was non-descript, it had been hand-sewn from deep blue cloth and sealed with a ruby red drawstring. Ari had tied the cord into a small, neat bow. March's fingers shook with anxiety as he picked gently at it. From within, he pulled a small, rectangular slab wrapped in red, shiny paper. He sniffed dryly as a hot flush crept up his neck. Sure, it wasn't the best gift he'd ever received. But it was a good gift. It was the sort of treat that Balor only stocked occasionally. The very thing that had mysteriously disappeared from his desk drawer the last time Olric was left alone to mind the shop.

It was chocolate - and his favourite kind to boot.

March ran his finger along the edge of the brightly coloured wrapper. He knew he should eat it. After all, that's what it was for. To eat. He traced the seam where it was sealed shut. Ari wouldn't have given it him if she didn't want him to enjoy it.

Her soft smile as she'd help the gift in her outstretched hand swam in his mind.

The heat rose in his cheeks with renewed passion. He hadn't even said thanks. With a decisive grumble, March wrapped the gift back up in the neat little bag, taking extra care to tie the cord in a neat, small bow. He dug around the counter, finding a draw that was used for storing loose bits of stationary and the occasional broken nail and hid the gift in the very back - somewhere Olric wouldn't find it.

He was going to eat it… Eventually.

He just had to find a way to say thank you first.

Chapter Text

Come rain or shine, Friday was the best day of March's week.

By Friday, any jobs he picked up throughout the weekdays were neatly boxed off – and any orders that came in over the weekend would be for odd jobs. Nice, easy work he could still do if he was nursing a hangover. On Friday he could welcome the weekend by visiting the inn, alongside Mistria's other residents, and enjoying doing something other than working the forge, or talking to Olric, or relaxing at the bath house.

So, when he walked out of the crisp evening air into the welcoming embrace of the hearth, the moreish scent of soup on the air and the hubbub of conversation that typified the Sleeping Dragon he was pleased to feel the loosening of his shoulders as his tension slipped away.

Ryis spotted him from across the room – his fade splitting into a grin as he waved March over.

"Hey, Stranger!" He called, sliding March a cold beer.

He grappled with the urge to be difficult. Instead, he did what was socially acceptable – he grunted and took a deep swig from the bottle.

"Ugh – that's good." March groaned and as he sunk into a nearby barstool, Ryis patted his back with a nimble hand.

"Busy day?" He asked, one thick, neatly groomed eyebrow arched.

"Busy week." March corrected.

"Oh? Have the nails finally done you in?"

"Ugh. The nails." March whined, "What do you even use them for?"

Ryis chuckled beside him.

"Oh, you know, just necessary repairs for the town. Really boring stuff."

"It is boring." March insisted.

Ryis grinned, not even feigning concern. He knew he was kidding. He knew that getting Mistria back on its feet was just as important to March as it was to anyone in this town. Except maybe Adeline. But she was an outlier – no one cared about anything as much as Adeline did.

"So, Olric mentioned you met the new arrival."

March groaned.

Ari was the last thing he wanted to talk about right now. He nursed his beer, his palm wet from condensation as Ryis poked at him.

"She's amazing, right?" Ryis asked.

"Oh, she's something."

Ryis snorted.

"What's so funny?" He snapped – a little meaner than he intended.

"You. You're hilarious. You're treating her like she's your nemesis, and not-"

"And not what?" March cut him off.

Ryis paused, his lips twitching.

"You know… An attractive, accomplished adventurer?"

If it had been anyone else, March would have presumed they were being accidentally obtuse. But it was Ryis. Which meant his comment was very much designed to irritate him.

"Wow. You too, huh?" March snarked, feeling the involuntary roll of his eyes as Ryis laughed beside him.

"She's trying, March. That's more than most people would do for us."

"I know she's trying!" He insisted, eyeing the dregs of his beer.

Ryis made a sound that was somewhere between an acknowledgment and a chuckle. March felt the blood flush his cheeks – unsure if it was embarrassment or irritation that set him so on edge. He hadn't signed up for this. Fridays were supposed to be relaxing.

It had to be irritation. After all, he had nothing to be embarrassed about. Who cared if Ari meant well? She hadn't done anything to prove herself – and yet the only person in Mistria, save Olric, who March could regularly tolerate was already tripping over his feet to defend her. This was all because of the stupid hardwood.

A second, slightly hotter, flush ran up his neck as he remembered the untouched bar of chocolate tucked away neatly in its hiding place back at the shop. Despite his attempts to be the bigger person, he was yet to thank Ari for the gift.

"And I am grateful." March sniffed, "In my own way."

"I know. I'm only joking." Ryis assured him.

Ryis glanced down at March's now-empty bottle. March's bad habit of finishing his drinks far too quickly had reared its head far too early in the evening.

"Hemlock! Two more, please." Ryis called, flashing two outstretched fingers to the bartender. Hemlock, who had one slim arm wrapped around his wife's waist, pulled himself away to serve them. While they waited, they talked. Or rather, Ryis talked, and March grunted every now and then as the familiar buzz of alcohol lifted the first layer of his bad mood.

Hemlock set their drinks down in front of them on the bar and March pressed the tesserae into his outstretched palm before Ryis could reach for his own wallet.

"You get the next one."

"If you've not passed out by then." Ryis teased.

March wished he had the capacity to address the insult with as much bluster as he would when less preoccupied and sober. Instead, he barked ha-ha with a roll of his eyes so exaggerated he was surprised his vision remained intact. Even with an ice-cold, fresh bottle uncapped in his hands, March's brain was bogged down with thoughts of her.

"Do you really think she's accomplished?" March asked.

"Oh, we're back to this?" Ryis barely managed to remain expressionless as he spoke.

March exhaled loudly.

"I can't help it. She's so –"

"Impressive?"

"Irritating." March corrected, his lip curling into a pout.

"March. Buddy. You have got to work through this." A sliver of exasperation slipped into Ryis' voice as he patted his back once more.

"I know." March groaned, "I'll cut it out."

"I'll hold you to that." Ryis eyed him. Sceptical to the bone.

Thankfully, March seemed to develop the power to keep his mouth shut after that – probably due to the bottom of his second beer bottle growing ever closer. He managed to keep Ari's name off his tongue - even if her soft hands and chestnut hair encouraged a tightness in his chest that he identified as looming anxiety. Even if her name occupied his ears, punctuating various conversations across the room, and churned an unusual sensation of irritation in his gut. With Ryis' help, and his third drink, the evening started to feel normal.

By the time 7 PM rolled around, March felt refreshed.

Spending time socialising had shaken the stiffness of work from his bones and muscles. As the evening had passed, Ryis had wandered off to catch-up with a few of the other villagers. In his absence, March had been left to his own devices.

Unsurprisingly, that pretty much consisted of thinking of Ari. Although she seemed less annoying to him with the pleasant buzz of alcohol masking his thoughts. It felt like, no matter what he did, she didn't even flinch. In fact, she'd even brought him a pretty thoughtful gift to repay him for his exceptionally cold welcome. So far this week she'd helped Eiland uncover a rare archaeological find, brought Olric five samples of rock to identify, gathered a whole bouquet of flowers to decorate Celine's cabin and completed a bunch of other tasks that had swamped the request board in a sea of paper scraps. Sure, she hadn't done any farming, which March firmly believed was the bare minimum for someone who lived on a farm, but even he had to admit she'd excelled in cheering the residents of Mistria up.

I'm definitely thanking her tonight, March decided.

Resolved, he glanced up at the clock. 7:30 pm. She was late.

March glanced toward the door; his fourth beer on the counter in front of him. Four was him limit. If he drank any more than he had he was going to stop caring about a lot of things. Like how cool he looked in front of his fellow townspeople. And how early he had to be up tomorrow to make the most of the day. Seconds passed.

"To drink or not to drink?" He pondered.

"You have to think about it?" A lilting voice from beside him drew his eye.

Elsie smiled demurely, her neat, if not ostentatious, outfit glistened in candlelight as she settled into Ryis' vacated seat. She swilled her own drink, a glass of white wine, gently.

"No, I don't, I just –"

"What's the worst that could happen?" She asked sweetly, not at all taken aback by March's non-plussed expression.

His eyes darted to the door. 7:30 pm. There was still plenty of time for Ari to show up. But she had only just arrived in town this week – maybe she wouldn't even want to come and socialise with a bunch of strangers? What difference could one drink make to his already terrible first impression? Elsie's words echoed in his mind. What was the worst thing that could happen? Surely, he couldn't say anything that would completely implode his life. His beer grew warmer by the second. Already paid for and quickly rising to room temperature with the fire glazing only feet away.

"You're right." March said – downing the bottle without a second thought.

As the glass slipped away from his lips, the empty vessel placed unceremoniously back on the counter with a clatter, the doors swung open and in walked Ari from the star-speckled gloom.

Shit.

Alcohol buzzed in his blood. His heart raced to accommodate the surprising shiver of excitement he felt. Maybe she'd talk to him again. He could say thank you. She could see he wasn't a colossal ass who disliked her for no good reason. It was a win-win.

He waited for her wide, blue eyes to pass over him. But before she could even get through the door, Celine's blonde head bobbed into her line of sight, pulling Ari insistently toward a nearby table – where Eiland, Adeline, Balor and Holt were kicking off a brand-new campaign of Dragons & Drama. March's face scrunched up as Ari laughed along with the chatter. She listened quietly, more interested in what everyone else was saying than speaking herself. The table welcomed her to the spare seat beside Balor. March grimaced. He would not be able to thank her with if Snicklefritz was listening in. With an apologetic bob of her head, Ari backed away from the table. She gestured toward the bar. March swore her blush-coloured lips mouthed the words – maybe some other time!

Seeing his opportunity, March hovered by the bar.

"It's good to see you again, Ari!" Landen called, clapping a hand down on her shoulder. She jerked with the action but smiled nonetheless and returned the sentiment in her usual soft way.

"These other folks and their games… I like to really sit with a drink and appreciate it, you know what I mean?" Landen continued.

"Uh, sure!" Ari agreed, eyeing the drink options behind the counter.

"Certainly!" Elsie chimed in, "Better to turn your senses to one thing and give it the attention it deserves. Isn't that right, young March?"

If March hadn't been decidedly drunk, he would have felt put on the spot by Elsie's aside. Especially because it attracted the attention of everyone in earshot, including Ari herself. She looked at him with her wide eyes – her gaze as blue and sweet as the blueberries that grew over by the Eastern Road. But as it happened, March was drunk – and Drunk March was a creature so mysterious Sober March couldn't even begin to predict what would happen when he hit his fourth beer.

Heat flooded his cheeks, and he did the only thing that felt appropriate.

He pretended to have only just noticed her arrival.

"Ari!" He exclaimed, ignoring the way her brows raised.

"March?" She answered.

"Come here, c'mere." March waved her over, emboldened by the alcohol rushing through his brain.

As though she couldn't quite believe he was even talking to her Ari approached slowly, excusing herself from conversation with Landen with a polite smile, a wave and a promise to catch-up on how her first week had been later in the night.

"What's up?" She asked, somewhat sweetly.

Did she always sound like that? His eyes flicked to her lips for a brief moment before meeting her gaze.

"I'll let you in on a little secret." March asserted.

"Oh?" She replied, inching closer conspiratorially.

He hummed pleasantly, brushing a few stray strands of her chestnut hair behind her ear and whispered.

"You're not so bad."

He sighed unable to smother the vague feeling of grumpiness the confession raised in him. She stiffened beside him. Her heart-shaped face jerked backward. For a moment, she seemed at a complete loss. He snorted as her eyebrows all but receded into her green gingham bandana. Her mouth opened and then closed; her usual soft smile abandoned. Then all at once, a daring shade of crimson flushed her sunburnt cheeks.

March appreciated that flush more than he cared to admit.

It felt like proof she wasn't as composed as she made out. Evidence that maybe he could get to her – even if not the way he expected.

A sick sort of satisfaction he knew he'd feel guilty about in the morning set his heart racing. And he smiled with a level of abandon he didn't usually allow himself.

"Oh, my… It seems our blacksmith is a bit of a lightweight." Elsie chimed in, her cloud-like hair and knowing-smile visible over Ari's shoulder.

"It's because he's drinking the cheap stuff… Just like you, Valen." Juniper sniped, her gaze as snotty as ever, before she continued ripping into the doctor beside her. Her own way of relaxing on a Friday mercifully drawing the attention of the townspeople.

Ari hovered beside him. Her skin still alight with embarrassment. March wanted to feel the heat from her cheeks – they looked warm enough to replace the fire of his forge. Before he could act on his thoughts. Elsie looped her arm through Ari's and turned her away from him.

"Come here and sit with me, Ari. The girls are fighting… What fun!" She exclaimed and shot March an amused glance over her shoulder.

March felt robbed.

Teasing Ari was fun. He wanted to make her blush again. Make her squirm as he told her what he really thought of her. He wanted her to look at him. He wanted to collect more examples of her what her otherwise perfect mask looked like as it broke. He blanched.

Four beers were definitely his limit.

Without saying goodbye to Olric or Ryis and making a concerted effort not to acknowledge Ari's curious gaze, he slipped away from the inn and out into the surprisingly chilly night. The walk home sobered him up, at least enough for him to start to feel embarrassed by his behaviour.

It wasn't until March stumbled into his bed, his stomach churning with anxiety and alcohol, that he realised he still hadn't said thank you for his gift.

I am so screwed. He thought, before sleep claimed him.

Chapter Text

“March!” 

He sat upright in his bed and rubbed the sleep from his bleary eyes. 

Perched on his bed, fully dressed and beaming, was Olric. His brother bounced in place; his excitement almost as unbearable as so much movement first thing in the morning.

“I’m awake!” March groaned.

“You sure? You look pretty sleepy to me?” Olric snorted, smoothing the front of March’s bedhead with a broad, gloved palm.

March grunted in reply and pushed Olric’s hand away, sitting upright. His bones felt like lead in his skin. 

“What time is it?” He yawned. 

“After six, you’re running late.” Olric replied as he headed out the door.

March grunted once more. He’d get to proper conversation after a cup of coffee. He waited. In the other room, their small furnace hissed into life. March reached under his bed and pulled out a neatly wrapped parcel. The paper was cold and heavy in his hands. He’d picked the muted red wrapping, and the gift inside personally, spending days negotiating prices with Balor before he finally bit the bullet.

“Olric!” He called.

Olric’s head bobbed back into the room, his mouth chewed furiously. March would comfortably bet a month worth of profits on Olric’s breakfast food of choice being a hard-boiled egg. 

“What’s up?” His brother asked. 

March threw the parcel toward him. Olric caught it with an audible oof. 

“Happy birthday or whatever.” March said. 

He swung his legs out of bed and immediately went about getting ready. Moving felt like trying to hammer metal into shape and he resolved himself to hitting the bathhouse before he started work. Like a kid, Olric giggled in excitement. Immediately, he pulled the carefully picked wrapping apart, taking care to hold his gift with two broad hands he held it up to the light. 

“Shut up.” Olric gasped.

“I didn’t say anything.” March grumbled.

“You don’t have to, Bro.” Olric beamed as he cradled the large chunk of unblemished copper ore in his hands. “Your gift speaks for you.”

“Is that so?” March replied through a yawn.

“Yes. It says – ” Olric coughed lightly as he prepared what March feared was his least favourite impression of himself, “Thank you, Olric. You’re the best big brother ever!” 

“I would never say that.” March sighed. 

“But don’t you see, March. Your gift already has.” Olric called over his shoulder, disappearing into his own bedroom, his eyes dutifully trained on his gift. 

March stifled his chuckle.

He pulled himself into his overalls, his arms and legs creaking in distress as he stretched the sleep from his bones. His hand hovered over his drawers, where his selection of Springtime shirts waited in neatly folded rows. He traced his fingers over the familiar fabrics, before he pulled his favourite mint green number over his head.

His stomach dropped, like he’d stepped off a ledge too quickly, as he remembered his least favourite farmer in her own favourite green item of clothing. Her long chestnut hair pulled back from her heart-shaped face. His cheeks prickled with heat.

March planted his feet in his boots, squashing any further thought of Ari beneath his heel, and trudged down the stairs – hitting each step with an almighty thud. 

“Stop stomping!” Olric yelled from the depths of his bedroom. 

“I’m heading to the bathhouse.” March replied, slamming the door shut behind him. 

***********

His boots echoed on the pavement as he sped through the square, his nose hot on the trail of the scent of lavender soap blooming from the open window of the bathhouse. The sun clung to the houses and shops, painting the roofs of the buildings in a fuzzy daffodil yellow. He trailed his fingers through the flower beds by the fountain, the slick chill of dew drops coating his rough hands and paused to enjoy his morning - if only for a moment.

His last few days had been spent in a rush - his plans to avoid Mistria's latest addition throwing his routine well and truly out of shape. March had found that avoiding Ari wasn’t easy, even once he had her schedule figured out. 

From what he gathered, she was still struggling with the farming part of being a farmer. That meant her early mornings were spent watering the few crops she had cultivated in the crappy patch of soil outside her house. 

Her next stop would be the request board.  She wasted a little time as she examined each scrap of paper. Whatever she accepted, she would then pop by the Sleeping Dragon Inn for breakfast, catch-up with townspeople and set off for the day. The first problem he faced was breakfast. Usually, he enjoyed sitting down and catching up with his neighbours. Since Ari’s arrival, he had taken to getting his breakfast to go, trying to get in and out before she had even left her farm. 

If there were no requests on the request board to distract her, she would sometimes pass him on his way out, her smile as sweet sugar as she greeted him. His default excuse worked well for getting away without her engaging him in conversation – he could never talk, and he always had somewhere to be. 

She never seemed to mind too much, always stating that she could catch him next time, before she hurried off to carry out her own business - as though there was a time limit for fulfilled request. 

There were obvious downsides to March’s plan. The first was that today was Olric’s birthday and that meant even without a request to fulfil Ari was bound to pass by at some point with a well-meaning gift. 

Another was that luck had seemingly been in short supply for March. From the moment a certain well-meaning farmer had arrived in Mistria, he’d found that the eye’s of fate, and of his fellow townspeople, had been turned to other, perhaps better, prospects. 

The thought caused his nose to wrinkle – his hand pausing at the stem of a bloom with blue petals the colour of the winter sky. 

“March!” A bright voice, clear as the sun clinging to the buildings around the square split the early morning air. The sound was enough to send his stomach churning in irritation. The scent of wildflowers and dirt permeated the air as a pale hand reached for his own. 

March jerked his hand away, his skin burning where the ghost of Ari’s fingertips had been. He turned to face her, his cheeks stinging in the chill air. 

“I can’t talk –”

“You have somewhere to be.” Ari spoke quietly, her voice as soft as fresh snow and examined him, her eyes part closed in the dawn light. Her lashes did a poor job of concealing the sliver of her sapphire eyes as she examined him. 

“That’s right.” He nodded, taking a firm step in the direction of Juniper’s store. 

“Before you go, I need a favour.” Ari called, reaching for him.

March resisted the urge to yank his arm away. His eyes drifted toward her dainty hands. They were stained with dirt from her morning labours and chilled by the cold air, but her silken fingertips caused heat to bloom under his skin as she grazed his wrist. 

Slowly, as though coaxing a wild animal, she raised his clenched fist. His heart hammered. March wondered if she was ignorant to the way his pulse fluttered beneath the press of her skin. Irritation and intoxication coursed through his body as his examined the semi-circle of her lashes, still scrunched in the brightening sunlight. She gazed down at his palm, the blue of her eyes shot through with sunlight – like scattered light through stained glass. With a soft smile she lifted her chin, her eyes meeting his own. 

Too close. 

“This is for Olric.” She said, pressing a small parcel into his hand. 

Ari stepped backward, taking her hand, and her warmth, with her. She turned on her heel, heading toward the Narrows with a spring in her step. March blinked, his gaze flitting to a neatly wrapped parcel.

“What is it?” He called after her.

“A birthday gift.” She replied. 

“You should give it to him yourself.” March yelled, “He’d like that.”

Ari simply waved in reply. Her expression schooled into her usual polite smile as she picked up her pace. March watched as her frame shrunk. Waiting by the fountain until long after she’d disappeared behind a copse of oak trees.

His fingers curled around the parcel in his palm. She’d touched him. Wrapped her dirt-stained fingertips around his bare skin. He felt like he was burning. An ache so primal rattled his heart overtook him and as he turned to walk away, resolved to washing away the memory of her touch with a scalding bath, his eye strayed to a familiar blue bloom. Its stem was snapped clean in half and it lay crooked in the flower bed. With a tenderness he couldn’t conceal, and a sneaking suspicion he was the one who had damaged the flower in the first place, he plucked the flower from the bed.

Chapter Text

March thumbed the note in his hands, his calloused fingers lingering on the barely dried ink.

Ari,

Meet me at the Blacksmith’s, and don’t keep me waiting.

March

He’d thought about nothing but her for a day now. Spent the afternoon planning his next steps. And now, finally, wasted an hour writing a note that should have taken him seconds. He fought the urge to scrunch the letter up tight and bury it in his wastepaper bin – alongside the scrapped sketches of failed designs and Olric’s wrapping paper. Instead, he folded it closed neatly, dripping a healthy amount of crimson wax on the seal and placed it on his desk.

The days since March had last seen Ari had come and gone with very little interference on her part. March had found himself slipping back into his old routine, with the quiet hope that he’d catch her about her business and finally get to say thank you. Not just for the chocolate – but for Olric’s birthday gift, too.

A sapphire. Of all things.

He had balked when his older brother had unwrapped the parcel and a flawed, cerulean stone had rolled glistening out of the brown wrapping paper. Olric would have been pleased with any old quartz rock she could salvage. Instead, she’d found something precious. Something entirely too valuable. Something, he suspicioned, was chosen in a bid to win them over. Not that Olric needed any encouragement in that department.

Now every time he passed his brother’s room; his gaze was trapped by the stupid shine of the gemstone – the exact colour of her eyes. March grimaced as fire inched through his chest, permeating his heart and choking his lungs. Why did she have to pick something blue?

She just wants to be your fried, March. Olric had teased, a stupid accusation that had sent March into a two day long spiral.

He fiddled with the corner of his table. There was no helping it. He’d already planned to throw out everything blue he owned. Maybe the sapphire could mysteriously vanish. After all, March favoured red. He liked the warmth of it. The heat of the forge, hissing and spitting even in the snow. Red was passion. It was drive and skill and hard work. Red was a colour he understood. It was a feeling he had honed, morphed into an intricate amulet or a sturdy tool. Red felt like summers at the beach with Ryis. Or like labouring with his brother in the dawn light. It felt familiar. March groaned, pressing his fingers to his temples. His eyes shifted to the small, water-filled pot on his windowsill and the wilting, blue-petalled flower. He stretched out his arm, his rough palm hovering above the delicate petals.

Do it. He urged himself. All he had to do was clasp his hand tight – crush the petals in a vice-like grip. He had never been fond of blue. What was so different now?

Ryis announced himself loudly.

“What are you up to?” He asked. His rich voice was an axe through wood – splitting the silence clean in two. March jumped from his seat, sending his stool clattering across the floor as he pressed his back to his desk. His hand shot to the back of his neck and wiped away the flush of anxiety that threatened to wash through him. Ryis waited, his steady, nimble hands fiddling with a notched block of hardwood.

“Are you finished?” Ryis asked, he tilted his head, his gaze drifting to his desk, just past March’s elbow.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” March snarked and shifted slightly to the left.

“The letter you’ve been writing.” Ryis supplied, “The recipient of which I expect is our resident adventurer.”

Ryis popped his scrap of hardwood into his pocket. His confident gaze looked right through March, right at the letter he had poorly concealed behind his back.

“How could you tell?” March groaned.

“Because you’re being weird.” Ryis laughed, as he picked up March’s stool his nimble hands skirted the length of the legs, eyes searching for damage, before he set it neatly back in place, “I’ve also been waiting for you to finish for half an hour.”

“I’m not being weird.” March said, pocketing the letter.

“You’re being weirder than usual. Which is what makes it so obvious it’s about Ari.” Ryis sighed, leaning on the door frame idly.

March served him a stern glare, before brushing past him and taking the stairs down the store. The sun had begun to dip in the sky, the orange shafts of light filling the store with a flurry of dust motes. Ryis trailed behind him, humming quietly as March gathered up his tools and tidied the displays. He picked up a copper hoe from his workstation, setting the polished tool beside the counter. His thumb found his maker’s mark, a neatly etched symbol on the handle, just below the head. He knew Haydn would probably kill to have something enchanted to help with his crops. Or Celine for her garden. Yet here March was giving it to someone he didn’t even like.

“Who’s that for?” Ryis asked, eyeing the tool with appreciation.

“How do you know it’s for anyone?” March shot back.

“Well, you don’t typically sell enchanted stock.”

March gritted his teeth. He wished Ryis would leave him in peace – and not for the first time that week. He grabbed a dusty yard of cloth from a storage bin below the counter and threw it over the tool.

“Is this because of Olric’s birthday present?” Ryis asked.

March blinked. Of course, Olric had gone and told everyone what she’d done.

Typical.

“It is!” Ryis gasped, “If I knew all it took was giving Olric a nice gift to get an enchanted tool out of you I’d have found him a sapphire ages ago!”

“It’s not just that.” He groaned bitterly.

“I know. I hear she’s given you a few gifts, too.” Ryis chirped.

“She has.” March replied, “If I repay her for the gifts, I’ll stop feeling like I owe her.”

“Uhuh.” He grunted, raising a neatly trimmed brow.

March sighed.

“I feel like you’re trying to rile me up.” March said, pushing past Ryis out the door and into the quiet streets. A poorly stifled laugh echoed against the pavement as March turned toward the square, his boots thudding against the stone. Ryis flung an arm around March’s shoulder, sending him tumbling forward a few steps. March steadied himself – scowling – but continued to walk in silence. Ryis remained slung around March’s shoulders, his body heat warding off the evening chill. He smelt like cedar – warm, like pencil-shavings and the heat of a campfire. Earthy and familiar. Not the bright scent of freshly tilled soil, but the resinous tang of clean-cut firewood.

“Are you going to ignore me all the way to the inn?” Ryis asked.

“Probably.” March replied, smothering a lopsided grin, before he allowed himself to dissolve into a pleasant conversation.

They arrived at the Sleeping Dragon side-by-side, the cacophony of the townspeople already booming out into the streets. Through the windows March spotted Hemlock slinging drinks and Josephine prepping orders for dinner, while Eiland tried, and failed, to wrangle his Dragons & Dramas players. Unsurprisingly, only Adeline waited patiently, engrossed in her character sheet. At the far end of the inn, right by the warmth of the fire, Hayden, Nora and Errol awaited Ryis’ arrival – a deck of cards neatly stacked between them. His eyes scanned the room, he searched for a glimpse of chestnut hair. Or a glimmer of sun starved, pale skin. Ryis untangled himself from March and pushed the doors open. He waited; head turned expectantly.

March felt heavy, the sealed letter like iron in his pocket. He glanced south, toward the farm waiting just down the lane. He could make it there and back before anyone missed him. But if Ari wasn’t at the inn already, she could be working her pitiful excuse for a farm. The chance that he could deliver the letter without him noticing was impossibly slim.

“What are you two doing hanging around out here?” A sweet voice speared his thoughts, as sharp as any blade he displayed back at the forge.

He turned.

Ari peered up at them, blinking in the sunset. She was bathed in an orange glow, her fair skin a touch sun kissed and freckled. There was a flush of exertion on her brow and cheeks – spreading down the column of her throat. March tackled the urge to trace the smooth line of skin. To search for where the colour ended. She’d slung a heavy pack across her back that jangled as she adjusted her weight from one foot to the other. No doubt it was filled with requisitions for his fellow townspeople. In Ari’s hands was a shoddy shovel, dinged up and caked in dirt. She breezed past him, the smell of wildflowers and powdery scent of soap followed in her wake. It made his nose itch.

“Hey, Ari. You joining us for cards tonight?” Ryis asked, smiling broadly.

“Not tonight, I’m afraid.” She patted Ryis on the arm apologetically as she passed – and the flush of something red-hot and tingly careened down March’s neck. His mind instantly grappled to stifle the memory of her touch. It was like poison. His teeth clenched as she stepped away from Ryis and passed into the warmth and chatter – waving over her shoulder as she went. March staunchly ignored the vaguely smug look on Ryis’ face as he regarded his from the open doorway. His stomach churned.

“Are you coming?” March asked and brushed past him.

The people of Mistria bustled about the inn. Every week it was as though his fellow townspeople had been starved of conversation. March snorted at the thought and pushed through the crowd, patting Ryis on his shoulder as they parted ways. He scowled at Eiland’s table as he passed – where Ari had unloaded a heavy-looking parcel bound in cloth in front of Mistria’s resident archaeologist. March craned his neck and caught sight of what appeared to be a gauntlet, most likely ceremonial if judged by the ornate gold filigree that adorned it. Adeline rose from her seat to join them, keeping a fair distance from the muddy bundle.

“This is an Aldarian gauntlet!” Eiland declared as he held the grubby looking glove aloft in the candlelight. Ari reached a finger up and traced a line from the index finger to the palm.

“How old is it?” She asked.

Eiland pondered the question.

“Ancient, most likely. But I’d need to study it further.” He admitted, “Judging by the golden ornamentation and the heavy wear... I'd say it belonged to a noble who spent a good deal of time on the battlefield.”

“How astounding.” Adeline commented.

“Truly!” Eiland added as he placed the gauntlet down neatly.

“Well, I found more than one. So, consider it a gift.” Ari said, with a shrug.

“But the museum!” Eiland protested.

“I already made my donation on the way over.” She said, “Errol was most pleased.”

March watched as Eiland blinked, his mouth opening and closing before he beamed.

“I'll give it a place of honour in my collection, Ari. Thank you.” He said, his perfect, pearly teeth on full display.

Ari chuckled and wandered off to the next table. March had no doubt she was blind to the way Eiland and Adeline watched after her, their eyes fixed on her as she navigated the room. March hated the sickly feeling in his stomach. After all, he had plenty going for him. He was one of the best blacksmiths in Aldaria. He had the trophies, and the callouses, to prove it. But at that moment, a needle of doubt wiggled through his ironclad confidence. Bitter thoughts raced through his mind, each more confused than the last. He had no right to care. He hated Ari. There was no rational reason for the way his stomach sank, or his heart raced as she smiled at his neighbours – at his friends.

You’re jealous. The words coiled around his mind, wrapped themselves tight and hissed.

He marched over to the bar, ignored the burning of Ryis’ gaze on his back, and ordered himself his first beer of the night.

Chapter Text

One beer was enough for March.

One beer left him feeling suitably self-aware, with a soft, bubbly sensation fizzing through his veins. He was still in control. Or so he thought, until he noticed Ari loitering by the fireplace – her chestnut hair glowing like copper ore in the orange light. She laughed loudly, her hand half concealing her open mouth, and creased at the waist. She’d never laughed like that around him. The realisation didn’t surprise him. March’s stomach churned and he supposed two beers, even three, were fine, too.

Ari breezed up the stairs to engage with the suspicious gaggle of children on the landing. She crouched down beneath the banister and tucked her chestnut hair behind her ears as she discussed something with Del, Luc and Maple. With a knowing smirk, Ari glanced across the inn to the far table and nodded in agreement to whatever insane plan Del had come up with. As she peered out over the banister, her gaze flitted towards the bar.

March flung his head back around.

Are you trying to get caught?

He decided, even as his beer lifted his mood, to focus on his evening and not on the woman he felt inexplicably drawn too. Occasionally, Landen or Elsie made a comment and March replied. It was idle small talk. But he’d mastered the art of participating. He always said just enough. The right words at the right time, the way his neighbours liked them. Even when he’d finished his fourth drink, placing the empty bottle on the bar, he managed a quip that made Landen chuckle – a stupid joke about the effectiveness of soft versus hard wood. It was only when he noticed Josie’s pink cheeks from across the bar that he realised it was perhaps too bawdy a joke for polite company.

Four beers were certainly enough.

Elsie and Landen continued their discussion. Beside them, Juniper and Valen were engaged in some glorious pissing contest, the kind that usually ended in an argument. March rested his chin on his hand, propped up against the bar. He closed his eyes and hoped it would steady the room. Instead, his vision swam – squiggles and lines dotted the back of his eyelids. As if invited by the impending conflict, the scent of wildflowers lanced his drunken senses. He pried a single eye lid open. There she was, tucked between Elsie and Landen.

Ari laughed quietly; her head ducked close to Elsie’s as they communicated in stage whispers. She trained her bright eyes on whoever spoke. She devoured their words. March wondered what he had to do, what he had to say, for her to look at him like that.

He blinked – distracted by the scene unravelling just past Elsie’s shoulder.

In a surprisingly relaxed interaction, Juniper and Valen extolled the virtues of a particularly fancy looking bottle of wine. While Landen looked on curiously. Even Ari seemed captivated – her wide, blue eyes tracking the conversation.

“It’s delicious.” Juniper exclaimed; her violet lidded eyes as wide as saucers as she drank from a crystal-clear glass, “Thank you so much, this is so generous.”

“My pleasure.” Valen smiled at Juniper, her grin a little cat-like in the candlelight.

“I’ll bet.” Elsie chimed in, a delicate little snort hidden behind her hand, as she peered gracefully back at Ari for her input.

“Look at those two, getting along so well… Bonding over a nice drink!” Landen said, he turned to look at March. He nudged him with an elbow, before he added, “That’s what life’s all about, if you ask me.”

March gulped.

No time like the present.

“Ari, do you think Juniper will let me try it?” March whispered, loudly, “Maybe you can ask for me?”

March barely registered Juniper’s response – a deafening cackle that usually set his hair on edge – he was absorbed by Ari’s sly smile as she looked back over her shoulder at him. It was a rather stupid joke, he supposed. But from the way she looked so triumphant – as though she had been waiting for him to talk to her – it was worth it. She pushed herself away from the bar and stepped round Landen, coming to a rest at his side.

“Would you like me to ask?” She replied, as sweet as always.

He nodded.

“I would love for you to ask.” He admitted.

He wanted to hear her speak. He allowed himself a moment – a few seconds to really look at her. The uncomfortable swooping sensation in his stomach when he peered into her eyes felt, somehow, worse than when he was sober. Behind her Juniper asserted loudly that she wasn’t sharing. But March didn’t care.

“You’re staring.” Ari said.

He hummed, tipping his head to one side. He was staring. He propped his elbow on the bar, rested his chin on his hand and peered at her sideways. From this height, they were at eye level. 

“What do you want from me, March?” She asked. As she did, she crossed her arms and leaned beside him. She blinked tiredly and March traced the faint shadows that clung to the bags of her eyes. He thought about the question. What had he wanted from her? Whatever his intentions had been, they seemed so insignificant now with the heat of her body only inches away.

Slowly, Ari raised her index finger. She reached up and with featherlight touch smoothed her finger through the centre of his eyebrows.

“You look different.” She said, “When you’re not sulking.”

“I don’t sulk.” He insisted.

Ari snorted. March smiled at the surprisingly ugly sound. The way her eyes creased as she laughed ignited a wild, fluttery feeling in his chest. Taking advantage of the distraction, he wrapped his own index finger around hers and pulled it back to the countertop. His sense of touch was muddled by alcohol, but not so much that it could smother the way her skin felt like the full heat of the sun against his. She blushed sunset pink, burning from the tip of her nose to the pale curve of her ears.

“Are you going to tell me why you’ve staring at me all night?” She asked.

March pondered her question. If he had been sober, he’d have been mortified that she as onto him. But given that Drunk March and Sober March were rarely in agreement, he was not at all surprised to find that he was a bit glad she had noticed.

“I wanted to thank you.” March admitted.

“You don’t have to –”

“Yes, I do.” He insisted, “You’ve been good to me and Olric, too. So, thank you.”

“What did I do to deserve this?” She teased as her lips quirked up at the corners.

“I’m being serious, Ari.” He laughed.

She smiled at him – her gentle eyes half-lidded. They were so blue. His mind drifted back to the wilted flower in his bedroom.

“I appreciate the help, but you don’t have to try so hard, ok?” He smiled, suddenly amused beyond belief. He almost laughed aloud, instead, he said the single, most stupid thing he had ever said in his life, “It’s not like we’re friends.”

For a moment, Ari didn’t do anything. Then, her face paled.

She looked as though someone had poured a bucket of cold water over her head. With a gentle tug she unravelled their hands - the sensation reminded him of pulling knots out of tangled string. March’s heart lurched with a strange sense of satisfaction when her fingertips lingered a little longer than they should. But when she stepped away from the bar, taking the heat of her skin with her, his satisfaction turned to dismay.

“Well, thank you – for the thanks, I guess.” Ari tripped over her words, her voice as stiff unworked iron.

“I just meant –”

“I get it.” She snapped.

March blinked. What could he possibly have said this time? Ari stared at him a few seconds more, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. Her usual pristine smile was replaced with a look March couldn’t have described if he tried. But he hated the lifeless, thin line of her lips as she stared at him. Panic started to claw at his throat – if he knew what he’d done wrong he could fix it. But Ari remained quiet, her face as frigid as a blizzard. Her usual mask was tainted with the sort of chill that kept him away from the forge, bundled up in blankets in his room. Seconds passed in silence. His gaze retreated down the bar, where, mercifully, his fellow townspeople were absorbed in their own conversations – whatever faux pas he’d committed unnoticed.

“I –” He stuttered, the words clogging his windpipe.

What did I say? He wanted desperately to ask – but his liquid courage had frozen in his blood. What had he said? What was he trying to say? That he was sorry? He didn’t even know what to be sorry for. His mind raced to find the moment he’d screwed up.

Ari sighed, loudly, and turned on her heel to walk away.

“Ari – ”

“I’ll see you around, March.” Ari called over her shoulder.

He mumbled something vague and affirmative, as the heat of his own blush and a wave of embarrassment threatened to overwhelm him. He knew he should go after her. Say sorry for whatever it was he’d done to upset her. He wanted to beg her forgiveness. He wanted to kneel at her feet. He wanted her to smile sweetly at him – to look at him. Instead, he watched as the door to the inn slammed shut behind her and wished for nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

Chapter Text

March thought Mistgrove Farm was a hole. And that was if he was feeling generous. Which, given the fact he’d royally put his foot in it, he begrudgingly attempted. The patch of farmland outside Ari’s cabin was mercifully well-tended, with spring buds shooting up through the soil.

March reckoned she was growing flowers, which seemed like a weird choice given how she could have grown food.

Even Ryis, who’s presence normally sanded the edge off his bad mood, emanated an aura of gloom from beside him as they stared at the mailbox. Adeline and Eiland, and even Ari, had done their best to polish this metaphorical turd. But with the drizzle coming down, turning the ground beneath his feet to mud, and the clouds crowding the expanse of trees and painting the long, tufted grass fields grey, it was hard to feel anything positive at all.

“Are you going to do it?” His friend asked, crossing his arms to ward off the cold.

“Probably not.” March answered.

Ryis sighed, his left index finger twitching where it rested atop his crossed arms. “Look, you can’t put this order off any longer. If you do, Adeline is going to get twitchy. I don’t want to be around when that happens – and you certainly don’t want to be around if you’re the one holding things up – so just ask Ari for help.”

“I can’t.” March insisted.

Ryis blinked.

“March, I’m telling you this as your best friend, you need to – respectfully – get a grip.” Ryis snatched the letter from his hand and shoved it in the mailbox with a glare that made him feel like a shrivelled leaf. The metal door snapped closed with a bang. And with it, so did March’s hopes of avoiding the issue.

“What could possibly have you so freaked out?” Ryis sighed, his heel boring a hole in the mud as he whipped around and stomped back toward town. He eyed the mailbox warily, filled with the very real fear that if he reached in to snatch the letter back Ryis may come back and lop his arm off.

“I’m not freaked out.” March insisted.

Ryis peered quietly over his shoulder.

“Ok, maybe I am, but I have a good reason. Ari is avoiding me.” March insisted, his skin crawling with the memory of their last conversation, as he trailed after his friend.

“You’re avoiding her! And it’s been two days since you last spoke, that’s hardly an age, March.”

“You didn’t see the way she looked at me at the inn this morning.” March groaned. “She practically ran out the door.”

“Can you blame her?” Ryis asked.

March gritted his teeth. He supposed Ryis was extra grumpy because Ari has been avoiding him too, but that wasn’t any reason for him to take it out on March. It’s not like he had tried to upset her.

“Look, I made you post the letter is because you need to get on with this request. While you’ve got Ari at the forge take the opportunity to apologise for whatever you said.”

“I can’t apologise if I don’t know what’s wrong!”

“Then ask her!” Ryis snapped.

March blinked slowly. He wasn’t a stranger to other people’s tempers, after all, he rubbed people the wrong way all the time. But it was the first time Ryis had ever really raised his voice at him. Or targeted him with a look of complete disappointment. A look that was very quickly dissipating into one of regret. It did nothing to improve the bubbling unease in his stomach. Or the flush of heat creeping up his neck. Or even the stinging sensation in his eyes that came from being hit over the head with a heavy stick labelled shame.

“Look, March –”

March wanted nothing less than to hear Ryis apologise for something he really didn’t need to. So, he stomped ahead of him, blinking back the surprising sting in his eyes. March imagined putting his best foot forward as he climbed the hill, his heart stuttering at the thought of seeing Ari again.

As he climbed his eye raced to the top of the incline, he saw a patch of vivid blue, creeping out from behind the trees – the same colour as her eyes. He coughed, clearing the fluttering feeling that threatened to overtake him when he remembered all the blue things in his life. The wilted flower, that he’d begrudgingly thrown out, and Olric’s sapphire, which taunted him from the shelf across the hallway. Even his own bed sheets, which he’d started to loathe. As he reached the crest of the hill, the edge of town in clear view over the river, he decided he’d do it. He’d apologise, even if he didn’t understand. As he steeled himself, as though the earth sensed his resolve, the mud beneath his feet slid away like sand. His knees struck the floor and as he toppled his chin broke his fall. He had landed face down in the dirt, with an unceremonious yelp.

That’s what he got for walking with his hands in his pockets.

March righted himself, rolling upright to sit cross-legged in the cold mud, he heard two sets of footsteps approaching. One from behind and one from the direction of the bridge.

“Are you ok?” A gentle voice, tinged with panic, broke through his stupor. Eyes, the same colour as the sky, swam into his vision as he peered upwards. Oh, this was just what he needed. Before he could answer, March felt a warm hand come to rest on his back. A feeling of relief washed through him. Ryis had caught up with them.

“Are you ok?” His friend asked, all his frustration washed away by the simple act of March making a fool of himself. If he’d have known this was all it took for Ryis to forgive him, he’d have fallen over before he agreed to break bread with the farmer.

“M’okay.” March insisted, looking anywhere but at Ari, who had started to fuss over his muddied clothes with a handkerchief. What sort of farmer carried a handkerchief?

“S’fine, Ari!” March insisted, pushing her hands away.

Ari shushed him sternly, her usually placid gaze alight with an emotion he couldn’t quite place. Her teeth worried her lip and her brows dipped low – a soft crease forming between them. Ari gripped each side of his face firmly and stared into his eyes. Her touch burned and March jerked his head from left to right to escape her grasp. His head swam with the motion, dizziness sending him reeling.

“Look at me, March.” She demanded and turned his head back toward her. “How do you feel?”

“Dizzy.” He admitted.

Ari nodded. With more care than March had experienced in years, she pressed a clean section of the handkerchief to his jaw, then to a patch of sore skin at his temple, her gaze trained on his face. March watched as she worked. She nibbled her lip, pressed the cloth to his skin gently and wiped away the dirt and blood – wait, was he bleeding?

“I’m bleeding.”

“Yeah, your chin.” She answered.

He grunted. Well, that was great. What a day – got into a fight with a hill. Lost. No biggie.

“We need to get him to Valen.” Ari mumbled. She’d shoved her bloodied handkerchief into the pocket of her overalls, her pale hands, worn with dirt, were now smeared with streaks of red.  

“I’m fine.” March insisted. He attempted to stand and quickly realised dizziness was not his only symptom. Nausea racked through him, threatening to empty his food onto his boots. He reached for Ryis, his hands grasping his shirt like a life jacket.

“You’re not fine.” Ari snapped.

March groaned irritably, but he didn’t fight when Ari positioned herself under his left arm. She wrapped her fingers tightly in the material of his shirt as she propped him upright. Maybe she was stronger than she looked, but March felt strangely secure with his body aligned with hers. Heat racked his cheeks.

“Let’s go, March.” Ryis grunted, his warm hands reaching round to support his right side, his free arm wrapped around his best friend.

With the two of them supporting him, getting to the clinic was easy. What wasn’t easy, was being ogled by every man, woman, child and their dog on the way. If his reputation hadn’t already taken a hit after his faux pas with Ari, falling on his face and being carried through town certainly sealed the deal.

***********

Valen’s clinic was well-cleaned and worn in. And in March’s opinion, one of the most unusual buildings in town. Not simply because of its mysterious proprietor, although Valen did always seem a little detached, but because visiting the clinic didn’t carry the same sense of foreboding you usually associate with seeing a medical professional. The facilities were clean of the astringent smell of medicine and disinfectant. Instead, the scents of comforting clean-cut grass and clove overwhelmed him as Ryis and Ari half-carried him into the foyer. The mark of an apothecary, as opposed to the clinical aroma of a hospital. It felt warm. Despite the advanced equipment and the cupboards filled with medical supplies, March felt at ease as soon as Valen exited the backroom – her jacket sleeves rolled up and her glasses low on the bridge of her nose.

“Well, what do we have here?” Valen asked, her tone playful but her gaze stern.

“He slipped and fell. I’m worried he’s concussed.” Ari explained.

“Over here then, sit him upright.” Valen ushered them over to a wooden examination table, her hands making quick work of checking March over. He was barely seated before Valen started busying herself with bits and bobs from her neatly organised cupboards.

March turned to look at Ryis and Ari, who were huddled by the side of his bed.

“I’ve got to go.” Ryis sighed, his hand patting Ari’s shoulder warmly.

She simply nodded, her eyes flickering back toward March.

“You’re leaving?” March demanded. His irritation somehow worse when Ryis’ hand lingered on Ari’s shoulder.

“I’ve got to check in on Landen.” Ryis explained, his eyes shooting off toward the door. “And I’ll let Olric know where you are on the way. Can’t have Ari looking after you all night.”

If March had been confident he could have got up without keeling over, or throwing up again, he’d have begged Ryis to stay. The last thing he needed was alone time with Ari – and Ryis knew it. Instead, he scoffed as audibly as he could but stayed seated. Falling over once was quite enough for him.

“Thanks for the help, Dr Valen.” Ryis called, “See you around.”

With a warm smile, and a very pointed look, Ryis disappeared out the door. March would have to navigate this interaction on his own, it seemed. Thankfully, Ari seemed less interested in talking to him now that Valen was there to look after him. As though the lack of panic had sobered her up somehow. It didn’t stop her from casting the occasional concerned glance his way when she thought March was preoccupied. Or the nervous way in which she fiddled with her sleeve.

“This is embarrassing.” He whined. His mouth fixed into a frown as Valen looked him over.

“He hit his chin?” She asked.

“Yep. He went down hard.” Ari confirmed. 

“And he’s nauseous?”

“He says he’s not, but he threw up on the way over.” Ari supplied.

“Just a little.” March added as heat blistered his cheeks.

Valen, to her credit, looked completely unaffected by both his condition and his whining. Where Valen needed details, Ari filled in the gaps. She did have front row seats to his humiliation – and seemed more than happy to talk about it.

Once the interrogation was over, Valen set about cleaning him up.

“Let’s get you out those muddy clothes.” She smiled and passed him a pair of soft pyjamas in a blue linen from one of the drawers. March tried to ignore the colour as best he could. And the fact they looked a little big for him. Behind the safety of a privacy curtain, March slipped out his mud-stained, sodden clothes and wiped away the grime with the bowl of hot water and cloth Valen had provided. Beyond a thin barrier of cloth, Ari and Valen conversed in hushed tones, the sound of shuffling paperwork filled the gaps in their conversation.

“How are you settling in Ari? Any complaints?” Valen asked.

“I’m very happy, Valen – thank you.”

March stopped, his leg halfway in his trousers, to listen to the exchange.

“You’re getting enough sleep, aren’t you? I’ve noticed you keep strange hours sometimes. Six hours of sleep isn’t adequate –”

“I’m ok, Valen, thank you for your concern. I just... Like to keep busy.”

March continued dressing. It wasn’t his business if Ari couldn’t sleep.

“Ok, well, if you’re struggling with anything let me know.” Valen added.

It seemed like a fitting end to the conversation. March thought he heard Ari mumble something in response. Another thank you, maybe? But he couldn’t tell as he pulled his shirt over his head and plopped himself back down on the bed.

“I’m all good.” He called, weakly, from behind his privacy curtain.

Within seconds, Valen whipped back in – carrying a tray stacked with medical supplies. Ari trailed in behind her, her cheeks flush. March turned to face Valen as she dabbed stinging cotton to his chin. Occasionally, Valen asked an off-hand question, which March answered in some variation on s’fine, m’fine or no. He wrinkled his nose.

“Breathe through your mouth if you don’t like the smell.” Ari commented, as she plopped herself down in the chair next to his bed. She rested her head on her hand idly, her elbow propped up on her knee, which was crossed over her other leg. She looked like some strange bird, perched on a branch. March almost scoffed.

“M’fine.” He grumbled, through gritted teeth.

“No, you’re not. This needs stitches.” Valen commented, as she busied herself gathering more supplied from the cupboards.

“I – what?” March asked, anxiety chewing at the back of his mind. It felt like his brain was slowly disconnecting from his spine as the heat rose up his back.

“It won’t scar, will it?” March asked, his eyes looking anywhere but at Ari.

“Probably not. It’s a remarkably clean cut.” Valen said, before she patted March gently on the back, “Well done!”

“It’s not like I did it on purpose.” He grumbled.

With a loud squeak, Ari shifted her chair across the floor.

“Here.” She said.

March turned to look at her, feeling rather exposed in the thin fabric of his pyjamas. She had brought herself close to his left side, her elbow resting on the bed. Her other hand, which she’d clearly taken the time to wash, was held out to him – her pale, clean palm outstretched.

“What?” He asked.

“Stitches hurt, so hold my hand.” She insisted.

She slipped her outstretched hand into his, her fingers fit easily into his own.

“I’ve had stitches before.” He grumbled, his mind slipping back to a treacherous fall he’d taken out of a tree when he was a kid. It had been Olric that held his hand then.

Ari merely hummed in reply. A mollifying sound March translated as yes, you’re very brave.

“Well, how do you know?” He asked.

“Know what?”

“That stitches hurt?”

“It’s a needle, March.” She said bluntly.

“That’s it?” He asked.

Ari blinked in response.

She observed him as she always did. Her eyes sharper than the rest of her expression. A disconnect between the Ari she pretended to be and the Ari he couldn’t quite figure out. What was she waiting for? He wondered. He stared back. As though blinking first would break the spell.

Slowly, she lifted her free hand and pulled the shoulder of her overalls down, turning slightly to show him her back. Her shoulder was freckled and sun-kissed, with a clear tanned line where her clothes usually covered. Although she had exposed only the smallest amount of her skin, March still felt panicked as she motioned for him to look closer with a jerk of her chin. In the expanse of pale, exposed skin were several irregular scars. Each one was jagged. Not even one matched.

“What happened?” March asked, his eyes flickering back and forth between her shoulder and her eyes.

“I was an adventurer, you know.” She smiled as she spoke.

Ari pulled her shirt back into place.

It was ridiculous, really, that he hadn’t even considered what her life was like before she became some farmer in the countryside.

Without thinking, because if he had he’d have talked himself out of it, March sucked all the air he could in through his nose and gave Ari’s palm a gentle squeeze. He still hadn’t pulled away. So, he watched her closely. Observed the way her eyes followed the movement and the crease between her brows softened as he held her palm tighter. He traced a soft line, up and down, with his thumb. He liked the way it made her blush. Liked the way it made her turn her head to watch Valen. As though she too felt smothered by this small intimacy.

It wasn’t as grand as a hug. Or anything close to the casual closeness he maintained with Olric and Ryis. March knew they weren’t there yet. But it was a start. And with the way his heart was thundering, pounding so loudly in his chest he was worried Ari could hear it, he wondered if he’d survive getting any closer to Mistria’s newest resident.