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The ambient power of the ancient cradle hummed through every sun-kissed blade of grass and iridescent dewdrop. The vein of energy produced a curiously calming, even soporific, effect on the warriors gathered there. The colors of nature were impossibly vibrant in the coruscating light. The sun was poised directly overhead, spilling radiant warmth into the secluded clearing.
The Chon'sin princess, Say'ri, was speaking to Chrom and Lucina at the head of the army, readying them to meet the Voice.
Their companions spread out, lapsing into conversations of less import. Inigo found himself lagging at the back of the group, and in no great hurry to catch up to the front. He let his eyes wander the idyllic beauty of their preternatural surroundings, then elbowed Owain roughly in the stomach.
"This place is magical. Taking notes for the adventures of Owain Dark?" Inigo stage whispered.
"Shut up," Owain retorted. "I'm trying to hear what they're talking about."
Inigo grinned, slinging an arm over the swordsman's shoulders. "But I want to know what happens next to the Avenger of Righteous Justice. Will he encounter a divine dragon, perhaps? Will he finally awaken the true power that lies dormant in his veins? I can't wait to see the adorable illustrations."
Owain's frown deepened, a faint blush dusting his freckled cheeks pink. He shrugged Inigo's arm off and shot him a glare.
"I know you're teasing me," he grumbled. "But… that actually sounds like a good plot. Owain Dark! The chosen hero of Fortune receives a blessing through holy fire of dragonkin to wield the divine fang—"
"Easy there, your cousin will have to fight you if you finish that sentence with 'Falchion'," Inigo sneered.
Owain stomped on his foot, making Inigo yelp.
"I wasn't gonna say Falchion, jerk!"
"Well, you already used Mystletainn right in the first chapter," Inigo sniped, jabbing his thumb into a sensitive spot on Owain's side. "And Ragnell, and Durandal, and– how many legendary weapons can one man possibly possess? Owain Dark is truly a wonder, collector of holy relics but can't get a girlfriend—"
"Oh, like you're one to talk! If you don't like my stories, stop stealing the Manual of Justice, asshole!" Owain growled.
He grabbed a fistful of Inigo's hair and yanked backward. Inigo screeched as he was tipped off-balance.
"Get your lame sword hand off me, you dick! Gods, you’re an embarrassment," Inigo retaliated.
His flailing arms caught hold of Owain's belt and pulled, and the two boys crashed unceremoniously into the grass. As they grappled, the dancer drew his knees in and kicked relentlessly at the heavier boy on top of him. Owain grunted as the wind was knocked from his lungs, but obstinately refused to let go.
"Yeah, reeeal mature, jackass! Keep – oof – picking on me when you know I'm bigger than you, and this – ow! – is what you get!"
"Hide your stupid diary better if you don't want me to find it, jerkoff!"
Owain grinned in triumph as he pinned Inigo's arms down with little effort. Inigo thrashed, face flushed indignantly red as Owain kneed him in the crotch.
"Now is the time to reap what you have sown! Radiaaant... Daaaaaa-ah?!"
Abruptly Owain was jerked backward by a mighty force. Inigo scrabbled backwards to try and evade the reaching hand, but found himself yanked up by the shirt collar as well. Severa snarled as he tried to wink at her, to no avail. Next to her Kjelle held Owain dangling in midair, her face like murder.
Severa shook him for emphasis as she bellowed into their ears: "Idiot number one! Idiot number two! Shut the hell up and get ready!"
"Please don't knock our heads together, merciful ladies, his thick skull will result in my demise," Inigo pleaded.
"Er… ready for what, exactly?" Owain managed to squeak out, but Kjelle's stony expression said it all.
Inigo already felt anticipation coil heavy in his gut. The breeze still tasted sweet on his tongue, but he could detect the terribly familiar tinge of rotten meat downwind. Naga's Cradle would be defiled before long.
Kjelle and Severa dumped the boys on the ground and stomped off to join the defensive formation. Lucina and Say'ri stood guard over the slumbering Tiki, their faces hardened with resolution. Inigo reluctantly unsheathed his blade as the shadows of Risen pegasi blotted out the sun.
Owain bumped into him, their backs pressed together. Inigo didn't budge.
He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, and tried to focus on steadying his breathing as the Risen came into view. He felt Owain's breathing against him, the comfort of familiar warmth at his back. They were all too used to this; being plunged into battle at the flip of a switch, setting aside their feelings to get the grisly job done. In their time, the moments between fighting were short and tense — barely enough to lick their wounds and limp onward. And those old habits died hard.
"You’re still a jerk," Owain mumbled under his breath, so only he could hear.
Inigo stifled a chuckle. "What a loser," he muttered fondly.
Then the Risen struck in a flurry of steel, and he let his thoughts slip away into the mindless rhythm of the fight.
When the clearing finally fell silent again, Inigo drove his sword into the ground and slumped to his knees.
He was always disoriented when it ended as abruptly as it began. His ears still rang with the din of battle (and he would hear it again in his dreams: the shouts of his companions, the clashing of weaponry, the ugly sound of decaying flesh bursting apart like rotten fruit).
Inigo wiped perspiration from his eyes and chanced a look around. The discolored remains of Risen were strewn all about the meadow. The sanctum had been tainted by the ever-lengthening shadow of Grima, but Tiki was rising to her feet unscathed. They had all survived to fight another day. He sighed in relief.
He looked up to Owain standing beside him, a weary smile hanging lopsided on his sweat-drenched face. Owain glanced down and his returning grin vanished, his face drained of color. Still panting, Inigo followed his gaze, mutely wondering what had his companion look like he'd seen one of the very demons he wrote fiction about.
Inigo touched his midsection and was surprised to feel his fingers come away sticky. His tunic was torn and soaked in blood.
"Ah," he remarked stupidly.
He forgot a tomahawk clipped his side when he failed to dodge fast enough. He remembered now the burn of broken skin and shorn muscle, but the adrenaline had masked the true damage. It was worse than he'd realized. His head swam, suddenly overcome with dizziness.
Owain crouched next to him, taking his hand, and Inigo obediently allowed the swordsman to guide him onto his back.
"Just lie back and hold still, the healers are making their rounds and they'll get to you in just a second, I'm sorry I don't have a vulnerary," Owain blurted, giving his hand a squeeze before letting go.
His breath hitched into a gasp as Owain applied pressure to the wound, pushing his palms firmly down to staunch the flow the same way his mother had taught him. His body flinched in resistance to the contact, and he immediately regretted the movement. Inigo's eyes stung with tears he struggled to blink back — it hadn't hurt until Owain started touching him, but the pain was impossible to ignore now. He squirmed, and prayed the healer would get there before his composure fully broke.
(He also prayed Brady wouldn't tease him too much for crying.)
Owain was still talking, he realized detachedly. It always unsettled him to see Owain break character, as stupid as his childish play-acting was. (Honestly, Owain looked terrified, babbling on and on in a shaky voice that didn't sound like him at all, looking anywhere but at the blood staining his gloves.)
"What can I do? What do you want me to do? I'm here, stay with me, okay?"
It wasn't like he (either of them, any of them) had never gotten hurt before. Did it really look so bad?
He reached up toward Owain's face. He wasn't sure what he was trying to do, but he didn't like that panicked expression, and he wanted to change it. Smile for me. Cold fingers cupped Owain's freckled cheek, tracing down slowly as his hand dropped back to the grass.
He knew it was going to be alright – for all their bickering, Inigo could trust Owain when it counted.
"Kiss it and make it better," Inigo smiled dazedly.
His mother used to say that — every time he skinned his knees trying to imitate her dancing, she'd kiss wherever he told her it hurt, and take the pain away.
He expected Owain to call him immature again, to laugh at him, but to his surprise, Owain looked startlingly… serious. The swordsman bent awkwardly down, face drawn in a resolute scowl. Oh gods.
Inigo immediately tried to sit up, but fell backward with a groan, unable to.
"I was kidding, it was a joke, Owain, you don't have to, d-d-don't really—!" he stammered, embarrassment driving his voice up into a squeak.
His exposed chest rose and fell with each shallow gasp for air. His hands flew up in a weak attempt to push Owain away. Owain kept his weight pressed squarely on the wound, but hesitantly brushed his lips against the bare skin below the ripped tunic.
This was weird. Wasn't it? Inigo quivered under him, torn between mortification and a strange sense of… anticipation? His nervous hands fluttered in midair, then settled in Owain's hair (surprisingly fluffy, he noted).
Owain drew back slowly from the kiss. When Inigo dared to open his eyes, he found Owain's bold gaze searching his face, waiting.
"Does that feel better?"
Inigo stared.
He heard Chrom's shout from afar, followed by Kjelle's booming voice summoning Brady. Footsteps approached him at a rush, and the welcome light of a healing staff made him close his eyes. Reality was flooding back to him. He was safe.
Owain slumped atop him in relief, letting his stained hands fall from the vanishing scar. Inigo draped his arm over his eyes, hiding the color rushing back to his face.
"I can't believe you actually kissed my boo-boo," Inigo muttered so only he could hear.
Owain sat upright, scowling through his blush. He smacked Inigo in the shoulder, eliciting a muffled laugh.
"You're seriously gonna make fun of me for comforting you in your time of need? I should have left you to suffer, jerk," he grumbled, but there was no malice behind his words. There never was.
"Thanks," Inigo whispered, turning his face into the crook of his arm.
He wasn't sure if Owain heard him, but the myrmidon grasped his hand and helped him to his feet without a word.
Inigo retrieved his sword and waved off Brady and Severa, both of whom seemed convinced he shouldn't be up and moving around just yet. He tugged at his ruined tunic with a frown, but Owain grabbed his arm again.
"Come on," Owain exclaimed with his usual exuberance. "This gave me a great idea for the next chapter! You need to help me find a quill and paper so we can record these events in exact detail!"
"Wait up," Inigo protested. "I never agreed to—"
"For the sake of Owain Dark, hold nothing back! Remember, spending weeks on the minutia is half the fun! Exactly how did it feel when I rescued you from the brink of death? Would you describe me as your personal hero, or merely a force for good in the battle for justice?"
"Hey! I do not give you permission to use me as a character in your childish fantasies! Are you listening to me, Owain? Do not write about me! I refuse to be associated with – let go of my arm!"
Brady, Severa, and Kjelle watched from a safe distance as the bickering pair began another shoving match. As Inigo jammed his thumb up Owain's nose, Kjelle sighed and turned away.
"Yeah, the idiots are fine. I feel foolish for worrying about them in the first place."
"Never seen Owain look so scared," Brady remarked, stuffing his hands into his robe pockets as he slouched. His face twisted in a concerned pout as he glared at his feet. "Thought Inigo was gonna kick the bucket or somethin'. You know how close those two are. Even if neither of 'em is willing to admit it."
Severa cast a withering glance over her shoulder at the boys wrestling on the ground. Owain sat on his chest and was attempting to spit in Inigo's mouth, while the dancer squealed and flung fistfuls of grass to deter him.
"They've been practically inseparable since we joined up with Chrom," she agreed with a sniff of disdain. She tossed her hair and continued muttering under her breath. "Unfortunately for the rest of us. Idiot number one should just get it over with and tell idiot number two how he feels already. Let's go someplace quieter, I can feel myself getting stupider just being near them."
They walked away, leaving Owain and Inigo none the wiser as they collapsed into gales of laughter.