part i: white clouds 

Seulgi has never put much stock into love and romance for herself.

It's not that she's not been known to indulge in a book of fairy-tales from time to time, nor does she quite shy away from stories of star-crossed lovers, and she certainly tunes into the vines of gossip that is curled across all of Garreg Mach.

In her heart, she knows that these things aren't meant for her.

Her brother perished at Duscur, a hole that her heart hasn't quite healed from even though it has been more than a year. The only thing that's left for her to do is to take his place as a Knight in His Majesty's service when he takes the throne. 

But even before that, the only thing she's longed for is to soar to the skies on the back of her pegasus, sword strapped to her hip as she wields her lance high above all of Fódlan. Up there, nothing else quite mattered.

So she trains hard. Tries harder than any of the Blue Lions. She doesn't need a crest to fuel her way up into the skies. Knighthood will be hers.

* * *

Or at least, things go that way for a few short moons at Garreg Mach.

The coming of the warm winds bring rain with them, and she has to spend more days than she'd care for indoors. Holed up in the library, she curses the weather daily for the rain.

Seulgi cannot begrudge her friend for leaving her (alone) in the Blue Lions. Seulgi understands. Or at least, she tries to.

Seungwan had leapt at the chance to study at the Officers Academy, and spent every day she could in the Infirmary, learning all she could from Professor Manuela from the very start. Or she'd spend so much time with her now-Professor in the cathedral, their Goddess-blessed voices carrying their songs to the heavens. Her own Professor bores Seulgi to death when he starts talking about crests. It’s no wonder that Seungwan, crestless as she is, would prefer to get out of his classes.

Still, she's glad that now, now that they're in the library, she's finally gotten to spend more time with her. Her housemates are always welcoming, and Baron Dominic's son makes for an excellent training partner. And it’s not like she’s alone – she Hedvig Galatea’s cheery demeanour earns Seulgi’s trust quickly, and she’s sure they’re on their way to becoming decent friends.

But—

Seungwan's brought a friend with her.

It's Irene.

Irene, whose fire magic burnt Seulgi's blonde hair into a fried crisp at the mock battle all those months ago. It's unfortunate that that had happened, and Seulgi was forced to run off the battlefield soon after when another Eagle's training arrow found her shoulder as her hair sizzled.

That Irene.

But…

She can't hate Irene too much. The Blue Lions still won their first mock battle.

And it's Irene, whose long purple hair cascades over her shoulders in a way that makes Seulgi wonder what it’ll be like to braid it.

(She braids her own hair all the time, the frizz would whip across her face when she flies otherwise.)

And it's Irene, whom, as she's learned recently, is frightened by practically everything. The poor girl had been assigned to stable duty for the past two weeks. Every Friday, she'd come in alone, her whole frame shaking as she went through her assigned tasks.

It was a soft whinny from Seulgi's own pegasus that sends Irene scurrying behind Seulgi that one morning, hiding behind the knight-hopeful as she came to the stables to groom Vindr. A questioning brow from herself had led to the quiet admission that Irene was scared of the pegasi and horses alike, never mind the few wyverns the monastery kept.

She’s only ever admitted this to Seungwan, but Irene had intimidated her for the whole of the Great Tree Moon. After getting her hair singed to bits by an axe wielder, of all people, she only has more reason to be scared of her.

(Seungwan doesn’t know that Irene’s fire spell managed to burn Seulgi’s hair was because Seulgi was distracted by a certain pretty visage. It still embarrasses Seulgi to think about this.)

In the time Before Singeing, she knew Irene as the small girl that always holds her small frame so determinedly, steel in her dark eyes as she assesses the room she walks into. She isn’t even a noble and has no titles to her name, but somehow, she’s in the Black Eagles. How did she manage that? 

Now?

Irene doesn’t exactly terrify her anymore. And Seulgi even wants to spend time with her. She’s been matching her visits to the stables with Irene’s schedule, offering to brush the equines for her instead. She has even scolded Vindr for scaring Irene. She’s sure he wasn’t very impressed with her, if his snort is anything to go by.

She’s interrupted from her musings when Irene clears . She’s saying something, and it takes her too many seconds to realise that Irene’s asking for her help to grab one of the books from the shelf.

Seulgi jumps to her feet immediately, the chair scrapping loudly against the wooden floor. Everyone around her turns to glare at her. Oops. She smiles, sheepishly, apologetic.

Irene doesn’t like heights either. Ladders aren’t quite made for her. She’s seen Irene try to climb a ladder before. Her hands, pale against their dark uniform as they are, went white. Seulgi doesn’t quite understand how someone so fierce in battle can be scared of so many things.

She grabs the book on a tiptoe. The smile Irene flashes her in return makes Seulgi’s heart feel funny: she imagines herself on Vindr, the winged horse executing a looped arc across the sky.

It's probably just the spring fever, or what remains of the season.

* * *

It isn’t just spring fever. Her wretched heart betrays her every day she ventures into the library. Studying with Seungwan – and now Irene – becomes an exercise in not touching the Eagle.

She swears her heart will leave when their knees even brush against each other. And that’s the most ridiculous thing she has to confess to Seungwan when she drags her friend into her room for a much-needed sleepover.

Seungwan throws her head back laughing. She laughs until she realises Seulgi’s being serious about it. Her laughter draws Sooyoung into Seulgi’s bedroom, whom Seulgi knows as a recent extension of Seungwan’s self.

There’s (probably) no harm telling Sooyoung about it too, and then it’s Sooyoung’s turn to rib Seulgi for her crush.

“A crush?” What?

“Or,” Sooyoung suggests sagely, “an infatuation. It might pass!”

“But how?” Seulgi demands. Nothing has quite seized her like this before. Can she make it go away?

Sooyoung laughs harder before Seungwan shushes her. Seulgi’s not sure if she should take offence when Seungwan tells Sooyoung that Seulgi’s never had a crush before. That the closest she’s ever been to love is when she whacks her training sword against the dummies long and hard enough to make her heart race.

Irene becomes an unknown quality in her life. Funnily enough, Seulgi realises that she doesn’t quite hate her for that.

* * *

Sooyoung’s the one who first proposes that Seulgi offer Irene a Garland crown.

Seulgi nearly chokes on her sweet-apple tea. “Come again?”

Sooyoung only repeats her suggestion, a devious smirk spreading across her face. “After all,” she says, “the white roses are only in bloom for so long.” They’ll only be around in the Academy for so long before the Garland Moon passes them by.

“But why?” Seulgi pursues the point, frowning.

Still, the very suggestion causes her stomach to twist into knots. And she sees Sooyoung smirk more widely because knows she's managed to make Seulgi squirm.

Thankfully, Sooyoung decides that being magnanimous is one of her finer qualities, deciding to spare Seulgi from further grief for the rest of their tea party.

Full on those delectable sweet rolls (that she’s sure Sooyoung stole from the kitchens), Seulgi kicks her boots off to lie on her bed after she finds a suitable moment to flee, mulling the idea. It’s not a bad one. Girls like to be gifted Garland blooms, don’t they? The only problem she can see is that Irene’s line of suitors will get to her first. How many crowns of white roses can one girl wear?

And, even if she does give her a crown… why is she doing it? Will Irene accept?

She can’t offer Irene much. Seulgi’s only place in the world is to ascend to knighthood. Her stepfather has been generous with her. When she was younger, he’d spin her around, calling her princess. Then after she read The Sword of Kyphon, he started to call her a knight. But his love cannot offer her any of his land, even if he may want it for her.

She cannot fathom why Irene would choose her when there are scores of proper nobles around the Academy. The Gerths have a member in attendance this year. So do the Dominics. Then the Golden Deer’s house leader is a fully-fledged heir to the Daphnel lands. And then there are the merchants from the Alliance.

It makes Seulgi’s head hurt to think of all this.

When she brings her conundrum up her friends, they start to snicker before realising that Seulgi’s serious about her concerns.

“Oh no. You’ve really got it bad, huh. Sorry, Seul.” Sooyoung apologises. Then, delicately, she points out, “You’re only gifting her a flower crown. Maybe even to make your heart known to her. Court her. It’s not a proposal, not by any long stretch.”

She realises she’s pouting when Sooyoung continues to about it. “You Kingdom knights are all repressed fools.”

* * *

The rain stops one day late into the Garland Moon.

At the toll of the first bells, she treks her way out of the Monastery, thanking the stars it’s a Sunday. There aren’t any white roses to be found within the Monastery’s inner walls. After all, the place is an educational and religious institution. As much as the Goddess smiles upon young love – the monks would probably shrivel in their robes at the sight of every young student plucking the bushes clean of roses in this moon.

White roses are found easily enough. She pricks her hand a few times gathering enough roses for a crown. And she’s not particularly good at this. Not at all. She’s good with the lance, her sword, and on her mount. She’s passably decent with the brush and easel.

But weaving? 

Her grandmother used to hit her hand with a ruler for every stitch she got wrong in their (mandatory) embroidery sessions. She hated having to meet her grandmother for tea, knowing her hands would bruise with the frequency of the hits.

Weaving a flower crown takes more time than it should. Her fingers fumble, her head confused by the twists she has to make.

Halfway through, she huffs. She thinks she’s getting it, but it still looks like a misshapen lump. How can something so simple be so complicated?

Nevertheless, she manages to finish her task. Seulgi lets pride swell her chest for a second, satisfied at a job done (even if it’s not well-done).

The next step’s harder.

She runs back to the Monastery, not caring that the mud splashes against her uniform. She’ll just wash it when she has to. When she’s finally on the first floor of the dormitories, she swallows.

What if Irene’s not already awake?

Oh, Seulgi, Seulgi, Seulgi, you’ll be annoying her! And she works so hard too, buries her nose in tomes that a warrior doesn’t quite need – you should probably let her sleep?

Her fist is hovering over the door to Irene’s room, seized by indecision, when the door opens. Irene’s still bleary eyed, clearly barely awake even though the sun has climbed almost midway into the sky.

“Oh, hello Seulgi,” Irene greets, raising a hand to squint against the light. “You’re at my door. Oh. Are you’re looking for me?”

Seulgi nods, not trusting her voice to speak. Her left hand is still clutching tightly at the flower crown, hidden behind her back. She’s not quite sure she’s meant to see this, a bare-faced Irene, free of any of the makeup she paints her pretty face with. But in this late morning light, an unadorned Irene is somehow lovelier to behold. Even in their mock battles, she has never quite seen Irene without at least a smidge of eyeliner. Should she come back later?

Irene shakes her head at Seulgi’s question. She says, “No. It’s fine, good morning.” This is before she frowns, asking, “is something the matter? You’ve never sought me out like this before.”

Seulgi hurriedly shakes her head at this. Everything is fine. It’s just that. Just that. She hands over the flower crown. “I made this for you.” Her eyes fix determinedly on the petals.

There’s a heart stopping moment when Irene doesn’t say anything, and Seulgi can feel her ribs into her chest, tightly, painfully.

Seulgi nearly jumps back when Irene’s finger pushes against her chin, tilting her head upwards. Her lips are now curling upwards, her eyes dancing in the summer light. Her voice is soft, careful, as she asks, “Is this what I think it is?”

Seulgi’s head jerks. “I know it’s unexpected, but, if I may place this on your head, will you accept this as a… a token of my affection?”

“Yes.”

With that, Seulgi crowns Irene with roses. They’re brilliantly white against her lavender hair and Seulgi’s heart leaps at the sight. 

Mirth coats Irene’s voice as she teases, “A token of your affection? My, my.”

Seulgi makes a noise, whining. Complains that Irene is teasing her. Irene points out that Seulgi is cute, that she is fun to tease. If she puts it that way, Seulgi can’t protest too much.

“I must ask, what does this make us?” Irene muses aloud.

“I… I can court you?” Seulgi’s reply is too hesitant for her liking, and she hates the way her voice trembles at the question.

Irene’s shoulders shake as she giggles, unbothered by Seulgi’s own uncertainty. “How formal. A noble knight courting a commoner. I am hardly worthy of being courted.”  

Seulgi vehemently disagrees with this. Irene deserves every crown possible. Perhaps it’s not really heard of, a noble, however minor, courting a commoner, but Seulgi can’t think of any other way to keep Irene with her.

Is it because her crown’s imperfect? She can craft another crown, make it worthy of a gift for even the heir of the Kingdom.

“There’s no need,” Irene reassures. “Your gift is lovely. It’s more than I deserve.” Irene reaches out to smooth the furled lines of Seulgi’s forehead. “Since you’re the first to ask me today, and I’m in a good mood, yes, you may court me, Seulgi-yah.”

Hmm. Seulgi decides she quite likes that suffix affixed to her name.

* * *

Most of Garreg Mach knows about Seulgi’s intentions soon enough. Nobles are particularly fond of their gossip, as much as they like to scoff at it being a commoner’s pastime sometimes.

The Black Eagles are welcoming enough of Seulgi’s presence. They’ve already adopted Seungwan. Seulgi’s presence is accepted easily. When she joins the Eagles during mealtimes, they slide to the side, giving her a space beside Irene. The first time it happens, she doesn’t notice its significance. She only notices it when the Blue Lions offer Irene the same courtesy when Irene joins her at dinner one day, shyly asking to be better introduced to a house she doesn’t usually interact with.

Soon enough, Seulgi is the subject of jealous glances. Irene may be a commoner, but her face is a popular subject of envious discussions. What might it be like to walk through the halls with a Goddess-given face like that?

Or there are those comments that Seulgi always bristles at. There are those who whisper about how Irene must’ve seduced some noble for sponsorship into the Academy. How else would a base-born make it here? It’s a rumour everyone has heard of by now, not that Seulgi had the guts to ask Irene about it. Another point towards her self-loathing.

At the turn of the month, Seulgi is cornered by the Daphnel heir one morning in the training grounds.

The second Hirschel von Daphnel saunters through the wooden doors, he declares that he intends to duel Seulgi for Irene’s hand. What? He offers an easy smile as he continues his explanation. Surely, since Seulgi is bound by all those weird knightly codes, he has to beat her in something she understands to win Irene’s hand.

Seulgi accepts the duel. She’s not sure if Irene would want her to duel him on her behalf, but surely, she has to accept. She can’t be seen as a coward, unwilling to fight in defence of the girl she wants to continue courting.

Not that they’ve really done much in the way of courting. Seulgi remains caught up in her training, and Irene… Irene is mostly found in the library, regardless of the temporary reprieve from the rain.

She has also been nursing a slight grudge against Hirschel. For a house leader, he is utterly unchivalrous; he’s one of those who insulted Irene’s honour. But what can she expect of the Alliance’s mess?

The two of them pick up a wooden sword, readying themselves for a duel. Curious, Melchior declares that he’ll be judge of their duel.

“And… fight!”

They lunge at each other before it occurs to Seulgi that they’ve not even set the terms for their victory. Whatever. She’ll have to win then. 

Hirschel reaches her first, his long limbs driving him forward. His blade swings at her from the side, and she jumps to the side, avoiding the arc of his sword. She barely has time to jump out of the way when he recklessly jerks his sword back at her, nearly smacking her face. When his blade doesn’t find purchase, he stumbles, and Seulgi takes the opportunity to hit his left arm, driving him towards the ground.

His fall kicks dust up, and she blinks, cursing herself for forgetting that it hasn’t been raining for almost a week already. She’s too used to sparring in the mud, where she’d only have to avoid slipping. She has forgotten that dust can blind her.

Hirschel takes the opportunity to recover, rolling back to his feet and they circle each other again, this time warier of the other. She takes the initiative this time, jabbing her sword at his side experimentally, but he easily parries it, expectedly.

They continue this dance, neither giving each other an opening, both moving carefully, restrainedly, but forcefully, until Hirschel’s yell startles her as he charges, his blade swinging wildly and he slams his body into her shoulder. He’s so much taller and broader than she is and the bulk of muscle allows him to topple her to the ground, her sword nearly falling from her hand as her shoulder bears the brunt of the momentum.

Thankfully, she doesn’t hear that tell-tale pop. Her shoulder’s fine. Even as she falls to the ground, she growls as Hirschel grins, tauntingly. She’ll show him. She’s not great sparring on foot, but she won’t allow him an easy victory.

Before he can land another hit on her, she’s back on her feet, but this time, he swings his leg out at her when she charges at him. She stops her advance neatly enough, but he takes that opening to let his blade connect against her ribs, and the pain from the blow sends her back onto the ground, dazed.

When she opens her eyes again, she sees him still grinning. Smarmy bastard.

She doesn’t quite realise that she abandons any basic sense of honour until she pulls him down with her, her fists flying at his face. He’s a better brawler than Seulgi by far. Instinct drives him to raise his arms to protect his face first before he starts to counter her blows.

He’s not smiling anymore now. Annoyance is clear on his face. How dare a lesser noble attempt to hit him? Goddess, is that the glow of the Crest of Daphnel—

Irene bursts into the training grounds, yelling, “What in the world are you doing? You’re going to kill her! Get off her.”

Ah, her nose is broken. Blood streams from her nose.

Hirschel has the grace to look sheepish as he pulls himself away. “I got carried away, didn’t I?”

Irene is entirely unimpressed. “Yes. Yes you did. Now go before I report you for using the strength of your Crest against another student.”

The von Albrecht boy apologises for running for Irene and interrupting their fight – he was terrified when the Crest started glowing. He didn’t know how to stop Hirschel from pummelling Seulgi to a grievous state of injury and, well, help was needed.

Seulgi starts to inch away, hoping to escape, but she’s too late. Irene rounds onto Seulgi.

“You. Explain this! Melchior came running for me, said that you and Hirschel were fighting and… look at you!”

Seulgi winces at the pain emanating from the middle of her face. “Sorry. It’s… my honour to fight for you. He wanted to fight me for you. I couldn’t just let him win.”

Irene shakes her head exasperatedly. Her voice is tired as she says, “I don’t need anyone to fight for me. Or whatever it was. I don’t care if it was for my honour or anything like that, okay? I’ve heard what Hirschel’s been saying. And I chose you. Remember that.”

Seulgi doesn’t quite understand that, but she nods, wincing again. The sound draws Irene’s concern, and she sighs, kneeling beside Seulgi as she commands Seulgi to remove her hand from her nose so she can see it.

Seulgi’s nose has obviously been knocked out of shape. Irene only sighs again, not trusting her skills at healing to restore her nose into a straight line.

“Come on. Let’s go to the infirmary.”

Seulgi groans at this. Can they not go? Seungwan will nag her ear off. Unfortunately, Irene’s patience is thin today, and Seulgi is unceremoniously marched upstairs, her friend and Professor Manuela exclaiming at the sight of her. She’ll certainly be in for a long talk from Seungwan later.

* * *

Seulgi teaches Irene how to ride.

Or at least, Seulgi tries to teach Irene how to ride.

And she only does so after she finds Irene waiting at the stables one morning, waiting for her to finish Vindr’s exercise routine. Seulgi is still nursing a slight hangover from the previous evening, from when all of her housemates decided to join the Golden Deer in the celebrations for the Alliance’s Founding Day. She is sure that the Lions only joined the Deer because of the drinking party. Drinks made for excellent interstate unity.

Susceptible as she is to Irene’s pleas, especially so when her head hurts, she agrees, rubbing absently at her temples. It’s still too bright and okay Irene, can you speak more softly than you usually do?

To which Irene only smirks and holds out a canister of water, making Seulgi drink up. She announces that she’ll just return on a weekend. No point falling into the mud on a weekday. But how is she going to survive classes later?

Beats her. She reasons, “If I sleep through Professor Hanneman’s class, it’ll not be anything new to him.”

“But you never sleep through classes.”

Seulgi can only shrug. There’s a first for everything. Goddess. How did the Deers get their hands on all that rum?

Come Saturday, Irene and Seulgi suffer through a mid-morning sermon by Seteth. He goes on and on and on about the virtues of… something.

Seulgi isn’t paying a lot of attention, for once. She’s too preoccupied staring across the pews at Irene, who isn’t making a very good show of looking engaged at all. The Church’s teachings are important, but she always looks immensely bored at these morning sermons. Then again, Seulgi is letting herself be distracted by the way the fractals of light catch in Irene’s hair.

When the lecture finally concludes, the three houses shuffle out, chattering noisily. Irene slips through the crowd and links her arm through Seulgi’s. If she was feeling sleepy a second ago, her ears are burning now, her head completely awake.

“What are you doing?”

“What?” Irene smiles, innocently. “I’m cold.”

Seulgi raises a brow. “In the Horsebow Moon, really?”

Irene nods. “Well, I do get cold easily. Before the moon ends I’d be decked out in some furs, I’m sure. But you’re warm. It’s nice.”

Seulgi’s not particularly warm. She gets cold sometimes too. Her brother was the furnace of the family, not her. It’s too nice a morning to think of him.

With Irene’s hand in hers, she pulls her as quick as she can towards the stables. If Irene catches the slight dip in Seulgi’s mood, she doesn’t say anything about it, and instead, she squeezes Seulgi’s hand more tightly. Like she’s reminding her of her presence.

Seulgi likes to think herself decent at teaching. She’s able to break down abstract concepts, pull them apart into manageable components and slap metaphors onto them. She’s familiar with the few theories out there about riding on horseback, and her skill is well-honed by years of instruction from her father. She was a wee babe when he first put her on an old gentle giant of a draft horse, and she had followed his instructions religiously. When she got to ride on their ponies, even when he was busy, she spent entire summers in the fields.

Irene still trembles next to Vindr’s towering form. That wouldn’t do.

Seulgi starts with the smaller horses. Garreg Mach’s ponies don’t like to carry any riders, so they are out. They’re here as pack-mule, and she’s content to let the ponies do what they do best. The other horses here were obviously purchased for their potential on the battlefield. But there are some of them that are even-tempered, and probably small enough for Irene to start out on. It won’t do for her to continue to be scared of these mounts.

At least, with Seulgi’s coaxing, Irene manages to saddle the horse. They find her an old mare, soon to be retired. A gentle thing that stood perfectly still as Seulgi tries to continue to soothe Irene’s fears. “It’s okay. She won’t hurt you. You put your hand here, and use it to help you get up…”

After what she guesses was twenty-five minutes of even the mare’s growing impatience, Seulgi gives up and tries to find something suitable to use as a mounting block. They try again. Irene makes it onto the horse’s back, but things don’t really go better from there.

They get through an hour without any injuries, thanks to the graciousness of the horse. But Irene’s no less scared of riding. “It’s not just the horse,” Irene points out. “I’m scared of heights.”

Seulgi truly has her work cut out for her. But if it lets her borrow some of Irene’s time, she’s not complaining.

As they take a break to sip on some water, Seulgi takes a moment to lean back against the bales of hay. Honestly, this exercise is harder than she thought it would be.

Seulgi’s always been a natural at riding. Sure, she has earned more than a good share of scraps and bruises over the years, carelessness and recklessness being high on the list of reasons, but she has never anticipated that learning how to ride could come with such difficulty to someone.

Her younger half-brother shared her natural talent for equestrian endeavours. She has a fond memory of the boy leaping on her one morning while she was still asleep to challenge her to a race. A race? She had wondered aloud. The boy had barely been able to shoot an arrow then, and yet, he deemed himself a good enough rider to race her.

As they grew older, her father got busier. Fate was kind to him over the years, and he spent more and more of his days in Fhirdiad. She felt a little guilty that the only children he managed to teach to ride were herself and her brother even though they weren’t truly his. But she strove to compensate for his absence as best as she could. Even his youngest daughter, who was terrible at most things requiring any form of hand-eye coordination, learned how to stay on a saddle without aid eventually.

Still, she’s glad that she has something to teach Irene. Perhaps she should try to get the girl to teach her how to fight with an axe? A knight riding into a battle on an axe is not entirely unheard of, even if a little unconventional. It may not fit with her ideal image of a storybook knight, but maybe she could stand to stray a little from her childhood ideals for a bit?

She turns her gaze to watch Irene attempt to approach Vindr again. She has spent the past moon trying to drill it into Vindr that Irene is a friend – he should be friendly, not try to bite her hair!

She doesn’t realise how tense she is until Irene’s tentative hand lowers against Vindr’s withers to scratch against it. Irene probably doesn’t even know that that’s the spot that he appreciates being scratched most. A lucky guess.

There’s hope to be had still.

She stretches, willing the soreness in her arms to dissipate, but continues to watch Irene’s cautious interactions with Vindr. Maybe they’re off to an okay start.

She joins Irene in patting Vindr, walking up to them carefully so as not to startle her. “Hey Irene, let’s get back at our lessons. We still have a lot to cover.”

There’s a slight groan. “I hate to say it, but this riding thing is kind of painful.”

Seulgi acknowledges this. “Yeah, it leaves you sore, doesn’t it? We’ll work on your posture.” Then, Seulgi brightly declares, I’ll get you a proper pair of gloves when I head to the town next.”

“Oh my, a gift isn’t necessary.”

Seulgi shakes her head. “We can treat it as a congratulatory gift, of sorts? That, and it’s useful to have a decent pair of gloves.” She reaches for Irene’s hand, thumbing against her callouses. “These help, but if you’re going to be riding for days, you’d risk blisters without proper covering.”

Irene laughs at this. “When will I be riding for days, Seulgi? Professor Manuela is hardly going to put me on a mount when we head out for missions.”

“I don’t know,” Seulgi whines, sounding a little petulant now, which only makes Irene’s eyes twinkle further. “But can’t I just get you a gift?”

Irene raises her free hand, placatingly. “Sure, sure. Now, shouldn’t we get back to it? I have a report to finish.”

Their day ends with Irene shrieking against Seulgi’s ears as the sun set in the distance, after she foolishly persuades Irene to ride with her on Vindr’s back. The pegasus seemingly smells her fear and, in direct defiance of Seulgi’s commands, takes to the sky. With that, Irene nearly squeezes Seulgi to her death and Seulgi comes too close to bursting her poor eardrums.

As much as it’s Irene who requests that Seulgi starts to teach her, it’s Seulgi who ends up trailing after her asking (nearly pleadingly) to continue their lessons. Irene finally concedes that at the minimum, she needs to not tumble from a horse each time she mounts one. And hey, she’s finally able to mount a horse. 

Seulgi doesn’t want these lessons to end. She finally feels useful, instead of having Irene help her out with all the theoretical assignments that Professor Hanneman chooses to torment her with. She misses this feeling, really, being able to teach someone something she’s good at.

She misses teaching, really. Training isn’t quite the same. Seulgi’s skills in combat are on par, or better, than the bulk of her classmates, but training has started to blur together. Her friends always seem equally skilled to her day after day until an assessment rolls by and it’s only then that they realise how much they’ve improved since they’ve arrived at the monastery.

Watching Irene attempt to overcome her fear of riding, though? That’s something that makes Seulgi more determined to teach her how to get better at this. Confusingly, the feeling isn’t entirely the same as teaching her siblings how to ride. Sure, she feels proud, that’s a feeling that doesn’t diminish.

But there’s something else too. Maybe she’s pleased that she’s gotten the opportunity to impress her. That observation makes her feel a little like a puffed-up coloured bird. Hmm. But maybe it all boils down to being happy that she has something of herself to share with Irene. Ah. that’s quite possibly it. Still, this bubbly joy is strangely intense. Perhaps this comes in the territory of everything that led her to courting Irene in the first place.

Days later, Seungwan comes up to Seulgi and tells her something she overheard from a slightly tipsy Irene during one of the nights out the Black Eagles take.

Seungwan’s amusement is clear when she stage-whispers, “Irene only asked for riding lessons because she wanted to hug you.”

And when Seulgi frowns, confused, maybe she could’ve asked for a hug?

Seungwan only shakes her head. “You’d have frozen, idiot.”

* * *

Seulgi is walking alone through a garden of fallen golden leaves when she starts to wonder what this courtship really means.

For a good part of her life, she had expected that one day, a brief courting ritual would be initiated by a man she’d be lucky not to despise. They’d exchange a few niceties, have tea, and soon enough, after that farce is over, that they’d be married as soon as their heads of household signed a paper with their blessings. She is sure that her father would give her some choice in the matter unless say, the wealthy Gautier heir or even the prince himself came knocking. But even she might not protest that much if she had to play nice to a margrave forever so long as her family was happy.

Her thoughts wonder to Irene. It stuns her still how Irene said yes to her. She remembers Irene’s response clearly in her head. Hesitant. Then somewhat playful. Thinking about it makes Seulgi wonder if Irene ever doubted. Does she wonder, too, what this meant?

What would a noble gain from courting a commoner? Nothing.

Transactions such as courtship and marriage are integral to her family’s standing in the Kingdom. Irene isn’t even from the Kingdom. Still, it wasn’t unheard of those hailing from the Kingdom to marry someone from the Alliance or Empire, and she isn’t inheriting, so it would be a non-issue on those grounds.

But… she continues her pacing. There are so many different things to think about! Could Irene really be hers? Did she want to be?

A leaf landed on her hair and she flicks it off, irritated. Look at her. Thinking about Irene almost like she isn’t even a person that could make her own choices.

Commoners are people too, Seulgi. If you are to be a knight, who are you saving? You’re serving a liege, but your liege should guard the people, no? Then, aren’t you meant to be in service to the people?

She stops pacing and turns her head towards the direction of the cathedral. The vast, towering spires reach toward the sky and beneath the roof, thousands of devotees must’ve sung in praise of the Goddess.

The Goddess watches over all of us. 

But how can she favour all of us equally? If the lord she serves rises up in rebellion, then who will she serve? The lands she would be sworn to or the flag she would take up?

All this thinking gave her a headache.

She’s about to turn back in return to her rooms when she hears Irene call out to her. “Seulgi!” Having caught her attention, she runs up to her. “Seulgi-yah. Hello.”

Seulgi smiles, tiredly. “Hello to you too. What brings you here?”

“I was looking for you,” she reveals. “I wanted to thank you.”

“Huh?”

“For the gift, silly.” Irene laughs and smacks Seulgi’s arm. “Don’t you remember?”

Oh. That gift. She scratches the back of her head. “Did you like it?”

“It’s really cute. You didn’t have to, thank you.” Irene is still smiling at her. “You look like you’re having a long day. A coin for your thoughts?”

“Huh? Oh, it’s nothing,” she dismisses. “I was just thinking about… stuff.”

“Okayyy, sure.” She won’t press the issue. “If you need to talk about it, let me know?”

She sighs. She would need to talk about it someday. She likes Irene. She really does. But she doesn’t know what this that she started even meant. And what Irene wanted from it. And what Seulgi wanted from it. And if they even want the same things. Or if they can want the same things. Will they have to end things? She doesn’t want to. Not now. Not ever.

“Seulgi?” Irene waves a hand in front of her face. “You’re spacing out again. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Seulgi repeats, a little brusquely. She apologises again. “Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” She attempts to change the topic. “I’m glad you like the bear though! The merchant that came by last week was peddling some interesting stuff and I thought you might like something to sleep with.”

“Well, you thought right.” Worry hasn’t left Irene’s eyes.

Seulgi doesn’t want to be the cause of any frowns on Irene’s face. “You’re right though, my day isn’t going that well. Can I get a hug?”

Irene blinks. Seulgi’s never asked her for a hug before. It was usually Irene who asked. Irene who wanted to cling onto Seulgi. (Ditto, a teddy bear.) But Irene obliges. With Irene’s head on her shoulders, it almost feels like she could tear down the world to create a future they would be happy in.

* * *

The first snow of winter falls unusually harshly, blanketing the monastery grounds with a thick layer of snow even though the season has barely come upon them. Seulgi wakes up and attempts to curl under her blankets, hoping to return to bed again. The bells haven’t tolled that morning yet and she deserves another minute of sleep…

That is not to be.

As soon as she drags her covers over her head, the door is pound noisily. When Seulgi doesn’t respond, hoping that the invader takes it as a cue to leave, the knock sounds again, this time more impatiently.

It’s Seungwan. Urgh. Her friend needs to let her sleep. Let sleeping knights lie and all that.

“Seulgi, we need reinforcements! I know you’re in there – get out now!”

Reinforcements? She tumbles out of bed, landing on the ground with a slight whump. Ouch. She flings open her door, her other hand on her cloak. What’s happening?

At the alarm on Seulgi’s face, Seungwan’s bursts into a peal of laughter. She apologies. Explains that there’s a snowball fight going on, and that their house leader is demanding that all of the Blue Lions show up to defend Faerghus’s pride.

Oh. She feels silly. Okay. Seulgi loves a good tousle in the snow. But aren’t they supposed to show up for class later today?

Seungwan closes the door to let Seulgi have some privacy as she gears up for the fight. Through the door, Seungwan mirthful voice is slightly muffled as she points out that she hears that Professor Hanneman is ill, and the Lions’ replacement in Catherine – “Thunder Catherine is taking over our class! Seungwan, you really shouldn’t have transferred!” – has herself been dragged into hurling snowballs on behalf of her temporary class. And since Shamir has somehow joined the fray on the part of the Golden Deer, her deadly aim quelling any boastful claim made by any of her brasher housemates, the Blue Lions needs everyone they can get.

“Now come on, I’m supposed to be fighting against you guys. Hurry up.”

“Oh, shut up, you turncoat,” Seulgi grumbles as she pulls her pants up, deciding against bringing her furs with her. They’ll just get wet anyway.

By the time they make their way down, she finds that most of the Academy’s students are in the snow. The illustrious elites from all the three nations of Fódlan are… now engaged in a snowball fight.

Snow has already been hastily shovelled into clumps masquerading as walls, shallow trenches dug. Heaping mounds of ammunition have been formed.

But any pretence at a proper strategy seems to have been abandoned. Ranks are broken as her classmates tumble in the snow, kicking and screaming like children.

It’s utterly undignified.

She doesn’t even have time to join any semblance of the Blue Lions’ formation when she’s pelted with an icy snowball on the back of her neck tingling with cold.

She grins, eager to join the battle and win the day.

She packs together her first ball of snow, taking aim at Shamir herself.

If she times it right… Her arms draw back, readying its pitch. When Shamir finally has her back turned to her, she launches the projectile through the air. When it meets its target, Shamir’s dark eyes blaze, promising revenge. Oh, this is going to be fun.

She’s not sure how much time passes until she spots Irene, who is carefully staying away from the heat of the battle even as Sooyoung yells at her to join us! She knows Irene isn’t a fan of the cold, but…

Packing some snow together, Seulgi sends a well-packed fistful of snow hurtling at Irene, who screams a yelp – something high-pitched, her ears hurt even from a distance away – as it lands on her hair. 

“Seulgi!” Irene is equal parts furious, equal parts betrayed. “You’ll regret that!”

Uh oh. It looks like the rest of the Black Eagles are now determined to wage an all-out war against the Blue Lions.

There’s a renewed furore from the Eagles as their leader yells for half of them to shore up their defences, and the other half to launch a unified assault against the Lions. Catherine is yelling at Shamir for commanding her Deer to join the Eagles in their current attack, and Seulgi is too distracted by the small smile that she spies on Shamir’s face to notice the Eagles’ sneaking advances before it’s too late.

Seulgi shrieks as Sooyoung tackles her into the snow, Seungwan by her side. Both of them hold her down against the snowy ground as Irene materialises in front of her and starts pelting her face with whatever she picks up from the ground.

“Take that!” Sooyoung cries out, a particularly vicious blob of snow landing across her eyes.

“Let me go!”

But her efforts are for naught as both her friends press her down, and the snow gets incrementally packed onto her. Thank the Goddess that Irene can’t summon a single ice spell. Seulgi’s sure her abs hurt from the laughter bubbling out of her, and not so much from the physical exertion of her half-hearted struggle.

“Do you yield? Give up, Seulgi!”

Ah. She can never yield to the Eagles. Her honour demands that she fights until the very end.

She makes another attempt at freeing herself, and her hands manage to find purchase on the back of Sooyoung’s uniform and she pulls, sending Sooyoung tumbling to Seulgi’s side and Seulgi jerks her arm free so it won’t be pinned by her again, and with that she’s free to take in a gulp of air and overpower Seungwan. Two mages can never overpower a knight! (And if they did, she really should spend more of her time on the training grounds.)

Now, onto Irene. The same trick won’t quite work on Irene, but…

She launches herself at Irene, who shrieks as Seulgi throws her to the ground now. It’s clear that she doesn’t expect this from Seulgi, but she flails under her with more determination as Seulgi shovels snow down Irene’s uniform. Or more like Seulgi’s trying to but Irene is strong too. They end up rolling in the snow instead, each trying to gain the upper hand. Irene’s desire to win clearly burns far more greatly than her abhorrence of the cold.

The battle of wills and stamina is eventually won by Irene, however. Seulgi lies beneath her, panting, damp from the snow and a very light sheen of sweat. Irene is a mirror image of herself. She has never seen Irene’s hair so unkempt before. Wet with the first snow, her hair hangs limply against the sides of her face, a stray twig somehow sticking out of her head.

Stars above. She wants to kiss her.

And it seems like she voiced her thought aloud, for Irene, exhausted as she is, springs back, eyes wide.

Seulgi can’t deny that her reaction hurts, just a little. Is the idea that repulsive to Irene? The closest they’ve come to kissing is when they’ve had something strong to drink, that one time outside of a tavern. Or maybe Seulgi was misinterpreting the situation? But if she recalls it right, it was Seulgi who pulled away first, not Irene, even as Sooyoung muttered something about how an axe was needed to cleave the tension between the two afterwards.

Disarmed as she is in that moment, she doesn’t stop when an Eagle pelts Seulgi with more snow, and dazedly, she decides to surrender. By now, most of her housemates have raised a white flag, completely drenched from head to toe.

Catherine surveys her forces, and declares, grinning, that they’ve been roundly beaten. “Next time, we’ll get you guys back!” She graciously allows them the rest of the morning off, though they’ll resume lessons in the afternoon. “What Seteth doesn’t know won’t kill him.”

Irene’s hasty retreat stings. She’s gone by the time Seulgi is done shaking the hands of her opponents, shivering the whole time. 

The hurt worsens when Seulgi heads back to her room. As soon as she’s done stripping herself of her wet attire and opts for a neatly pressed set of her uniform. Now that she has most of the morning to herself, she has too much time to think. Since the best place to brood is underneath her covers, she swaddles herself tightly in her blankets, wondering if she should apologise.

* * *

Seulgi almost regrets agreeing to tag along with the Eagles this month on their mission. Even after that snow day, she joins the house this month on their mission – she has promised, after all. It strikes her that it’s a little odd that the Empire’s students are being dispatched to Kingdom territory for a mission when there are other missions available down in the Empire.

Irene isn’t ignoring her per se, and neither is Seulgi trying to avoid Irene, per se. But she doesn’t exactly want to be stuck in close proximity with her.

Seungwan takes pity on her and kicks Sooyoung out of their shared tent so Seulgi can sleep in hers. That’s decided on the first night, and Professor Manuela makes a casual jibe the next morning as they pack up camp to continue on their journey westward towards Gideon lands. The jibe is clearly directed at Seulgi, something about how talking will resolve problems. But surely, talking isn’t that easy. 

At least she is afforded an escape into the skies. She and Vindr spend most of their journey circling in the air.

Their mission at Gideon clears quickly. They’re here to put down some stray rabble that have taken their arms up against the Church. The men they had to fight are poorly armed, and even when pressed, none of them seem to be able to offer a name for their leader.

It doesn’t sit well with Seulgi, this slaughter. Even with the rabble’s superior numbers, the Knights accompanying the class didn’t have to intervene. Pitchforks and tattered jerkins did little to stop sharpened steel.

The class is sullen on their way back. Perhaps the Church decided to assign the task to the Black Eagles so the Kingdom’s Lions wouldn’t have to feel bad about putting down their own people? She’s not going to begin deciphering their motives.

Seulgi’s even more pensive on their way back. Vindr is also in unusually bad spirits, and outside of the heat of battle, he takes his agitation out with dangerous arcs in the air.

They’re so distracted that Seulgi misses the rogue party that ambushes them at Magdred Way.

The report she writes when she gets back to the monastery will make no mention of her inner turmoil that allowed the bandits to gain the upper hand on them.

Instead, it will discuss the fog that descended upon the forest in the winter evening, blanketing their pathway and blinding even a pegasus knight. She will write a paragraph about how she manages to salvage her poor showing by saving her teammate from the freezing depths of a river, but that she shouldn’t even have fallen in during the attack in the first place. If only the designated scout had been more careful… She will write that her pegasus is an excellent companion, precise in flight, able to turn even the sharpest angles when they need to.

But now, she’s siting beside Irene, having plunged her arms into the river to pull her up. The class has scampered to set up a campfire. Both Irene and Seulgi are stripped of their wet clothing. Professor Manuela gripes about how if her charges die of hypothermia, Professor Hanneman would never let her hear the end of it.

Even by the fire, Irene’s shivering. Now freshly dried, Seulgi picks her way gingerly to Irene’s side. It seems like the rest of the Eagles are determined to leave the two alone. Did Seungwan and Sooyoung say anything? They must’ve.

Irene’s the first to grab Seulgi’s hands. Her bare fingers are cold, her teeth chattering. “Please, stay. Don’t leave me.”

Seulgi lowers herself to the ground. “Wasn’t planning to. It’s cold, isn’t it.”

“Y-y-yeah. I hate this.”

“The cold’s terrible,” she agrees.

The cold of the Oghma Mountains is different from back home. Faerghus is often dry, and the cold wings sting badly there. While it doesn’t help matters that she’s just had her arms bathed in icy water, she swears that the damp cold of the mountains seeps more deeply into her bones.

For a while, they sit without speaking to the other, intent on huddling as close as they can to the fire.

Seulgi is the first to speak again, voicing her apology. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to stop you from falling in.” She watches the fire, the way the flames dance in the air, little orange sparks jumping from the centre. “I know you can’t swim. But I… I apologise for my distraction.”

“Yes. No. I don’t mean that. No.”

Seulgi her head to the side, turning to face Irene. “What’s the matter?” At the drawn expression on Irene’s face, panic rises in her. “Wait, are you unwell? Should I fetch Professor Manuela?”

She’s about to rise to her feet again when Irene’s fingers close around Seulgi’s wrist. “No. Please don’t. I… Don’t leave me.” Her words are heavy. Even Seulgi can tell that there’s a weight to them, so what’s she talking about…

Hang on. “Do you mean us? Why would I leave you?” Incredulity rings in her voice. “Do you think me so fickle?”

If she’s honest, that insinuation is hurtful. Seulgi’s but a minor noble, without lands or titles to inherit. She can never afford to be fickle. She’s a knight. She will be a knight. Knights are steadfast. Loyal. If she’s come across as anything less than that, then perhaps she should re-evaluate her behaviour.

But Irene quickly shakes her head. “Please. No, it’s not you. I meant…” The sigh she lets out is frustrated now. She holds Seulgi’s wrist more tightly, and Seulgi swears Irene can feel the accelerated beat of her pulse underneath her fingertips.

Irene presses on, “It’s just… just me. You’re not fickle, not for a second. But me? You know that I have no station to speak of. But that I have a crest, even if it’s a minor one. People in my life have always wanted things from me. Wanted. Took. I know… I know enough of you that you aren’t like that.”

They’re looking at each other now. Irene’s voice wavers. “I sometimes wonder how you’re so good. You’ve always tried to be kind.”

Seulgi denies this. “I kill. My hands are just like any other soldier’s.” 

Irene smiles at this, softly. “Look at the cats in the monastery, they love you. That’s nothing to do with knighthood. And you’ve never pressed me. I know you think it a weakness in yourself. Shouldn’t you strive to take what you want? But you were kind.”

A swallow. “I haven’t spoken to you for days because I was scared. It’s not because I’m kind, Irene.”

Irene allows this. “Maybe. But I didn’t give you time to make amends. Or you know, amends shouldn’t even have had to been made in the first place. I know I said that I chose you, but in truth, I’m surprised you still want me around. It’ll continue to surprise me again, and again.”

This admission makes Seulgi wrap her arms around Irene, pulling her close. Irene stiffens, at first, but she relaxes into Seulgi’s hold. “Don’t. Don’t doubt yourself.”

“I could tell you the same.”

“You could. We’ll just have to keep reminding each other then. Will that be alright?”

The laugh that sounds from Irene is shaky. “More than. Let me apologise again. For shutting you out.”

“And I for not trying to reach out to you.”

“Seulgi.”

Seulgi responds by holding Irene more tightly. “I’ve chosen you too, remember? And we’ll live with this choice as long as you’ll have me.”

* * *

Seulgi jumps at another chance to teach her something new again when Irene asks her to teach her to dance. A ballroom dance, Irene has to clarify. Waltzes and the like. A tavern jig is hardly suitable for the White Heron Cup.

However, for someone who claims to be an amateur, Irene is suspiciously good at dancing. Seulgi voices this observation aloud as they spin around the Black Eagles classroom. The doors are shut for fear Seulgi be accused of helping their rival house’s representative.   

Irene, groaning against Seulgi’s shoulders, admits that she only wants Seulgi to twirl her around. Was that too much to ask for?

At this, Seulgi makes an amused noise. “Like the time that you asked me to teach you how to ride? Is that it?”

“What?” Irene’s voice is sharp as she pulls back, her face flushed. Seulgi immediately misses the warmth Irene takes with her as she does so. But Irene’s expression makes her chuckle – it’s completely miffed, her eyebrows furrowed, and her eyes glare at Seulgi even though she’s sure that she’s not the offending party involved.

Sure enough, “Was it Seungwan who told you that? I am going to kill her.”

Seulgi smiles, shakes her head, and presses a light kiss against Irene’s hair. “No. Please don’t. But you’re kind of cute when you’re angry.”

“Hey.” There’s no heat in her voice, however.

“But hey, you are. Cute. Really. I mean it.” A cold lump lodges in and she swallows, realising she has to ask Irene out again. “I… Will you do me the favour of going to the Ball with me?”

Seulgi only earns a slap in return. Seulgi rubs her maligned shoulder with a pout. “Ouch! What was that for?”

Irene rolls her eyes. “Sorry.” It’s clear she doesn’t quite mean it though. “Did you really have to ask?”

“Of course I had to! Just because we’re… courting doesn’t mean I am conferred some automatic right to go to the ball with the prettiest person I know.”

“You’re sweet. Are you going to compliment me throughout the whole ball?”

“If you don’t tire of it.”

Irene’s ears turn pink as she looks away. “Flatterer. And to be clear, I would love to go to the ball with you.”

Seulgi continues to protest. “You know I’m just being honest. You’re pretty, charming, smart—”

“And you,” Irene turns back to face her, sticking a finger between the bones of Seulgi’s clavicles, “are a flatterer through and through. Even if you do mean it.”

Irene’s face is still pink, though. Seulgi smiles at this. “You like it anyway.”

There’s a loud sigh. “Don’t press your luck with me.”

Seulgi knows danger when she sees it and backs off, grinning.

* * *

“Seulgi, stop fidgeting,” Seungwan gripes as she pulls at Seulgi’s hair. “I swear, how do you live with your hair like this all the time…”

Seulgi winces at a particularly hard tug. They’ve been at this for the past couple of minutes now, with Seungwan trying to drag a fine-toothed comb through Seulgi’s unruly hair. Today, Seungwan’s returned to the Blue Lions, and their house leader beamingly welcomed her back. So did Seulgi.

Right now, Seulgi only wants to kick Seungwan back to the wings of the Black Eagles. Goddess. Why did she agree to letting Seungwan style her hair? But Seungwan had said trust me, and insisted that straightening Seulgi’s hair would be the perfect arrangement for tonight. With each tug, regret surges in her.

“Hedda, hand me those tongs, please,” Seungwan instructs.

No, are they going to try to straighten her hair? Hedvig only laughs at the discomfort on Seulgi’s face. Doubt surges through Seulgi. Is she even going to emerge from this alive?

“Stop fussing, Seulgi,” Hedvig chastises. “Just stay still and let Seungwan do her damned job. Irene will love your hair, okay?”

Seulgi doesn’t realise she’s squirming until Hedvig points it out. She slumps. Fine.  She’ll sit still. She can sit still.

“Ready, Seulgi?”

Seulgi gulps as Seungwan conjures some fire to heat the tongs. Surely, her hair is fine as it is? Must they use such a contraption on her hair?

After what feels like forever, Seungwan snaps on a golden clip onto each side of Seulgi’s hair. Seungwan pulls back to survey her handiwork. She grins, satisfied.

Hedvig clicks her tongue at Seulgi’s face before deciding to apply one more smudge of lipstick onto Seulgi’s lips. Not that Seulgi could tell that anything was wrong with them, but they repeat Irene’s name again for the tenth time that evening to get her to cooperate. Like she’s some child. She’s not necessarily an expert at all this but surely they can trust her to assess how she looks? But apparently not.

That done, they finally allow Seulgi to stand up. Seulgi’s not completely convinced that golden tights worked but her friends insisted. Would make her stand out, in a good way. Pity that they couldn’t wear anything else but the standard issue formalwear. And thus, accessorising was the only way forward.

The Blue Lions enter the ballroom together, walking into the resplendently decorated room. Soft strains of string music are already playing. The rest of the houses are already inside, with many of them on their first dance on the dance floor.

Hedvig and Seungwan are both given Seulgi’s first and second dances of the night. The honour must first go to her housemates, naturally. Her dance with Seungwan goes smoothly enough, both of them are good dancers. They keep up a light banter and Seulgi’s laughing at a dumb joke as her Seulgi’s stomach growls in protest. They’ve spent most of their day preparing and urgh, she’s hungry.

“I think that’s your cue to head to the buffet table, Seulgi.” Seungwan pokes at Seulgi’s midriff with a smirk. “Thanks for the dance.” She curtsies. “Best be off now.”

“Are you not hungry?”

Seungwan shrugs. “Later. I believe that I owe Sooyoung a dance…” Her voice trails off, shyly, and it’s Seulgi’s turn to poke at Seungwan’s reddening cheeks now. Her friend swats her hand away, glaring. “Don’t be annoying.”

“I can’t help it! I’ve known you for so long, and yet here you are!”

“Don’t you have some desserts to horde, Seulgi? I swear, you and Irene both are incorrigible.”

Seulgi only laughs. “You’ll tell me all about it, yes?”

“If there’s even anything to tell…” Her voice trails off despondently. “Anyway, don’t let my moping stop you from your chocolates. Shoo!”

Before she leaves, Seulgi drops into a deep curtsy. Seungwan only swats at her again before Seulgi retreats.

She takes a plate. What shall she have first? The chocolate does look extremely tempting…

Seulgi is halfway through a second scoop of sorbet when Irene materialises next to her, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead.

“I see you’ve found your way to the food first,” Irene accuses, lightly.

Seulgi turns to face her. Irene has a circlet of stars adorning her hair and large silver studded earrings dangling from her ears. A cape is draped across her small shoulders. The colours clash a little against the gold accent of their clothing, but on her, it somehow works. With the way her lips are painted red, Seulgi just about stops herself from choking, coughing violently as she does so. At least she’s only having sorbet.

“Hey, be careful!” Irene reaches to pat Seulgi’s back. Seulgi isn’t sure if it’s not just an excuse to hit her. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, never better.” Seulgi swallows the last of that offending sorbet. “Congratulations on your win yesterday, by the way.”

“Didn’t you already congratulate me yesterday?”

“It bears repeating. How else will I get to dance with the winner of the White Heron Cup?” Seulgi’s sure she’s grinning at her like a fool right now.

Said winner only rolls her eyes. “Yes, yes, I had an excellent teacher. It wouldn’t do to embarrass you.” Seulgi can tell that she’s pleased anyway though. “You’ll earn a dance with me after I get something to eat. Hirschel’s a terrible dancer. I’m so glad you’re an excellent one.”

“Hirschel? Oh ew.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Irene hums, not minding Seulgi’s ineloquence. “Help me pick out some food, yes? Then we’ll have a dance. If you’re as good as you were in our practices, then maybe I’ll have some time for you towards the end of the night.”

And how can she refuse that?

* * *

Atop the Goddess Tower, Seulgi holds Irene close to her as each of the two murmur their wishes. Wishes that one day, they could be happy. Or, at the very least, that Irene would be happy.

When she’s done with her wish, she turns to watch Irene. Irene’s head is bowed in reverence as she prays with all she can. She hasn’t seen Irene pray this hard before. She has never seemed like a particularly devout believer of the goddess. But here she is, her head bowed more deeply than any of their visits to the cathedral. She wants to know what Irene is praying so hard for. But, ah, that would ruin the magic of it, wouldn’t it?

So she just bows her head and claps her hands together again. If the Goddess is truly watching over them, wouldn’t they grant Seulgi her simple request?

She is only wishing for happiness, after all. It’s nothing lofty. It’s not like she’s asking the Goddess to grant her riches and lands and to win an entire war. She’s merely asking for peace, to be content with the place she finds for herself in this world. And hopefully, hopefully, that place is with Irene.

In this moment, she wonders if she can be happy without everything else. Without her dreams of knighthood. Without a king to serve. Disquiet stirs in her at the very notion.

But perhaps one day, when she’s attained what she has set out to achieve, then maybe her heart will be happy beating in the same rhythm as another. 

* * *

The year draws closer to its end. The coming of the Great Tree Moon is a time of celebration. Their exams are over and they’re free to celebrate. All three houses are eager to throw a party, with graduation being the one day the monastery allows their students to truly let loose on monastery grounds, on the condition they show up for their actual graduation day on the thirty-first of the Lone Moon sober. A significant number of the nobility would be present to watch their children graduate, after all. Some decorum should be maintained.  

The merchants from the Golden Deer are now the de facto procurers of alcohol. The Black Eagles contract an entertainment troupe or two. Which leaves the Blue Lions to prepare for a feast. The kitchen staff are begrudgingly bribed into helping, and Seulgi catches the servant girls thrilling about joining the party but dreading the clean-up afterwards.

Seulgi realises with a start that their celebration would coincide with Irene’s birthday. On her birthday, Irene gifted her a silver shaped bear pendant. The note Irene attached to it was that Seulgi reminded her of a bear. A teddy bear, to be precise. Seulgi had snorted at the explanation, wondering if Irene hugged her stuffed gift to sleep at night.

When the feast begins, the Black Eagles take the lead in chanting Irene’s name. “Drink, drink, drink!”

“It’s your birthday! Come on, lighten up!”

“Happy birthday!”

“Drink!”

In the company of her housemates, Irene’s face is alit with glee. Seulgi knows she’s not a fan of being in the spotlight like that, but Irene clearly adores the Eagles. She’s having fun and Seulgi should be buoyed by the thought.

Well, she is. However…

Seulgi only wants to make a quick escape from this celebration though. She leaves one of Irene’s presents with the pile before she slips out the backdoor. She too, wanted to gift Irene a necklace. The jeweller had laughed when Seulgi requested for a rabbit, for weren’t rabbits just prey to be hunted? But Seulgi insisted, and the artisan was not one to deny the request of a paying guest.

That night, under the pale light of the Lone Moon, Seulgi seeks Irene out after a long day of interhouse merriment – Seungwan’s terrible epithet for the day. Seulgi has a bouquet of flowers in her hands and a letter she hopes Irene might keep in her hands as she makes her way across the darkened courtyard towards the dormitories.

Her heart is weighed down by a thousand words she doesn’t know how to say. As a fresh graduate of the Officers Academy, she will be promoted into a decent rank in the Kingdom’s forces. She has been invited to join the company stationed in Sreng, of all places. It’s a good place to prove her worth, right at the forefront of any possible hostility.

But it’ll also bring her far, far north.

Even before she reaches Irene’s room, she knows that Irene’s probably not too interested in joining her in the frigid borderlands.

When she knocks on Irene’s door, her closed fist shakes.

Irene doesn’t look surprised to see her. She seems to already know what Seulgi wants to say. Before Seulgi can even open to speak a single word, Irene’s lips ghost against Seulgi’s, pressing against them before pulling away. The brief contact makes her insides twist.

Her eyes are sad. “For when you tell me you can’t choose me anymore.”

“I…”

Her insides twist more. For a second, she considers abandoning everything she worked for. Perhaps the Adrestian Empire would tolerate a foreigner in their armies? But no. That would be foolish. Ice settles in her chest.

“Shh. You don’t have to say it. I know. You would be a fool to follow me to Enbarr.”

Seulgi runs a hand through her hair. “No. I can come visit. You’ll… where will you be?”

“A position with the University. That’s why I’m even here, at the Academy. I realise that don’t think I’ve ever told you. I don’t know why.

“Enbarr University? I… I’m sure that one of my classmates would be able to get you a position in Fhirdiad.” Even as she says it, she knows Irene would never accept such nepotism.

Irene turns that idea down, gently. “Magic isn’t my strong suit, you know that. And besides, I owe a debt to my benefactor.”

“I’ll come visit. Please. Let me.” She sticks her arms out to show Irene the bouquet in her hands. “I… I will come if you’ll have me still.”

Irene’s hands twist across themselves. “Enbarr is at the southernmost tip of all Fódlan, Seulgi-yah. And you’ll be on the other end. Would it not be better if you forget about me?”

“You’re asking me to forget you?” Seulgi’s arms weaken, and she nearly drops the bouquet as they slump to her sides. “How can you ask that of me?” She tries for humour. “Short of falling off Vindr and hitting my head really hard, I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Is that a jest? Don’t. Please.” Irene strolls away from her, trying to put as much space as she can between them in her small room. “I want you to be happy – you’ll be a knight, congratulations.”

Seulgi sinks into the chair. Most of the decorations in the room have been packed away. Irene didn’t bring much with her in the first place. She hasn’t packed her books. And the white, fluffy teddy bear Seulgi gifted her three moons ago still rests on her bed.

She sighs again. “I don’t want us to part on bad terms, please. But this, can you take this?”

She places the bouquet in the wooden desk. The gardener helped her with them. Flowers that meant promises and apologies and love and devotion bundled in a contrasting jumble of colours. But Seulgi hopes that they would say what Seulgi can’t quite say.

Irene relents. “Yes, I’ll take this.” Irene tries for a smile. Seulgi watches the edges of her lips shake. “I’ll be happy whenever you have the time to come visit little ol’ me.”

That’s the best she can achieve and Seulgi gets up, preparing to leave. “I’ll miss you.”

“As will I. Be safe, please.”

That’s too final. Her fists ball harder into themselves and she throws herself at Irene, hugging her tightly, who returns her embrace with equal fervour.

If she’s not to see her again, she will remember everything. How she smells. Feels.

She’ll have to remember how she looks too. Their gazes lock, and she searches for something in Irene’s eyes, finds it, and leans in for the second time that night to kiss her again, yearning to commit the soft sounds Irene makes to her memory.

She pulls back, reluctantly. Her fingers shakingly reach to trace the lines of Irene’s cheek, cold fingers lingering on her mole. She hopes she doesn’t forget this.

* * *

Graduation comes and goes.

Seulgi barely has time to visit her family before her posting pulls her up to the borders.

Seulgi writes her letters. Sends them when she thinks they’re okay. When she can, in the first place. But she can’t send them all the time. (It’ll seem desperate. Can’t have that, can she?)

Irene writes back, sometimes.

She doesn’t understand how, but she doesn’t complain that the letters still smell faintly of Irene’s floral perfume when they arrive. She’s not sure if she’s grateful, or if she resents it, the knife of memory twisting in her chest until she has to fling the flaps of her tent open, craving for fresh air.

end of part i: white clouds

A/N: Thanks for reading part i. Hope you enjoyed my indulgneces into character study/knights! I will work on finishing part ii soon - won't leave you hanging on such misery :")