Chapter Text
The quaint little inn was their last stop before Ashford and she made a grateful sound in the back of her throat.
Journeying across the grassy land and muddy roads was one thing, but on horseback behind her elder brother was another.
Florian had warned her it would tire her.
She cannot complain, especially not when he sees right through her weary looks and tries hard not to laugh.
To grasp her bearings, she donned a simple cloak, took to the woods, just a small walk from the inn where her brother was already taking his nap, and followed her senses.
The woods here were more sullen-looking, with no extravagant flowers she was used to looking at.
She finds an open field near a creek and begins her search.
She feels the wildflowers caressing her calves as she bends down and her hands skim the clover leaves in their bed.
The birds and bees have their chatter and she, unwittingly, was singing to herself, ‘and the tree was in the ground, and the green grass grew all around, all around, and the green grass grew all around’
She didn't notice the time or the person approaching her side.
“Finding any luck?” an unfamiliar voice says.
“Not yet,” she responds, her eyes refusing to stray away from the clovers.
They were so small and so many, and she won’t give up.
“It is rare to find one among these,” the stranger continues.
“Makes the search more sincere.”
The stranger hums and it is rather pleasant to hear. “For yourself, then?”
“No. For my brother. Gods know he needs it.”
Her elder brother was a competent knight, true, but she had seen how jousts go, and it wouldn't hurt to give him luck, and she prays he wouldn't get injured. He was a good brother anyone could ask for, though a bit strict—she doesn’t fault him for that.
“Would you mind if I offer my assistance?”
She stops, looks at the field and gestures for the stranger that she wouldn't mind, and she resumes her search.
She does need help, this would take perhaps a day. She doesn't have that much of a time.
The stranger moves to a different angle, somewhere at the front of her. She only glimpses from her periphery the outline of his body, the darkness of his cloak.
He calls out after some time, “Nothing here,”
She was now near where the water meets the stones. Her eyes started to strain, her hope was beginning to wane when her sight caught the one hiding in a cluster.
“Yes! Here!” she shouts, picks the leaf and jumps for joy.
Overjoyed and out of her usual decorum, she ran to the stranger and brought the four-leaf for their inspection.
Bright green four-leaf, with a splattering of whites, it was majestic.
Then her eyes finally met his.
She was aghast at herself for not looking clearly at the man before her. How had she not looked sooner?
He was tall, broad-shouldered —even when his black cape was covering him. His hair was cut short, as was his beard, black with silver from age.
His eyes, that’s where she stared the most.
Two-colored eyes.
This one was no stranger, but a knight.
A beautiful one.
“Has anyone told you your eyes are like petals?”
She feels her cheeks burn as she realises she spoke the thought out loud.
He chuckles, the sound vibrating from his chest.
“Petals? No, no one has. I believe different, unusual, strange were the words.”
She couldn't take what she said so she just went straight for it anyway. Besides, they were past shyness, as she practically made this stranger look for her four-leaf clover for quite a while.
“They’re bright and pretty, two or more shades, petals.”
He smiles at her showing his teeth.
She blinks so as not to betray herself by gaping at him. She can't help it either.
She has eyes for the pretty things.
“Thank you for helping me, ser.” she stammered, “what brings you here in this part of the woods? Are you on your way to Ashford Meadow too?”
“Yes I am, my Lady,” his smile didn't waver, “and I happen to hear a nymph’s melodious singing.”
She prayed to the Gods for the ground to swallow her whole and escape the humiliation she casts on herself.
The sound of a horn blew somewhere far behind them (blessed be the gods!), and he stepped away slowly and she discovered too late that they had been much closer than what propriety demanded.
“I’m afraid I must go now,” he says, looking at her again in a way that made her queasy. “May I accompany you out?”
She wants to, but she has much to do. “I thank you, good ser, but I came from that direction,” she points to the left, a path different to his, “and I have to pick a few things in here.”
“Will you be safe?”
“Worry not, ser. I am tougher than I look.” she flexes her arms.
The twinkle in his petal eyes returns, “Then I pray for those who cross you.”
He was retreating at an unhurried pace when her voice called after him. “Will you enter the joust?”
Of course he would. He was a knight. She nearly chastised herself for the thought—but instead of laughing at her question, he offered a smile so gentle it stole her breath.
“I may yet decide, my lady.”
“Wait.” She hurried to him, unwilling to shrink from the small courage her task required. “For you.”
She pressed a four-leaf clover into his palm. His hand was warm and broad, roughened as one would expect of a man who bore steel and reins.
His gaze shifted between her face and the clover she had insisted he take. “And what of your brother?”
She answered with a bright, unguarded grin. “I shall seek another charm of fortune. A peony, perhaps. And if I find none, then I shall pray he does not cross your path. Farewell, ser. Ride safely.”
She did not see how he received her words, for she turned away at once, hastening back along the path.
She did not look back, afraid she might be undone by him again.
Perhaps the tourney would not be so dreadful after all.