Archive of Our Own

It was with great reluctance and resentment that you attended the stranger’s swearing, a sentiment you had expressed in no mild terms to your father. After all, your preference was to leave and join your elder brother on his travels. Your father regretfully and kindly acknowledged your frustration, but his word was firm: you were to accept the man’s service as if it were a souvenir from your mother, equivalent to a new scroll or dress. As if it were adequate recompense for being forced to stay home.

Still, you could not help but observe the man with curiosity. He was tall, dark-haired, and slender, carrying himself with a noble dignity more befitting a lord than an attendant. Armored with a severe and solemn manner that made you feel like you should be bowing to him instead of the other way around. His posture was ramrod straight even as he went to his knees, his eyes lowered to the ground as he raised his chipped, battle-worn sword for you to touch. Despite its appearance, the blade was cold and sharp underneath your fingers, as piercing as the look he gave you with his singular, uncovered eye. Turned upon you as he pledged his sword to you.

“Silco,” you declared his name for him and witnesses to hear. A strange name to be sure, the first sibilant syllable flowing smoothly into the next, unhindered by the tip of your tongue touching the back of your teeth. He stared at you throughout his rehearsed speech, swearing himself into service. It was only your training in genteel conduct that enabled you to return his gaze, sure that he could sense how uncomfortable you were with his silent appraisal of you.

After all the pomp and circumstance, your daily life continued mostly unchanged. He was a quiet shadow who escorted your every step. Your attempts to make him feel welcome and become better acquainted were politely but undeniably rebuffed with his short, avoidant answers. Soon the novelty of introducing him to your other attendants wore off, their attempts at engaging you in gossip buffeted by your genuine ignorance of his character, notwithstanding what your lord and lady parents had already shared with everyone.

(Your maids’ hushed giggles at his supposed good looks were especially bewildering, what with his large eyepatch covering almost the entire left side of his face. Perhaps they could glean his handsomeness from what little was visible— a long, distinctively pointed nose; sharply slanted high cheekbones; lined scars carved from his temple to the edges of his thin lips— but any attraction to him was beyond your own reckoning.)

So you ended your attempts at engaging him, speaking to him solely to wish him “good morning” or “good night”, or inform him of your intended plans for the day. He acknowledged all of these with impassive expressions and minute nods.

He navigated the corridors of your home with ease, but the first true test of his capabilities was escorting you through your father’s lands, through crowds of commonfolk and the cluttered arrangement of edifices. You dismissed your father’s concerns that assassins were lying in wait and resumed your thrice-weekly ventures into town. If you were to be caged to his estate, you refused to be confined to your father’s hall. At least the fresh air and sunshine still tasted of freedom.

The knight kept two paces behind you, closer to you than your other attendants who followed at five. You tried to ignore how claustrophobic his proximity made you feel, focusing instead on your usual duties of greeting the townspeople. Only acknowledging his presence when courtesy demanded you provide introductions before turning your back on him entirely. He watched you with a bored but observant eye as you conversed with others. Listening indifferently as you comforted a farmer’s worries about his harvest, gave a tonic to a woman whose husband was sick with fever, or offered honeyed candies to children who hailed you. His lips thinned with some indiscernible emotion when you freely offered silver to a young bride-to-be as a wedding present, but he voiced no remark on it.

All of these passed on the way to your first proper destination of the day, the town blacksmith. As you approached the smithy, you asked the knight a direct question for the first time in so many days.

“Did my father offer to have your sword repaired? Or are you to receive a replacement?” you inquired politely.

“He said that I am to receive a newly forged sword,” Silco said nonchalantly.

“Then perhaps it should please you to meet the blacksmith Talis; he will be responsible for crafting it,” you offered, greeting the artisan in question with a smile as your party arrived at his station. The two men exchanged pleasantries, and for the first time, the knight’s eye lit with feeling, albeit a subtle one: curiosity at what the craftsman was capable of, shining through while he studied the small armory critically.

Talis allowed the knight to handle a sword. The weapon was of an average caliber, a well-used short blade meant more for a soldier’s training than actual battle. Still, he examined it carefully, holding the blade close to observe the quality of the metalwork. It seemed to pass muster, as he next held it in a strong grip, passing it easily from one hand to the other. He handled it gracefully, slow thrusts and circular spins painting a hypnotic dance in the air, not a tool but an extension of his own body. It did satisfy you to see the knight return the weapon and offer his sincere gratitude to the smith, departing with a handshake and a tiny, upward quirk of his lips.

“Thank you,” he said to you, infused with a modicum of warmth. You would have liked to respond with a chuckle, but you restrained yourself.

“It was my pleasure—” the clamoring of church bells interrupted you, a sonorous rally calling everyone to daily prayers. Your party joined the slow surge of peoples making their way towards the church. Deep breaths helped calm you as swarms of bodies pressed in around you, meaningless chatter and thundering footsteps on the stone floor reverberating into an almost overwhelming cacophony.

After entering the church, you peered between heads and shoulders, seeking out the priest. It excited you to see Father Hoskel, one of your favorites. You peeled away on your own, heading straight to him while your retainers looked for seats in the pews. As you hoped, the knight chose not to sit with the congregation but stationed himself next to the only exit, his gaze following you dutifully as you reached the priest.

“Good day, child,” Hoskel received you with a mischievous smirk. Casually stepping aside as you walked around the pulpit to stand in front of him. Maneuvering himself so his back was to the room, his plump form shielding you from view.

“Good day, Father,” you replied cordially. Smiling as you clasped his wrinkled hands in yours, surreptitiously slipping a coin of silver into his grasp. “I trust that all is well with the church and your health?”

“All the better for having seen you today,” he beamed at you. Squeezing your hands in appreciation as he clumsily palmed the coin, tucking it into a pocket inside his habit. 

Continuing to chat about insignificant matters, your own impatience rose as the other churchgoers settled down. As their movements quieted, you bade farewell to the priest and left him, not heading back into the aisles but out a backdoor used only by the clergy, your exit concealed by the priest swishing his voluminous robe.

You were careful to keep your steps quick but quiet, exercising the utmost caution lest a careless echo gave away your escape. When you left the church threshold back outside where paved stone met dirt, exhilaration mounted in your heart. A deep breath of fresh air reinvigorated you as you turned towards the woods and hurried—

“Are you not meant to join the others in prayer?” a low, smooth tenor of a voice materialized behind you, startling you. It was the knight, standing formally straight, his hands clasped behind his back in bored ceremony. Questioning you condescendingly as if he were a nursemaid guiding a forgetful child.

Of all the people to be caught by, the knight was perhaps the least desirable one. You hid your irritation with a bright tone, “I prefer to meditate in private, in quiet contemplation where I might not be disturbed by others.”

He nodded in acknowledgement. But when you continued your way out of town, he persisted in following you. His footsteps were so silent, you were only alerted to his presence when an instinct nagged you to look over your shoulder.

“My apologies for not making myself clearer,” you faced him with gritted teeth bared in a false smile, still walking at a brisk pace. “I will offer my prayers in solitary contemplation.”

“Surely the church has a quiet vestry available for use,” he pointed out. “Will your prayers be heard in the woods?”

“Is nature not a part of God’s domain? He shall hear me no matter where I pray.”

“So why pray in the woods and not the church if they are one and the same?” he countered.

You huffed in annoyance, coming to a halt. He stopped as well, and his perfect imitation of your trajectory only served to provoke you even further.

“Please tell me, sir knight, do you answer to my father or myself?” you asked.

“Your father pays me with his silver but I am entirely at your disposal,” he answered with a small smirk, seemingly finding amusement in your exasperation.

“Then I would have you dispose yourself of my company and return to the church.”

“I’m afraid I cannot,” he said. “Your father’s orders were to never leave your side and they supersede your own.”

Does he only offer half his loyalty because he is in possession of only half a brain? You bit your tongue, holding back the retort. “What else did my father command of you?”

“To keep you safe from harm.”

“I assure you, there are no dangers in these woods. He has not compelled you to report on my every movement?”

“No. He will allow you a certain measure of privacy.” 

“If you take my silver, would that ensure your obedience to my request?” You flipped him a coin, which flew in the air towards his face before he caught it with a smooth, lazy sweep of his hand.

“Yes.”

“Then I ask that you keep your silence around my father regarding this outing,” you told him curtly, turning briskly on your heel to stride into the forest.

“As you wish, my lady,” he said mockingly. 

His unpleasant attitude normally would have chafed you, but it was overshadowed by your delight at his concession. You resumed your journey at a near-sprint, determined to make up for wasted time. A part of you hoped to outpace the knight but he matched your haste with seemingly no effort on his part, his long legs easily keeping up with your smaller stride. 

Neither of you made any further attempts at conversation. Your footsteps crunched dead leaves on the forest floor, seemingly amplified by the tension between you. It was entirely one-sided on your part, as you came to the gradual understanding that the knight was merely attempting to adhere to his duties in following you. You might have offered him an apology for your terseness, but there was the thought that he might be annoying you on purpose. After all, he did speak with a humor that was lost on you. If he took some enjoyment out of your sour mood it made you less inclined to ask for forgiveness.

The foliage gave way to wild stones, small pebbles rolling underfoot before lodging into the muddy ground. You were careful to lift the skirts of your dress out of a puddle. Mud sloped downwards into larger, blocky stones bordering a deep lake of clear cold water, shards of sunlight dancing on the surface ripples. An osprey shot down from the sky, diving and reemerging with a struggling fish in its talons.

You sighed as you perched on an especially large rock on the edge of the lake, letting your feet dangle above the water. If you were a free woman you would have liked to go swimming. As it were, stripping all the layers of your clothing would have been too much of a nuisance and you would have no way of drying yourself off. Returning home with your couture soaking wet would disappoint your lady mother and perhaps convince her to forbid any future excursions. But you could enjoy the view, a quiet forest oasis at the end of a river.

“What is your homeland like, sir knight?” you asked by way of making polite conversation. You turned around, expecting to see him standing behind you. It surprised you to find him standing quite a distance away from the riverbank, much too far to have heard your question. He seemed to have shrunken in on himself, not standing with his usual impeccable posture but hunched inwards, arms crossed and hands fisting his sleeves. His eye darted around erratically, looking at the ground, the sky, the trees… anywhere but the water.

You frowned and hopped down from your seat, carefully stepping between stones as you walked towards the knight, calling out to him, “Is something wrong?”

“There was a bear,” he mutters. “We should leave before it returns.”

He spun on his heel and stalked away without another word. Perplexed, you hurried to follow in his wake. You had never seen a bear in this part of the forest, a fact you keenly wanted to point out to him. As upsetting as it was to have your time in nature cut short, the knight was clearly troubled by… something. The exact nature of it was unknown to you, but he seemed to believe that it was in the woods. So determined he was to make his escape that he was indifferent to you lagging behind him, struggling to keep up with his quickened pace.

It was all for the better that the two of you left when you did; you passed the church just as the townsfolk were exiting it, allowing you to mingle in the exodus. No one was any the wiser that you had not attended the sermon. By the time you reunited with your entourage, the knight had regained his stoic composure, giving no indication that he had been so unduly disturbed. You had no opportunity to privately ask if he was well until later that evening when you were about to prepare for sleep. He outright ignored your inquiry— which he had never done before— and instead wished you a perfunctory goodnight.

It was another fortnight until Father Hoskel hosted daily prayers again. Seeing as he was the only priest who allowed you to bribe him and sneak away, you were quite ready for some much-needed alone time. 

Well, almost entirely alone— except for the knight.

“Worry not, sir knight,” you addressed him dryly, as the two of you once again traveled into the woods. “I shall not be heading for the river today. Who knows if another bear will arrive to disturb the peace?”

The remark was meant as a weak joke, so it surprised you to hear the knight let out an almost imperceptible sigh of relief through slightly parted lips. His tightened, white-knuckled fist released from the hilt of his new sword to drift to his side, loose and relaxed. A curious reaction indeed… but you steered in a direction away from the river, onto a less traveled but still familiar path. It was a longer route, headed southwest instead of east, a carpet of fallen leaves growing ever thicker as you ventured deeper into the forest. Placing your hands on the thin birch trees, flecked with spots and stripes of dark wood underneath their ivory bark, rough and bumpy to the touch. The knight eased his way between them as if they were living creatures who parted to make room for him, such was the grace with which he carried himself.

You arrived at a clearing, a grassy meadow of wildflowers surrounded by a half-circle of trees. Skinny green stems ending in dotted blossoms of yellow, orange, pink, and purple, stretched towards the sky to soak up the sparse autumn sun. You would miss them dearly when they succumbed to the winter frost. For now, you watched a lone bumblebee alight on a golden coneflower, crawling onto a petal toward its seeded heart.

If you had been alone you would have plopped down onto your back, the grass tickling your ears as you studied the sky, framed by flower stems in your periphery. But in your present company, that would be unbecoming conduct of a lady. 

As you slowly sank to your knees, you tossed a coin in the knight’s direction. You had hoped to catch him unawares but he snatched it out of the air, rolling it over his knuckles before pocketing it.

“Payment for your continued silence and protection, sir knight. The bumblebees can pose quite a danger to a helpless maiden such as I,” you chuckled. He made no response, but you could swear the end of his lips twitched upward before sliding back into place, a downward tilted line bordering on a frown. As the bee flew towards your face, you held up a finger for it. The insect landed on your knuckle. Its face was cute, with large shiny black eyes surrounded by equally dark fuzz. Just as quickly as it landed, it buzzed away, sunlight shining through the delicate webbing on its wings.

“Winter will soon be upon us,” you said idly. “I hope to return to the river by then, as the bears will be in hibernation. It will be safe to visit.”

“Bears are unpredictable creatures. Surely you know of safer hideaways than the river,” a scowl briefly flitted across his face before it disappeared, but the notch between his eyebrows deepened, harsh enough to be seen under the strap of his eyepatch.

“The riverside is my favorite,” you said quietly, unable to keep the wistfulness from your voice. “There is peace in water.”

“Water is not peaceful,” he snarled. The vitriol in his voice startled you, his composure melting in the heat of his anger, radiating out and poisoning the air. The flowers leaned away in the wind as if they were frightened of him. “You play in the woods with such ignorance, knowing nothing of the dangers of the world.”

“I will not deny that you may have seen more of the world than I have, sir knight,” you said patiently. “But do not presume that you— an interloper— know more of my father’s lands than I. When I say the river is safe, it is safe. You will see the truth I speak of in time.”

He clenched his jaw, a tendon in his cheek tightening, making no effort this time to hide his grimace. Glaring at you before he turned away forcefully. But he did not disagree, as if he remembered to hold his tongue around you, the daughter of his lord.

You folded your hands in your lap, watching him closely. He seemed keen to storm off, and perhaps you would have let him. But you had seen this wild rage in a caged hound before when your brother rescued it from an abusive master. It would not let anyone approach it, threatening to bite those who came too close, unable to distinguish between those with good or malicious intent. The knight may not have barked at you with the same frothing wrath as the hound, but it was clear that he was in a similar state of distress.

“How do you bathe, sir knight?”

He swung to face you, his fury transformed into bafflement, blinking confusedly. Raised eyebrows rising above the strap of his eyepatch.

“It is a simple question,” you maintained calmly. “How do you bathe if you have such distaste for water?”

He continued staring at you before closing his eye. His posture relaxed minutely, his stiffened shoulders lowering as he exhaled a long, low sigh. Turning upwards to face the sky as he took another deep breath. This time, it was not to unleash some more barbed words but in anticipation. Steeling himself for whatever truths he was preparing to speak.

“You need not speak of your troubles if they are too painful to recall,” you added belatedly, berating yourself for your nosiness. “It is no one else’s business but your own.” 

“No… I ought to tell you. I have already told your lord and lady parents of it, and it is only natural that you should come to know as well.” 

You waited in patient silence as the knight swallowed apprehensively, his throat bobbing. His tongue darted out to lick his upper lip. All throughout, his gaze latched onto something far off in the distance, not quite beholding the nature around him. 

“I had a brother once, not long ago,” he began slowly, voice low, spoken towards the flowers under his feet instead of you. You scooted forwards surreptitiously, keen to pick up on his words. “We were born into the lowest of poverty. Every meal we had was stolen or begged for or sometimes won with crude but necessary violence.

“I was a much weaker fighter then, an unworthy burden on my brother. But he never minded, or claimed not to mind. It was very generous of him to care for me the way he did. I would not blame him if he left to seek out his own fortune, but he stayed.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips now, but his eye remained downcast and sorrowful. Struggling not to lose himself in whatever nostalgia was left of better times. When you patted the ground next to you, he either did not notice or declined your invitation to be seated next to you. 

“We had a shared dream, not of living richly but of living well. Some days it seemed more futile than others; some days we came close to dying. But through it all, we had each other. And it should have been that way until the very end…”

His eye shone, a tear on the verge of spilling out. You were loath to look away, so captivated you were by his history and display of emotion. He clearly needed comfort but you were afraid to prematurely interrupt his telling. Still, he showed no inclination to move closer to you, so lost in his memories that he seemed to forget you were there. 

“We often supplemented our meager diet with fishing. I thought nothing of it when he asked me to accompany him to a river… but his intent was to kill me. If not with his knife then to drown me like a witch,” he laughed bitterly.

You stifled a gasp as your hands flew to your mouth. The horrors paralyzed you, legs frozen and rooted to the ground. Heart aching with sympathy for his pain. For there was no denying that he was in pain, and perhaps had been for as long as you had known him or even longer. 

“He is the reason why I have such ‘distaste’ for water, and why I only have one good eye,” a snarl burned the edges of his voice, his mourning turning into a jagged hatred for the brother he once loved. The knight raised a hand to his face, fingers trailing over his eyepatch. 

“Where is he now?”

“Dead,” he said simply, his tone of voice fell flat and sullen. “What an irony— the only fight I won on my own was against my very own brother.”

He sagged, arms rising from his sides to hold himself. Protection against whatever demons were plaguing him. The sky grayed overhead as if it mirrored the darkness consuming him.

You rose to your feet, taking a testing step forward. Not wishing to crowd the knight but to offer whatever consolation he might find in your presence.

“I— I only wish—” the knight whispered, “Why did you do it, brother…?” A soft, heartbroken plea to a dead man who would never hear him.

It was essential that your next words be spoken carefully. So you spoke, slow and quiet, attempting at compassion and not pity, “You could never be a burden, sir knight. We all must rely on others for our own needs. I am only sorry that your brother and your country could not rise to the task—”

“He was a good man,” the knight spat, the flare of his temper once again threatening to burn you. “Do not presume to speak as if you knew him.”

“He was a good man who tried to maim and kill you? Are good men forced to perform such atrocities where you come from?” you pointed out.

The knight glared at you, but you did not wither. He forcefully turned away from you again. Perhaps your queries had crossed a line, but they needed to be said. This time, there would be no getting him to look at you again.

“I am sorry,” you said again. “But it was a terrible thing he did to you that you did not deserve.”

Would that your sentiments were enough to heal his wounds… but he did not round on you again to shout. He fell to his knees, still facing away from you. A slow stumble like a column of snow collapsing under its own weight.

“Please… leave me,” the knight asked, low and brokenly.

“Do you remember the way back?”

He nodded, a miniscule motion of his head that you almost missed.

You spoke out to him one last time before departing, “I will not tell you to cease mourning your brother. Would that he loved you the way you loved him… But you deserve to live, sir knight; you are worthy of life and good health. I hope that in time, you will accept it as truth.”

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At the time, you were reluctant to tell the knight that he was excused from his duties for the rest of the day if he so wished it. As it were, he should not have been bothered with such mundane affairs amidst his suffering.

No doubt his heart was heavy enough without the additional burden of work.

When your handmaidens joined you outside the church, they inquired as to his whereabouts. You were about to tell them he had returned to his quarters, struck by a sudden illness. But the knight himself reappeared at your shoulder, so stealthily it was almost a miracle. His eye and his nose were reddened but he seemed no worse for the wear. The armor of his impenetrable composure locked back into place. In fact, he thanked you for your patience and divulged nothing further.

For the entirety of the walk back to your father’s hall, you fought the temptation to look back at the knight or pull him aside to speak to him. Such an opportunity did not arise until late into the evening when he escorted you to the staircase leading to your private chambers.

“Sir knight,” you addressed him. He had steered his gaze away from you all day. It was a customary standoffish practice you were familiar with, but he seemed to do it today out of embarrassment for his earlier display of emotion. A man like the knight would have seen it as weakness and preferred that you did not speak of it again.

But you were determined to help him in whatever way he would accept.

“Yes?” he said formally.

“We may part company tomorrow if you wish,” you offered. “An ailment of the heart should be tended to the same as any other sickness, with rest and recuperation.”

He blinked at you, puzzled. Opening his mouth to speak before he cleared his throat, “There’s no need. I will be fully capable of attending to you.”

“Be that as it may, the day is yours to do with as you please. Rest well, sir knight.”

“…rest well, my lady,” he said slowly. Returning your nod with a lower bow of his head.

The knight did not attend to you the next day, sending word of how he felt unwell. You felt sorrow for his pain but were a little gladdened that he was taking the time to grieve. It was unlikely that he would heal overnight from the wounds his brother inflicted, but with time, you were hopeful that the pain would become less overwhelming.

You did not breach the topic of his past again, but on your future outings you were keen to avoid the river. Showing him other places that you liked to visit, more determined than ever to make him feel at home in your father’s lands.

The meadow was home to your favorite bloom, the purple coneflower, with a heart of dark orange and warm pinkish-purple petals, long and straight, a plain beauty but still pleasing to the eye. As a child, you liked to pick them to sneak into your room. But they were hard to preserve as they often got squashed in the small pockets of your dress. At your current age, you were happy to observe them in nature in all their wild glory.

Farther into the woods, there were rings of mushrooms where the air hung still and quiet, with a fog that never seemed to disappear even on the sunniest of days, and no birds dared to sing. The less godly peasants whispered of fae that would snatch away any person who dared disrupt the circles. The clergy heartily disavowed such tales as frivolous. Still, it brought you great amusement to speculate if such otherworldly creatures were real. The knight himself could not be bothered to form an opinion on the matter, but you noticed him keeping his distance from the mushrooms.

To the east of the mushrooms was a wild apple orchard. They dotted both the ground and branches with yellow and red, so ripe and ready to fall without needing to be plucked. You polished one with your sleeve, glad to not be in the company of a handmaiden who would scold you for your indelicate manner. When you encouraged the knight to partake in a fruit, it surprised you that he obliged. He reacted swiftly when you shrieked. But it was only a green worm that alarmed you, skinny and wriggling on the skin of an apple you held. 

It was hard to gauge which sites he liked the best, or if he liked them at all. His impassivity never changed. The only exception was when he smiled at the fright the insect gave you. Still, his manner towards you did seem warmer, his voice less frostbitten when he greeted you at dawn’s beginning and dusk’s end. 

The times were peaceful, much to your satisfaction. It was proof that your father’s fears were uncalled for. But more importantly, the knight needed peace. His homeland was the sort of place where people could not sleep soundly, but had to guard themselves with one eye open and a knife under their pillow. Your family’s estate was much safer. With the exception of the day you introduced him to the blacksmith, the knight had seen no need to draw his sword while you were under his care.

The day when he unsheathed it to protect you was a frightful one indeed.