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It had seemed like a joke at first. One made casually, not cruelly, but a joke nonetheless. Mercedes was to be Ingrid’s retainer? Who had ever heard of a nun knight? It was true that Mercedes’ healing powers were almost divine in their efficacy, mending Ingrid’s wounds like the torn clothes Mercedes would sew back together after a sparring session.
So Ingrid has no objections to her friend-turned-guard. It takes some getting used to, yes, especially when Mercedes now insists on traveling ahead of Ingrid instead of beside her. Especially when Mercedes isn’t wearing her usual Priestly garb, instead settling for the more comfortable, bare-armed Dancer gear.
It was also true that her long, pale robes hid toned muscle under smooth skin. Mercedes was also trained as an archer, after all. As a woman of battle it was expected of her to have more than one method of offense in her belt. In turn, it only made sense for her to have the body to support such skill.
Ingrid has watched her stretch her arms, shoulders and back to ready herself for practice. She’s seen how her muscles stretch and tense under dappled forest light, especially when she pulls her arrows back to practice her draws. It’s like flowing water, Ingrid thinks, pushing around and over stones smoothed by years of wear and practice.
And when Mercedes finally lets the arrow loose there is nothing more refreshing than how the air captures small strands of Mercedes’ hair, blowing them back.
No matter where her arrows land, Ingrid feels the piercing impact inside herself.
“Oh my.” Mercedes lifts her hand, soft and ladylike, to her lips. “That was quite a gasp, Ingrid. I would think that I would be the one jumping from surprise, not the person watching me from behind.”
Ingrid’s face heats up from embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Mercedes. I meant to come and fetch you for supper.”
“But?”
Oh dear. Ingrid doesn’t like it when Mercedes looks at her that way. With her head tilted to the side and her fingers brushing away stray hairs so she can still see her. Ingrid used to think the feelings it stirred were the same from her childhood: of girls looking down at her for not knowing how to fashionably adjust her hair, or decorate her mare’s mane. On the spot. The center of attention.
She used to think that. She still does, in a way. She’s only just realized that she doesn’t feel so ashamed when it’s Mercedes’ eyes that are on her.
“Your form is incredible.” Ingrid smiles as she approaches. The last gasp of winter crunches beneath her feet. “I can’t believe I never noticed while we were at the Officer’s Academy.” And she knows this because if she had noticed there’s no way she would have been able to think of anything else when she was around her.
“Thank you.”
She thinks Mercedes knows, in her all-encompassing, quiet ‘knowing’. That knowing which has, since their first day meeting, felt like it has been penetrating within Ingrid and unearthing more than a blush-dusted cheeks. It is a knowing which adds, silently, ”What else did you ‘not notice’? What else have you hidden and shrouded inside yourself? The cakes I baked with your favorite flavors, the gaudy makeup I helped you to wash off your face, my footsteps following yours as war erupted on all sides?”
“Ah, let me just-” Ingrid distracts herself by finding a bow and a quiver of practice shots.
Mercedes watches her with a glimmer in her eyes. “Keeping me company, my lady?”
“Of course.” Ingrid steps into the spot Mercedes has stepped away from for her. “I may be noble but I’m not too noble to defend myself.” Inspect, notch, pull back, let back down. Pull back, let down. Mercedes had drilled as much into her to stretch before even thinking of letting an arrow loose.
“...I am here to protect you, my lady. You needn’t shoulder everything by yourself.”
Though confused, Ingrid keeps her eye on the target. “I know.”
Mercedes chuckles. “Do you?”
The ‘knowing’, again. “Excuse me?”
“Plant your feet, my lady.”
“Ah.” Ingrid glances down and, indeed, her feet are in the wrong position. “Thank you.”
“The pleasure is mine.”
Let loose, the arrow soars through the air and past the target. Ingrid finds it amongst green leaves, the blunt head disguised by the budding flowers of spring.
“Is something the matter, my lady?” Mercedes asks. Despite the full silence, she holds that serene smile. Steadfast as the trees.
Ingrid blinks. “No. My apologies, I was daydreaming.”
Mercedes looks at her, stretches her arms, and turns back, looking through the trees. While the scene seems to be a casual stroll, the true goal is much more tense: eliminating bandits. It seems like all they do, ever since the war erupted. That, and bartering with nobles, reassuring commoners, supporting merchants, and, if there is time, sleeping and eating. Even now, in the bright warmth of the midsummer air, Ingrid can’t suppress a yawn.
But this is Galatea territory. Her home. Ingrid intends to defend it. Mercedes has been by her side long enough to know when she needs to fall back- and how that time is not now.
Mercedes leaps up onto a broken boulder. Even her legs are a sight to behold. But Ingrid’s wandering ‘daydreams’ are suppressed by Mercedes hand held out to her. “Shall we have that mint tea when we go back, Ingrid?”
Ingrid takes her hand and is pulled up as if she were nothing more than a few leaves herself. Goddess… “Oh yes, I would love to. But don’t we always have what I like? I’d like to try that tea you like again. The one that tastes like fruit.”
“Albinian berries.” Mercedes informs. Has she noticed she and Ingrid’s hands are still together? Ingrid doesn’t let go. “The mint leaf tea will refresh you. Besides, the face you make when you drink it is cute.”
“Oh, Mercedes.” Ingrid feels her face flush. She suddenly finds great interest in the surrounding foliage and chooses to look at it instead of her. Does she watch Ingrid when she drinks tea? She’s her retainer, so naturally she would keep watch in case some poison has slipped into her palette. But the tea is only ever brewed by herself or Mercedes… “Don’t play with me like that. You know how embarrassed I get.”
She’s her retainer. More than that, her friend. How could Ingrid think to twist her words and intentions in such a way? Mercedes has given so much to be accepted by House Galatea. Would she give so much of herself to Ingrid, so long as it meant her security as retainer was maintained? Ingrid could never do such a thing to her. A cruel, terrible thing.
Ingrid finds her hand empty. “Sorry.” Mercedes giggles airily as the two return to their walk. “Come, we’re not far now. Now that the wind has changed I can smell the smoke from their camp.”
The scent sneaks up Ingrid’s own nostrils. Smoky, hearty…Her mouth starts to water. “They’re cooking pork. Must have caught a wild boar.”
Mercedes laughs again, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “Shall we have that with our tea?”
“Hey!” Ingrid sighs but responds with a smile of her own. She can’t lie, it would be good.
White magic is brilliant.
Not as a compliment- though one would be remiss to not acknowledge it in such a way- but in description. Bright, light, blinding. So pure that artists have chased its likeness in their works since the dawn of time, only to find themselves left with a dull shadow in comparison. No paint, material, or idea comes close. It is immaculate.
Ingrid thinks of that when she sees the charms of Mercedes’ battle dress flicker from the descent of Abraxas. The wild beast, lured by the scent of smoke and blood, had ambushed both them and the bandits, leaving trails of viscera and mud in its wake. As desperate as it is hungry, the thing saw no difference between the men and the meat. Ingrid almost felt sorry for it as she hacked away at its empty underbelly, jumping in between its legs and back out again like a shepherd’s hound. If not for the tough rib cage there would have been nothing stopping her sword from slicing along like a letter opener.
But when Mercedes told her to stay back, she did. And she had lifted her arms to the sky, reaching out for Sothis’ awesome power, and recited:
“Goddess mother, on the star of ocean waves,
Cast your light down,
The amulet of the soul,
Abraxas!”
Ingrid protects her eyes with her arm. The light is not only bright but searching, as if it’s shining hard enough to peer into her soul. She shivers at the idea and curls her body up more than she should need to. What is this magic? It is magic, isn’t it? But the light magic she’s known is numbingly warm. This is warm, too, but not in the way a lukewarm rag placed over a pulled muscle is. It’s warm, like sparring with her friends, curling up in bed with a book of romances, eating a dish from her home, feeling unguarded.
The warmth dissipates. When she peers over her arm there is no beast nor bandits. Only a woman with long hair, skilled hands, and tired eyes.
“Mercedes.” She doesn’t know why she says it. It’s as if the word is alive, thrumming around inside her waiting to be let out. “Mercedes!”
She pushes herself from the ground and runs towards the other woman. She stumbles only to find herself in sure, strong hands. “Careful now.” Mercedes warns without danger. Her strong arms feel right around her. “I told you there was no need to worry, Ingrid. I’m here to protect you.”
Ingrid looks up at Mercedes. She is haloed in the remnants of magic and the summer sun breaking through the clouds.
“Do you believe me?”
“Yes, I- of course!” The nod shakes crumbs of dirt from Ingrid’s hair. When she notices the flecks of filth on Mercedes clothes she feels a terrible dip in her chest and tries to pull away, but Mercedes’s arms remain. Permission, allowance. ”I want you by my side, so why don’t you stay here?”
Ingrid feels like the fool all over again. But, with a swallow, she now at least has the eyes to see the virtue in her foolishness. She relaxes into Mercedes, resting her head into the crook of her bare neck when she gives her the space.
Her breath tickles the other woman’s neck as she sighs. “Thank you.”
It is more than a thank you.
Mercedes squeezes her tightly. “Thank you.”
It always has been.