The Knight's Token (Final Fantasy Tactics)
Final Fantasy Tactics: A day after her abduction, Ovelia is feeling increasingly disgruntled toward Delita.
Originally posted as a drabble-gone-awry to an entry by chirachira
Somehow, the ballads had failed to mention irritable chocobos in their accounts of abducted princesses.
Ovelia jerked back her hand and said something unladylike. The chocobo glared back at her madly.
"Did he bite you?" called the man's voice, and Ovelia stiffened. She had thought he was still gathering firewood; she had thought he was still far away.
But instead he was loping across the campsite, a bundle of branches under one arm. His free hand came up and knocked ungently against the chocobo's beak. The beast took a step back and lowered its head with a squawk. The knight ran his knuckle behind the chocobo's right ear with rough affection, and the chocobo uttered a chirrup of kittenish docility.
Ovelia cordially loathed them both.
"Did he bite you?" Delita asked again, turning to look at her.
Ovelia considered lying. Briefly. "Yes."
She braced herself for amusement or contempt, but he only nodded expressionlessly. He detoured around the princess and the chocobo to drop his bundle of firewood at the center of their encampment. The chocobo sidled closer to Ovelia; Ovelia sidled further away.
"Stop that," Delita said over his shoulder, and both princess and chocobo stopped dead. He stood up and turned to regard them with an expression that Ovelia was coming to recognize. It was superficially expressionless, but there were other emotions -- a sardonic twist to the corner of his mouth, an irritated crease on his forehead -- that slid like goldfish beneath the mirror surface of an ornamental pond.
"Does he attack everyone?" Ovelia asked. A day ago, her voice might have trembled when she spoke to her abductor, but exhaustion was quickly eradicating her natural timidity. "Or am I a special case?"
Delita's eyes were half-lidded in amusement. "The bastard is simply sensitive. Nervous people make him nervous. Or perhaps he thinks you're trying to steal him."
As Ovelia had been trying to steal him, she huffed indignantly at this idea. Amusement spread to Delita's eyebrows. He held out a hand and peremptorily said, "Come here."
As the chocobo took this moment to whicker ominously in her left ear, Ovelia went there with haste. Can a man's nose look amused? she wondered. No, surely not. It's my imagination.
"Let me see where the fearsome steed attacked you," Delita said as he took her hand in her own. With the threat of the chocobo receding -- or so Ovelia fervently hoped -- she was uncomfortably aware of how close she was standing to the renegade knight, how badly he needed to shave, and how warm his hand was. There were calluses along his palm and fingers. Amusement was lapping at the corners of his lips.
Then Delita made a noise of irritation, and Ovelia looked down to see a thin red line lying across her fingers between the first and second joint.
"He broke the skin, the bastard," Delita said, and Ovelia saw a strange and heretofore unseen emotion beginning between his eyes. "Here, hold on."
He tramped over to the now-quiescent chocobo and began digging through his saddle bags. Ovelia stood there, feeling newly vulnerable. She thought she might have preferred her abductor when he was being brusque and contemptuous. A concerned and conscientious kidnapper was something else. Wasn't that something the ballads were always talking about? Dark lords who stole maidens and then went wooing marriage? And the lady held out for seven or eight stanzas, but then she gave in, only to die in child-bed just as her seven lordly brothers rode through the palace gates to rescue.
Ballads were keen on death in child-bed, Ovelia knew, although she was somewhat vague on the mechanics involved or what exactly happened between the forced marriage ceremony and the mortal bed in question. She was frowning at the ground, trying to remember certain vague allusions made by her old nurse, when Delita returned bearing bandages and a small vial.
"Hurts, does it?" Delita asked. "Here, this will put you back in order."
"What is it?" Ovelia asked suspiciously as Delita uncorked the vial.
"Made from willow bark and viera's breath," he said. "Good stuff. I use it whenever the bastard gets nicked on his legs by anything." He drizzled a watery green liquid against her injured fingers.
What with the disorienting sensation of his cold salve and his warm hands, it took Ovelia a moment to digest this. "What? You're dosing me with chocobo physic?"
"Of course," Delita said, re-stoppering the vial. "I wouldn't use anything on a chocobo that wasn't good enough for me. Or for you, princess."
Ovelia hesitated between a shrill retort and an imperious silence. Silence won. Barely. She stared fixedly at his left ear as he wound clean white cloth around her hand and tied it neatly off.
"There," he said. "I shouldn't think that there is any lasting harm, but we shall check it again tomorrow." There was the old contemptuous amusement in his eyes, but it had mingled with that new, strange emotion -- an emotion that was nearly pain -- and the combination made Ovelia's stomach contract in nauseated knots.
She carefully reclaimed her bandaged hand, and Delita carefully let it go. They stood there, staring each other, and Ovelia was dimly aware of the fading sunlight and the rising chorus of crickets.
There was a snort from behind them, and Delita turned his head with a exhalation that was half amusement, half relief. "And I haven't forgotten you, bastard. I'll give you a lovely rub-down, never you worry."
"So we are staying here tonight?" Ovelia asked, somewhat unnecessarily, as it was perfectly clear that they were staying there that night.
"Of course," Delita said, and there was malice in his voice. "But never you worry, princess. I shall make you a bower of flowers for your bed, and the bastard here will stand guard against your virtue. I imagine doves will lullaby you to sleep." He chuckled as he strode to the chocobo, but Ovelia caught a glimpse of his face before he had turned away, and she had seen the confusing pattern of emotions under his habitual stoicism. Beneath, it was welter of fury and laughter.
She stroked the bandage around her hand and thought of ballads. Not the ones concerning abducted princesses, but other songs, in which every hero received a token from his lady fair to encourage him on his quest and to bind up his mortal wounds.
Perhaps she had wandered into a different story than she had originally believed.
Originally posted as a drabble-gone-awry to an entry by chirachira
Somehow, the ballads had failed to mention irritable chocobos in their accounts of abducted princesses.
Ovelia jerked back her hand and said something unladylike. The chocobo glared back at her madly.
"Did he bite you?" called the man's voice, and Ovelia stiffened. She had thought he was still gathering firewood; she had thought he was still far away.
But instead he was loping across the campsite, a bundle of branches under one arm. His free hand came up and knocked ungently against the chocobo's beak. The beast took a step back and lowered its head with a squawk. The knight ran his knuckle behind the chocobo's right ear with rough affection, and the chocobo uttered a chirrup of kittenish docility.
Ovelia cordially loathed them both.
"Did he bite you?" Delita asked again, turning to look at her.
Ovelia considered lying. Briefly. "Yes."
She braced herself for amusement or contempt, but he only nodded expressionlessly. He detoured around the princess and the chocobo to drop his bundle of firewood at the center of their encampment. The chocobo sidled closer to Ovelia; Ovelia sidled further away.
"Stop that," Delita said over his shoulder, and both princess and chocobo stopped dead. He stood up and turned to regard them with an expression that Ovelia was coming to recognize. It was superficially expressionless, but there were other emotions -- a sardonic twist to the corner of his mouth, an irritated crease on his forehead -- that slid like goldfish beneath the mirror surface of an ornamental pond.
"Does he attack everyone?" Ovelia asked. A day ago, her voice might have trembled when she spoke to her abductor, but exhaustion was quickly eradicating her natural timidity. "Or am I a special case?"
Delita's eyes were half-lidded in amusement. "The bastard is simply sensitive. Nervous people make him nervous. Or perhaps he thinks you're trying to steal him."
As Ovelia had been trying to steal him, she huffed indignantly at this idea. Amusement spread to Delita's eyebrows. He held out a hand and peremptorily said, "Come here."
As the chocobo took this moment to whicker ominously in her left ear, Ovelia went there with haste. Can a man's nose look amused? she wondered. No, surely not. It's my imagination.
"Let me see where the fearsome steed attacked you," Delita said as he took her hand in her own. With the threat of the chocobo receding -- or so Ovelia fervently hoped -- she was uncomfortably aware of how close she was standing to the renegade knight, how badly he needed to shave, and how warm his hand was. There were calluses along his palm and fingers. Amusement was lapping at the corners of his lips.
Then Delita made a noise of irritation, and Ovelia looked down to see a thin red line lying across her fingers between the first and second joint.
"He broke the skin, the bastard," Delita said, and Ovelia saw a strange and heretofore unseen emotion beginning between his eyes. "Here, hold on."
He tramped over to the now-quiescent chocobo and began digging through his saddle bags. Ovelia stood there, feeling newly vulnerable. She thought she might have preferred her abductor when he was being brusque and contemptuous. A concerned and conscientious kidnapper was something else. Wasn't that something the ballads were always talking about? Dark lords who stole maidens and then went wooing marriage? And the lady held out for seven or eight stanzas, but then she gave in, only to die in child-bed just as her seven lordly brothers rode through the palace gates to rescue.
Ballads were keen on death in child-bed, Ovelia knew, although she was somewhat vague on the mechanics involved or what exactly happened between the forced marriage ceremony and the mortal bed in question. She was frowning at the ground, trying to remember certain vague allusions made by her old nurse, when Delita returned bearing bandages and a small vial.
"Hurts, does it?" Delita asked. "Here, this will put you back in order."
"What is it?" Ovelia asked suspiciously as Delita uncorked the vial.
"Made from willow bark and viera's breath," he said. "Good stuff. I use it whenever the bastard gets nicked on his legs by anything." He drizzled a watery green liquid against her injured fingers.
What with the disorienting sensation of his cold salve and his warm hands, it took Ovelia a moment to digest this. "What? You're dosing me with chocobo physic?"
"Of course," Delita said, re-stoppering the vial. "I wouldn't use anything on a chocobo that wasn't good enough for me. Or for you, princess."
Ovelia hesitated between a shrill retort and an imperious silence. Silence won. Barely. She stared fixedly at his left ear as he wound clean white cloth around her hand and tied it neatly off.
"There," he said. "I shouldn't think that there is any lasting harm, but we shall check it again tomorrow." There was the old contemptuous amusement in his eyes, but it had mingled with that new, strange emotion -- an emotion that was nearly pain -- and the combination made Ovelia's stomach contract in nauseated knots.
She carefully reclaimed her bandaged hand, and Delita carefully let it go. They stood there, staring each other, and Ovelia was dimly aware of the fading sunlight and the rising chorus of crickets.
There was a snort from behind them, and Delita turned his head with a exhalation that was half amusement, half relief. "And I haven't forgotten you, bastard. I'll give you a lovely rub-down, never you worry."
"So we are staying here tonight?" Ovelia asked, somewhat unnecessarily, as it was perfectly clear that they were staying there that night.
"Of course," Delita said, and there was malice in his voice. "But never you worry, princess. I shall make you a bower of flowers for your bed, and the bastard here will stand guard against your virtue. I imagine doves will lullaby you to sleep." He chuckled as he strode to the chocobo, but Ovelia caught a glimpse of his face before he had turned away, and she had seen the confusing pattern of emotions under his habitual stoicism. Beneath, it was welter of fury and laughter.
She stroked the bandage around her hand and thought of ballads. Not the ones concerning abducted princesses, but other songs, in which every hero received a token from his lady fair to encourage him on his quest and to bind up his mortal wounds.
Perhaps she had wandered into a different story than she had originally believed.