>>5656922“Wang!”
Your reunion with Princess Ekaterine is far more overtly affectionate than that with the Novice Fleshweaver, despite the shorter time apart. Violating courtly decorum and flaunting her guards—who, you note, make no move to stop her—she hurls herself at you and wraps her arms around you, shoving her face into your chest and clinging as if afraid you will vanish from her grasp. Only after you have stroked the softness of her hair for nearly two whole minutes does she relinquish this hold and back away, blushing intensely.
“I… Oh no, I’m so sorry. You were hurt, weren’t you? I was told… Oh dear, did I…?”
“I am quite alright,” you reassure her with a practiced, mammalian smile. “My physssician wass a great help. I am asss healthy asss before the battle with the demon-possessssed warriorsss… Maybe better!”
For the first time, Eka gazes upon the Novice, who looks back unflinchingly. She stands several feet back from the two of you, and scarcely moves. It’s actually quite eerie, and rather inhuman—you hope the locals will chalk it up to some peculiarity of the ‘brown elves’, for as you explain:
“Thisss isss a fellow adventurer of mine,a nd a ccomapnion of many yearsss… She wasss ‘healer’ to my adventuring party, and hailsss from an isolated elven tribe to the eassstern desssertss. At my requessst, the Green Knight—that isss to ssay, Ssir Yosssef, he brught her here to ssave my life.”
“Well then,” Ekaterine gathers her composure, and steps forward with bowed head. “We ALL owe you a great debt, Lady….?”
The Novice narrows her eyes slightly, taking the slightest step back, and answers: “Teharissssa.”
You suppress a sigh. Classic blunder: picking a surface name with an ‘S’ sound. If Ekaterine is at all questioning of her pronunciation, though, she is far more perturbed by the disguised Felshweaver’s cool demeanour. Still, she forces a smile.
“Thank you, ah, Teharissa,” she reiterates. “Thank you SO, so much.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” the Novice—Teharissa, you suppose, for now—replies. “I have brought a pox upon your house.”
Ekaterine stares uncomprehendingly, and her guards exchange a look. You step in hurriedly, explaining the meaning of your (infuriating, still, even if you love her dearly) companion’s words:
“I am feeling well enough, I think, to finally make good upon our promissse… And with death sso narrowly avoided, I think it prudent to act NOW, lessst I forever hold my peaccce.”
Eka stares at you for a moment, still not understanding… Until, in the Northern custom, you kneel before her.
“W-w-wait, you mea—”
“Princess Ekaterine of Hawksong,” you ask, “will you marry me?”
