Horse Trails - Evening - Cool
Sorcha Blaiddyd
Deep down, Sorcha knew she was being rude. Unconscionably so, probably. Even if he had done... that yesterday, Mercer was her friend and a good person, not ultimately deserving of her irritation or her grumpiness. But somehow she found herself clinging to it anyway, like it was a raft in the ocean and she'd drown without it. She couldn't say exactly why that was, except her stubborn insistence on being grumpy let her focus on something clear. Something simple, that didn't require her to think about...
Well, the rest of what was there.
Not that she knew exactly what that was, exactly. But that was half the problem. So irritation it was, and right now there was plenty to go around.
Horses were nice enough. Sorcha liked all animals, honestly, and often found getting along with them much easier than getting along with people. But riding wasn't flying, and some part of her had always preferred the sky. More importantly, though: Senka had done this on purpose, because she was a busybody who thought she knew best. Sorcha didn't usually much mind; but of late this coupled with her friend's growing comfort around others had been producing embarrassing situations. Not that she'd ever resent the growth in Sen, of course, but...
Why did she have to do this? Sorcha spent a lot of time trying to not think about being alone with Mercer, and now...
Now her cheeks were reddening because she was and it made her dumb and stuttery and she hated this useless version of herself so much.
Mercer wasn't too far behind her, electing to take a slower pace than Sorcha was, perhaps to enjoy the scenery. His head would turn ever so slightly in a direction, almost like he was truly curious with what was around them. His eyes landed on her, though, after a few moments of silence, and he smiled at her. It wasn't his grin, either, but it wasn't quite the same soft smile he'd given her the other day.
“Sor," he whined, nudging his horse so that he was beside Sorcha. “Sor, why are you ignoring me?" he continued whining, pursing his lips at her and almost pouting at the same time.
She tried to keep doing it. Truly she did. But her guilt wouldn't allow it. Or maybe it was some combination of that and the fact that she really wasn't very good at ignoring him in particular. Some part of her, perhaps, would always want to talk to him, always want to hear what he had to say and laugh when he said intentionally-dumb things and maybe sometimes make him really smi—
“You know perfectly well why I'm ignoring you," she replied primly, shooting him a narrow look from the corner of her eye. She had not in fact given the name of her favorite flowers to him, though he had all the information he needed to figure it out already, actually. She'd been beyond embarrassed, though, both at how childishly-easy she was to tickle and how not nearly all of the redness to her face had been from involuntary laughter.
Because in order to tickle her, he'd had to touch her, and Sorcha wasn't sure she could handle that again without a lot more fortitude than she currently had.
He smiled, then, though it looked more like he was trying to keep himself from laughing. “Well, if I'd known that a certain someone would stop talking to me because they were ticklish, well..." he trailed off, glancing in front of him for a moment before turning his attention back to her. “I suppose it was worth it. I got you to laugh, after all," he seemed rather pleased with himself at that statement if the smug smirk on his face was anything to go by. It smoothed out, though, as he shook his head.
“Besides, I like hearing you laugh. Makes me feel like I accomplished something good, you know?" he stated, glancing at her from the corner of his eye before shrugging. “Plus, I really would like to know your favorite things. We're friends, somewhat engaged, and I feel like that's something friends are supposed to know about each other, right?"
She flushed harder, glad of the fact that it was dark out. The thing about Mercer was, he said things that could be and were friendly, but her heart always—
Took them wrong. And then when her brain caught up and she realized what she'd done, it hurt.
Sorcha swallowed. “I told you about my mother's lilies, right? The ones they riped out for Lady Patricia's rosebushes? It was them. They're called hurricane lilies, because they only bloom when the season is late, and after a lot of rain." She snorted softly.
“Lady Patricia said they were death flowers, and unlucky to have in a palace garden." She shrugged; maybe there was something to that, all things considered, but Sorcha had always liked them. Besides... she didn't really believe that things were bad luck. Maybe she was too empirical; it was something Lady Cornelia called her sometimes—empirical. She said it made her a good engineer, and there was a little touch of pride in her voice when she did. Sorcha had always been happy about that.
“I've never really seen them growing anywhere else. I don't even know where they're from. Or maybe I knew, but I forgot. I've forgotten a lot of things." She knew he knew that, of course. She managed to forget him, too, at least mostly. She felt a stab of guilt, and winced, turning her eyes back to the trail in front of them.
Mercer huffed lightly. “I guess she didn't know much about flowers, then," he spoke, shaking his head lightly. “They're actually known as the flower of the heavens, and were generally viewed as good luck, but..." he paused to shrug his shoulders, “I guess like everything else, the meaning got lost and people were so quick to associate it with death and bad luck." His eyes narrowed slightly, but he shook his head as if freeing it from some thought he had.
“I suppose this was meant to be a surprise, but now is a good as time as any. I asked the greenhouse lady to clear a spot for some, and the bulbs have already been planted. They should be blooming soon, considering they were planted a month or so ago. I can't really remember," he spoke in a nonchalant sort of way, but there was something in his voice, something sincere and affectionate almost. Like he'd done it specifically for her.
“You—but—" Sorcha swallowed, eyes widening. “How? How did you know it was that type of lily? I never said—" Those flowers weren't common in the Kingdom at all, due perhaps to their association with funerals. It wouldn't have been her first guess if someone said 'lilies,' and they were literally her favorites.
“That's my little secret," he stated, winking at her. “They're actually native to just the north of the Alliance, growing right on the border of Almyra and Fódlan," he spoke his grin smoothing out slightly. “It rains almost constantly in that area of the region, so they're quite common. It was easy enough to get seeds from a merchant in that territory," he continued as he chanced a glance in her direction.
“I thought you could use a little surprise after everything, so... well, I," he pursed his lips together before clearing his throat from something that seemed to get lodged there. He seemed a little embarrassed by it, now, and turned his attention away from her.
She couldn't make herself stop looking at him, though; her eyes were wide, and she sort of forgot to mind the mind the trail at all.
This ordinarily wouldn't have been a problem for a couple moments, but in the dark her horse stepped wrong and suddenly lurched. Sorcha nearly fell out of the saddle, leaping lightly off just in time to avoid taking a tumble onto her face. “Damn—Olivia?"
Olivia, as the horse had been named, seemed to have stepped into a dip in the ground and skidded somewhat. She was docile, though, and allowed Sorcha to approach. Doing so, she peered down at the foot in question and winced. There was a gash there—it looked like she'd caught part of her foot on a stone. It wouldn't be anything life-threatening, but she needed a healer.
The horses at Garreg Mach were trained to return to their stables when directed—like pegasi and wyverns, they were quite smart. Not quite as smart as Lady or Sir, but enough to follow a handful of directions. “I don't like our chances of finding the others any time soon,", Sorcha said, applying her own exceedingly basic healing magic to at least numb the pain. “Probably best for her to head back, right?" She didn't want to keep riding her, obviously. Not with an injured foot.
“Sounds like a good call," Mercer replied, slipping off of his own horse and holding the reins in his hands. He guided the horse towards Sorcha and Olivia, pausing only to glance at the horse's foot. “We can share Buttercup, if you want, or you can take her and I can walk," he stated, offering Sorcha the reins to his own horse. “I don't mind either way, but it's best we send Olivia back to the monastery to get looked after before her foot gets too bad."
“Of course I'm not going to make you walk," she said, furrowing her brows. Pausing the thought a moment, she turned to the horse. “Olivia. Home." The horse took only a moment before turning and trotting back in the direction they'd come. That was a good sign—the injury was likely very superficial.
Of course, this did leave her in something of a predicament. Sorcha would have walked, but she knew, somehow, that Mercer wasn't about to allow that. So, that left one option. “Would you prefer to ride in front or behind?" she asked, trying to keep any suggestion of particular feeling out of the words. This was just... practical. She could be practical.
Mercer snorted softly, and grinned in Sorcha's direction. “Well, I'm always up for something new. I'll take the back," he replied, his grin turning into something more mischievous, but he stepped in closer towards Sorcha, and leaned a bit near her face. “Unless you'd rather me take the front. Which one would you be more comfortable with, hm? I hear it's pleasant either way you go," he stated, staring directly at her.
Sorcha was pretty sure she forgot how to breathe. It had less to do with what he was saying—which, while she got the general gist that it was a dirty joke she couldn't really pay much attention to—and more to do with how close to her he was. She wasn't sure if she could actually feel his breath on her cheek or if that was her imagination, or maybe a breeze, but...
She swallowed. “Y—you. I—um. I don't—I'll ride in front." She swung quickly up into the saddle, choosing without thinking about it because she needed to do something to stop stammering. Wordlessly, she offered him a hand down to help brace him, taking her foot out of the stirrup so he could use it if he wanted.
Mercer chuckled as she mounted, taking her hand, but instead of using it to pull himself up, he twisted her hand and placed a chaste kiss to the back of it. “Thanks," he spoke as he pulled himself up behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, though, instead of grabbing onto the reins, and leaned his head into the crook of her neck. “Wake me when we get out, alright?" he spoke directly into her ear, but leaned back after, loosening his hold on her waist, but keeping his hands there.
Sorcha shuddered at the breath gusting over her ear, all but certain she was about to implode. Something in her stomach was turning over and over, spreading up into her chest like a furious climbing plant intent on strangling her heart. “W-what? You can't sleep; you'll fall!" She didn't raise her voice much above a whisper, but there was a small note of panic in it, though the exact reason she was panicking wasn't clear even to her.
“Hm, no I won't. I have my knight in shining armor to keep me safe," he replied smoothly, tightening his hold on her waist a bit as if to get comfortable. His head was laying on her back, now, but from the shake of his shoulders, it was easy to tell he was doing a poor job of suppressing a laugh. “And I promise I'm actually not falling asleep. I don't want to miss the beauty of this place, and..." he paused, and didn't continue. Instead, Sorcha could feel him expel a breath before taking his head from her back.
“We have samples to collect, remember?" the teasing note in his voice had disappeared and he seemed to be back to the normal Mercer.
Normal or not, Sorcha was struggling. He was so close, closer than probably all but a few people in her life ever had been, sitting behind her like that. And she swore she was burning where his hands were, even through the tunic. She almost felt... colder, when he lifted his head away.
Before she could do anything as ridiculous as say it was okay to put it back, she cleared her throat. He'd mentioned the scenery; she found she could only just now look at it, really. It was nice, she supposed; the moon and stars gilded the leaves and grass in soft silver. The horse's coat, too; everything around them was bathed in soft radiance.
It might have been a nightmare trying to ignore Mercer's presence behind her, but at least this way she didn't have to know how it made him look, even if part of her absurdly regretted that. “Any—um. Anything you want to collect in particular?"
“Hm," he hummed in a thoughtful tone. He remained quiet as they moved along the trail. “Not really. I'm almost certain that we aren't really required to bring anything back. If you wanted to collect something, though..." he trailed off, as if he were thinking. “What if we grabbed one of the geodes near the stream?" he stated, pulling one of his arms free and pointed in the direction of where there was, indeed, a small stream lined with rocks.
“I hear there might be a few of them that contain uncommon minerals. Maybe we could even get the blacksmith to fashion an arrow head with it, too," he continued. “Of course, it'd be more for show than use."
“Geode?" Sorcha had vaguely heard the term in books, but never seen one. “That's... some kind of shiny rock, right?" She pointed Buttercup towards the creek, pulling her up a little short of the water and waiting for Mercer to dismount before she did the same. She could see a lot of rocks, but none that looked too glittery.
“Are you sure those are here?"
Mercer grinned at her. “See, now that's the problem with most people," he spoke, making his way towards the creek, and stopping to glance down. “People expect geodes to automatically be glittery and pretty, however; they look like plain rocks sometimes. It's what makes them so unique because you actually have to get them open before you can appreciate the beauty inside." He was looking at Sorcha rather intently when he spoke before he continued, “It's much like people; you'd pass right over it because it looked so plain." He picked up what looked like a normal grey rock and showed it to her.
“This is a geode. You see how there is some grey to it, and this gold-like color mixed in? It's one way you can tell it's a geode. There are other ways, of course, with the most obvious being when it's cracked."
Sorcha huffed softly, examining the rock in Mercer's hands. “So it's like when someone's not much to look at but they have a really beautiful heart?" she asked. She could sort of understand that; there were plenty of people with wonderful personalities out there who were overlooked for all kinds of reasons that didn't matter.
A memory flashed in her mind, of a plump boy with a slightly sour expression and simple garb compared to the others around him. It was sort of moot in his case, since Sorcha thought he was—
She immediately diverted her train of thought. “Can I see the inside?"
“Something like that," he replied, his shoulders slumping slightly as if she had somehow didn't understand what he was saying. “And sure, you can. Give me a second to see if I can open it without shattering it. I don't have my blade with me, and I'm not as strong as I look to break it with my bare hands," he spoke, grinning at her. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and wrapped the geode in it, delicately. Once he was finished, he glanced around as if looking for something. He seemed to find it as he made his way a little further down. He had picked up a larger rock, and made his way back towards Sorcha.
“Alright, this will have to do," he stated as he placed the geode on the floor, and kneeled. He began hitting the rock against the geode softly at first as if he were testing his strength before giving it a good whack. His eyes widened slightly as he picked up the geode and unwrapped it. “Huh, well that's something. It almost looks like the color of your eyes," he stated, showing her the broken geode. It wasn't quite cracked in half, but she could still see what was inside from the part that was broken off.
It was a deep blue on the inside, like a clear ocean that sparkled beneath a midmorning sun. “I guess this was meant to be yours," Mercer spoke as he handed it to Sorcha.
Sorcha accepted it readily, but an expression of discontent crossed her face. “But—" she grimaced, exhaling softly. “That doesn't make any sense. You're the one who found it, and did the work. It should be yours."
Knowing he was unlikely to accept that reasoning but somehow wanting him to have it, she tried something different. “Besides... I already took one stone from you, and look at how that worked out. Maybe if... maybe if you take this one from me, things will balance out." Sorcha didn't believe in luck. Except... except she believed, somehow, that the gem she even now wore around her neck was lucky. That it had somehow given her strength when she needed it most.
“B-besides. Mine's the color of your eyes, so it only makes sense." It didn't, really, but she was trying her best to be convincing, regarding Mercer with an earnest, wide-eyed expression and holding the geode back towards him.
The smile that crossed his face was, perhaps, the truest one Sorcha had ever seen. It was gentled, but there was also something else there. Something in the way his eyes gleamed with some emotion, affection, maybe, but he took the geode anyway.
“If that's how you feel, then that's a fair swap. I'll have something of you, and you'll have something of me. Deal," he stated as he nodded his head. “So... are you saying you want to marry me and this is your engagement stone to me?" he was clearly teasing her, now.
“No!" Sorcha snatched her hands back, smoothing down her trousers entirely unnecessarily. “It's just... a good luck charm. To protect you." Face hot, she pressed a hand to her sternum. She'd always worn the stone under her clothes; since finding out what it was and being warned to keep it hidden, she'd only been more diligent about this. “That's what this one is, after all." Her tone came out softer than she meant it to; she immediately dropped the hand and looked away.
“Besides. Faerghus uses rings. If I was trying to marry you, I'd give you one of those."
Mercer's grin spread just a little wider. “You do know that I could have this fashioned into a ring, and then it would count since you gave it to me," he stated, holding the geode up as if to inspect it.
“It would not," she said hotly. “Intent matters legally in Faerghus, so—oh." She realized something belatedly and scowled. “That was a joke. Right. Sorry. You probably knew it anyway." He was, after all, very well-educated, even compared to her, particularly in the areas of culture and politics.
“And what if I wasn't joking? What if I was being completely serious?" he stated, his tone completely serious for once. He was staring intently at her, like he'd found her interesting all of a sudden. He took a step closer to her, but he was still a polite distance away.
He was doing it again. The thing where he was just ambiguous enough that her traitorous heart took everything the wrong way and clenched in her chest. She needed to draw a line here. If she didn't do something, she was going to lose everything she still called her own. It was just all going to be—
No. No, no, no. She was the princess of Faerghus, dammit; she had more grit than this!
“Hypothetically?" she said. She could draw herself a line there. It might have been braver to push, to force him to admit he was just playing with her, but she didn't think she could stand to hear him say it. So, the coward's way it was. At least it kept the status quo instead of losing her even more.
“I'd say you must have taken leave of your senses. You have two countries to look after already, neither of them served by a political marriage to a third one's queen. If I was a duchess or something, that might be one thing. But I'm a Blaiddyd. And as much as they hate me... it's my throne to sit on. As yours are yours. So it wouldn't really make any sense to have said that. Hence, you were obviously joking."
Mercer shook his head, but he smiled. “Hypothetically, if I wasn't joking, I'd give up those positions for you. But yes, clearly I was joking," he stated, but there was something strained in his voice. As if he truly weren't joking. It was in the way he'd smiled; it didn't reach his eyes, but he sighed and pointed towards Buttercup.
“I think we should get going. We've been gone for awhile, the others are probably already waiting for us," he stated, turning around to make his way towards the horse.
The words were a hot knife, right to the chest. The duality somehow made it even worse: that hypothetically if he'd loved her he would have gone that far. And also, of course, that he didn't. That it had all been a joke after all.
“That's cruel," she said, without really meaning to but so softly she was sure he couldn't hear. Pulling in a breath, she managed an empty smile and turned on her heel.
“Good point; let's go."
Well, the rest of what was there.
Not that she knew exactly what that was, exactly. But that was half the problem. So irritation it was, and right now there was plenty to go around.
Horses were nice enough. Sorcha liked all animals, honestly, and often found getting along with them much easier than getting along with people. But riding wasn't flying, and some part of her had always preferred the sky. More importantly, though: Senka had done this on purpose, because she was a busybody who thought she knew best. Sorcha didn't usually much mind; but of late this coupled with her friend's growing comfort around others had been producing embarrassing situations. Not that she'd ever resent the growth in Sen, of course, but...
Why did she have to do this? Sorcha spent a lot of time trying to not think about being alone with Mercer, and now...
Now her cheeks were reddening because she was and it made her dumb and stuttery and she hated this useless version of herself so much.
Mercer wasn't too far behind her, electing to take a slower pace than Sorcha was, perhaps to enjoy the scenery. His head would turn ever so slightly in a direction, almost like he was truly curious with what was around them. His eyes landed on her, though, after a few moments of silence, and he smiled at her. It wasn't his grin, either, but it wasn't quite the same soft smile he'd given her the other day.
“Sor," he whined, nudging his horse so that he was beside Sorcha. “Sor, why are you ignoring me?" he continued whining, pursing his lips at her and almost pouting at the same time.
She tried to keep doing it. Truly she did. But her guilt wouldn't allow it. Or maybe it was some combination of that and the fact that she really wasn't very good at ignoring him in particular. Some part of her, perhaps, would always want to talk to him, always want to hear what he had to say and laugh when he said intentionally-dumb things and maybe sometimes make him really smi—
“You know perfectly well why I'm ignoring you," she replied primly, shooting him a narrow look from the corner of her eye. She had not in fact given the name of her favorite flowers to him, though he had all the information he needed to figure it out already, actually. She'd been beyond embarrassed, though, both at how childishly-easy she was to tickle and how not nearly all of the redness to her face had been from involuntary laughter.
Because in order to tickle her, he'd had to touch her, and Sorcha wasn't sure she could handle that again without a lot more fortitude than she currently had.
He smiled, then, though it looked more like he was trying to keep himself from laughing. “Well, if I'd known that a certain someone would stop talking to me because they were ticklish, well..." he trailed off, glancing in front of him for a moment before turning his attention back to her. “I suppose it was worth it. I got you to laugh, after all," he seemed rather pleased with himself at that statement if the smug smirk on his face was anything to go by. It smoothed out, though, as he shook his head.
“Besides, I like hearing you laugh. Makes me feel like I accomplished something good, you know?" he stated, glancing at her from the corner of his eye before shrugging. “Plus, I really would like to know your favorite things. We're friends, somewhat engaged, and I feel like that's something friends are supposed to know about each other, right?"
She flushed harder, glad of the fact that it was dark out. The thing about Mercer was, he said things that could be and were friendly, but her heart always—
Took them wrong. And then when her brain caught up and she realized what she'd done, it hurt.
Sorcha swallowed. “I told you about my mother's lilies, right? The ones they riped out for Lady Patricia's rosebushes? It was them. They're called hurricane lilies, because they only bloom when the season is late, and after a lot of rain." She snorted softly.
“Lady Patricia said they were death flowers, and unlucky to have in a palace garden." She shrugged; maybe there was something to that, all things considered, but Sorcha had always liked them. Besides... she didn't really believe that things were bad luck. Maybe she was too empirical; it was something Lady Cornelia called her sometimes—empirical. She said it made her a good engineer, and there was a little touch of pride in her voice when she did. Sorcha had always been happy about that.
“I've never really seen them growing anywhere else. I don't even know where they're from. Or maybe I knew, but I forgot. I've forgotten a lot of things." She knew he knew that, of course. She managed to forget him, too, at least mostly. She felt a stab of guilt, and winced, turning her eyes back to the trail in front of them.
Mercer huffed lightly. “I guess she didn't know much about flowers, then," he spoke, shaking his head lightly. “They're actually known as the flower of the heavens, and were generally viewed as good luck, but..." he paused to shrug his shoulders, “I guess like everything else, the meaning got lost and people were so quick to associate it with death and bad luck." His eyes narrowed slightly, but he shook his head as if freeing it from some thought he had.
“I suppose this was meant to be a surprise, but now is a good as time as any. I asked the greenhouse lady to clear a spot for some, and the bulbs have already been planted. They should be blooming soon, considering they were planted a month or so ago. I can't really remember," he spoke in a nonchalant sort of way, but there was something in his voice, something sincere and affectionate almost. Like he'd done it specifically for her.
“You—but—" Sorcha swallowed, eyes widening. “How? How did you know it was that type of lily? I never said—" Those flowers weren't common in the Kingdom at all, due perhaps to their association with funerals. It wouldn't have been her first guess if someone said 'lilies,' and they were literally her favorites.
“That's my little secret," he stated, winking at her. “They're actually native to just the north of the Alliance, growing right on the border of Almyra and Fódlan," he spoke his grin smoothing out slightly. “It rains almost constantly in that area of the region, so they're quite common. It was easy enough to get seeds from a merchant in that territory," he continued as he chanced a glance in her direction.
“I thought you could use a little surprise after everything, so... well, I," he pursed his lips together before clearing his throat from something that seemed to get lodged there. He seemed a little embarrassed by it, now, and turned his attention away from her.
She couldn't make herself stop looking at him, though; her eyes were wide, and she sort of forgot to mind the mind the trail at all.
This ordinarily wouldn't have been a problem for a couple moments, but in the dark her horse stepped wrong and suddenly lurched. Sorcha nearly fell out of the saddle, leaping lightly off just in time to avoid taking a tumble onto her face. “Damn—Olivia?"
Olivia, as the horse had been named, seemed to have stepped into a dip in the ground and skidded somewhat. She was docile, though, and allowed Sorcha to approach. Doing so, she peered down at the foot in question and winced. There was a gash there—it looked like she'd caught part of her foot on a stone. It wouldn't be anything life-threatening, but she needed a healer.
The horses at Garreg Mach were trained to return to their stables when directed—like pegasi and wyverns, they were quite smart. Not quite as smart as Lady or Sir, but enough to follow a handful of directions. “I don't like our chances of finding the others any time soon,", Sorcha said, applying her own exceedingly basic healing magic to at least numb the pain. “Probably best for her to head back, right?" She didn't want to keep riding her, obviously. Not with an injured foot.
“Sounds like a good call," Mercer replied, slipping off of his own horse and holding the reins in his hands. He guided the horse towards Sorcha and Olivia, pausing only to glance at the horse's foot. “We can share Buttercup, if you want, or you can take her and I can walk," he stated, offering Sorcha the reins to his own horse. “I don't mind either way, but it's best we send Olivia back to the monastery to get looked after before her foot gets too bad."
“Of course I'm not going to make you walk," she said, furrowing her brows. Pausing the thought a moment, she turned to the horse. “Olivia. Home." The horse took only a moment before turning and trotting back in the direction they'd come. That was a good sign—the injury was likely very superficial.
Of course, this did leave her in something of a predicament. Sorcha would have walked, but she knew, somehow, that Mercer wasn't about to allow that. So, that left one option. “Would you prefer to ride in front or behind?" she asked, trying to keep any suggestion of particular feeling out of the words. This was just... practical. She could be practical.
Mercer snorted softly, and grinned in Sorcha's direction. “Well, I'm always up for something new. I'll take the back," he replied, his grin turning into something more mischievous, but he stepped in closer towards Sorcha, and leaned a bit near her face. “Unless you'd rather me take the front. Which one would you be more comfortable with, hm? I hear it's pleasant either way you go," he stated, staring directly at her.
Sorcha was pretty sure she forgot how to breathe. It had less to do with what he was saying—which, while she got the general gist that it was a dirty joke she couldn't really pay much attention to—and more to do with how close to her he was. She wasn't sure if she could actually feel his breath on her cheek or if that was her imagination, or maybe a breeze, but...
She swallowed. “Y—you. I—um. I don't—I'll ride in front." She swung quickly up into the saddle, choosing without thinking about it because she needed to do something to stop stammering. Wordlessly, she offered him a hand down to help brace him, taking her foot out of the stirrup so he could use it if he wanted.
Mercer chuckled as she mounted, taking her hand, but instead of using it to pull himself up, he twisted her hand and placed a chaste kiss to the back of it. “Thanks," he spoke as he pulled himself up behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, though, instead of grabbing onto the reins, and leaned his head into the crook of her neck. “Wake me when we get out, alright?" he spoke directly into her ear, but leaned back after, loosening his hold on her waist, but keeping his hands there.
Sorcha shuddered at the breath gusting over her ear, all but certain she was about to implode. Something in her stomach was turning over and over, spreading up into her chest like a furious climbing plant intent on strangling her heart. “W-what? You can't sleep; you'll fall!" She didn't raise her voice much above a whisper, but there was a small note of panic in it, though the exact reason she was panicking wasn't clear even to her.
“Hm, no I won't. I have my knight in shining armor to keep me safe," he replied smoothly, tightening his hold on her waist a bit as if to get comfortable. His head was laying on her back, now, but from the shake of his shoulders, it was easy to tell he was doing a poor job of suppressing a laugh. “And I promise I'm actually not falling asleep. I don't want to miss the beauty of this place, and..." he paused, and didn't continue. Instead, Sorcha could feel him expel a breath before taking his head from her back.
“We have samples to collect, remember?" the teasing note in his voice had disappeared and he seemed to be back to the normal Mercer.
Normal or not, Sorcha was struggling. He was so close, closer than probably all but a few people in her life ever had been, sitting behind her like that. And she swore she was burning where his hands were, even through the tunic. She almost felt... colder, when he lifted his head away.
Before she could do anything as ridiculous as say it was okay to put it back, she cleared her throat. He'd mentioned the scenery; she found she could only just now look at it, really. It was nice, she supposed; the moon and stars gilded the leaves and grass in soft silver. The horse's coat, too; everything around them was bathed in soft radiance.
It might have been a nightmare trying to ignore Mercer's presence behind her, but at least this way she didn't have to know how it made him look, even if part of her absurdly regretted that. “Any—um. Anything you want to collect in particular?"
“Hm," he hummed in a thoughtful tone. He remained quiet as they moved along the trail. “Not really. I'm almost certain that we aren't really required to bring anything back. If you wanted to collect something, though..." he trailed off, as if he were thinking. “What if we grabbed one of the geodes near the stream?" he stated, pulling one of his arms free and pointed in the direction of where there was, indeed, a small stream lined with rocks.
“I hear there might be a few of them that contain uncommon minerals. Maybe we could even get the blacksmith to fashion an arrow head with it, too," he continued. “Of course, it'd be more for show than use."
“Geode?" Sorcha had vaguely heard the term in books, but never seen one. “That's... some kind of shiny rock, right?" She pointed Buttercup towards the creek, pulling her up a little short of the water and waiting for Mercer to dismount before she did the same. She could see a lot of rocks, but none that looked too glittery.
“Are you sure those are here?"
Mercer grinned at her. “See, now that's the problem with most people," he spoke, making his way towards the creek, and stopping to glance down. “People expect geodes to automatically be glittery and pretty, however; they look like plain rocks sometimes. It's what makes them so unique because you actually have to get them open before you can appreciate the beauty inside." He was looking at Sorcha rather intently when he spoke before he continued, “It's much like people; you'd pass right over it because it looked so plain." He picked up what looked like a normal grey rock and showed it to her.
“This is a geode. You see how there is some grey to it, and this gold-like color mixed in? It's one way you can tell it's a geode. There are other ways, of course, with the most obvious being when it's cracked."
Sorcha huffed softly, examining the rock in Mercer's hands. “So it's like when someone's not much to look at but they have a really beautiful heart?" she asked. She could sort of understand that; there were plenty of people with wonderful personalities out there who were overlooked for all kinds of reasons that didn't matter.
A memory flashed in her mind, of a plump boy with a slightly sour expression and simple garb compared to the others around him. It was sort of moot in his case, since Sorcha thought he was—
She immediately diverted her train of thought. “Can I see the inside?"
“Something like that," he replied, his shoulders slumping slightly as if she had somehow didn't understand what he was saying. “And sure, you can. Give me a second to see if I can open it without shattering it. I don't have my blade with me, and I'm not as strong as I look to break it with my bare hands," he spoke, grinning at her. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and wrapped the geode in it, delicately. Once he was finished, he glanced around as if looking for something. He seemed to find it as he made his way a little further down. He had picked up a larger rock, and made his way back towards Sorcha.
“Alright, this will have to do," he stated as he placed the geode on the floor, and kneeled. He began hitting the rock against the geode softly at first as if he were testing his strength before giving it a good whack. His eyes widened slightly as he picked up the geode and unwrapped it. “Huh, well that's something. It almost looks like the color of your eyes," he stated, showing her the broken geode. It wasn't quite cracked in half, but she could still see what was inside from the part that was broken off.
It was a deep blue on the inside, like a clear ocean that sparkled beneath a midmorning sun. “I guess this was meant to be yours," Mercer spoke as he handed it to Sorcha.
Sorcha accepted it readily, but an expression of discontent crossed her face. “But—" she grimaced, exhaling softly. “That doesn't make any sense. You're the one who found it, and did the work. It should be yours."
Knowing he was unlikely to accept that reasoning but somehow wanting him to have it, she tried something different. “Besides... I already took one stone from you, and look at how that worked out. Maybe if... maybe if you take this one from me, things will balance out." Sorcha didn't believe in luck. Except... except she believed, somehow, that the gem she even now wore around her neck was lucky. That it had somehow given her strength when she needed it most.
“B-besides. Mine's the color of your eyes, so it only makes sense." It didn't, really, but she was trying her best to be convincing, regarding Mercer with an earnest, wide-eyed expression and holding the geode back towards him.
The smile that crossed his face was, perhaps, the truest one Sorcha had ever seen. It was gentled, but there was also something else there. Something in the way his eyes gleamed with some emotion, affection, maybe, but he took the geode anyway.
“If that's how you feel, then that's a fair swap. I'll have something of you, and you'll have something of me. Deal," he stated as he nodded his head. “So... are you saying you want to marry me and this is your engagement stone to me?" he was clearly teasing her, now.
“No!" Sorcha snatched her hands back, smoothing down her trousers entirely unnecessarily. “It's just... a good luck charm. To protect you." Face hot, she pressed a hand to her sternum. She'd always worn the stone under her clothes; since finding out what it was and being warned to keep it hidden, she'd only been more diligent about this. “That's what this one is, after all." Her tone came out softer than she meant it to; she immediately dropped the hand and looked away.
“Besides. Faerghus uses rings. If I was trying to marry you, I'd give you one of those."
Mercer's grin spread just a little wider. “You do know that I could have this fashioned into a ring, and then it would count since you gave it to me," he stated, holding the geode up as if to inspect it.
“It would not," she said hotly. “Intent matters legally in Faerghus, so—oh." She realized something belatedly and scowled. “That was a joke. Right. Sorry. You probably knew it anyway." He was, after all, very well-educated, even compared to her, particularly in the areas of culture and politics.
“And what if I wasn't joking? What if I was being completely serious?" he stated, his tone completely serious for once. He was staring intently at her, like he'd found her interesting all of a sudden. He took a step closer to her, but he was still a polite distance away.
He was doing it again. The thing where he was just ambiguous enough that her traitorous heart took everything the wrong way and clenched in her chest. She needed to draw a line here. If she didn't do something, she was going to lose everything she still called her own. It was just all going to be—
No. No, no, no. She was the princess of Faerghus, dammit; she had more grit than this!
“Hypothetically?" she said. She could draw herself a line there. It might have been braver to push, to force him to admit he was just playing with her, but she didn't think she could stand to hear him say it. So, the coward's way it was. At least it kept the status quo instead of losing her even more.
“I'd say you must have taken leave of your senses. You have two countries to look after already, neither of them served by a political marriage to a third one's queen. If I was a duchess or something, that might be one thing. But I'm a Blaiddyd. And as much as they hate me... it's my throne to sit on. As yours are yours. So it wouldn't really make any sense to have said that. Hence, you were obviously joking."
Mercer shook his head, but he smiled. “Hypothetically, if I wasn't joking, I'd give up those positions for you. But yes, clearly I was joking," he stated, but there was something strained in his voice. As if he truly weren't joking. It was in the way he'd smiled; it didn't reach his eyes, but he sighed and pointed towards Buttercup.
“I think we should get going. We've been gone for awhile, the others are probably already waiting for us," he stated, turning around to make his way towards the horse.
The words were a hot knife, right to the chest. The duality somehow made it even worse: that hypothetically if he'd loved her he would have gone that far. And also, of course, that he didn't. That it had all been a joke after all.
“That's cruel," she said, without really meaning to but so softly she was sure he couldn't hear. Pulling in a breath, she managed an empty smile and turned on her heel.
“Good point; let's go."