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Description
Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Arrow after arrow buries into the straw practice dummy, making it jerk with each blow. You mechanically reach over your shoulder into your quiver, nocking an arrow with movements so automatic you don't even register doing them. Your body is taut with outrage as you loose another arrow, hitting the crude man-shaped effigy straight in the center. Your fingers are aching, legs and back straining with the effort of standing in one place for so long, but you reach for another arrow, seething with indignation. How dare he? How dare he?

The image of the stoic swordsman’s face flickers in your mind's eyes- his own eyes cool and remote as he turned to you, his expression seeming to size you up, judge you and find you sorely lacking.

The truth was, there was a certain amount of intrigue Feroxi swordsman- the stoic man who was Basilio's personal champion, renowned for his swordsmanship, yet he possessed a strange aversion to women- even being near one seemed to rob him of his ability to speak with tripping over his tongue. Tales of both his prowess with a blade and peculiar gynophobia had spread to nearly every corner of Chrom's camp, yet Lon'qu remained something of an enigma.

You let loose another arrow, which strikes the straw doll in the head. You're beginning to lose track of how long you've been out here, but so long as the dull burn of shame still courses through your veins like boiling water, you have no intention of returning to camp.

"Who does he think he is, anyway?" You hiss, to nobody in particular, narrowing your eyes as the memory of earlier, still raw, uncontrollably floats up to the surface of your mind.

The arrow spun as it flew, travelling at incredible speeds before burrowing into the Risen's chest, knocking back the snarling creature. It hissed as it dissipated into a bruise-purple mist, clothes and all. You watch it fade with a grin of satisfaction, pleased at being able to take it out with one shot. Initially, the Risen horrified you- snarling beasts in the decaying bodies of men, hissing and snarling like animals, complete with a pair of glowing crimson eyes. Those eyes seemed to bore into your mind- you saw them when you closed your eyes to go to bed, unblinking, unnatural. But the more Risen you killed, the easier it got to ignore how freakish they looked. In fact, you began to take a kind of perverse joy out of killing them, if only because, in your mind, you were only sending them back to the abyss where they belonged.

However, your adrenalin boost as you watched the Risen fade away soon soured into panic when you heard a very unwelcome sound; the guttural growl of its surviving comrade. Now, you aren’t sure if Risen are capable of forming attachments- sometimes, you'd heard them almost speak, and they don't seem to have problems wielding any manner of weapon you care to name, but you did know this- as the Risen charged towards you, at alarming speeds, it was pissed off.

It came upon you so fast, you didn't have time to raise your bow before it leapt into the air to finish the job, axe raised high over its head, burning eyes scorching your own as you stared, pointlessly raising your bow in a last-ditch attempt to try and save yourself-

"Get back!"

You didn't even see him coming, but there he was- Lon'qu, distant no more, stood beside you, parrying the blow meant for you, his teeth gritting as he bore the force behind the axe's swing. The next thing, he was charging forwards, chopping down the Risen with an almost graceful ease. You could only stand and watch as it fell, body vanishing and leaving Lon'qu standing there, backlit by the afternoon sun, swiping off his blade. Truly, it was a sight to behold, even if moments ago that axe could have possibly ended up buried in your crown.

Across the village, you could see that the stragglers were fighting a losing battle- Chrom and a couple of the others had the last one cornered, presumably their Leader. You turned to Lon'qu, who was walking towards the others down the hill.

"Hey, thanks for that, earlier. I have no idea where that last guy even came from."

You laughed a little, more to fill the silence than out of any actual humour. Lon'qu finally turned to look at you, and you blinked at the expression on his face, anger mixed in with another emotion that was hard to identify- almost anguish, but why-?

“Your carelessness could have been the death of you!” he snaps, and you can only gape at him. “Someone who has so little regard for their own life has no place in this army. Don’t let that weakness drag others down, woman.”

He spat the last word as though describing vermin, the vitriol of it leaving you spluttering with indignation, moisture pricking in your eyes as Lon’qu turned away, as if unable to look at you for a second longer.

And you just stood there, unable to think of anything to say back, except for the feeble mutter, carries away on the wind.

“…I’m not weak…”

~

"Bastard..."

As the old indignation spread through you, like blood oozing through a picked scab, your hands shook a little as you drew back another arrow, and the next thing you knew, your arrow went soaring past the straw man, shooting into the woods behind the training area and out of sight.

"Damn it!" you shout, wanting to fling away your bow in frustration.

Instead, you compromise on violently kicking the fence as you stalk towards the woods, your foot making a rather satisfying noise as it connects with the wood. Leaves and branches crunch beneath your boots as you stomp through the forest, irritably swatting low-hanging branches out of the way, ducking so they don't fly back and smack you right in the face. Normally, you might be more appreciative of the serene ambiance of the woods, but your mood is too black to consider anything else. All you can think of is Lon'qu's face as he glared down at you, a never ending cycle that merely serves to perpetuate your impotent outrage and stinging shame. It's hard to explain- even to yourself- why you care so much. It's hardly the first piece of criticism you've ever received- your impulsive nature tends to cause certain problems, you can admit that. But still, it's hardly like you're the only person in the camp who tends to act before thinking, and...

...And it was the first time you had spoken to Lon'qu, and though he has a reputation for being a rather grumpy, lone-wolf individual, you've never heard him sound that angry at someone before. Of course, it just figures that it was you who set him off. Now, you actively dread coming face to face with him again- after what he said, it's clear he thinks of you as weak, unworthy being here. In other words, a burden.

Your expression did not exactly brighten, but it became marginally less surly as you suddenly spotted your errant arrow, sticking incongruously out of the trunk of a huge oak tree, the ivy wrapped snugly around it giving it an almost storybook quality. You approached, planting a foot on the trunk as you reached forwards to yank the arrow out; when a snapping branch behind you alerted you to the fact you weren't alone.

"What are you doing out here?" You snap at Lon'qu, who is looking in every possible direction but yours.

"I...wanted to talk," Lon'qu says, through gritted teeth as he takes a step closer.

You snort derisively and keep your back to him as you concentrate on prying out the stubborn arrow. Lon'qu sighs. He was expecting a reaction like this, but that doesn't make him any more equipped to dealing with it. Interacting with women was hard enough for him on a good day, let alone trying to speak with an angry one. Still, when he had heard that you had not returned to camp after the battle, even though it had been a long trek and you must have been just as tired as everyone else, yet something compelled you to stay away. Lon'qu was well used to unintentionally causing offence, but this was something beyond that. This had hurt you, and despite some joking warnings that he should steer well clear of you while you had a bow in your hands, he had steeled himself to speak with you.

"Well?" you prompted, harshly, and a lesser man might have flinched at the acidic sting in your tone.

Lon'qu swallowed, fingers clenching and unclenching as he struggled to find the correct words. Why did talking to women have to be so difficult?! But he was aware that, since joining forces with the Ylissean prince, he would have to get used to interacting with women on a far more frequent basis, and inevitably, it would not always be easy. He sighs.

"I...it wasn't my intention to insult you. When I'm around women, it is...difficult for me."

This catches your attention. Giving the arrow a swift yank, it finally comes loose from the branch, and you stagger back with a tiny grunt. Twirling the arrow between your sore fingers, you turn to face Lon'qu, noting his face had gone somewhat red and he was sweating as though in the midst of a heatstroke.

"Difficult?" you echo, frowning.

You cast your mind back, absorbing this new information with a tilt of your head. In fact, now you think on it, the majority of the time spent watching Lon'qu from a distance, he had either been by himself or training with someone, and nine times out of ten, they had been male. There was even a rumour that Maribelle had once caused him to faint when she grabbed his arm, though you had dismissed it at the time as being something Vaike had made up. Suddenly, his anger at you made sense, though that still doesn't quite abate the bruising your ego took.

"A little rich for you to tell me I shouldn't fight when you have a vendetta against women, isn't it?" you say instead, pointing at him.

"I do not have a vendetta against women," Lon'qu counters, rubbing the back of his neck and gazing at the ground in frustration. "If I am near a woman...I fear an ill fate will befall them, but in battle, I am capable of overcoming it. But when I saw the Risen...and you...it brought back memories that return to me in my nightmares, of a girl I once knew getting killed and me unable to prevent it."

His voice shakes for a moment, fists clenched at his sides, head bowed. You stare at Lon'qu, as if seeing him for the first time. Pain, raw and real, is etched across his face, as though any moment he may just collapse under the weight of it all. Both guilt and pity bloom in your chest, like ink spreading across wet paper. You take a step towards him.

"Lon'qu, I'm...so sorry. I didn't know."

Lon'qu shakes his head.

"No, you don't have to apologise. You had no way of knowing my shame and it...was wrong of me to take it out on you."

And somehow, it seemed as though these were the magic words- the anger that had been burning its way through your veins seemed to evaporate at this heartfelt confession. He did not think you weak- he thought of himself as not strong enough. It explained so much, why he insists on remaining aloof from the rest of the pack, why he spends almost all his free time training, why he can’t stand to be near a female. He was haunted by the ghosts of the past, as real to him now as they were long ago. You open your mouth to say something, when something glimmers in your peripheral vision.

“Lon’qu!” you shout.

Before you can stop to think about what you’re doing, you throw yourself forwards, shoving a surprised Lon’qu to the floor, almost knocking the breath out of him. You both hit the ground with a resounding thud, his arms automatically wrapping around you as both of you promptly getting showered with leaves as the impact shakes a nearby sapling. Over your heads, a spear flies above, landing with a crash into the leafy undergrowth as it completely misses its intended target. Lon’qu springs to his feet, his face such a bright red that for a moment you fear that he might keel over, but he races forwards, eyes glinting.

“I’ll make this quick,” He promises, his voice devoid of any empathy or hesitation such an expression might normally warrant.

You surge up to your feet as well, searching frantically for your bow as you hear the gurgled howl of the bandit as Lon’qu lives up to his reputation as Basilio’s champion, dispatching his would-be killer with a feral grace as he plunges his blade into the bandit’s stomach, mouth set in a grim, harsh line as blood splatters his clothing. You look away and instead peer around the forest- it’s unusual for bandits to work alone, any of the man’s ‘friends’ could be lurking nearby, and you refuse to be caught off-guard again. The woods are conspicuously silent, but in a way, it only serves to unnerve you further. Plus, you’re low on arrows.

“Well, I’m going to assume he won’t be getting up again?” you ask Lon’qu in a facetiously bright tone of voice as he stomps back through the copse of trees. He grunts.

“I took care of things,” he says, darkly, glancing at you before averting his gaze again, still blushing even after killing a man. “A-are you hurt?”

“No, you kind of broke my fall,” you say, shaking your head with a little smirk. “Listen, we should get back and report to Chrom…there might be more scumbags hiding out around here.”

Lon’qu nods, and the two of you begin to head back. Without really thinking about it, you fall in stride with him, though he has a rather fast walking pace, before remembering and drawing back.

“Oh, right, the…the personal space thing,” you say, not entirely sure how else to phrase it. “I’ll just walk a bit behind you, okay?”

“That’s…not necessary,” Lon’qu says, as if each word is being forcibly wrenched from him, but he does at least look you in the eye. “If you want…we may walk back together.”

He doesn’t smile, exactly, but he slows down slightly and you give him a glance, recalling the feel of being, just for a second, against his chest and the look in his eyes when he spotted the hiding bandit. And you realise that, you were right in your admiration of the swordsman; while Lon’qu may be haunted by figures from his past, he still has no intention of allowing history to repeat itself, even when it means he must confront his worst fears. So for the aloof swordsman to offer this, there’s really only one thing to say;

“I’d like that, Lon’qu.”

Description
Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Arrow after arrow buries into the straw practice dummy, making it jerk with each blow. You mechanically reach over your shoulder into your quiver, nocking an arrow with movements so automatic you don't even register doing them. Your body is taut with outrage as you loose another arrow, hitting the crude man-shaped effigy straight in the center. Your fingers are aching, legs and back straining with the effort of standing in one place for so long, but you reach for another arrow, seething with indignation. How dare he? How dare he?

The image of the stoic swordsman’s face flickers in your mind's eyes- his own eyes cool and remote as he turned to you, his expression seeming to size you up, judge you and find you sorely lacking.

The truth was, there was a certain amount of intrigue Feroxi swordsman- the stoic man who was Basilio's personal champion, renowned for his swordsmanship, yet he possessed a strange aversion to women- even being near one seemed to rob him of his ability to speak with tripping over his tongue. Tales of both his prowess with a blade and peculiar gynophobia had spread to nearly every corner of Chrom's camp, yet Lon'qu remained something of an enigma.

You let loose another arrow, which strikes the straw doll in the head. You're beginning to lose track of how long you've been out here, but so long as the dull burn of shame still courses through your veins like boiling water, you have no intention of returning to camp.

"Who does he think he is, anyway?" You hiss, to nobody in particular, narrowing your eyes as the memory of earlier, still raw, uncontrollably floats up to the surface of your mind.

The arrow spun as it flew, travelling at incredible speeds before burrowing into the Risen's chest, knocking back the snarling creature. It hissed as it dissipated into a bruise-purple mist, clothes and all. You watch it fade with a grin of satisfaction, pleased at being able to take it out with one shot. Initially, the Risen horrified you- snarling beasts in the decaying bodies of men, hissing and snarling like animals, complete with a pair of glowing crimson eyes. Those eyes seemed to bore into your mind- you saw them when you closed your eyes to go to bed, unblinking, unnatural. But the more Risen you killed, the easier it got to ignore how freakish they looked. In fact, you began to take a kind of perverse joy out of killing them, if only because, in your mind, you were only sending them back to the abyss where they belonged.

However, your adrenalin boost as you watched the Risen fade away soon soured into panic when you heard a very unwelcome sound; the guttural growl of its surviving comrade. Now, you aren’t sure if Risen are capable of forming attachments- sometimes, you'd heard them almost speak, and they don't seem to have problems wielding any manner of weapon you care to name, but you did know this- as the Risen charged towards you, at alarming speeds, it was pissed off.

It came upon you so fast, you didn't have time to raise your bow before it leapt into the air to finish the job, axe raised high over its head, burning eyes scorching your own as you stared, pointlessly raising your bow in a last-ditch attempt to try and save yourself-

"Get back!"

You didn't even see him coming, but there he was- Lon'qu, distant no more, stood beside you, parrying the blow meant for you, his teeth gritting as he bore the force behind the axe's swing. The next thing, he was charging forwards, chopping down the Risen with an almost graceful ease. You could only stand and watch as it fell, body vanishing and leaving Lon'qu standing there, backlit by the afternoon sun, swiping off his blade. Truly, it was a sight to behold, even if moments ago that axe could have possibly ended up buried in your crown.

Across the village, you could see that the stragglers were fighting a losing battle- Chrom and a couple of the others had the last one cornered, presumably their Leader. You turned to Lon'qu, who was walking towards the others down the hill.

"Hey, thanks for that, earlier. I have no idea where that last guy even came from."

You laughed a little, more to fill the silence than out of any actual humour. Lon'qu finally turned to look at you, and you blinked at the expression on his face, anger mixed in with another emotion that was hard to identify- almost anguish, but why-?

“Your carelessness could have been the death of you!” he snaps, and you can only gape at him. “Someone who has so little regard for their own life has no place in this army. Don’t let that weakness drag others down, woman.”

He spat the last word as though describing vermin, the vitriol of it leaving you spluttering with indignation, moisture pricking in your eyes as Lon’qu turned away, as if unable to look at you for a second longer.

And you just stood there, unable to think of anything to say back, except for the feeble mutter, carries away on the wind.

“…I’m not weak…”

~

"Bastard..."

As the old indignation spread through you, like blood oozing through a picked scab, your hands shook a little as you drew back another arrow, and the next thing you knew, your arrow went soaring past the straw man, shooting into the woods behind the training area and out of sight.

"Damn it!" you shout, wanting to fling away your bow in frustration.

Instead, you compromise on violently kicking the fence as you stalk towards the woods, your foot making a rather satisfying noise as it connects with the wood. Leaves and branches crunch beneath your boots as you stomp through the forest, irritably swatting low-hanging branches out of the way, ducking so they don't fly back and smack you right in the face. Normally, you might be more appreciative of the serene ambiance of the woods, but your mood is too black to consider anything else. All you can think of is Lon'qu's face as he glared down at you, a never ending cycle that merely serves to perpetuate your impotent outrage and stinging shame. It's hard to explain- even to yourself- why you care so much. It's hardly the first piece of criticism you've ever received- your impulsive nature tends to cause certain problems, you can admit that. But still, it's hardly like you're the only person in the camp who tends to act before thinking, and...

...And it was the first time you had spoken to Lon'qu, and though he has a reputation for being a rather grumpy, lone-wolf individual, you've never heard him sound that angry at someone before. Of course, it just figures that it was you who set him off. Now, you actively dread coming face to face with him again- after what he said, it's clear he thinks of you as weak, unworthy being here. In other words, a burden.

Your expression did not exactly brighten, but it became marginally less surly as you suddenly spotted your errant arrow, sticking incongruously out of the trunk of a huge oak tree, the ivy wrapped snugly around it giving it an almost storybook quality. You approached, planting a foot on the trunk as you reached forwards to yank the arrow out; when a snapping branch behind you alerted you to the fact you weren't alone.

"What are you doing out here?" You snap at Lon'qu, who is looking in every possible direction but yours.

"I...wanted to talk," Lon'qu says, through gritted teeth as he takes a step closer.

You snort derisively and keep your back to him as you concentrate on prying out the stubborn arrow. Lon'qu sighs. He was expecting a reaction like this, but that doesn't make him any more equipped to dealing with it. Interacting with women was hard enough for him on a good day, let alone trying to speak with an angry one. Still, when he had heard that you had not returned to camp after the battle, even though it had been a long trek and you must have been just as tired as everyone else, yet something compelled you to stay away. Lon'qu was well used to unintentionally causing offence, but this was something beyond that. This had hurt you, and despite some joking warnings that he should steer well clear of you while you had a bow in your hands, he had steeled himself to speak with you.

"Well?" you prompted, harshly, and a lesser man might have flinched at the acidic sting in your tone.

Lon'qu swallowed, fingers clenching and unclenching as he struggled to find the correct words. Why did talking to women have to be so difficult?! But he was aware that, since joining forces with the Ylissean prince, he would have to get used to interacting with women on a far more frequent basis, and inevitably, it would not always be easy. He sighs.

"I...it wasn't my intention to insult you. When I'm around women, it is...difficult for me."

This catches your attention. Giving the arrow a swift yank, it finally comes loose from the branch, and you stagger back with a tiny grunt. Twirling the arrow between your sore fingers, you turn to face Lon'qu, noting his face had gone somewhat red and he was sweating as though in the midst of a heatstroke.

"Difficult?" you echo, frowning.

You cast your mind back, absorbing this new information with a tilt of your head. In fact, now you think on it, the majority of the time spent watching Lon'qu from a distance, he had either been by himself or training with someone, and nine times out of ten, they had been male. There was even a rumour that Maribelle had once caused him to faint when she grabbed his arm, though you had dismissed it at the time as being something Vaike had made up. Suddenly, his anger at you made sense, though that still doesn't quite abate the bruising your ego took.

"A little rich for you to tell me I shouldn't fight when you have a vendetta against women, isn't it?" you say instead, pointing at him.

"I do not have a vendetta against women," Lon'qu counters, rubbing the back of his neck and gazing at the ground in frustration. "If I am near a woman...I fear an ill fate will befall them, but in battle, I am capable of overcoming it. But when I saw the Risen...and you...it brought back memories that return to me in my nightmares, of a girl I once knew getting killed and me unable to prevent it."

His voice shakes for a moment, fists clenched at his sides, head bowed. You stare at Lon'qu, as if seeing him for the first time. Pain, raw and real, is etched across his face, as though any moment he may just collapse under the weight of it all. Both guilt and pity bloom in your chest, like ink spreading across wet paper. You take a step towards him.

"Lon'qu, I'm...so sorry. I didn't know."

Lon'qu shakes his head.

"No, you don't have to apologise. You had no way of knowing my shame and it...was wrong of me to take it out on you."

And somehow, it seemed as though these were the magic words- the anger that had been burning its way through your veins seemed to evaporate at this heartfelt confession. He did not think you weak- he thought of himself as not strong enough. It explained so much, why he insists on remaining aloof from the rest of the pack, why he spends almost all his free time training, why he can’t stand to be near a female. He was haunted by the ghosts of the past, as real to him now as they were long ago. You open your mouth to say something, when something glimmers in your peripheral vision.

“Lon’qu!” you shout.

Before you can stop to think about what you’re doing, you throw yourself forwards, shoving a surprised Lon’qu to the floor, almost knocking the breath out of him. You both hit the ground with a resounding thud, his arms automatically wrapping around you as both of you promptly getting showered with leaves as the impact shakes a nearby sapling. Over your heads, a spear flies above, landing with a crash into the leafy undergrowth as it completely misses its intended target. Lon’qu springs to his feet, his face such a bright red that for a moment you fear that he might keel over, but he races forwards, eyes glinting.

“I’ll make this quick,” He promises, his voice devoid of any empathy or hesitation such an expression might normally warrant.

You surge up to your feet as well, searching frantically for your bow as you hear the gurgled howl of the bandit as Lon’qu lives up to his reputation as Basilio’s champion, dispatching his would-be killer with a feral grace as he plunges his blade into the bandit’s stomach, mouth set in a grim, harsh line as blood splatters his clothing. You look away and instead peer around the forest- it’s unusual for bandits to work alone, any of the man’s ‘friends’ could be lurking nearby, and you refuse to be caught off-guard again. The woods are conspicuously silent, but in a way, it only serves to unnerve you further. Plus, you’re low on arrows.

“Well, I’m going to assume he won’t be getting up again?” you ask Lon’qu in a facetiously bright tone of voice as he stomps back through the copse of trees. He grunts.

“I took care of things,” he says, darkly, glancing at you before averting his gaze again, still blushing even after killing a man. “A-are you hurt?”

“No, you kind of broke my fall,” you say, shaking your head with a little smirk. “Listen, we should get back and report to Chrom…there might be more scumbags hiding out around here.”

Lon’qu nods, and the two of you begin to head back. Without really thinking about it, you fall in stride with him, though he has a rather fast walking pace, before remembering and drawing back.

“Oh, right, the…the personal space thing,” you say, not entirely sure how else to phrase it. “I’ll just walk a bit behind you, okay?”

“That’s…not necessary,” Lon’qu says, as if each word is being forcibly wrenched from him, but he does at least look you in the eye. “If you want…we may walk back together.”

He doesn’t smile, exactly, but he slows down slightly and you give him a glance, recalling the feel of being, just for a second, against his chest and the look in his eyes when he spotted the hiding bandit. And you realise that, you were right in your admiration of the swordsman; while Lon’qu may be haunted by figures from his past, he still has no intention of allowing history to repeat itself, even when it means he must confront his worst fears. So for the aloof swordsman to offer this, there’s really only one thing to say;

“I’d like that, Lon’qu.”