squirrelwrangler:

Barahir falls in love with her when they are both ten, and she shows up for beginning lessons on how to hold a shield in a tunic that is too small over a pair of too-big trousers stuffed into the tops of her boots and rolled thrice at the waist as to not fall off her skinny hips. She brings her own shield, painted bright green. Lessons on holding sticks are saved until next month’s instruction, and they must train for at least one full planting season before sticks are exchanged for dull pieces of metal. Barahir doesn’t realize what he feels for Emeldir is love until years later as she holds a green shield above his body to protect him from arrows, his own shield shattered at their feet. “We were taught to use our shield to protect our heart,” she tells him later. “That is exactly what I was doing.”

Barahir sulks off into the woods to find a moss-covered stone to sit on and attempt to compose heartfelt love songs to match the suave poetry of how Emeldir declared her feelings. Eventually he gives up and trudges back to her house, feeling as if he had returned to the awkward days when his beard first grew in. She meets his eyes with the same cool aplomb he envies and admires, and for a second Barahir worries he misunderstood her declaration. “Dagnir is leading a party down into the plains to hunt for enemy spies. You are the first warrior I want by my side,” he tells her. Emeldir nods. Then, before his courage deserts him, Barahir blurts out. “I want to fight by your side.”

Emeldir blinks slowly. “You said that.”

“I mean it! I mean, what I also meant was I want to be by your side. Always. I love you. I think I always have.”

Emeldir thinks he is ridiculous, and stubborn, and oblivious, and beloved.