Of sylleblossoms and a crystalline heart
Stack of dry wood held close to his side with one arm, Bord reenters the camp quietly just as the sun begins to set. As usual, everyone’s busy at this time of day and he’s able to set his collection near the firepit without anyone paying much mind. Hurried footsteps pass by around him as others scramble to finish their own errands. Some are a little more carefree in their gait even as clan leader Esthel starts picking off those less inclined to do their part. There are a few like him who’ve finished at this point and have begun to cool down for the night ahead.
But Bord can’t bring himself to rest just yet. The walk back was enough downtime for him and he’s still wired after seeing those sylleblossoms blooming along the road. They’re not native to Ivalice which makes their presence an oddity. Rather than their misplaced state, however, it’s their color that lingers at the forefront of his mind—pale blue petals reminiscent of a certain viera mage that’s been affixed to his thoughts like rust on metal.
It’s both endearing and worrying how Bord sees her wherever he goes. It doesn’t even stop at flowers; he nearly lost an arm comparing the shade of her eyes to the purple Behemoth he’d encountered a few weeks ago. (Her eyes were brighter and much more pleasant, though just as capable of bringing him to ruin, he deduced.) At this point, he can’t tell if he’s projecting or if it’s some love deity’s way of encouraging his feelings. The wrinkled paper tucked in his pocket just serves as a reminder of how he remains stuck in place and he’s not entirely sure if he wants to move forward. The small interactions he’s shared with her always feels like he’s walking on a tightrope all the while Acia dances freely on the edge.
Yet, there’s a distance to her beyond the physical. Beneath her flirtations and coy smiles, there’s something else. He can’t put a name on it but it’s not unfamiliar to him. After all, secrets are a common thread amongst the clan and Bord can tell she harbors a few of her own. In his lonesome, Bord can admit that he is curious about her and why wouldn’t he be? She’s beautiful and confident. Brighter than the dawn with how she lights up every room she struts in and there’s a grace to her spellcasting that rivals even the most seasoned performers he’s seen in his lifetime.
Like a moth to flame, Bord can’t help but yearn for her. Even with his best efforts to stay indifferent, his eyes always seem to gaze in her direction and it’s not long until his feet follow. One minute, he’ll be training alongside Deckhard and the next he’s by Acia with some half-baked excuse about adjusting one of the tents. He’d stay by her side forever if he could—if she’d let him—but he’s been burned too plenty to act as anything but another clan member.
“Are you alright?” Bord has to blink a few times to register that Esthel’s paused in her tracks and is now looking over him. Most likely searching for any possible wounds he may have acquired in his search for kindling.
Always the worrywart, he thinks to himself in amusement before nodding in response to Esthel’s question. It’s enough for her to move onto the next person leaving him once more in his thoughts.
Bord lets out a small sigh and reaches down to pat the hilt of his sword. There’s still enough light for him to train and the workout will do plenty to ease the weight of Acia off his mind. Without a moment’s hesitation, he stalks off to the path south of camp intent on throwing himself into another attempt of cleaving the practice dummies’ heads in one sweep. He’s finally managed to dismember their limbs cleanly as of late but there’s always room for improvement.
It’s quiet when he finally reaches the sparse array of target buttresses lining the edge of the training grounds. The arrows embedded in the bullseye tells him Noah had dropped by earlier. It’s no surprise he’ll be the only one making use of the space this evening. At this hour, the others are typically focused on either preparing for supper or patrolling the area to keep the camp safe.
What is a surprise is seeing Acia by herself near the weapons rack. She’s wearing the red dress today with the sleeves that expose the delicate slope of her shoulders. A blessing or a torment, Bord can’t bring himself to decide what to call the sight of her but he finds his eyes drawn to the thoughtful look gracing her features as she stares at one of the swords fixed on the trestle.
“Would you like to spar?” Bord’s voice comes out as a rumble as he stops short a few feet away from her. His tail swings low on the ground–the only sign of the excitement he’s doing his best to reign in at the prospect of interacting with Acia. “Dinner won’t be for another hour. It’d be a productive way to let time fly by.”
It seems like a good enough reason to entice her into dueling with him but then Acia tilts her head and smiles as her eyes draw a slow path up his figure, “I could think of a better way to pass the time.”
“Reckon you’d make for a good appetizer.” Acia continues when she finally flits her gaze to meet his own and as it usually goes, Bord’s at a loss for words at the unspoken invitation.
He clears his throat and tightens his grip on the pommel of his blade, “I haven’t dueled with someone else other than–”
“Though with your size, you’d be quite the mouthful.”
“Acia.” Bord sighs and crosses his arms. He tries his best to not sound too exasperated when he speaks, “I’m sure you didn’t come here for… that.”
“Why do you think so?” Acia laughs and it’s so sweet and light that Bord’s almost tempted to take up her offer. She brings a hand up and tucks a few strands of periwinkle hair behind her ear. The consequent smirk on her face tells Bord she’s well aware of how his eyes follow the act. “I’m not opposed to a bit of fun outdoors.”
The thought of her splayed out on the grass, hair scattered like those sylleblossoms and her eyes looking up at him in anticipation sends Bord’s heart thundering in his chest and it takes him a moment to respond. Eventually, all he manages is, “It’s not sanitary.”
“Getting dirty is the point.” Acia raises an eyebrow before musing out loud with a teasing expression, “Would you prefer a proper bed then? With roses and candles?”
“I’d prefer to spar with you.” Bord turns to the meager display of weapons on the rack and pulls out a rapier that’s seen better days. He surmises it’s light enough for her to handle and the weight wouldn’t restrict her fluid manner of combat. He shifts the sword in his palm with the hilt facing her direction, “You seemed interested in this earlier.”
“Yes, I thought the crosspiece looked pretty.” Acia comments dismissively. She places her hand on the hilt but only to brush her fingers against the leather padding of his gauntlet. Bord can’t find himself to pull away, not when she’s staring up at him with that smile that's been permanently engraved in his mind. “But I will admit that I know a thing about swordplay or two.”
Bord pauses and tilts his head, “You are?”
“Just not this kind, I’m afraid.” Acia withdraws her hand though Bord doesn’t miss the imperceptible tremble in them as she takes a step back. Her smile widens when he stays silent at her suggestive remark but it’s tinted with something else. Still not quite sincere but it’s almost melancholic now.
It’s not the first time he’s seen that kind of smile on her but it still makes his heart ache all the same. Perhaps on any other day, Bord would have let it be but he finds himself murmuring, “I see you stop by when Deckhard and I train sometimes. You’re more than welcome to join us if you’d like.”
“I only watch because I find the sight quite stimulating.”
“But you weren’t just watching.” Acia’s smile falters at that but he keeps pressing on speaking as gently as he can, “You were observing. How we moved, which patterns we’d use–you’d even stay long enough to hear us discuss the corrections we’d make afterwards.”
“Well, it sounds like you need more focus if you could notice my presence all this time.” Acia replies, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face before her voice goes into that seductive lilt once more, “Or was I that distracting? You could have said something earlier, I wouldn’t want you to get injured on my account.”
“That’s not what I meant.” But she isn’t entirely wrong. Bord hesitates and glances at the rapier in his grasp then to her. “I thought it was quite strange. Most spellcasters I’ve encountered aren’t as keen when it comes to swords.”
“Then I suppose you haven’t met enough mages.” Acia counters and the irritation is plain as day in her tone now. Her eyes narrow and she lets out a breath before telling him, “Your attention is flattering but you’re overthinking this.”
“I didn’t mean any offense,” Bord says softly, despite the way his heart constricts at her dismissal. “I simply meant that–”
“Bord.” The slight break in her words catches him off guard but the way her gaze darkens speaks volumes of how he’s overstepped. Acia takes a breath and continues, the ice in her voice as cold as her magic, “For someone who keeps his face hidden, I’d thought you’d know better about prying into private affairs.”
Bord quiets at that and the tinge of regret mingling with the pained expression on Acia’s face should have eased the sting of her cutting remark but it only worsens the ache in his chest. After what seems like an eternity, he turns to ease the rapier back in place just so that he can avoid looking back into her eyes.
“I apologize.” He murmurs and the silence in return is almost deafening. He swallows the lump in his throat and adds, “Forgive me, Acia. It wasn’t my place to ask.”
That was probably what hurt the most. That even with her standing in front of him, Bord’s still miles away from her and he was sure his interrogation had made the distance further. He can’t bring himself to see the look on her face or hear her half-hearted attempt at lightening the mood. The rejection waiting for him–from her–would have been the last straw.
So he leaves. The sound of his heavy footsteps not nearly as loud as the blood pounding in his ears. He finds himself sitting near the campfire, hand already fumbling to pull the wrinkled paper out from his pocket. He reads over the scrawls of awkward but sincere affection, of sylleblossoms and a crystalline heart, and distantly notes how he hadn’t let the ink set long enough for the letters to dry properly.
In the dark of the shadows, Acia observes the mass of metal and muscle brooding near the hearth. Any other time she supposed she'd find the image amusing. With his size and strength, Bord appears to be every bit of the gladiator that he is. All completely contradicted by his reserved demeanor and soft spoken words. Almost too soft for her liking.
The feeling of guilt gnawing at her conscience isn’t new. Like an unwelcome friend that’s overstayed their welcome, it lingers. Seeping into well kept spaces until she’s stripped to bone struggling to placate her senses. Her eyes stay transfixed on the glow of Bord’s armor in the light of the campfire. The flames flicker and dance until bright embers meander into the night breeze. And when they’re entirely out of sight, she turns to leave as well.
Not long after, Bord clenches his palm. The feeling of the paper crumpling in his fist is disheartening as it is familiar. He tosses it in the blaze, watching as it furls and blackens under the heat and finds his eyes lingering at the base of the fire. Blue flames just as volatile as the evening had gone. Not nearly as captivating as her hair.
He had fueled more than one fire tonight, it seemed.
WC: 2,105