A Lady's Favor — Alessa (Patreon)

She did not mean to keep it.

The trinket is small and unassuming and has none of the qualities that make it worth wearing on one's skin. Alessa certainly could not wear it around her wrist, for she prefers gold or silver, or even dark bronze, the color of the late sunset over a calm sea. Beauty.

Which the cord has none.

And yet, even amongst rings and necklaces coated in gold, even amongst gems and colorful stones and a chain that resembled the waves of the ocean, her eyes were immediately drawn to that homely, unfitting cord.

Alessa did not mean to ask the merchant for its price, and when he answered, disappointed, that it was not worthy of her attention, she agreed, naturally, but she did so silently. Because outwardly, Alessa had scowled and demanded he sold it.

She quickly hid it inside one of her many pockets, and when she later arrived at the inn, Alessa vowed to discard it out of the window.

'Twas foolish, sentimental, bordering on embarrassing. She did not mean to keep it, but as her fingers hovered in the air, her skin cold enough to numb. As she leaned over the window, the ground seeming so far below...

She looked upon the cord. It was made of numerous, narrow strands of yarn weaved together to form thick stripes that rolled onto each other. Simple, but done expertly, and Alessa could tell that many hours went to craft it. All the threads shared the same coloration, one that deepened as it stood in the sunlight.

Alessa slowly withdrew her arm, and it was not fit for her skin, but she closed her fingers around it all the same. The cord was simple and rustic, and not ugly at all.

For it was the color of your eyes.

Foolishness.

She snarled and turned away. Alessa truly had no intention to keep it, but yet her hands turned treacherous for they slipped the cord inside her pocket.

- - -

Her head pounds with each step.

"Throw it at me!"

Voices cling to the air with the tenaciousness of a spoiled toddler, and Alessa clenches her teeth when a man yells beside her ear. "Grain for two coppers a pound!"

Her fingers twitch, but she simply hastens her steps and tries to find a way out of the chaos. The city seems more alive than ever. The sun shines with so much strength, it makes her eyes water and her skin tingle with uncomfortable heat, and her damnable head will not stop pounding.

Thud.

She stumbles when a woman bumps into her. "Beware of yourself," Alessa hisses, but the fool does not even acknowledge her. The woman keeps on dragging her feet forward, back bent with the weight of a heavy crate.

Alessa's fingers twitch once more but again, she just keeps walking. The street must come to an end at some point, or at least, it must open to others not as crowded. But all she can see are bodies and carts, pressing from all sides. Voices and colors and even scents mingle like a storm, and she walks so fast, she's short of running, but she cannot find an escape from-

"Over here."

A voice whispers right beside her ear. Her fingers twitch for the last time, but now, she doesn't keep them away from her knife. Cold steel flies in the air, but then it freezes because Alessa recognizes the sound. And when a hand closes around her arm, she does not hold the blade against a vulnerable neck because even before she turns, she knows she is about to meet your face.

Standing in a sea of so many others, like a rock amidst a storm or a beacon within the night.

Alessa bites her tongue at the ridiculous thought and ignores how close you bend your head so you can be heard over the chaos. "Follow me," you say, breath tickling her skin and hand tugging on her arm.

Alessa lifts a brow. "Where to?"

But you just smile and tug her again. "This way," you say, jerking your chin over your shoulder before you start to walk away. 

Alessa scowls at your back, but when you start to disappear amongst the crowd, she swallows her pride and follows.

You take her to a side alley that's just as crowded as the main avenue. It is, in a way, even worse, for if before the bodies pressed close, now she has to squeeze between them. A tiny man with a green hat and a ridiculous beard smiles as she passes, but it instantly dies the moment he meets her icy glare.

"This is worse than before," she says to you, wanting to grab your elbow, but she settles for throwing you a scowl. "Whatever are you planning?"

The sun is hot, and Alessa tells herself that is why her cheeks suddenly burn when you're forced to press close against her. "Patience." Is all you say, smiling down at her, smiling much too wide. She scowls anew, but whatever she meant to say is cut short when you grab her arm and pull her to the side.

Right into a wall.

Alessa gasps, body stiffening in preparation for the crash, but it never comes. She keeps stumbling for a few steps and finds herself in a dim, narrowed tunnel. Behind is a small hole in the wall, carved in a way that can't be seen from the side of the alley. Alessa blinks, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the sudden darkness.

She turns to see you waiting up ahead with a smug smile and a shine in your eyes, and she does not mean to, but she feels her lips tugging upwards. "Impressive," she deadpans, and she's glad then that the tunnel is dark, for she cannot contain her smile at the sound of your laughter.

The tunnel twists, winding like a snake the further you walk. It is blessedly silent and blessedly cool, and Alessa cannot feel her head pounding any longer. Your steps mingle with hers, the sound bouncing against the walls until sunlight greets her once more as Alessa walks into a small courtyard.

It's surrounded by high walls with a lone tree in the middle, and above all, it is completely quiet. Alessa takes a deep breath, feeling the tightness of her body ease for a little bit. But that bit makes all the difference. She walks in a slow circle, watching the stones covered with dry ivy, listening to your footsteps as they stop just behind her.

She's alone with you, and her head may no longer pound, but now Alessa can feel the pounding of her heart. Control yourself.

"You're welcome, by the by," you say, opening your arms wide when she turns to face you.

Alessa lifts an eyebrow. She knows that look on your face, knows what's about to come. "What for?" she asks anyway because she cannot help but indulge you.

"For my dashing rescue," you answer, holding a hand in the air. "Please, keep the compliments to a minimum."

"Have no fear of that," Alessa says, her voice as cold as her face. "I have no intention of bloating your ego."

You duck your head, staring straight at her, and she keeps her features still, but she hates the way her cheeks heat again. And as sunlight reflects in your eyes, Alessa cannot help but remember the cord tucked inside her pocket.

Fool.

"Alessa, admit it, you were but a breath away from slaughtering your way out of that crowd," you say. You walk to a stone bench propped to the eastern wall and sit down with a heavy sigh. "I didn't say I rescued you. I rescued all the innocent folk out there."

She chuckles because she cannot help it. "Very well," Alessa concedes. "I suppose 'twas a rescue, albeit calling it dashing may go too far."

You smile, wide and much too captivating, and Alessa finds her fingers playing with the end of the cord. She snatches them away, jaw clenching, her eyes narrowing in a random direction. "How have you found such a place?" she asks.

"Accidentally," you answer before falling silent for a moment. "I like to come here to think."

Your hushed tone has her turning back to find an absent look on your face. Your eyes are glazed as you stare down at your hands, fingers playing with the steams of your glove.

Something heavy settles on her chest, something that Alessa could never name. For all your quips and smiles, she does not understand you. Not completely. "I... do not wish to impose."

You immediately snap your head at her. "What? No," you say, frowning at the very prospect. She should not feel as satisfied by it, she should not, but she does. "I like your company, Alessa. You don't impose at all. You never will."

You say the words with such openness, such simplicity, as if you're stating that ice is cold and flames spark in a fire. Alessa will never understand how you do so. She will never understand the ease with which you say what would have her tongue-tied.

She wants to reply that she also does not mind your company, but she finds herself stepping closer instead and dumping the cord right on your lap. "Keep it," she says coldly, chin lifted high and eyes boring into yours. She shall not look away.

Not even as she feels the warmth on her cheeks.

You blink at your lap, and cautious fingers pick up the cord. "Alessa," you mumble, studying it, your brows slightly furrowing. Her fingers twitch again, but she does not know what they wish to hold.

"'Tis yours," she declares pointlessly. She always seems to babble worthless words whenever you're around. Alessa does not know what she dislikes more, the fact that it happens, or that she does not mind it.

You close your hand around the cord. "Thank you," you say, your voice deep and sincere. And your eyes...

She cannot help it, she glances down at her feet. Weak. "I- we are even now," she says. "For your rescue."

You shake your head and rise to your feet, and when you step closer to her, Alessa holds her breath when slowly, your fingers squeeze around her wrist. "No," you whisper. "We're not even at all."

Alessa opens her mouth, but the words die on her tongue. So she simply holds your hand too, cold fingertips sucking the warmth from your skin.

"Will you help me put it?" you ask. Alessa nods and ties the cord around your wrist, right above your glove. She thinks those favors the ladies give are ridiculous and pointless and entirely nonsensical, but she cannot help thinking of them.

Her favor to you.

"It suits you," she says as calmly as she can. But when you smile a small, fond smile, Alessa smiles back.

"I think so too," you say, holding her gaze in a significant look, making sure she knows you're not just speaking about the cord. You then tug her hand, and Alessa does not fight it. She sits on the bench beside you.

You stare at the cord and she at the walls, and there is no one around to mention how your hands stay linked with one another.