By the third night the other soldiers had begun to notice that she was aloof and different.
“You practice with Lord Taffl a lot,” remarked one of the soldiers who marched next to her.
“It is an honor,” Serien said dryly.
“You someone special to the lord?” they asked.
She didn’t say anything.
“Hey, I asked you a question.” The soldier waved his hand in front of her face.
She continued to look forward.
“What’s wrong with you?” the man huffed.
“Leave the lady alone,” Daniel ordered from atop his horse.
“Definitely someone special,” the soldier mumbled to his friend.
The words stayed with Serien the whole day, and she confronted Daniel about them later. Serien threw her sword into the sand. Her leg was throbbing, likely from not taking off her greaves for nearly a week straight. Her calf was a mess she couldn’t bring herself to look at.
“They think there’s something between us.”
“And?” Daniel sheathed his sword, picking up hers.
“We can’t keep doing this or they’ll think—”
“What?” He handed the sword back to her. “What will they think?”
“That there’s something between us.” Serien didn’t take the weapon.
“So what?”
“They can’t,” she insisted.
“Why not?” Daniel shrugged but his eyes betrayed hurt.
“Because we’re ...” Her voice faded as he took a step closer to her.
“What? What are we?” he asked softly.
She finally took the sword sheathing it in frustration.
“I don’t have words for it either, yet.” Daniel laid himself emotionally bare before her. “But I want to help you, I want to look out for you. I know I’m not even supposed to know who you are, but I do and I’m thankful for it.”
Serien shook her head, trying to unhear his words.
“Look at me,” he said softly. She shook her head again. “Vhalla, look at me.”
Her attention snapped to him at the mention of her real name. It crumbled her mask and tore down the walls she’d tried so hard to build. It made the pain worse and the truth harder to bear.
“Don’t call me that,” she begged. “Please, Daniel, don’t call me that.”
“It is your name.” He quickly pulled off his gauntlet. She stilled when his skin made contact with hers, his hand along her jaw. “Why did they take it from you?”
“To keep me safe,” she hiccupped softly, losing the fight with tears.
He sighed, unable to argue. “Then let me keep you safe as well. Don’t sleep outside on the ground again tonight. It has carved a hole into my chest that gets deeper each moment I think of you there.”
“You know why I can’t.” She wasn’t sure if it was Vhalla or Serien who looked at him then, but Daniel was unable to meet her stare.
“He would want you safe,” Daniel mumbled. His hand fell from her face with the weight of resignation. “I won’t touch you, I swear it.”
The sun was setting over the dunes, turning his Eastern skin golden. Vhalla swallowed, trying to find Serien in her once more. Her heart hurt, her mind was heavy, but she didn’t want to sleep in the cold another night and she was so tired.
Serien nodded.
Daniel stared at her in disbelief for a long moment. He was quick to lead her back to camp. Serien’s heart raced as he led her toward a modestly-sized tent near the center. Two similar ones were placed near it, Baldair’s not far away.
Her eyes lingered on the younger prince’s tent. He would know. He would find out about her and Daniel, if he hadn’t already. What if he told Aldrik?
She searched the soldiers in paranoia. But none paid her any mind. She was invisible, a no one. Daniel may be a lord and a major, but he was a freshly minted one and clearly not considered to be much above the common soldier. No one cared who went into his tent or why he took them there.
Inside it was larger than the average soldier’s, comfortable for three people. Serien sat dumbly, her eyes adjusting to the fading light. Daniel wasn’t a Firebearer, he couldn’t summon flames for them to see by, so they were left to the remaining light of the sun and growing light of the moon.
“Do you know how to take this off ?” He was already halfway out of his plate.
“Not really.” She’d forgotten what Aldrik had shown her. It was more complex than the simple hooks he’d fashioned for her scale mail.
“Let me show you.” Daniel moved slowly, as though the slightest motion could send her running. The moment he lifted the plate off her shoulders, she breathed a sigh of relief. She’d forgotten how heavy the blasted armor was. Serien was quick to shed her chainmail.
“What—” Daniel lifted her pant leg before she had time to object. Serien saw what had commanded his attention. Her calf was caked in blood, the bandages hanging limp and useless, her flesh was shredded from the stiches she’d ripped. “By the Mother, how are you even walking?”
“I’ve gotten used to it.” There was a horrific fascination with seeing her own body mutilated. Serien wondered if she felt so calm because even her body didn’t feel like hers. Nothing belonged to her anymore, not even her name.
“No, this is bad.” Daniel rummaged through his pack. “I need to go to a cleric.”
“No!” She gripped his wrist. “They’ll ask questions.”
“No, they won’t.” Daniel assured her. “Serien, you’re no one. I’m mostly no one. Soldiers get hurt all the time. Stop worrying.” He rested a palm on her head and quickly departed.
Serien struggled with the emotions silently warring in her that followed his absence: guilt, shame, pain, exhaustion, and relief. She was happy not to be alone.
Daniel re-bandaged her leg and refused to train with her for a week after that. She spent most of the time making up lost hours of sleep. As soon as his tent was erected, she disappeared and hid from the world. In the darkness she didn’t have to be Serien or Vhalla. She could be no one, and that was the only thing that brought her peace enough to close her eyes.
Patrols and sentries were increased around the host, but there weren’t any further attacks. The march toward the North seemed so peaceful that it was unnerving. The soldiers were beginning to bore, and with their boredom came gossip.
“I hear he finally started taking her to his tent again.” The chatty one next to Serien had been very excited for this particular piece of gossip.
“Who?”
“The crown prince and the Windwalker. Who else?”
Serien glanced in the direction of the talking soldiers.
“But I hear he’s going through twice his usual spirits.”
“Enough for him and her?”
“Well I can’t blame her. I’d have to be out of my mind drunk to even think of sleeping with the Fire Lord!” They all laughed.
She wondered how Vhalla Yarl had been so deaf to their words. But those words stayed with her. They stayed until she practiced with Daniel that night, letting them go through her gradually less clumsy swings and footwork.
“You’re getting better, you know,” he encouraged as they rested side-by-side later.
“Am I?” She rolled to face him.
“You are.” He smiled.
Serien did something she hadn’t yet done. She smiled in reply.
The expression melted from Daniel’s lips as he stared at her, as if realizing the same thing. “Vh-Serien,” he corrected himself, remembering how she had pleaded for him not to the last time he’d used her name. It took away Serien’s strength and reminded her of all the things that were broken in the world. Being Serien was becoming easier.