Chapter 14 #2
Oaklin gently rubbed the horse’s nose as he pretended not to enjoy it, then nudged them until they gave him a carrot, freshly harvested that morning.
Prize won, he trotted off to the grazing field with an air of smugness, thankfully avoiding Oaklin’s freshly turned earth.
Lior scraped her boots off on the grass at the edge of the field, then walked a few paces closer, grinning sheepishly and holding the picnic basket open for Oaklin to see its contents.
“I know you said you were too busy right now, and that’s completely fine,” she began. “I can leave these sandwiches with you and head back, no problem and no pressure. But if you don’t mind some company, I thought I’d maybe bring our…get-together to you?”
A light flush dusted her cheeks as she studied the ground uncertainly. A few strands of copper hair had escaped from her thick braid on the walk over, clinging to her cheek or whipping in the occasional much-needed breeze as she awaited Oaklin’s answer.
Oaklin’s stomach audibly growled at the sight of the sandwiches inside Lior’s basket, with thick-cut bread (likely from Ryn’s bakery) and layers of cheese and vegetables. And brought to them by their very own gorgeous local paladin, whom they were…maybe dating?
“Full disclosure,” Lior added, holding out one of the half-wrapped sandwiches to Oaklin. “This is Ryn’s ‘farmer’s bread,’ which contains a little magical something to fortify your constitution. Is that okay?”
Forget dating. Oaklin might be in love.
By way of response, Oaklin tore into the sandwich like a wild beast. A few weeks ago, they would have hesitated, would have tortured themself over even this small exposure to magic.
By now, though, they had plenty of practice consuming Ryn’s magic and were happy enough to acknowledge that magic itself wasn’t evil.
Most especially not Ryn’s baking magic. Most, most especially not the sandwich, which was a blessed thing of beauty.
After a moment of culinary heaven, Oaklin realized Lior was still hovering, unsure whether to stay or go while Oaklin was lost in blissful sandwich land.
Their eyes met, and Oaklin’s heart did a funny little jig in their chest. It was a real kindness, this gesture, and the fact that Lior was giving them the consideration of an easy out only made them want her to stay more.
They were still a little on edge—first, Granny’s only semi-gentle pushing, then a surprise visit—but Lior’s sweetness and forethought helped the last of the anxiety bleed away.
Oaklin smiled as soon as their mouth wasn’t full of sandwich. “I’m so sorry, please stay and eat with me! I appreciate you bringing me sustenance. I’m wasting away under the sun here. And… I’m sorry again for canceling.”
Lior shook her head, smiling. “Hey, I understand. And I’m not here to pressure you or anything, I just wanted to see you, is all.”
Oaklin’s cheeks grew hotter, a feat they did not think was possible under the noonday sun. “I wanted to see you too. Should we go sit down? Not to be all farmer about it, but I’m a little paranoid about us stomping around in these fields I’ve just planted.”
Lior’s eyes went wide, and she went up on her tiptoes, glancing down at the ground. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think—did I squish anything?”
Oaklin laughed and waved for Lior to follow, heading up the row to the edge of the field. “No, no, I haven’t planted that half yet, you’re fine. Just follow my footsteps. I want to make sure the soil stays uncompacted where the potatoes are going in.”
“You sound quite knowledgeable,” Lior said, careful to step precisely where Oaklin had already trod, then peeking inside the crate of chitted white potatoes, each cut into small chunks with a sprouting eye. “Have you always been a farmer?”
Oaklin hesitated; how much of what they discussed at the tavern would Ryn have passed on to Lior, if any? Lior would be much more perceptive of cult-related issues, in all likelihood, considering her profession. Perhaps a partial truth would serve.
“I grew up in a family of farmers. Followers of Eorna.”
Lior grimaced, then quickly tried to cover it. Oaklin saw it, though.
“Is that a problem?” they asked.
“No! No, not at all,” Lior insisted, taking a blanket from her pack and spreading it out on the ground under an oak tree near the edge of the field. “I just know that certain Eornan families can be…”
“Strict?” Oaklin finished with a wry grin.
“Yeah, my parents were Orthodox. Kinda felt like they forgot all about the ‘stewards of the land, grain for all’ bits and latched real hard onto the ‘hard work is glory’ thing. They were good, kind people overall, but you should have seen them anytime I tried to find a better way to do something. I eventually left because of it. And now…”
Oaklin shoved another bite of sandwich in their mouth to avoid having to continue. It was a sanitized version of events, but hopefully enough for now. They couldn’t remember much more in the way of specifics, anyway. So much of it was hazy or gone altogether.
“Were your parents killed in the war?” Lior asked, her expression painfully empathetic as she stared into Oaklin’s eyes, certainly ready to catch every hint of a lie.
What were they supposed to say? I don’t know—probably? I’m too scared to find out, and I don’t want to know what they would think of me? I’m not sure I’d even recognize them if I saw them?
Instead, Oaklin said: “The whole town was destroyed. I don’t actually know for sure what happened to them, or if they’re even alive. I’d been gone since before the war started.”
They braced for the inevitable platitudes and empty prayers…
but they never came. Instead, Lior simply reached out and took their hand, giving it a squeeze.
There were no words that would suffice, and so Lior didn’t try.
Oaklin soaked in the quiet kindness for a long moment until the looming shadows in their mind began to creep in at the edges, taller, deeper—
Oaklin mentally stepped away from that ledge.
Instead, they propped their back against the craggy bark of the oak tree and soaked up the dappled shade, making their next bite of sandwich the sole recipient of their focus.
Bright, crisp lettuce gave a burst of freshness over salty cheese and the heavy, savory flavor of thin-sliced beef.
There was some kind of pickled vegetable in there too—onions, maybe?
—that imparted the perfect tang to cut through the rest. The bread itself was simple, hearty, and toasted, with some kind of seed crusting the top and a scattering of dried oregano throughout.
The magical pick-me-up was subtle but noticeable, like someone had rubbed a cooling salve into every aching muscle, lending a new spark of vigor.
With some semblance of balance restored, Oaklin looked up to see Lior studying them.
“So, how are things at the library?” Oaklin said with an edge of desperation, viciously changing the topic without remorse.
Lior made a disgusted face. “Oh, you know, everyone’s in a frenzy about the Inquisitor, and Sister Talla continues to lecture me as often as possible. Lots of dirty looks from various people. The books are great, though. The patrons too, as always.”
Oaklin frowned and set down their sandwich, tuning into the chittered conversation of the birds above as they decided whether to voice their curiosity.
“Hey, maybe this is too personal,” they ventured. “But…why do you stay if it’s so bad there?”
Lior shrugged, looking out across the empty fields to the barn and chicken coop beyond, where Daffodil patiently allowed a chicken to land on her back.
“I don’t have anywhere else to go, and paladins are subject to the orders of the church,” she said eventually. “No one else in the church wants to deal with a ‘troublemaker,’ so…here I stay.”
Lior seemed to shake out of the gloom and turned to Oaklin with a smile. “But I’m actually fine with it. As much as I complain, I really love Mossley’s Rest, and I love library work. If it weren’t for Sister Talla and the church politics, I’d be perfectly content.”
“Those are two awfully big parts of your life, though. Is it possible to…I don’t know, retire from paladin-ing?” Oaklin said, frowning. “I have no idea how this works, clearly.”
Lior hesitated, taking a bite of sandwich to buy time to think, then gave a shrug.
“I could. It’s supposed to be a lifetime oath, but in practice everyone knows that isn’t practical.
But I joined up for a reason, you know? The Three teach that we should serve and protect our communities, and I still believe in that.
I love this place, and I love the Three.
I want to continue to serve and protect here in their names…
even if it’s not in the way the church would have me serve.
Maybe I don’t need the mantle of “paladin” to do that, but…
I’m not quite ready to give it up just yet. ”
“It’s been such a big part of you for so long. I can see how that would be complicated,” Oaklin said. “Thanks for telling me about it, though. This village is lucky to have you, paladin or no.”
Lior flushed and flicked a bit of breadcrumb off their blue doublet. “You’re a kind one, Oaklin. Thanks for that.”
Oaklin and Lior finished the meal in silence, picking off the last of the sandwiches and splitting one of Ryn’s decadent cinnamon buns, filled to bursting with brown sugar and plump, sweet raisins.
It was a much-needed recharge, but as Lior began packing everything away, Oaklin realized: They weren’t quite ready to get back to work yet.
With a groan, they took a languid stretch, arms reaching high overhead toward the oak tree’s fluttering leaves, their already tired muscles still protesting despite the bread’s magic.
They glanced over at Lior from the corner of their eye, taking in her sun-kissed freckles and thoughtful expression; they weren’t quite ready for her to leave yet either.