Work Text:
The lighting in the tent is low. A solitary candle burns on the table to her left. Light from the setting sun filters through the red fabric of Satrana’s tent and the way it pools in her eyes and lights all the rich gold tones of her skin almost makes Antandra forget why she’s here. That is, until the needle bites into her skin again.
She doesn’t flinch, but she does shift her gaze to watch how Satrana’s pretty fingers guide the needle and thread through each side of the gash along her ribcage. She’d been lucky, really, that the spear had been a bit dull and hadn’t pierced through her lung like it was meant to. Instead, it’d shifted and had only really cut into her when the sharper edges slid along her skin.
“Thank Merlin that that fool was worse at tending to his weapons than Rhys is at aiming.” It’s as if Satrana was voicing Antandra’s thoughts, giving voice to the things she herself normally wouldn’t say. She wasn’t one for talking poorly about anyone, even her enemies. Satrana was, though, and as much as she may chide the younger woman for it it truly was the highlight of her day to listen to Satrana’s voice picking apart a man’s fault as if she was talking about the weather.
“Rhys’s aim isn’t all that bad.” She was met with a chuckle and another bite of the needle, Satrana’s gaze finding hers as she gave the thread a little tug. There was a strand of red hair hiding one of her eyes and Antandra’s hand twitched, every muscle in her body screaming to tuck it behind her ear so she could see her better. Every blink, every twitch, every crease of the brow and eyes, she wanted to see every little movement Satrana made and commit them all to memory. If Antandra were to die on the battlefield a hundred miles from her, she wanted to at least be able to close her eyes and remember every detail of Satrana’s beautiful face.
She looked down at the wound again. It had cut through another scar, one of the many Antandra carried with pride, for she had earned them protecting people. That particular one she had earned protecting Satrana. That one and many others, for that fight had been among the hardest in her life and she had certainly not left it unscathed.
They don’t talk about it often but as Satrana gently brushed her fingertips over the raised edge of the scar, Antandra wondered if she too was thinking about that time. How Antandra had picked her up off the sand, cradled her head in the crook of her arm, and tipped water into her mouth. How she’d fought against the people who’d raised her and lived her life alongside, just to protect that beautiful girl. How she’d been exiled but hadn’t left until she was certain they would do her no harm.
She hadn’t even learned Satrana’s name until many years later, when the girl had shown up to the dingy tavern Antandra had been drinking away her boredom in to warn her that there was a bounty hunter out for her.
She’d been wrong. Satrana’s fingers worked deftly as she finished the stitches, her touches always lingering just a tad too long to be normal. Her predictions were always wrong when it came to Antandra.
“There! All done!” The scissors clipped the thread and Antandra gently touched the area around the stitches, admiring how perfectly even every stitch was.
She rolled her shoulders and felt her back crack, watching through half-lidded eyes as Satrana tucked her hair back behind her ears. What if her predictions were right one day? What if she foresaw Antandra confessing or even kissing her? Antandra reached out and traced the lines of her veins at her wrist, feeling the heat of her skin.
What if one day Satrana foresaw her death and in her desperation to change the outcome, got herself killed instead? Antandra would never stop being thankful that Satrana believed none of her predictions about her would ever come true.
“Thank you.” She murmured. The candle flickered as Satrana’s tail swished back and forth before settling as she shifted back slightly, her hand slipping from Antandra’s. “You’re always so gentle about it.”
The corners of Satrana’s mouth curled up into a smile and Antandra wondered what it would feel like to have those lips on hers. “Of course. You’re always so gentle with everyone else, someone’s gotta be gentle with you for a change.”
Antandra watched the way the firelight flickered in the pools of her eyes. Maybe some day. But for now, she was content to just breathe in the same space as Satrana.