Argh, this is the only one I haven't posted on time. But yes - this is how she started to like him in the first place, stupid stories.
Rivek sat at the side of the bed. He had changed out of his guards’ uniform. Without his bandages or boots, his sleep clothes revealed the scars that traced his hands and legs.
Willow climbed in amongst the emerald pillows and wrapped the blankets around herself, burying deep underneath until only her eyes showed over the tops of the covers.
“It’s spring, you don’t need that,” he clicked his tongue.
“Says the man who’s a living, breathing, energy-sucking icicle.” He reached out to touch her forehead, causing her to hide her face completely.
“Tell me a story,” she said, her voice muffled through the covers. “Like you did when we were kids. One of your Alisian fairy tales. But not one of those depressing ones where everyone gets placed under a curse and dies at the end.”
Rivek laughed. “That’s almost all of them.”
“Tell me the one where you got your name.”
“I think I can do that.” He walked into the other room and retrieved his journal before he climbed onto the downy mattress. He put his arm around her shoulder, and she yelped.
“Goddamn. Icicle,” she said, throwing the blanket over both of them.
He opened the book and thumbed through the pages with his free hand. "Once upon a time, the god of War went out to battle to a far away land."
“He sounds like an ass.”
“That he was. He had to leave his beautiful daughter, the Princess of Clouds, at home. After all, she was one of those skinny sorts who couldn't hold a sword. She had eyes the color of the sky and hair the color of ripe wheat.” He turned the page.
Willow tucked her hair behind her ears and reach over to flip back the page he had just turned.
“What’re you doing? You can’t read it.”
“I know, but the letters are pretty.” The Alisian script was Rivek’s neat handwriting, a collection of brushstroke swirls that had been invented four hundred years ago. It had been derived from the Common language as a way to obscure military documents, but it had long since evolved and blended with other languages to become its own system of writing.
"Anyway, with a girl that pretty, of course someone was going to try and steal her away. And an evil prince did. He came with his men and raided the tower and took this girl to his mountain home. You can imagine what he did there."
She yawned, “I thought I said nothing depressing.”
“You said no depressing endings. I haven’t reached the middle yet.” He flicked her ear. "Locked amongst the cliffs, the girl didn't know what to do. So she sang, hoping someone would hear her. And she cried rivers, upon rivers - that is, making the rivers that flowed down from the mountains. Grass grew in the valleys where her tears collected, and animals started appearing. These animals longed to see the face of their creator, so one day - one of them grew wings."
He made an idiotic bird gesture with his hands. "So, the eagle was born, and he flew to the tower.”
He looked down. Her breathing was soft and rhythmic, and her eyes were closed. “Well, you can kind of guess what happened next. Girl befriends eagle. Eagle eats evil warlord. Girl rides eagle back to her dad."
He combed her hair with his fingers. "And that's what my name means. 'Eagle'. Sort of. It's a conjugated form of the word, rivekron, which means 'to soar.' Technically, it's what the girl said as she told the eagle to fly away from the mountain hold."
He laughed softly and kissed her on the forehead as he got up to leave. “Why do you care that no one dies in the end if you’re just going to fall asleep halfway through?”
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