Meredith had been lanky and thin through her teens, overlooked by all, growing into her appearance only in recent years, her figure filling out with the curves of womanhood, her face sharpening into something that turned heads. But those stares were often leery, laced with lustful intent that made her grip her sword tighter and quicken her step. Men who stared at her did so with a hunger that felt lecherous, not gratifying.
Now, though, as she met Lloyd’s gaze, she noticed him staring. Not in that predatory way, but with a thoughtful intensity that lacked the usual edge. His eyes, calm yet probing, held no leer, only a quiet fascination that puzzled her. The tavern’s bustle faded to a hum in her ears: the Bard’s lute picking up a lively reel, feet stamping in rhythm on the floorboards; the low murmur of a storyteller captivating a cluster of wide-eyed drinkers with tales of lost treasures. Why did he look at her so? The question burned, compelling her to voice it.
"I-If I may be so bold, Lloyd May, I cannot help but note your gaze upon me. Pray, what prompts such scrutiny?"
He blinked, as if pulled from a reverie, and a flicker of surprise crossed his face before he composed himself. "A-Ah, forgive me. It’s not scrutiny. W-well, maybe it is." He paused, taking a deep breath. "You remind me of an old friend, Meredith. She... was a lot like you." His voice softened, the authoritative timbre giving way to something more vulnerable, and he stared into his tankard as if seeing ghosts in the foam. "Her hands were like yours, except far more scarred. Her hair was like yours, except full-white. Her eyes weren’t as hopeful as yours. They were hollow. Empty. Her smile not as wide, her voice not as lively. You... you remind me of what she could’ve been. I think Lyra put it best: You look so alive compared to her."
Meredith listened in rapt silence, her own tankard forgotten in her hand, the remaining ale growing warm. The description painted a vivid portrait of hardship, one that tugged at her empathetic core. Around them, the tavern carried on its merry chaos–a barmaid calling out orders to the kitchen, the scent of spiced cider wafting from a bubbling pot over the fire–but Lloyd’s words carved a quiet space. He continued, his eyes lifting to meet hers again, this time with a warmth that chased the shadows.
"She started to warm up, you know? Little by little, cracks in that stone heart, hints of light in her voice. But it was only just before she passed. It’s as if I’m seeing her fully realized. The culmination of her hard work." He paused, his gaze lingering, and then, almost hesitantly, added, "You’re beautiful, in a way she never got to be. Full of potential, unscarred by what broke her. I’m glad that you get to be who you are right now, in this moment."
The blush hit her like summer heat, fierce and all-consuming, flooding her cheeks and neck until she felt the heat radiate outward. She pressed a hand to her face, as if to cool it, her heart pounding in a rhythm that had little to do with the ale. Beautiful? The word echoed in her mind, foreign and intoxicating. And the way he said it, with such earnestness...
"Am I being pursued? Is this why he sought to speak without his partner Lyra present, drawing me into this booth away from the crowd...?"
The thought sent a flutter through her stomach, a mix of flattery and wariness. She straightened, her Paladin poise reasserting itself, though her voice emerged softer than intended.
"Lloyd May, if I may inquire directly. Is this... pursuit...?"
Lloyd’s eyes widened, a flush creeping up his own neck, mirroring her embarrassment. He straightened abruptly, nearly upsetting his tankard, and ran a hand through his hair.
"Pursuit? No, no. Not at all. I... I was lost in thought, caught up in the similarity to my friend. It pulled me under for a moment. Please, don’t think much of it. I was reminiscing, nothing more."
Sympathy welled in her chest, softening the awkwardness and... brushing past the hints of disappointment in her chest. She reached across the table, her hand stopping just short of his, a gesture of solace.
"I am truly sorry for your loss, Lloyd May. To carry such memories must weigh heavily, even in a place as lively as this. She sounds as though she was a formidable soul, and your regard for her speaks volumes of your own character."
He nodded, the tension easing from his shoulders, though a shadow lingered in his eyes. "She was. Thank you, Meredith. But I can’t stay in the past. I won’t keep projecting her onto you." He removed his hand, finishing the last of his ale before fixing her with a smile. "Let me walk you home. At least to your street. Just in case the Rogues are out."
She considered it; the offer was kind, but it clashed with her ingrained habits. The tavern’s energy was winding down slightly, patrons thinning as the night deepened, the minstrel tuning his lute for a slower melody. "Your escort is appreciated in intent, Lloyd May, but I prefer to walk home alone. It serves as a reflective exercise, a time to ponder the day’s lessons without distraction."
He chuckled, the sound rich and genuine, cutting through the lingering embarrassment like sunlight. "A solo walk for reflection? I share that hobby, you know. Picked it up from–" He paused, chuckling again. "You know, I just promised I wouldn’t do that.
Meredith chuckled as she rose, smoothing her tabard, the weight of her armor a familiar comfort. "One matter before I depart, if you will indulge me."
But before she could give her thanks for the day, Lloyd spoke, his expression suddenly turning serious.
"Before you go, Meredith, I’m aware of the requirements for this year’s Paladin Exam. Surely you’re aware that I’m the Lord of House May...?"
She paused, the unasked question striking a chord deep within. He was unfortunately correct. To qualify for the Paladin Exams, one needed patronage from a Noble House, a stepping stone she’d been quietly weighing. This was the perfect opportunity for her. The exact one she’d been pursuing just a day prior.
So why couldn’t she say yes...?
"Y-Your House’s offer is generous beyond measure, but I must decline for now. I am not yet prepared to bind myself so. My thanks, however, are profound, Lloyd May."
Lloyd inclined his head, respect in his eyes. "Understood. The offer stands: if you change your mind, come find me. Have a pleasant evening, Meredith Weston."