Steel (and) Silk

"I suppose I'm a little jealous."

It's a slow, wistful statement, though not as obviously inward-looking as it might often be, instead inviting a response.

"Aww, what, of lil' ol' me?"

Fionn jokes, but he's well aware of what Melia means. Despite all of the trauma, the death and rebirth, the hosting of a goddess and the drifting, hopeless, waiting for his body to give out at any moment, without even the warning of a seizure, at the end of his arduous journey he was gifted a fully-transformed new body, with all the masculine features he could ever wish for: firm chest, square jaw, vocal cords ready to be retrained.

"If anything, it's me who should be jealous."

"Of me?"

Fionn takes Melia's hands, delicate and strong. "Of your composure, Melia. Of how hard you fought to be the person you are today. Of the fact that nothing was handed to you."

Melia has to stifle an ungraceful giggle with her facial muscles alone. "Quite a bit was handed to me, Fionn."

(He'd pay attention, he swore it, but oh, how right his name sounded when she said it. How light. How true.)

"I was a member of the High Entia's royalty. All of science and healthcare was available to us. No matter what was held against me based on my status as the child of a Homs consort, I was treated with dignity and gravity."

Only the finest of both treatment and training had resulted in a princess perfect in all facets of her duties, loveable and loved by (almost) every Entian subject, and confident in her presentation. Were Fionn not now going through his own journey, he might never have recognized how deeply buried the little girl was underneath.

"You had more time to realize it, too," Fionn points out. "Since you age slower. Easier to catch onto dysphoria when puberty lasts...what, twenty-five years?"

"About that long, yes."

A sigh escapes from Fionn, and it isn't a dreamy one. "Imagine - if all this hadn't happened to me, it might have taken me that long just to figure it out!"

Privately, Melia admits that she would have been quite sad to see that happen, and not just for Fionn's sake. Right now, at nineteen, he has the perfect boyish charm that had captured Melia's heart - if she's being honest - right from the start.

In fact, that gives her an idea. A delightful idea; one that she'd have been too bashful to ask about just a few months prior.

Now, however, mischief decorates her lips as naturally as the summoning of an elemental. They're comfortable with each other, joined inextricably by all their shared experiences. The question needn't even be asked: "Are you still strong enough to carry me, then, Fionn?"

Fionn practically jumps at the invitation. "No doubt!" He puffs out his chest. "I bet I was before, too."

The first time he tries, though, he misjudges his center of gravity and topples over to his right, nearly taking Melia down with him. It's a blessing, then, that they chose to meet in a garden of New Colony 9, reminiscent of that within Alcamoth's imperial villa. A few flowers crushed is no strange sight nor sound, to Fionn (Melia can recall him once saying that he could never grow anything but herbs, and it chafed at him constantly).

She laughs freely for a moment, showing no intention to help Fionn up. He pretends to grumble, but is far more enchanted by Melia's amusement than he is snubbed by her irreverence.

Maybe it's an ill wish, to hope that all of their group can learn so much from each other that they release all their inhibitions, for what good would be a collection of people all acting just exactly like each other? But it is good to see Melia so far from bashful.

So Fionn scrambles to his feet, recenters himself, and takes another shot, this time squatting slowly down in order to position his arms behind Melia's own knees and back.

"One...two...three...!" he calls, then shoots up so quickly that Melia momentarily becomes airborne, her wings giving an instinctual (though ineffectual) flap.

Fionn laughs, kissing her flushed cheek. "See? Still got it."

"A little forward, don't you think? Kissing an empress-elect without express imperial permission."

"Ah! I beg pardon, Your Majesty." As Fionn makes to bow, his chin moves over Melia's other cheek, where he repeats the scoundrel's act. "Won't happen again," he declares, once he's stood straight up again.

Melia squints, good-naturedly. "I don't believe you were ever quite this impossible before."

Fionn smiles, tender and crooked as ever. "That's where you're wrong, Melia." Melia, wrong? She ups the intensity of her squint, but Fionn merely matches it with a wrinkle of his nose. "What I was before was impossible. What I am now is as ordinary as...as the buttons on your dress!"

"They're made of Steel Hauyne."

"As common as Caterpile Silk, then."

Melia sighs. Somewhat of a disgusting choice of simile, isn't it? But that much, of course, hasn't changed. "As you wish, Fionn."