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For three weeks, Dion hardly left Terence’s side. He slept in Terence’s bed meant for one, his head resting on Terence’s shoulder and Terence’s arm wrapped comfortably around his waist. He insisted upon caring for Terence in all ways other than magic, and the healers agreed even if Terence was reluctant to accept. Dion had learned the art of cleaning and dressing wounds from the camp’s physickers though he had never been allowed to perform such lowly work himself. To care for another, to bathe them and bring them food and assist in their recovery was not suited for princely hands.

But he was no prince here – at least, he was a prince without a kingdom to serve – and there were no such expectations from any but the two of them. Terence might have objected on principle, but Dion delighted in the freedom of this broken taboo. Terence’s objections quickly faded once they were able to eat together, both picking off a single tray set upon Terence’s lap. Terence’s eyes closed contentedly every time that Dion brought a cloth of warm water to his bare chest in a loving, almost sensual motion. As for the caring of his wounds, Dion could think of no better suited. The act of giving rather than receiving such care was a gift that he could do nothing but cherish.

When there was nothing else, they would idle away their hours with stories. Terence, telling of the world his sacrifice had created. Dion, telling of this new world and all he had learned of it. He would also tell of the local gossip simply to pass the time, and one day as he passed through the clinic preparing another tray of food and a bag of the appropriate potions, he heard of such gossip passing through the secretary’s hands.

There had been a request – mercenarial business, it seemed, though quite unconventional at that. A local orphanage had asked for an educational visit for its children. The secretary lamented that while this was good work, they were a clinic and needed every set of hands they could muster.

Dion brought this news to Terence, and to his surprise, his knight countered with a request of his own.

”Could it not be you?” Terence asked, and Dion nearly started in surprise.

”I vowed never to leave your side,” he countered, but Terence gave a weak laugh and pointed out that such a task, if taken literally, would be quite troublesome indeed. He was feeling much better, he insisted, and Dion’s talents could be better served elsewhere.

He was not wrong. After nearly a month of recovery, Terence was no longer a man on death’s door and looked stronger every day. Dion needn’t worry for his health, but to leave him here when they had only just been reunited…

It was a difficult decision, but one that he ultimately conceded. Terence was rarely wrong. Not in this nor in anything else.

And so Dion unexpectedly volunteered to take on the task. He was given directions and seen off on chocoboback. The road was easy to follow with little danger in sight, but still, Dion kept his lance strapped to his traveling pack even if he had not donned his armor for a fight. He did not expect one, and one did not come to meet him. The orphanage was only two days of travel away, and he made to his destination in good time.

He arrived by morning to a quaint cottage near the woods. It was isolated along roads lesser traveled, but it was not lonely for its isolation. Indeed, it seemed almost cheerful with the brilliant rays of sunlight and the sounds of laughter from children at play in the yard. It was only as Dion dismounted, unstrapping his lance out of habit, that he realized that he had never played at the role of a tutor before. Not a scholarly one, at least, and though he was well-studied, he couldn’t help but wonder the good it would do when he had been educated on strictly Valisthean matters – more specifically, that of the Holy Empire.

Dion sighed and shook away his doubts. He had learned well that confidence was key, and that if he did not possess it, he must at least present the facade. And so he strode towards the cottage with his head held high, offering a polite smile to any child that stopped to gaze at him in awe. He supposed he posed a striking figure even without his noble titles or his dragoon armor. It was only natural that he would draw their eye.

He found a woman among them, tending to the garden it seemed with a young child at her side. Dion slowed his step so as not to startle her. ”Pardon,” he said as he approached. ”But you would not happen to know of a Miss Muireach by chance? She sent a summons to a clinic to the north.”

[attr=class,ooc-notes]Sorry for the wait!