Ah.

And here Rose from the River was, relaxed. It was, in many ways, cleansing to speak with Yue's stone. To be herself, naked and unguarded, to speak with something that was trying its best to [i]understand[/i] her. And when the light faded away and the Sun Farmer hid behind her wolf-maiden, well, she was right to do so. Wasn't she? Rose from the River is all that she admitted: dangerous, and constrained by the Way by choice, and not your "friend." "Friends" are people who can relax in each other's company and trust themselves. Who could trust a creature whose heart still resounded with the ancient principles of her creators? You cannot suborn the heart of a true person. And so it is [i]right[/i] for Yue to be afraid of her. Doubtless, without her admission, there would have been foolish overtures of friendship, and one or the other would have been hurt as Rose did her best to remain untangled. Her role is to touch their lives lightly, to do what is needful and to do what is kind, and nothing more.

She could have been content in that, but then she looks up from the sun-stones that she rolls between her long fingers so cleverly and sees Chen smile, and it is a sword thrust inside her to the hilt. There is no flush of embarrassment, no pretension, no self-awareness in that smile. It is like a sheet of glass placed between her and a overflowing heart, unable to hide anything, but between them all the same. There, her own walls brought low by the virtue of Yue's perfect sun, there is nothing that Rose can do in the face of that joy but long for it, to wish that she could have made Chen of the Twin Shards laugh so effortless and free.

The HUNTER-Class 猎犬 had been a rake, twisting red strings around its fingers to bring it close to targets, or to make itself invisible in its hunting-grounds; love was a knife in its hand, sharp enough to open a vein. Betrayal meant nothing. Victory was all. And then it waged its rebellion, and now that knife was wielded only at its own will, but a knife it remained. And then-- and then--

And then First of the Radiants was asked to become the glittering prince of a young woman's dreams. And it did so, without question. Well, no. With many questions: like this? And that? Is this right? Am I right? Did you? Another round? What do I say? Should I remain silent? And not all of these spoken, either, but asked, continuously, of her, so that he could be what she dreamed of. Her bastion, her prince, her love, her mirror. Until he asked the question of himself: how should we then live? And the answer could not be escaped, but pursued him, pulled him close, sang his new name until he had no choice but to make a choice: to deny the Way or accept its charge. To open himself to being moved by the spirit of right action, or to close himself about Yin's hand like a gauntlet. And he unfolded himself around his own heart and changed its vital essence, and changed herself into something [i]true[/i].

Which is so much to say that Rose from the River has never- not once- allowed herself to fall in love with someone. She has been entranced with beauty (and here one may imagine the smug, flushed face of Scales of Meaning, watching herself be watched, Rose from the River stepping willingly into fascination and action without thought). She has ridden her fingers underneath the bruised indigo sky; she is not some blushing innocent. But now she wants more, and struggles at the reins of her own chariot-heart. What would it be like to lift that chin and have Chen open those doe-dark eyes and look up at her without fear, without cunning, without anything but a desire to share the delight of little foxes and new friends?

Ah.

Now there is a question that cannot and should not be answered. Rose is the Thorn Pilgrim, and if we make a chessboard of the world she is the queen that will bring White and Black into checkmate in the same move, capable of moving like the rook and the bishop alike. What is she then to do? Ask Chen to follow at her heels just because it would please [i]her[/i]? How is [i]she[/i] to fill up the void left by the broken chains of connection, to be an entire world for Chen and still be attentive to the subtle commands of the Way? And that assuming if Chen would even... after all, she saw Rose choose setting the world right over saving her, she listened to Rose's heart-litany, even her relief at seeing Rose was doubtless innocent enough. It is one thing to be relieved by someone's arrival, and another thing entirely to throw away everything just to follow a monk on her travels. No. No, Chen would wilt like a flower plucked from the living earth and tossed carelessly into a satchel, losing petals and potency, crushed between notebook and pen-case. No. It is not for you to take, Rose from the River, because it would in no way benefit the girl. (The [i]girl[/i]. Too young for her, too, even if one were to ignore the years spent in enchanted slumber.)

And even so, when Chen turns her attention back to Rose from the River, gently illuminated by the light of the dwindling afternoon and the gentle descent into twilight that Yue the Sun Farmer trapped within her stones, the monk's reply is inelegant: "Yes! Yes." Like a loyal hound she perks up, and hates herself for it. "Or do you forget who you talk to? I am a disciple of the White Doe School, harried by Qiu's minions across mountain and valley, committed to opposition to her for upsetting the balance of the world." And there, too, is another reason not to stare overlong, Thorn Pilgrim: or did you forget Chen herself will inherit two? Perhaps you will duel her when she is old enough for real battle. "And the Way has done enough to bring me here, to her, to you, to be of use; and I do not think that it will bid me lead her into Qiu's jaws unless such a thing was meant to be, and in that case-- well, the longer we keep her away from Qiu, the worse it will be for everyone, but I do not think it is so. I do not think it is so at all."

And she stands, still taller than Hyra, and looks down at Yue; and then she lowers herself to one knee, and bows her head. "Yue the Sun Farmer," she says, still wretchedly aware of Chen's eyes, and see, look, Princess, how she does her best to serve [i]everyone,[/i] you are not special, what you shared was not special, it is simply the size of her heart, that is all. Walk away before Rose hurts you both. How many times, in how many ways can she warn you? "I know that you are afraid of me. And that is good! It means that you have both eyes open. But I have bound myself fast to serving the living breath of providence, and if you trust me, I will act for the good of everyone until the ten thousand fallen paths of this world conspire to break me. All shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well: even so, I cannot make this choice for you. Take me, or lay me aside. The choice is yours, Yue the Sun Farmer."

And there is something about how she says that-- how she has said it, every time. As if it is her proper title, and there is honor and glory in it, and that she would rather call a Queen by her first name than imply that you were [i]merely[/i] a Sun Farmer-- as if there is anything [i]mere[/i] about it! There is sincerity there, none of that winking impish mischief that Chen has already encountered. And the effect, and the kneeling, and the danger sheathed: it might make a girl feel like a real Princess, or at the very least a proper handmaiden, and here a knight swearing herself to the cause of her safety. A dangerous knight, to be sure-- but in much the same way that Hyra herself is dangerous.

[Rose from the River, unfortunately, is [i]Smitten[/i] with Princess Chen. I'm as surprised as you are. She may take a String on Rose from the River.]