Metal Band One-Shots

The Writer and the Warrior (Fluomas)

 The bard sat quietly at his table, writing the lines of his next tale. He'd given it careful thought, and decided it would be about a warrior. A warrior woman, to be exact, one he'd modeled after someone he knew well...

 "Tuomas?"

 The sound of Floor's voice distracted him from his work. If it had been anyone else, he probably would not have paid much attention, but she made him put down his pen and look up.

 "Hello, Floor," he said. "You're back already."

 She nodded, and gave him a shy smile. "Hello to you, too." She looked down at the table. "Are you busy? If you are-"

 "No, no." Tuomas began to pile everything together carefully. "Please, come in. I'm happy you're back so soon."

 "Well, I'm happy to be back," Floor said. "I don't think going out on adventures is exciting as everyone makes it sound."

 "Are you reconsidering being a warrior?"

 "Well, no. It's just not always fun. Are you writing anything new?"

 "You know I'm usually writing something new," Tuomas replied.

 "Is it something else sad?" Floor asked. "You know no one down at the tavern will want to hear it if it's anything really sad."

 "Seeing someone cry from it means as much to me as seeing someone smile from it. And don't forget everyone was crying when you sang. You were splendid. Everyone said so."

 "Well, it's probably more because it was sad," Floor said modestly. But Tuomas noticed the way she crossed her arms and stared down at her shoes, and he knew she was secretly glad by what he'd said.

 "Well, do sit down," he said. "What brings you here? You must have family and other friends to see."

 "Oh, I've already seen everyone. We warriors weren't away for as long as everyone thought we would be. My family and friends are happy I'm back unharmed, of course. But I just wanted to come see you. I like sitting here with you. Your house always seems so...quiet and peaceful compared to everyone else's."

 Tuomas thought about all of the times Floor would come to visit him there in his little house, he with his pens and papers and she sitting by the fire, stroking the flames. It had always been so comfortable, as if it were somehow meant to be.

 "You're welcome to stay awhile, then," he said. "But, you know, if you come too often and stay too long, people might become suspicious, and then we might really have to get married."

 "Oh, I don't think I'd make a good wife," Floor said. "I do know some cooking, but not much. And for my entire life, my mother has always told me how dirty I always look, so I don't think I'd be very good with cleaning, either. I think I'm better with swordfighting and archery." 

 "I cook and clean myself," Tuomas said. "If I didn't, this house would be quite the mess. I really don't do well with swordfighting and archery, though."

 "Oh. Well, do you suppose we would just...take turns doing things, then?"

 He shrugged. "I suppose so." 

 Floor grew silent, so Tuomas went back to his writing. Everything seemed peaceful and comfortable, as if it were meant to be.