“Oh fuck,” Clover hisses and then panics when the knight looks up and he realizes he said that aloud, “I mean, wow! To kill so many fey and not remember!” Clover forces himself to laugh, because he’s not sure what else he can do to cover the sudden panic zipping through him, “You must be super strong then huh? Bet you already have a few ballads singing your praises if you’re that good!”

Clover doesn’t know why but he’s got the sudden feeling he just super said the wrong thing. A few whisps of a breeze twist around him, warning. The knight looks away as if he can’t bear to look at the fool of a bard anymore, focusing back on his swords, scrubbing a bit harder at the hel-ash staining the silver blade, “I’m just a sellsword, nothing special.”

“Well, you saved me!” Clover counters, with a happy and unnecessary clap that echoes in the small cave. He tries not to cringe as the knight stills, senses suddenly alert at the sharp noise. Clover moves his hands far apart from each other so he doesn’t do it again, but Clover is fidgety, he needs his hands to be doing something, or he will shake out of his own bones. He settles for occupying his hands with twisting at the frilled ruffles at the end of his sleeves, pulling at the already stretched fabric in a bad nervous tick Aine has never been able to rid him of. “And saving amazing little me, well… that makes you special in my books!”

The human doesn’t glance up, but he does stop scrubbing hard enough that Clover can hear the divine blessed silver creak under his strength. Clover is a bit amazed he was so blind earlier to notice how truly powerful of a man this warrior must be, if Nor and him went head to head, Clover couldn’t say with confidence who would win.

The knight tilts his blade into the light once more, letting out a little hum before he speaks, “and I continue to wonder why I did.”

“Okay ouch,” Clover complains, the annoyance real this time, “I did pay you.”

The knight glances up and Clover can almost see the annoyed glare shot his way, the fear comes rushing back and he forces a laugh and an, only slightly frantic, hand wave, “And I’m going to pay you more! We agreed!”

The human makes another of those infuriating grunts, this one buzzes with dismissal as the knight returns once more to his weapons, as if they are better conversation partners than a literal bard.

Clover blinks, confused at the mixing emotions of annoyance, and fear, and indignation of all things. ‘Wait…’ he thinks, feeling his eye twitch, ‘is this guy seriously going to pretend he didn’t literally growl at me because I only had three copper?’

“Surely three copper isn’t enough?” he asks, voice laced with false sugar. “And you seem rather displeased with that so I’m fine paying you more for your lustrous services good knight.”

Knight huffs, and it might be a laugh, “was more displeased with the contractor than the pay.”

‘Oh, the nerve of this—!’ “Well I still appreciate you saving my life,” Clover says, and begrudgingly does mean the words, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to let this man off lightly for insulting. Bards hold grudges and Clover is one of the best bards to ever walk Midgard, he never forgets a slight. “I truly do not know what would have befallen me had I not chanced upon you on that back road,” he continues, keenly aware of how the knight is getting more and more tense. For such a brave hero, the man certainly disliked being in the spotlight, what a funny trait for a monster hunter. “You have saved me from the foul clutches of death and for that, all of my songs and coin pale to the deed you have done for me this night. If you wish it, I shall continue repaying this favor forever more—"

“Go to bed, bard.” The knight bites, a rumbling growl of displeasure undercutting his words, but at least Clover’s stupid plan worked, he definitely seems agitated now, “I’ll take first watch.”

Victory in a battle of words always tastes sweet, but the high of the win is fleeting and soon Clover settles back and realizes maybe he shouldn’t be poking the man with both the means and ability to kill him.

Clover glances outside, into the dark curtain of rain keeping them trapped in this little hovel that barely counts as a cave. Slowly his eyes drift back to the knight. He really does not like the idea of giving this hobbyist feyer his back while he’s asleep. The guy seems to have enough honor to not gut him without warning, but he would never hear the end of it if Áine somehow got wind of it.

‘After all it's better to just slip away in the night than stay right?’

Clover would feel bad not paying the man his full due, but he just argued with Clover about not needing any more money, so… so why doesn’t he just take the knight up on the offer? ‘If he really finds me so displeasing, then surely he wouldn’t care if I slip away?’

Wandering around in the middle of a thunderstorm will suck, but better safe than sorry. Logically Clover doesn’t really think the man will hurt him, but he can’t shake the fear whispering in the back of his mind, the cautionary buzz of iron on the edge of his awareness, or the shifting wind that itches along his skin in unnecessary warning.

“How about I take first watch instead?” he offers, the chances of there being a third monster creeping up on them in the night is so impossible, Clover doesn’t even want to think about doing the math. So, he will take the first watch, then sneak out of here just before the knight wakes, no problem. Or it wouldn’t be a problem but—

“No.” The knight refuses, gliding the whetstone along his blade and checking the sharpness in the dancing firelight, the now newly polished blade sends scattering beams of light along the cave walls, like a witch's spell unfurling around them.

“Ahh come on sir knight, let me be helpful! You saved my life!” he reasons, making a show of sitting down and rearranging his gear just for something to busy his hands with, “you might not believe me but I have rather sharp ears, I’ll know if another monster is coming to make us its dinner! And I’m not going to be able to sleep anytime soon anyway after the…” Clover trails off, shivering as the wind brushes past him with a cold chill, “after all that excitement,” he settles on. “so just let me-“

Clover pauses as the knight with a sigh pushes himself to his feet.

“Good knight sir?”

Clover is ignored once more as the man digs around his bag before pulling out a large glass bottle full of… sand?

“I don’t know if you noticed my good man, but that is not a bottle of ale.”

“I wish it was ale,” the human mutters, quietly enough that Clover shouldn’t be able to hear it, but the words are carried to his ears anywhere.

Clover tenses, temper flaring, fully expecting the knight to start another pointless fight, but he just walks towards the edge of the cave. The human uncorks the bottle the same second his winds shift, practically screaming at him in warning. He tenses, scrambling to his feet as the human overturns the bottle, but it’s too late, by the time Clover has pieced together what is happening he can’t do anything to stop it. The knight is recorking his bottle, a fresh line of white and black sand in between them and the cave exit. Sand that Clover can now feel buzzing along his skin, because it’s not just earth, he can feel it now, choking the air and burning his tongue. It’s not black and white sand, it’s salt-iron.

A rare and highly expensive ward against both fey and helborne. Áine makes some for a few rich nobles in the nearby states of Freeshire and keeps it locked away in a storage room Clover is forbidden from entering. He thought she was just being overprotective, her mother hen nature once more expanding into pointless matters. But this burns, softly enough that he’s not being forced to revert to his true form, but painful enough that every breath carries the hint of blood and the foul tang of iron. He never expected to run into it out here in the middle of nowhere, he was too careless, he’s fallen right into a trap.

He swallows thickly, unable to fully push down the panic or the slight shake in his voice, whole body strung tight like a bow, “W-What are you doing good knight?”

The knight turns now that his deed is done, he makes a grunting shrug before deciding to use his words, “Securing the perimeter.”

“Oh,” and Clover finds himself laughing, the noise bubbling up from the panic his body can’t fully force down. “Securing it from what?”

The knight sighs, sitting back down with a clatter of metal, “Monsters.”

Clover is aware he makes some noise at that, some sad little squeaking squawk, he turns sharply away, pretending to busy himself with his bag, he pretends he can’t see his hands shake as he mindless fumbles around, pulling out items just to put them back in. praying that he looks normal and busy and not one bad scare away from turning back into a sad little bird.

The knight grumbles something under his breath that Clover isn’t even sure is a language and continues as if speaking the words aloud are a terrible inconvenience, “Salt wards off helborne, and fair folk can’t cross iron.”

‘Yeah, I know,’ Clover thinks feeling the panic dig its teeth deeper into him, ‘I’m fucking trapped here now!’