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Nimona was back home to stay, but that was only half the battle.
There was something crucial, and potentially hazardous, left for Ballister to do: properly introduce (re-introduce?) her to Ambrosius. He did not know how this meeting would play out and could only hope that the two of them acted civilly toward one another.
After all, he loved the two of them more than anything.
Ballister silently prayed for these introductions to go as smoothly and drama-free as possible. Then it was showtime.
Ambrosius stepped into the room.
Once upon a time, a great man once told a shapeshifter: “If you see anyone, hide!”
So that’s what she did.
As the blonde man approached, Nimona hid behind Ballister. Ballister wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Nimona did not know Ambrosius’ intentions, but she knew for a fact that Ballister would not let him harm her.
Like how Ambrosius had harmed both of them.
It’s not that she found him frightening. Nimona Boldheart was not afraid of Ambrosius Goldenloin. What she felt toward him was a great skepticism.
“It’s okay,” Ballister assured as he squeezed her hand. “You’re safe. Everyone is safe.”
Well, if he said so.
Nimona stepped out.
Ballister remained two paces behind her, ready to jump in if anything went awry.
Time to assess the prey. Nimona scanned Ambrosius slowly and thoroughly like he was her next meal, licking her lips for good measure. She took in the finely coiffed blonde hair, the dark eyes that looked like they had a lot to say, the casual jeans, the weaponless belt looped through those jeans.
It was her first time seeing Ambrosius in something other than his golden armor.
She didn’t know what to make of it.
Before she could say anything, Ambrosius knelt down and lowered his head to her in a reverent bow.
Huh. Okay. A good start, she figured. The sorry excuse for a knight was on his knees begging for forgiveness, where he belonged.
“Show your weapons,” she barked, her first words to him. “Let’s see them.”
Still kneeling, Ambrosius looked up at her and held out his open palms. He patted his belt and his pockets. “No weapons.”
Nimona looked to Ballister for confirmation and hoped that he did not notice the flash of fear in her eyes. Maybe she was a liiiiittle afraid of Ambrosius. Or more specifically, of what Ambrosius could do.
“He’s unarmed,” Ballister confirmed. “You’re safe.”
Ambrosius bowed his head once more. “Nimona, I ask—”
“You hurt him.” She cut him off. She had no patience for half-baked apologies.
Sensibly, Ambrosius was silent.
Nimona continued. “You hurt him and you hurt me and you’re just like Gloreth.” She let the words linger for a few seconds for emphasis. Let him reflect on what he did. Let him never forget that he turned a sword on his dearest love and on a shapeshifter who only wanted to help. Who only wanted to belong. Who only wanted to be loved.
Ballister gulped.
Ambrosius slowly rose to his feet, eyes trained on her. He heard her out, which earned a nod of approval from Ballister. She needed to get all of her words out, whether as accusations or greetings or threats or promises. She would talk, and he would listen.
That opportunity proved wise; Nimona allowed her shoulders and voice to slacken. “But I’m tired. And I like it here. I want to stay here for a while. And you like Ballister just as much as I do. So I guess you can stay here too.” It felt weird to address Ballister by his real name and not the title of ‘Boss’ or another silly diminutive. But that seriousness was needed if she was to make her point.
“I’d love that.” Ambrosius’ voice sounded like the gentle lapping of the tides. The tides that came simply because the sand called them.
Nimona glanced reflexively back at Ballister before returning her focus to Ambrosius. “He — he changed the way he saw me.” Her voice wobbled, despite her best efforts. Tears pricked her eyes. She felt Ballister’s hands dig comforting caresses into her shoulders. That gave her some extra courage to continue, burning eyes and wavering voice be damned. “So I’m going to try that too. As long as you swear on your prissy blonde regal head to never, never raise a sword against him again.”
Yes! In a heartbeat and for a thousand lifetimes, yes! Ambrosius hopped down to one knee once more. He wanted to properly bow to her and vow his loyalty. “I will never raise a sword against him or you. I never should have done that the first time. That will forever be the biggest regret of my life.”
Oath pledged, Ambrosius considered rising to his feet once again. But he wanted to appear as nonthreatening as possible, so he remained at Nimona’s eye level. “We were all fools to never question Gloreth. I’m not her. I never asked to be put into this lot in life. I’ll live each of my remaining days proving to you that I can be better than what they made us believe that we were. I’ll be your friend and your protector and your ally and whatever else you want from me. I’ll be what you and Bal deserve.”
Nimona wanted to believe him. She really, really wanted to believe him. “You make him happy. And if we become friends, it’s for your own good, not out of convenience or obligation. I don’t do things just because people say so. If he wants us to get along, we do it on my terms.”
“Duly noted,” Ambrosius affirmed.
“And…” Nimona swallowed, throat dry and heart doing all sorts of sad hopeful longing things.
And you have to promise not to call me a monster. You have to promise not to toss a net over my head or aim a blade at my chest, and you have to make an effort to like me because I love it here and I love him and I don’t want any of us to leave and that includes you too.
Her eyes burned again.
She took one step backward closer to Ballister and then two steps forward toward Ambrosius. “And you have to promise to… I don’t know, buy me pizza once a week. Two pizzas, all for me. Charred to a crisp with extra feta. Make it different toppings every week. Just no pineapple.”
Her hand twitched involuntarily. Time to shift! This conversation just got a whole lot more entertaining.
“You’re not Gloreth? You never asked for any of that? So prove it.” Repeating his own words back at him felt so delicious. Maybe there was hope for them yet. “Do better. Be better. Be different. Whatever you do, stay. Don’t hurt him and maybe don’t hurt me if you can help it, and just stay. Have I made myself clear?”
“Crystal clear.” Ambrosius’ eyes glistened with the same hope. “Thank you, Nimona.”
Nimona held out a hand to help him up. “Thank you, Ambrosius.”
Ambrosius reached for her hand…
… and she disappeared in a poof of pink smoke.
Only to reappear as a gerbil burrowed in the back of his shirt. “Missed me?”
The scream he emitted made her earlier vulnerability worth it. The startled Ambrosius tripped over his feet and toppled back down to the floor. He sure was spending a lot of time on the floor this afternoon, she noted.
Nimona cackled madly, all too pleased with her little trick. If shifting kept causing this type of reaction from Ambrosius, perhaps she would keep him around after all.
But okay, that was enough fun for the time being. Back to Serious Conversation™.
The gerbil became a teenage girl once more. That teenage girl looked down at him with a warning in her eyes. “Everyone leaves him. Don’t do that again.”
“I won’t if you won’t.” Resolve blazed in his own expression.
Nimona whistled. “Feisty. I like.” She sighed. “Look, Ambrosius. Don’t get used to me calling you ‘Ambrosius’, by the way. I’m just doing it now to make a point. But yeah. Listen. I’ve never done this before. This is new to me too. I don’t know how to do this. But my favorite person is your favorite person so we can try, right?”
Testimony given, she extended her hand to help him up. For real this time.
He clasped her hand and stood, eyes never leaving hers. (She appreciated that level of commitment.) “Right. My good Nimona, you have yourself a deal.”
That night, Ballister noted a suspicious quiet in the house as he cleared the dishes from dinner.
He passed by the living room and saw the love of his life fast asleep on the couch, sitting upright.
With a little pink puppy curled up a few feet away. One of the puppy’s front paws was outstretched: not quite resting on the sleeping blonde’s knee, but reaching for him all the same.