Fire Emblem is the Property of Intelligent Systems and Nintendo.
A.N. This one is older than the rest of the senses by a good deal of time, so it won't be written as well as the others.
He remembered his first trip the the market. The streets, if they could be called that, were cluttered with people driven by some unnatural energy, kicking up all manner of dust and dirt with their passing. Had he been any smaller at the time, the clouds would like have made him cough and hack and cause his eyes to water with their proximity. It fascinated him immensely, and he had been torn between both the desire to explore the new world of light and people and the security his mother's presence provided. The fear of separation compelled him to remain close however, and he observed the excitement as he kept close to her hip.
Most things his mother sought were displayed too high for him to reach, so he had to content himself with watching only. His curiosity was rewarded, however, when his mother led him to a stall loaded with crates of foods he had never seen before. What were they? How did they taste? What did they feel, smell like? He had reached forward eagerly, wanting to handle and touch every one of them.
But, before he'd experienced them through his senses, his mother had stricken the back of his hand and had drawn it away. He'd opened his mouth to protest, feeling as though he'd been denied sight and senses, and the right to experience the world, but was silenced by her look, soft, understanding, but firm
"Do not touch as if the whole of the world is yours, Kent," she'd told him, eyes level with his own. " Touch is revealing about what it affects. Do not touch to see, or to know. Only touch if you have purpose, not to find one. Touch is not like sight in that it can harm by it's action. Sight held too long on something does nothing but dry the eyes, where a touch can damage if held too long, too hard. " She took a fruit from a crate and held it in front of him. "I touch because I seek to purchase, I seek to make it mine and to treat it as I please." She had placed the fruit in his hands at that point and risen to pay the man at the stall for it and a small bag of ones like and dislike it.
He hadn't paid much more attention to the market beyond that point. He'd held her hand or skirts in one hand while staring at the fruit and thinking about what he'd been told. He'd rotated the thing in his hand and experimented on it with the different touches of which his mother had spoken. Held too long, and a pocket would form beneath the skin, pressed too hard and the skin would break. A little touch though, a brush of his finger, he thought at first did nothing, but he then saw the oils of his hand smeared where he had touched.
After satisfying his curiosity he had later eaten the treat, but he always carried his mother's words with him after.
And it is likely for that reason that he felt so unprepared for his current situation.
He'd been lucky, to say the least, that the lake had been blessedly shallow when he'd been unhorsed into it. Had his armor been any heavier, he very well could have drowned in the shallows, an embarrassing end for anyone. The cold had been a shock though, and simply falling in had felt like a kick to his chest. He'd propped himself up by his palms as quickly as he could, gasping for air and seeking his foe with a frantic gaze, unsure of how he'd defend himself with no weapon, but unwilling to be caught off guard. But, for all his searching, he'd clearly been assumed as well as dead for falling where he had.
He held his position for a bit, simply breathing, but knew he had to get out before the fate he'd avoided could take place as his muscles wore out and the cold numbed them to uselessness. He shifted a hand to the best position he could manage for holding the stress of his weight in armor and moved his other as fast as he could to undo the latches of his breastplate and separate it from his back before the strain was too much. It took several tries and rotations of his bracing arms and hands before his was able to disconnect the pieces of his bevor, cuirass and spaulders. With those removed, he was able to push himself to his feet, where he wavered and stepped unsteadily for a moment before reaching down to pick them up and make his way to a dry section of the shore.
His horse had wandered off without him, but he didn't have to strength to go after it. Instead he dropped the removed articles of his armor and fell beside them, leaning his back to a tree, breathing the air and shuddering occasionally as the wind whispered through his soaked clothes. He'd catch cold and fever if he left himself wet like this too long, he knew, but he could do nothing for the time being. After a moment, he shed his gauntlets and vambraces, freeing his hands to better pull his shirt free of his belt and wring water out of the end.
He'd been reflecting on how truly asinine it was of him to pursue his foes into the woods and away from the body of the army when he'd heard his name called. He didn't think anyone had seen him come here in the flurry of the battle and yet, he heard it again.
It was Lady Lyndis. Twisting around he could see that she was leading his horse and seeking where its master had gone.
"Kent?" She called again, worry carried in the timbre of her voice. He coughed into a fist, the cold still clinging to his lungs, before responding with a slight rasp, "M'lady?" Her head turned to the direction of his voice, and he could see her smile as she took a faster step in his direction, his horse unhappily led behind.
His heart fluttered at that smile.
His affections shamed him, he knew, but he was powerless to their fancy. The most he could do was suppress them, keep them tucked away. But something seemed different in this moment. As he saw her make her way closer and closer, they seemed to drift through his restraints as if the armor he had removed from his chest had ceased guarding his heart more than just physically.
"Kent." She breathed relief as she came up to him, " I was worried when you hadn't returned from the battle, and when I found your horse without you..."
With another cough, he managed to look up at her and return, "Thank you, milady; I am fine." But before he had quite finished, he felt her hand probe his shoulder.
"Kent! You must be freezing in that!" She all but accosted him, tying his horse's reins to a tree branch, kneeling at his side and feeling the fabric down his arm before grasping his hand and accusing, "You are!"
Her touch sent another spasm through his heart, "Forgive me, Lady Lyndis, I was unhorsed into the lake." He cast his eyes down, both for being chastised and to hide the potential color which was likely staining his cheeks.
"The lake? Kent, I'm just happy you're alive after that, but you're going to need warmed and dried off if you're going to avoid illness." She leaned a little closer, plucking a couple sections of his shirt where it had been plastered to his skin.
He looked back up at her, about to assent to her logic, but saw that she seemed to have spaced out, a certain, oddly familiar expression worn on her face. "Milady?" He queried, confused at her sudden slowing in action. "Milady, is something--"
She reached forward, her finger lightly brushing over his soaked shirt, the feeling feathering down to his chest, encouraging small tremors to quake his body.
He recognized the expression for what is was now; he'd worn a very similar one himself that day in the market so long ago. She sought to see with her fingers, to know and feel and learn, but here there was no one to hold her hand back as his mother had. And in his state he was completely vulnerable to her exploration.
She traced lines and creases in the fabric across his musculature, gently dragging the tips over them until she rested her palm against his traitorously thumping heart. So long had it been protected from touch within the shell of his cuirass that in its exposure he could do nothing but watch her react to the revelation of its manic pulse. Her head tilted a little, her gaze fixated over her hand and his heart.
A touch reveals. "Milady?" He hoped to wake her from her reverie, but she remained lost in it. When she began to lean forward, he felt near to panicking. "Milady, what--I am wet, milady!" He protested only moments before she lay her head on his chest, her ear where her palm had been, her arm wrapping around his side. His breath caught up in his throat. Her touch. Her touch. What was she feeling, how much was she learning, what knowledge was his body betraying to her?
She was close, terribly close. Her warmth seeped into him as water seeps into fabric. He felt it melting away his sense of the world, leaving only her there. His sense of propriety began to fail him, and try as he might, he could not grasp at it again. His body shuddered.
"Are you not warm yet?" She asked from his chest. When he did not respond, he felt her arm leave his side and reconnect with the nape of his neck, gently fingering his short bristled hair.
It was not--he couldn't--
He felt her draw his head down and lift her own to meet it. She did not kiss his lips, but, for all that it was, the gentle heat which graced his cheek could not have been any less effective. His body was filled with it, and everything else seemed to disappear. He wrapped an arm around her, held her close, hoping to keep that warmth, that feeling, that touch from escaping him.
The world began to peck at his senses though. His duty, his presence of mind, everything crawled back into place.
"Lady Lyndis?" He choked. Her hands twitched on his chest and shoulder, she moved as if readjusting a moment before pushing herself away and looking back up at him. The hair on the side of her head that been laying to him was wet and tangled, pulling out of her hair-tie in places, sharking in others.
She smiled up at him with her soft, beautiful eyes, "Are you warm now, Kent?"
He managed a small nod, his voice still almost whispery," Thank you, milady."
"Good. I am glad to hear it." She pulled away, taking some of the warmth with her, and stood to her feet, extending her hand to him. "They are likely missing the both of us by now."
He took her hand and let her help him to his feet before brushing the myriad clods of dirt and forest from his breeches. Before they started the walk back, she helped him reaffix his armor as there was no way to attach it to his horse minus saddle bags.
As well they did anyway, for it certainly would do them no good if they arrived in a manner that invited gossip and rumor.
The bevor (as far as I can tell) is the term for the armor protecting the neck, the cuirass is the term for the whole of the connected pieces of his back and breastplates, and the spaulders are the term for his shoulder guards.
The vambraces are his forearm guards.
(Also, I felt like such a sap writing this, mentally pestered by it or not.)