Written for Goldenlake's Peculiar Pairings Ficathon, ergo the Kel/Wyldon. Also, I stole from history a little bit. I know that there was a Hélène, but I don't remember if her tutor was an Abbard or something else more French (and I should know, I was just in France. Even though I take Spanish. Er. Storytime?)
There is no explicit law stating that it is illegal for a training master to engage in relations with any of their charges, pages or squires, for even in the age of the lady knights it was one of those things that was never done. The prospective knight would lose all honor and be driven out of training, and the training master would be shunned. If anything ever happened, it was unspoken.
Storytellers and the more conservative historians often cited the romanticized tale of Squire Hélène and her passionate affair with her training master, Abbard, but it was thought that none of the events happened in the precise order they were told: Hélène became pregnant the year before her Ordeal and sought protection from the Goddess's temple. It was never proven that the father was Abbard, he was thought to be a secret lover of the king. That detail was added after it was forbidden for women to try for their shield; many scholars, including Sir Myles of Olau, thought it was used as another excuse to stop lady knights.
(Most likely Hélène took a commoner for a lover; an old family such as hers would not care for the stain of a bastard grandchild and therefore they sent her away.)
There are even less precedents for a knight and her former training master, and especially for one who is not her commander, has no jurisdiction over her now that the war is over and he has been reassigned to a different post at a different fort.
Technically, their only crime is adultery.
It started only three weeks ago, yet it feels like she has been doing this forever, feeling this forever. He is so familiar to her now, and she can trace the outlines of his scars with her eyes closed. She has memorized every inch of his body, with meaning behind the act: soon she will have to stop, and the only time she will be able to be with him is when she closes her eyes.
She tilts her head back, and he eyes the graceful line of her neck, the way her short hair swings backwards and the way her chest expands as she breathes, deeply and hurried. His hands play over her back, and yet again he marvels at the smooth musculature and the way her shoulders roll.
They never speak about what they begin to feel.
She can interpret his sounds and his body better than his words. Words can be used in so many ways, but his firm grasp on her waist, his fingers digging in hard enough that she takes care to hide the bruises, and the light touches down her sides, they can only mean one thing, in the end.
Keladry is not wise in the ways of women; she spent adolescence trying to blend in with boys, even while reminding them that she was, in fact, a girl. He was always hyperaware of her gender. He spent time that should have been used more productively hoping she would fail because she shouldn't be allowed to be a knight, and glad that she is succeeding because she will be a good knight and it is his job to train good knights.
They never kiss, either. She wonders what it would be like, his hard, unforgiving mouth on hers while they move together, but it never happens. He stares into her eyes, blinking only when necessary, but it is not as intimate as it sounds.
He used to tell her that he wished that she had been born a boy.
He doesn't say that anymore.