Doubt thou the stars are fire

It really shouldn’t have made him as happy as it had to hear Ilona mention, ever so casually, that she’d frozen his lead actor’s balls. Hyperion couldn’t help the amused smile that appeared on his face, much as he tried to tell himself that he should be objective and treat all his actors the same. His lead actor was an annoyance on the best of days, and on the worst he was apparently aggravating enough to warrant his balls being frozen, so Hyperion couldn’t actually bring himself to feel sorry for the man. Perhaps he’d learned his lesson, though Hyperion doubted it. His lead actor was a stubborn piece of work, more so than any other actor he’d ever worked with.

Ilona’s analysis of their performance put him at ease. He hadn’t thought there was anything that needed changing, but it was always nice to hear so from someone other than himself. “You chose a very hard play, old man,” Ilona told him, teasing as always. “I have to keep you lot on your toes,” Hyperion replied with a casual shrug. “Besides, it’s a popular play. We always sell out when we put it on, and we could do with the funds.” It wasn’t that the theatre was doing poorly; quite the opposite, in fact, but it was always good to do the more popular plays every once in a while. They tended to draw a larger crowd, which usually came to several other plays after that, as well. It was simply solid marketing.

When he looked up, he found Ilona leaned over the table, their faces very close together. A lesser man would have startled, perhaps even moved back immediately; as it was, Hyperion could feel his heart skip a few beats and settle into an erratic rhythm, but he kept absolutely still. He watched Ilona as she watched him, their eyes locking. It didn’t mean anything, he told himself. It was simply Ilona being herself, he knew, but there was something about the lingering look that set his nerves alight.

The waiter arrived with their food, breaking the moment, and Hyperion almost breathed a sigh of relief. He thanked the man with a nod before he picked up his fork and took a bite of his food, which was as excellent as ever. Ilona wasn’t looking at him. Hyperion tried not to be disappointed, but he was foolish and weak, so, naturally, he failed miserably. He focused on his food, taking measured sips of his drink every once in a while, and let his eyes roam the room, settling on other diners. Suddenly, Ilona’s voice broke the silence. When Hyperion looked over to her, she still wasn’t looking at him, but he found that he didn’t mind it as much as he had before. He had the impression that she wasn’t avoiding his gaze because she simply didn’t want to look at him, but rather because she couldn’t look at him.

Her invitation was as coy as anything she ever said, but Hyperion knew how to read between the lines. He felt the expression on his face soften as he watched the drape of her hair on her shoulder and the soft line of her jaw. He smiled to himself. Weak old man, he thought. “I’d be honoured, my lady,” he said to Ilona, bowing his head for an extra touch of the dramatic, and grinning at her. He turned back to his food. Roughly twenty minutes later, his plate and glass were both empty, and he flagged down the waiter to settle the bill. He looked at Ilona and got up from his seat. He halted next to her, offering his arm. “Shall we, then?”

Because of the lateness of the hour, the streets weren’t as crowded as they had been before. The merchants had packed up for the day and people had either gone back to their homes or to various restaurants to eat. It would be busier later in the evening, Hyperion knew from personal experience, but for now, he enjoyed the peace and quiet of the relatively empty streets – and Ilona’s presence at his side.

He followed in her footsteps as if it was the only thing he knew how to do. She was quiet, almost uncharacteristically so, and Hyperion couldn’t find it in him to break the silence. He settled for watching her from the corner of his eye. She walked with sure steps, her movements fluid, as if she had walked this route many times before and could have done it in her sleep. Perhaps she had. Hyperion didn’t usually keep that close a watch on her, so he had no idea what she did whenever she wasn’t with him.

After roughly fifteen minutes, he noticed that Ilona was leading him away from the city centre, making her way towards what he knew to be the outskirts of the city and the patches of nature beyond them. He was momentarily baffled; he wasn’t sure what she was trying to do, leading him there, but as he had all evening, he kept following where she led, never once complaining. He would have followed her anywhere, much as it pained him to admit as much even to himself. Weak old man, he told himself again, but still he went where she did.

About half an hour after they had set off from the restaurant, they seemed to have left the city behind entirely. There was nothing but green around them. Hyperion had never spent much time in the forest, even as a child; he usually only caught glimpses of it whenever the company travelled to different cities to perform. Ilona seemed to know her way around the place, though, as she led the way with as much confidence as she had within the city.

At long last, she halted in a clearing. Hyperion could feel her gaze on him, hyperaware of her as ever, and turned to look at her. He found her watching him from the corner of her eye, much like he had been watching her before. When she explained that she came to the clearing every day to watch the sunset, Hyperion understood why she knew her way around so well. Going the same way every day would do that to you.

Any questions he might have had about her home, which she referenced but didn’t elaborate on, died on his tongue when she walked over to the pond and took off her shoes and rolled up her trousers, as if Hyperion wasn’t there at all. His gaze lingered on the curve of her ankle and the arch of her foot before she dipped her feet into the water, hiding them from his view as effectively as any clothing would. He tore his gaze away and silently berated himself for getting carried away - again. It simply wasn’t his day, it would seem.

Taking a deep mental breath, he crossed the distance between them and sat down next to her, though he was careful to keep his feet dry. He had never liked water all that much, truth be told, likely because he’d been drenched in it too frequently growing up on the streets. He watched Ilona, feeling brave enough to do so openly. “You know,” he started casually, watching her reaction carefully, “you’ve never actually spoken that much about your home. You simply showed up one day without explanation and never left again.”

He had never actually asked her about her home, either because it wasn’t the time or because he wasn’t brave enough to breach the topic. But now that she had taken him here, to a place that seemed to be special to her, it seemed like the right time to ask. “How did you end up in Ba Sing Se?” He was careful to keep his tone as light as possible. He didn’t want to seem like he was forcing her. If she wanted to share, perfect. If she didn’t, no fuss.

Part of him had expected Ilona wouldn’t actually answer. She was vocal enough to tell someone off for prying into her business, after all, and while she hadn’t been overly secretive about her past, she hadn’t willingly opened up about it before. But, to Hyperion’s pleasant surprise, she didn’t seem to mind talking about it. It didn’t take her long after he’d asked the question to launch into her tale.

It wasn’t a very long story, though it sounded difficult and complicated, and Hyperion listened quietly while Ilona told him of how she had always been seen as an outcast and had never felt at home among the people who were supposed to be her own. It explained a lot – why she wasn’t that good at following orders and always seemed to be doing her own thing. Hyperion didn’t actually feel guilty for all the times he’d tried to be hard on her for always showing up late, but it was a close thing. Now that he knew what she had been through, he could see why she acted the way she did.

At some point during her story, Ilona began using her waterbending. Hyperion watched the flow of the water as Ilona moved her hand. It bent to her will with greater ease than earth had ever obeyed him. He wasn’t that good a bender, all things considered; he’d never had any formal training and had spent most of his time practising with his weapons because they’d give him the edge in a country filled with earth benders – or so he’d hoped. Watching Ilona waterbend was fascinating, though, especially when she froze the water and made it shatter into shimmering shards. He’d never seen her bend before. He hoped to see it again, someday.

First things first, though. She had finished her story and was watching him. “I’m happy here, nothing is going to get me back to the place where I had to grow up really fast,” she told him, and Hyperion couldn’t even pretend his heart didn’t skip a beat at the words. He knew she meant she was happy in Ba Sing Se because it wasn’t the Poles, but with a little bit of imagination, he could read so many things into it. He told himself not to. Of all the things that made Ilona feel happy and content in Ba Sing Se, he would be at the very bottom of the list.

He couldn’t bring himself to say anything, even when she leaned her head against his shoulder, her hair tickling his cheek. The words wouldn’t come. He didn’t know how to comfort her; she had always been solid as a rock, so he’d never had to offer her comfort before. The moment passed when Ilona let out a yawn and sat up straight. “I think it’s time to leave?” she suggested. Hyperion looked at her from the corner of his eyes and found himself nodding, even as he tried to force himself to speak. Out of all the things he could have said, what ended up leaving his mouth was a soft, “It’s getting late,” which wasn’t what he had intended to say at all, but it was too late to take it back.

Sighing, he pushed himself to his feet and dusted off his clothing. He offered a hand to Ilona to help her stand. His eyes locked with hers, shining even in the low light, and suddenly, words came to him easily. His fingers tightened around her hand. “Those idiots at the Pole didn’t know what they were missing out on,” he told her, not even remotely surprised by the vehement tone his voice took on. “They’re far beneath you.” He held her gaze for a few moments longer and then let go of her hand. He offered his arm in its stead. “I’ll escort you home,” he offered. “If you like.” He didn’t actually know where she lived, since he’d never been there, but she could lead the way. He would follow – as he always did.