[1 Week after Tristan's Arrival in the Waterway]
"God." Slouching over, Oliver let out a tired breath over his sword, rubbing his aching wrist in pain. By his side, he saw Louis approach and look at him with a small smile. It was strange seeing him. Unlike before, when the man was confident and held himself well, he was tired. The confidence was still there, but masked by the exhaustion in his eyes. His face showed wear of war, and his armour, which was once beautiful, showed signs of battle, covered in mended scars and dents.
"You shouldn't waste so much energy on training Oliver." He spoke casually. Although it was obvious he was still his superior, the war situation had changed that. Constant vigilance, the nights where they had been awake on watch with one another, the skirmishes they shared had broken the awkwardness of superior and underling, allowing comfortable talks.
