Something about watching Ico and Yorda sit on the save couches just makes me happy for some reason... Anyway, this story probably takes place a little before the first time we meet the Queen, so yeah.

Well, anyway, this is my first story for Ico, so reviews are very much appreciated, but not required. Thank you for visiting and I hope you enjoy!

With a sigh of exhaustion, Yorda nearly collapsed onto the bench next to her companion.

It must have been at least a day, maybe more, since she met this boy. She assumed, from the curved horns protruding from his mess of black hair, that he was another sacrifice brought here, supposedly a bad omen because he looked different. She didn't know how he had managed to get himself out of the heavy stone sarcophagus he was no doubt placed inside (the Queen had told her all about the vicious ritual, in sickening detail), but somehow he did and he found her—and, even more unbelievably, he actually went to the trouble of helping her. This kind of kindness was simply unknown, unheard of, to Yorda, who had spent her entire life in this castle with dark creatures and darker people. Then again, this boy was teaching her lots of things she simply never knew before.

It was a while ago that those shadow creatures had nearly completed their task of collecting her and bringing her back to her mother (Yorda shivered at the mere thought). Distracted by a hulking shadow Sentry that easily knocked him to the ground, her companion had not noticed she had been dragged away until just her hand protruded out of the dark portal. He managed to pull her to safety, but only just. It had terrified both of them, and he refused to let go of her hand for hours, not like Yorda minded.

Ever since, the boy had dragged them along through the castle in a feverish manner, nearly launching himself over several walls and high cliffs in his haste (Yorda pulled him back from the edge with all her might every time it happened). He didn't seem to know quite where he was going, but then again, Yorda didn't know, either. She was as content as she would get to simply let him pull her along, hesitantly offering what little directions she could give and ignoring the sting of each step on her uncalloused feet and the relentless ache of her atrophied muscles.

As the sun began to set and both children fatigued and became more and more turned around and lost, Yorda finally touched the boy's shoulder to get his attention, before pointing at the setting sun and one of the couches sitting nearby. Looking a bit relieved, he led her over to the couch before plopping down in a graceless and somehow endearing fashion, waving her to sit down tiredly. She did, gingerly and politely, before letting herself settle back into the stone. She rarely felt the need to sleep, and so used the time they spent on the couches to think and reflect while dutifully keeping an eye on her companion, making sure he was okay as he slept. She had to repay her debt to this boy somehow, and while making sure he wasn't having a nightmare wasn't quite as significant as his helping her escape her prison, the boy seemed thankful all the same.

They sat in silence for a length of time, as they did most things. She shivered with cold—her dress was thin and offered little to no protection against the strong sea breeze—and he offered her his poncho, which she allowed herself to accept in a rare moment of selfishness.

He had begun to drift off, horned head tucked into his shoulder, idly rubbing his probably sore muscles, when Yorda was struck with a question she found she couldn't ignore. She debated worriedly in her head—he's tired, I shouldn't bother him, but if I wait he'll fall asleep, and when he wakes up he'll be in too much of a hurry to answer—and finally came to the conclusion that it would be best to ask now.

So she nudged his hand carefully, almost afraid he would be angry with her for rousing him. He wasn't, of course, calmly opening his eyes and asking something—as per usual, she didn't understand a word of it, though she did recognize the word at the end. Whatever it was, it was probably what he had taken to calling her, since it was the same word he yelled when she wandered a bit too far or when he coaxed her to take a leap of faith over a seemingly bottomless pit.

Which brought Yorda back to her question. She didn't know how to go about asking, finally just inquiring in her native tongue, "Boy, what are you called?" After all, Yorda didn't want to just call her savior "boy."

Sure enough, Boy looked confused, asking something in his own language.

Yorda began to wonder if it was really such a good idea to wake the boy in the first place, just so they could have one-sided conversations at each other. Still, she tried again. "I am Yorda," she explained gently, laying a hand on her willowy chest, hoping maybe he would understand.

He still looked helpless, frowning and staring at her intently like that might help him comprehend a dialect he had never even heard of until several days ago.

"Yorda," the princess repeated, pointing at herself.

Understanding finally lit in his eyes, and the boy repeated, with a bit of uncertainty, "Yorda." He pointed at her to make sure.

She smiled brightly and gave a quick nod, to ensure him that he was correct. Then she pointed at him with a questioning look.

Looking a little unsure, Boy mimed the gesture, trying to confirm her intentions. When she nodded again, he took a nervous breath. "Ico," he said, very quietly, like just uttering his own name might make this kind, gentle girl turn against him like his village had.

She didn't, of course. She simply looked at him curiously, having never heard a name like that before. "Eeeee-cohhhh?" she tried clumsily, her tongue having difficulty enunciating the strange moniker.

Ico giggled aloud at her awkward pronunciation, relief fluttering in his chest. "Ico."

"Eee... Ee-cohh."

"Ico."

"Ee-co... Ico."

He mirrored her earlier smile, clapping a bit, and then pointed at her. "Yorda."

She pointed back. "Ico."

"Yorda."

"Ico."

"Yorda!"

"Ico!"

The two began to giggle at the juvenile competition like the children they never got to be, forgetting, if only for a moment, the dark castle, the dark things lurking within it, and the dark people waiting outside in the dark, unforgiving world. For just that one moment, they forgot, and it was probably the happiest several seconds of either child's life.

Soon they calmed, and Ico once more began to drift off, slowly sagging down until his messy black head came to settle on Yorda's delicate shoulder. Her pale, cold hand found his warm, calloused one, not to ask a question this time, but just to know that he was there.

Before he fell asleep, her knight lifted his head just a bit to smile at her, and the princess smiled back.

The world got a little lighter.