Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the Symphony of Ages books, though I'm flattered if you thought I might.
A/N: The idea for this fic caught me by surprise while I was reading Requiem for the Sun (finally!). For some reason, the scene where Rhapsody sees Achmed for the first time at Yarim struck a chord with me, and I had to write something about it. While I've read a lot of Achmed/Rhapsody, this is my first attempt at writing anything for these books, so all comments and critiques are more than welcome. I really appreciate any reviews, since a lot of this piece was experimental and off the top of my head, and I really want some opinions on it! (Oh, and in case you were wondering which exact scene I'm referencing, in my paperback it's on page 175.)
If Only…
The barely discernable dust cloud on the horizon means she's coming. Her heartbeat has been in his head for some time now; he's almost gotten used to hearing its light, quick rhythm once again, just like he did for so many years. It is a cadence that has imprinted itself upon his very soul.
He stands still, somber behind the face veil that hides all but his mismatched eyes from the rest of the world. She is not his anymore; she has become the treasure of that foul dragonling, the man that will someday desert her for death or for his powerful wyrm nature. He knows that she thinks she understands what she's gotten herself into. He also knows that that desertion will break her heart, and he sighs unheard into the heavy air. She never really understands.
In her perpetual delight, she cannot understand the double nature of the feelings she elicits from him. In her happiness, she will never understand his sorrow. Every time he hears her heart beating in the distance, his thoughts dwell on what might have been between them—what still might be, if time is kind. But time has not been generous to him in the past, and he doubts it will begin now. It is the timing of life's events that has kept him so close, and yet so far, from the only woman in this world that he trusts, respects, admires—maybe even loves, though he is slow to admit that possibility, knowing that it will only serve to make the centuries even more unbearable.
He's tried to forget about what might have been in favor of what is. Sometimes, it works. Most of the time, it doesn't. Somehow, all of his thoughts wind their way back to her, drawn by some unknown force that he cannot control, as though a part of his conscious mind is always by her side. Maybe it is.
The figure on the horse is apparent to him now, though the others in his party won't be able to see her clearly for nearly another minute. He allows himself a sad smile at the green dress she is wearing. Doubtless it accents her eyes, and he will find himself lost in them upon their meeting, only to pull himself away in awkward silence. He understands, at least, that for now, he cannot have her. At first, it wasn't so bad. He was sure of his patience. But that melted away with the months they spent apart, until now he wants nothing more than to run to greet the approaching horse and rider, sweeping her off of the saddle and into his arms. He tries without avail to draw his mind from this exceedingly distracting train of thought, knowing what comes next in his fantasy: the feel of her lips melded with his, the glorious texture of her hair as he runs his hands through it, the smile of unguarded joy she regards him with as she pulls away.
He shakes his head, banishing the vision from his thoughts, noticing that she has drawn closer still while his mind has been wandering. Less than a minute, and she will be here with him again. He gathers his composure, managing to retain his appearance of aloof dignity, hoping that it will hold to the test.
He watches as she slows the mare to a stop in another cloud of dust, then dismounts and comes running towards him, looking as wild and carefree as the wind from which her people, the Lirin, are partially descended. She is smiling, her face a sight to make any man weak, as the giant beside him sweeps her up and spins her around in a bear hug. She laughs, used to this treatment from him, and he sets her down gently.
Now she turns to him, still smiling, and comes unabashedly to embrace him tightly. Oh, how he wishes that he might remain in her arms forever.
But the guilt begins to set in almost immediately, and he draws back, responding to her greeting with his usual sarcasm and seeming lack of respect. She just keeps grinning, and thanks him, saying she's glad to see him, too.
If only she understood.