Holiday Fic Challenge for Daphne Apollo
Author's Notes: This would be set between the prologue and first chapter of ROTG (as per the criteria), at the fanfictional fief Hintervale.
For Daff, of course! :D Thank you so much for the challenge; it really made me get into a topic I wouldn't be able to bring myself to write. But the UST was awesome to work with. Guilt, tension, unspoken communion… I love my X-Files heritage. *huggles XF* Hope you like it, Daff! Happy Holidays!
And to clarify: this is a one-shot. No updates to come.
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"I'd say they're about a mile off." Daine's voice broke the stillness of the dimly lit room, startling Numair out of his study. He laid down the ragged quill he'd been using to pen a report on fief Hintervale's current predicament, turning to Daine. She was unfolding somewhat gingerly from a cross-legged meditating position, eyes tight with grim resolve and weariness. "The thing is, they've been about a mile off all day - give or take a hundred yards - just dancing about the fief, circling us. I don't like it. There's nowhere definite to send the troops for a quick blow, but we've got to be always on the lookout, lest they stop being a mile away and try something nasty."
Numair blew out a sigh, twiddling the quill in his long fingers. "And neither can we safely allow Hintervale's people out on the lands, it seems."
"We can't," Daine said flatly. "So all of us, nobles, troops, common folk - are stuck here in the castle, just waiting, and we can't do anything." She drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them, fists clenched.
Numair went to her, taking a seat on the couch and laying a gentle hand on her back. He knew her frustration well: she was a driven and courageous young woman, and being unable to serve the realm was to her like imprisonment to a restless tiger. In a tiny, Spartan prison. "Daine, don't blame yourself," he urged. "The war isn't your fault; it's the Scanrans' and the Copper Islanders' and the Carthaki guerillas', and the Stormwings and wyverns and hurroks and unsettlingly persistent killer unicorns - need I go on?" He leaned forward slightly, trying to meet her eyes.
She gave him a reluctant half-smile. "No, that's plenty. And don't I know it - we get more reports of attacks by the week…"
"Regardless, magelet, you're doing all you can. So I would advise you not to assume responsibility for things out of your control, or any of ours."
She shook her head slightly, though not in disagreement, and stared across the room for a few moments, the soft lamplight laying a misty sheen on her stress-disheveled hair. Then she looked up at him, blue-gray eyes wide. "Sometimes I just wonder… how you do it."
"Do what?"
"How you just… keep going through everything, no matter what hits. How you always seem so steady and sure - not unafraid, entirely, I know you're afraid sometimes, just like everyone - but don't you ever have doubts? Do you ever -" she bit her lip - "wake up and wonder what you're doing it all for?"
His eyebrows switched together. "Do you? Do you really - wonder what you're fighting for?" How could she, someone who served the realm with such conviction and perseverance?
"Well, no. I know I'm fighting for the realm, for my friends, for the Crown and everyone I know. And I can think that, but sometimes I don't all feel it. I don't know…." She shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. "Just, like now." She glanced widely around the bookshelf-lined study. "We don't know when this will all end, and there's not a thing we can do. And I have to keep something else in mind, remind myself what it's all for. But it's hard."
And he understood what she meant. Gods knew how he'd get through the war without the bright-eyed, determined young wildmage in front of him, day by day, to remind him what he was fighting for. Sometimes he felt ashamed, to see her that way and not tell her, as though he were conspiring behind her back. To love her… he scarcely admitted it to himself; to admit it would put him in for too much, far too great a burden of fearing for her innocence and happiness and what his own love might do to her. But to repress it would be to die a slow death, inside. No, he never lost his faith as she spoke of - but often enough he would curse silently and ask himself what in Mithros's name he was thinking.
His left hand curled at his side to touch the silver locket on his wrist.
"But you can do it," he said softly. "I know you will."
Again, that thin smile. "It's fair good to hear you know."
He found himself gathering her in his arms, gently, resting his chin on top of her head. He felt a faint shiver run through her, but she didn't resist, just curled against him and rested her head on his chest. He closed his eyes, trying to absorb the feeling, to absorb her, print the feel and smell of her in his memory.
You're what I'm fighting for.
But no. He couldn't. He couldn't use her like that, hold her as something only in his own mind, keeping a secret even from her. She had a right to know, or he had none to desire.
But he did.
He pulled away from her, trying not to be too abrupt, and stood, squeezing her hand one more time. "Get some rest," he advised. "Leave those evasive killer unicorns alone for a while. It will do no good to exhaust yourself."
She nodded, closing her eyes briefly. "And you?"
"I'll finish this report first." He returned to the large oak desk in the middle of the room.
She strode to the office door and pulled it open, pausing to glance back at him. "Good night, Numair."
"Good night, Daine." He stared straight ahead, into the slender flame of a candle weeping fat waxen tears that stiffened even as they fell, piling on top of one another into great frozen waves that made the candle look like it was slowly collapsing on itself as the flame worked its hungry way down. He shut his eyes again and tried to erase vestiges of her from his mind, cotton and soft brown curls and the musky smell of fur.
He heard the door swing shut behind him. The candle flame flickered, then stood upright again.