DISCLAIMER: Anne Bishop loves them more.
SUMMARY: PG-13. (Hearing the news was the first taste of hope in centuries.)
Written for fanfic_bakeoff. Prompt: surprise.
WAITING
I.
He lived for her. Only for her.
The dream, the hope; the wish closest to his heart, warming and stitching back together what little remained untwisted. For her, he walked into the razor-sharp battlefield Dorothea had built across Terreille, and for her he would endure the next fifteen centuries if necessary.
Tersa had seen her, in some gleaming court that was now a footnote in the memory of the short-lived races. But he remembered.
He remembered everything.
Lords and Ladies in their prime, the hosts giddy to be boasting the presence of both the Weaver and Hayll's Whore to the other aristos. The gaudy jewels dripping from necks and wrists, displayed with more pride than the true Jewels that gave the Blood their strength. The loud laughter, the smell of spilled wine and perfume-splattered sweat. The pale faces of those doomed to scurry between the tables, men and women being pawed without hope of retribution (oh, how he'd taken revenge in their names!). And in the middle of the decadence, Tersa's unfocussed eyes struggling to meet his; her hair unkempt and wild, a black veil that kept their conversation private.
Daemon had knelt before her, eager without reason. Behind him, he'd heard the murmurs and surprised gasps. Shocked Ladies protesting that their perversely stubborn toy would yield before a broken witch. He'd wanted to sneer at them, start the quiet spells that would rid the world of some of Hayll's stain.
But his body hadn't moved, his hands held captive by hers.
Tersa's intensity demanded absolute attention, drew him to the words she still hadn't said.
Three words: "She is coming."
And he'd believed her. In his heart, in his mind, in the darkest crevices where the Sadist dwelled - Daemon had believed the promise.
Because he'd always lived for her.
The End
01/09/10