The campaign resumes tomorrow, and he's relieved not to be in command. For now, he welcomes the rare chance to rest in his own home. He crosses the threshold of his room and divests himself of his armor, fully intending to collapse onto the bed and not move until morning. He stops in his tracks because there she sits – in the middle of his bed – wearing her favorite nightgown and looking for all the world like she hadn't fled his side a month before.
A hundred questions are fighting for release, but they die on his lips when she opens her arms. He's instantly in her embrace, memorizing the scent of her hair, the rhythm of her heart, the feel of her skin against his…
She lurches out of the nightmare with a gasp, clenching the sheets in her fists as she waits for her breathing to slow. Movement beside her means she's woken him. He slides his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. He hums a half-familiar tune, and she drifts into a dreamless sleep.
The next time she wakes, dawn is just beginning to peek through the curtains. Her lover is nestled against her side, arm draped across her middle and face snuggled into her neck. She slips out of bed and dresses quietly. Pausing for a moment, she steps back to the bed, smoothing her love's hair and bending to place a kiss on his temple. He stirs, and she withdraws – pulling the aether around her without looking back.
He wakes with her name on his lips and an empty space beside him.
They stand that day on opposite sides of the battlefield. He catches sight of her when the tide of soldiers parts briefly. Their eyes meet for an instant. His hold a hundred and one questions, answered simply by the resolve in hers.