Before we begin, I must note that my copy of Sabriel was unavailable to me, so I had to take some artistic license with this. If anyone notices any huge, GLARING holes, feel free to notify me. Also, I had a bit of trouble keeping them in character, I think, but it shouldn't be too bad… I hope!
As always, I own nothing… Sad, I know…
I Think I Know…
*****
A blind bird sings inside the cage that is my heart
And the image of your face comes to me when I'm alone in the dark
If I could give a shape to this ache that I have for you
If I could find the voice that says the words that capture you
I think I know, I think I know
I think I know why the dog howls at the moon.
*****
A strong wind was blowing out of the north, its ice-cold fingers grasping at Sabriel's bone-weary, gore-covered form as she made her way from stepping stone to wet, mossy stepping stone. Judging by the height of the sliver of waxing moon, it was almost three in the morning. The cold night air pervaded every crevice and crease in her tabard, but was thankfully devoid of the putrid stench of free magic. It was that one simple fact that had stopped Sabriel from throwing herself down on the riverbank and sobbing.
She was cold, sweaty, tired, uncomfortable, and a hundred other adjectives that began to describe one who feels like she has been run over by a herd of elephants after being hit by a truck and dropped from a ten-story building.
The Dead thing that had called her out, about an hour or so earlier, had not been very hard to dispatch. It had, however, insisted on leading her a merry chase down the riverbank, and then had somehow managed to get its head to explode while she was standing barely a yard from it.
All in all, she was having what seemed like one of the worst nights of her life.
She swore softly as she almost lost her footing on one of the stepping stones, studiously ignoring the deep, swift river that rushed by mere inches from her feet. She swiped at the blood trickling down into her eye - not her own, luckily- and felt the tears welling up. A hot bath, warm towels, and a soft bed awaited her, and the sooner she got across the blasted river, the sooner she could reach the comforts of the House. Taking a deep, calming breath, Sabriel pushed back the tears and continued on her way to the house, quiet as a mouse.
Or at least she hoped. Touchstone would have a fit if he saw her in her present state. She loved the man dearly, but he had the nasty habit of being over-protective, and Sabriel was simply too tired to deal with the indignant tirade he no doubt had in store for her. For a man of such few words, his speeches had a terrible sting.
Finally reaching the gate, Sabriel pushed it open wearily. When had it gotten so heavy? She unbuckled her sword belt on her way through the small lawn, and did not even need to look for a sending when she finally stepped into the House. She handed off her sword, and the bandolier of bells, and trudged the rest of the way to her room.
A copper tub of steaming water awaited her, along with a chair bearing fresh towels, a clean washcloth, orange-scented soap and a soft, linen nightdress. There was a fire blazing cheerily in the hearth. The sight was so welcome she could have cried.
Practically ripping off her blood-soaked tabard, she tugged off the chainmail underneath, pulled her sweat-soaked shirt over her head, wriggled out of her breeches and underthings, and sank gratefully into the near-scalding water with a sigh of appreciation.
After pulling her hair out of its messy ponytail, quite a painful task with the blood that was already matting there, she had just leaned over and grabbed the soap when the door flew open. Standing there, silhouetted in the doorframe, looking for all the world like some god of war on a glorious conquest, was Touchstone. The indignant tirade was poised upon his tongue and burning in his eyes, and Sabriel knew then and there that she had never seem a more handsome man in all her life. She could feel his very presence permeating every single object in the room, and for a single moment she almost forgot to breathe.
Then, of course, she remembered that she was quite unclothed and in a rather revealing position leaning over the rim of the tub. With a sharp gasp, she dropped the soap and sank down into the water. She pulled her knees up to her chest, and stared at the smudged lines of her feet through the steaming liquid. Sabriel could feel the burning blush as it crept into her cheeks, and all the way up to the tips of her ears, until she was sure that her whole face had turned bright red.
Through the blaring silence that stretched between them, Sabriel could just barely make out the quickening of Touchstone's breath. She thought that, maybe if she listened hard enough, she would hear the rising tempo of his heart. Her own was threatening to beat its way out of her chest.
She tensed as the sound of soft, bare feet carried Touchstone to the edge of the tub. Through the curtain of her hair she watched him kneel. Gentle, callused fingers, shaking with the strain of repressing a flood of raw emotion, grasped her chin and pulled her into a fleeting, feather-soft kiss.
Then he pulled away, picked up the soap and washcloth, and began to carefully scrub away the speckles of blood on her cheeks.
For a moment Sabriel could do nothing more than sit still in the bath water. Her mind seemed to be playing everything in slow motion. She looked Touchstone in the eye, but he was staring fixedly at the spot just under her right ear, where he was scrubbing away a rather large amount of dried blood, and what might have once been brain matter. There was a light flush on his cheeks, and Sabriel was more than sure it wasn't from embarrassment. In the meantime, her knees, which had been tightly clamped against her chest, were beginning to relax.
Gently pushing aside her hair, Touchstone moved to wash the back of her neck, leaning forward to kiss the soft skin before running the washcloth over it.
He stopped for a moment, reaching just below the water's surface, fingers feeling down her back for the unnaturally smooth scar tissue just to the left of her spine. The cut had been clean, the sword sharp, and the wound had healed quickly, aided by spells. The scar was thin, and barely two inches in length. He traced it with his fingertips, recalling the shear terror he had felt when he had thought her gone.
"It still hurts, sometimes, " Sabriel said softly, absently stroking her hair. "Whenever I have a nightmare, I can almost feel it going cold, numb, like it did when…" Her voice trailed off into silence, and she drew a shaking breath.
She glanced over her shoulder at him then, and he gazed back at her, then continued his self-appointed task of getting her ready for bed.
He scrubbed down her back and shoulders, and then nearly cracked a grin when she offered her arms to him to continue.
He helped her wash her hair, and work out the tangles, and when all was done, he held a towel out to her, and turned his back while she climbed out of the bath.
"Such a gentleman," Sabriel quipped softly, smiling. She toweled herself off and pulled the nightgown over her head. The linen felt crisp and cool against her warm skin.
He was watching her now, as she shook out her hair and retrieved a brush from the much-neglected vanity in one corner of the room.
When she sat down on the bad and began to brush her hair, he finally said "Why won't you tell me when you go out at night?"
Sabriel sighed. She knew it had to come sometime.
"The night would be a waste if one of us couldn't sleep through it," she answered quietly.
Now it was Touchstone's turn to sigh. "You don't know what could happen out there," he continued. "One of these days something might surprise you, and then you'll wind up getting yourself killed."
He was looking at her now with eyebrows raised, and using a tone of voice that Sabriel had heard her father use a few times before. It was the tone of voice that said 'You'll get yourself killed, and it will be no less than you deserve for refusing to accept help from sensible people, but since I love you more than life itself, I'm going to put up with you silly immature behavior, and force my help upon you anyway.'
"I am a quite competent swordswoman, thank you," Sabriel said tartly, laying the brush down beside her on the bed. "I think I can take care of myself for a few hours after dark."
"Sabriel," Touchstone intoned, walking up to her and taking her hands in his. "I'm not asking you to assemble an honor guard." He reached forward and gently pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear. Sabriel couldn't help but feel he was playing dirty with all those little loving gestures. "All I'm asking is for you to tell me when you leave."
Suddenly, he pulled her to her feet, kissing her firmly before folding his arms tightly around her shoulders.
"I would die if anything happened to you," he said, so soft she strained to hear. "I would lay down on your grave and I would die."
"You wouldn't" Sabriel insisted, trying desperately to keep her voice from shaking. His heart beat rapidly beneath her cheek "You're strong. You would find someone else-"
"There isn't anyone else," he said quickly, releasing her shoulders and cradling her face in his hands, looking her in the eye. "There could never be anyone else."
She was crying now. Touchstone's grip on her shoulders had been so tight she was almost in pain, but his hands on her cheeks were as gentle as mist. Tangling his fingers in her hair, he pulled her into another kiss, this one soft, gentle and loving.
Standing on her toes, Sabriel wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek to Touchstone's.
"I love you," she whispered, lips brushing his ear. "I love you, and as long as I have sword and bells, nothing is ever going to keep me from you."
"And you'll tell me when you go out at night."
It wasn't a request, but Sabriel answered anyway. "Yes. I'll tell you."
"I love you," he finally said, stroking the skin at the back of her neck. "Charter help me, but I do."
"Charter help you?" Sabriel repeated, pulling back and raising an eyebrow at him.
"Woman, you will be the death of me," Touchstone said, almost-smirking down at her. "You are far too stubborn for your own good."
Sabriel couldn't help the look of disbelief that passed over her features. "I am too stubborn for my own good? YOU are the one who-"
He cut her off with a harsh, loving kiss. Any sound of protest died quickly on her lips, swallowed up by Touchstone's mouth. Liquid fire, soft as satin, danced along her limbs, all the way to the very tips of her toes.
Her knees felt weak when he finally pulled away. Gasping for air, he rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed as he breathed. Sabriel was glad he didn't let go of the iron grip he had on her waist. She would have looked quite silly falling over in a swoon.
Leaning down, Touchstone locked an arm behind her knees and pulled her off her feet. He laid her down on the bed, as gentle as if she were a porcelain figure. Leaning over her, he pushed the hair out of her eyes and kissed her forehead.
The he turned to leave.
To say that Sabriel was disappointed would have been a drastic understatement. She was so put out by the motion that he was almost to the door by the time she could speak coherently again.
"Wait," Sabriel called after him. Touchstone turned, gazing back at her with a hint of question in his eyes.
"Stay with me." Not a question: soft and gentle? Yes, but no less a demand.
"As I recall," Touchstone said, the light of humor in his eyes, "I was not the one who thought it improper for an unmarried man and woman to sleep in the same bed."
"Fine, then." Said Sabriel in feigned indifference, blushing. "Go and sleep in your cold lonely bed." For an instant, she was almost tempted to pout.
"I would much rather stay with you," he said truthfully, the corner of his mouth twitching in the beginnings of a smile.
"Then come here and lay down with me!" Sabriel said in exasperation, barely resisting the urge to drum her heals against the mattress in impatience.
"As my lady commands," Touchstone said, his tone bordering on sarcasm.
Moving over on the bed, Sabriel held her arms out as if beckoning a small child. He came to her, and lay back on the pillows, pulling her down to rest against him. Draping her arm across his stomach, Sabriel pulled the comforter up around both of them, and cuddled up close to Touchstone's side, her head pillowed on his shoulder.
"Sleep well," he said when the room had gone silent.
"Sleep well," she repeated, closing her eyes, letting the feel of Touchstone stroking her hair lull her into slumber.
The arms of sleep gathered them up, and held them close until morning.
The End
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