There were few other noises to distract him, and those that were present seemed to fade to nothing, as the breeze flowing towards him carried the scent of salt and seawind and winter iron, the last the scent of a noble, but muted, in a way he had not known since—
Aida.
He couldn't believe it at first. Thought it was a hallucination, a cruel dream.
In fact, he wished that if it was, it would never end.
But there she stood, silver hair flowing down her back, as it always had, pale green eyes dancing with mischief, and no small shock.
"Aida?" he managed, emotions writhing and seething within his chest, shesalivenotdead whathappenedwhycouldntwefindher whydidntshecontactus HOWcouldsheleaveusshesalive! She was alive to be mischievous. She was breathing!
She said his name, then something more, but he could hardly make it out past the roaring in his ears.
Alive. She was alive. He wanted to scream, to cry, to fall to his knees and thank all that might be, from the spirits of the Lith to Eanna and the old kings that Aida was here, but he did none of those things, instead crossing the space between them in a single stride and taking her in his arms, rejoicing in the feeling of her pounding heart, her breath tickling his ear, the fact that she was alive to hold this way!
And another thought rang clear in his head as emotion surged over him, swelling and breaking like a great wave at the sight of her, the sound of her breath, the light glinting on her silver hair.
I have to tell Sky.
Yes. Must tell her sister that she's alive.
Alive!
Aida, alive. Breathing.
But how?