Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story. They belong to Cornelia Funke.
A/N: The content of the second paragraph is based off a headcannon widely used in my collab Inkheart fanfiction on the page UnNaMeAbLeNeSs9700. You can ignore it, if you wish. It does not affect the rest of this story.
"What is it, love?" asked Dustfinger, returning the smile she offered to him now though perhaps not to quite the same degree. She had always been more open with her smiles than he was. As he spoke, he brought his hand up to brush his fingers across her cheek, noting how she still didn't flinch away at his touch.
Did she allow her other husband to touch her like this too? The thought came without invitation, bringing with it a sense of insecurity that he hadn't felt in their relationship since he had to wonder if she even loved him in the same way he loved her. Roxane never allowed anyone to touch her like that. None but him, anyways. It had always startled her too much if anyone else did.
"Nothing," said Roxane, though her expression, illuminated by the surrounding candlelight, told him it was anything but. She had seated herself beside where he lay, a hand at either side of his shoulders so she leaned over him, hair falling over her shoulder in a curtain of sable curls. Her lips were curved into a smile and her dark gaze met his with more joy and love than he had seen in a long time, even before he was taken from this world.
He gave a quiet chuckle as he reached up to brush her hair back behind her ear before letting his fingers settle on her cheek. Only some of it stayed where he had put it. "I would think, even after all this time, that you would still remember I know you far too well to believe that."
Her smile broadened, bright and beautiful like the fire he loved. "You came back to me," she said, voice soft, more breath than sound. Dustfinger almost spoke but she leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips; soft and quick as though she were almost hesitant to kiss him again, hesitant still, despite her obvious joy, to commit her heart to loving him so wholeheartedly once again.
When she pulled back to look at him and their eyes met in the dim lighting, his hand drifted back, fingers entangling in her hair, as he guided her back down to him, kissing her again but deeper, more passionately, a gesture full of all the love and longing he had held in his heart all these years, and this time, she let her heart betray her, sinking deep into the love she had long since buried deep inside her so she would not have to feel the pain of it. She pulled away again, though her gaze held his and he saw a happiness in the dark of her eyes that he had not seen in such an amount since they were both quite young.
"I promised you, Roxane," he told her, his own crooked smile growing to almost match her's. "I promised I would always come back. I know it took far too long but I did. I'm home."
He said the last words to himself as much as he said them to her. He was home. Finally, home. And though what he had found here was not entirely what he expected - he still felt such sorrow in his heart for the daughter he had lost and the daughter who refused to even look at him - the joy of the moment, the familiarity of Roxane's touch, her smile, her eyes, filled his heart with a sense of happiness that made it flutter within him like the wings of a young bird.
"You're home," she repeated in a whisper, leaning forward until he felt the weight of her on his chest and the feel of her hands in his hair before she kissed him again. "You're home."