Breathe
He stares at the bright reflection of the moon on the lake's surface, watches the water ripple gently, shifting and distorting the round shape. There is no movement, no sound, but he senses the change in the air and instinctively grabbing his sword, lunges to his feet, livid at the thought that anything would dare disturb this sacred place again. But his grip on the handle slackens as awareness of the presence behind him surges through his body and his heart pounds. A presence he is not only familiar with but one he has sought. His body relaxes of its own accord and the tightness in his chest eases.
Finally.
He can breathe again.
"You came." His voice is hoarse from lack of use, and almost unrecognizable to his own ears.
"I was going to say the same thing to you."
He doesn't need to see her face to know she is smiling. He doesn't smile back. "Why are you standing back there?"
"I don't like the water."
Her reply, or rather, the sheer stupidity of what he'd asked at her reply hits him like a kick in the gut. But the pain is a welcomed change from the void that has been inside of him.
"I've recently developed an aversion to sharp, shiny objects, too. Any chance a girl can convince you to put your sword down for a moment? If so, I might be persuaded to come nearer to the pool."
He hears it then, the laughter in her voice, and it both amazes and infuriates him that she can joke about something that he still struggles with to this day.
His throat works but nothing comes out.
"Because you need to laugh," she says softly. Slender arms encircle him from behind and she rubs her cheek against his back in a soothing, apologetic manner. And just like that, his anger melts away and the wall he'd erected around himself crumbles, disintegrating into nothing, like smoke scattered by the wind. Icy fingers slowly uncurl and the sword slips from his gloved hand to land noiselessly on the ground. "Because you're here again." Her voice drops to a nearly inaudible whisper. "You're lost. Aren't you, Cloud?"
Not just lost, but dead inside. Whenever he feels he is beginning to unravel, he finds her, or rather, she finds him, and puts him back together.
"Why did you have to go?" It's not the question itself but the way he asks it, as if he is the one who is drowning and can't breathe, and he knows that she knows he won't take anything but a serious answer from her.
The stillness in the night air grows heavier, more palpable, echoing the ache in his chest that he'd long thought he'd buried.
"I ask the planet that myself every day," she confesses. "I know why...but a part of me is still unsatisfied. But the answer is always the same."
He stiffens against the words he has heard so often, as often as he has rejected them.
"Your clothes are damp." Her arms tighten as she presses harder against him and he thinks he can feel her, a solid, warm weight at his back.
"Snow," he forces the words through lips that are numb, but not from any weather. Truthfully, the snowstorm he'd passed through hadn't even registered until that very moment. "On the way here."
"Don't let it get to you."
But the cold has already seeped into his skin and his bones. It seems like he has been encased in ice as far back as he can remember.
"Spring is only a few weeks away," she continues quietly. "It will be coming early this year."
"Not early enough."
"It will be." The sudden fierceness in the former flower girl's voice doesn't faze him.
What she doesn't realize is only one thing can bring any hope of warmth back into his veins, to thaw the frost inside of him and bring him back to life.
When he doesn't answer, she slips her arms from around him and steps back. Out of the corner of his eye he catches a movement, a flash of pink, as she moves to stand beside him.
She reaches a hand out for his, carefully lacing his fingers with hers. "You have to let it go," she admonishes him gently.
"I think I was beginning to," he says at last. "But..." The truth is each time he feels his grip on reality slipping, a part of him embraces it and looks forward to what waits on the other side. "It took me a while but... I finally figured something out."
"Oh?"
He has to think about what he wants to say, or more precisely, how to tell her what he wants to say. "I remember how you talked about the Promised Land before. What was it you said? A place of supreme happiness, right? And it's different for everyone."
"Yes..." She sounds cautious, not at all like her usual self. "You won't find it here. This is a dead city, nothing but a graveyard."
There is no doubt she has caught on to where he is going with this.
"It's where you are."
Her silence is more telling than she realizes.
"You come here because it's a bleak, lifeless place and it fits you like a glove." The teasing lilt is back in her voice, drawing him out of his shell once more despite his own reluctance. He knows she is only trying to forestall him. "You're drawn to the dreary atmosphere because it is—"
For her, he will play. He can even manage something that almost resembles a smile. "Because it is like me?"
"No!" Her denial is too swift, too vehement, for anyone to think she is simply fooling around. "It is not like you. It will never be like you."
"Funny how we see it so differently. For me, it's a place of peace and quiet. It's where I can come and lay down my sword and feel no need for it because I know nothing will harm me here. I can let down my guard and be free in a way that I can't anywhere else."
"No good can come out of this place." Her voice is almost sharp, the playfulness all but gone. But underneath it, he hears the pain she has always been so good at hiding from everyone else but him. He recognizes it because it is all he has known. "This is the Forgotten Capital. Those who rest here have been left behind by the living. As we should be. Let us sleep, forgotten and undisturbed by the troubles of the world."
"No." The single word is uttered in a low voice threaded with steel, leaving no room for argument. He could never let that happen to her. "Not on my watch."
"What are you saying, Cloud?" she asks, pain and grief evident in every word. She seems to finally understand that the time for pretense is over.
He fights the compulsion to turn and look at her for fear of breaking the mood of the moment and the fragile connection that seems to exist between them. Too much is at stake here. For him everything hangs in the balance, hinges upon her next words.
"This is the Promised Land for you?" She doesn't try to run from defeat, but meets it head-on with the same selfless courage he has seen her display once before, and it is almost as crushing for him to witness it now as it had been back then. "Only ghosts dwell here now. This is nobody's Promised Land, least of all yours. Better things wait for you. So much more than you can imagine."
He shakes his head. "I'm saying there's a reason why I'm drawn to this place."
"No!" Her anguished cry only strengthens his resolve. "Cloud, no. You need to let me go, for your own sake..."
"My Promised Land is wherever you are."
"No! You can't mean it!"
"With you, I can feel again. I can breathe." He refuses to hold back the words he has always felt any longer. Keeping everything bottled up inside of him has not done either of them any good. "Anywhere you are is where I belong. The church, the fields, here, where I can feel you. You give me the strength to keep going."
"You've always had it in you."
"That's not true. I only found it because of you." He ignores her protest to forge ahead with a clarity and purpose of mind he has not felt in years. "You're with me. That's why I can feel you. Your presence is stronger in some places than others, but you're always with me. Inside of me. It's true, isn't it?"
"Cloud... You don't know what you're saying. You don't know what you're doing."
"I wouldn't trade this moment right here, right now, with you for anything else," he says with an open honesty he seldom lets the world see.
A muffled sob escapes her, but no other answer is forthcoming.
"Tell me."
The silence stretches, but he waits patiently. Everything else can wait. There is nothing more important than her.
He feels it, the instant the resistance goes out of her.
"Yes." Her whisper is so soft, he nearly misses catching it.
"Yes, what?"
Sadness mingles with exasperation and joy in her voice. "I'm always with you."
"Will you come again?"
"If you want me to."
He releases the breath he hadn't realized he's been holding.
Inhale.
Exhale.
As long as she's with him, he can breathe.
He turns around slightly and lifts his head.
In the midst of winter,
I found there was, within me,
an invincible summer.
- Albert Camus (?)