A Comedy of Errors
Part Ten
She finds peace up here on the walls, looking down one way into the valley, and then into Cyl Og Sul when she turns her head. The guards that patrol the battlements pay her no more mind than an acknowledging nod of respect as they pass by. A small part of her is convinced no one else knows she comes here, but laughs at the prospect. Someone always knows where the empress is.
Jirina often pauses where the wall ends and the path leads into the gatehouse. She lingers for the better part of a half hour, mostly watching the town below. The fifth anniversary of Hokum's death is a few weeks away and the people are already preparing for the festival. She can see them in flocks moving through the streets with incredible cart loads of wine and food. The merchant's quarter buzzes with the noise, the bellowing of Devorians the most distinct sound. It has become somewhat of a local tradition for couples to marry on the eve of the festival, and Jirina smiles at the noticeable crowd outside of the sanctuary. A crowd that is likely to grow as visitors from the other towns and villages come to the castle to celebrate. It will be a sight to see.
But Jirina hopes, prays, it will be the last festival she sees as empress.
She has been working so diligently to build a new council, doing her best to make certain that there will never be room for another being such as Hokum in Wyldern ever again. For all intents and purposes, the council is sitting now but only in such capacity as Jirina allows. All laws and edicts they draft pass through her hands before they even have the chance to deliberate it. And after said motions are either upheld or denied, she reviews the reasoning behind the decisions to her satisfaction. Xero occasionally voiced the thought that she might be too suspicious. "Waiting for the other boot to drop" as he said. Though she isn't about to admit just how right he is to his face, it doesn't nullify the fact. She knows herself well enough. It's difficult to trust others to maintain what she and the others had fought so hard to rescue and restore. How does one just...let go?
Jirina shrugs and starts to walk the wall again, now back the way she came, back into the palace. She almost makes it back to her personal quarters before being stopped.
"Majesty,"
Her jaw tenses briefly as she half turns, stone heel grinding. "Court Mage? What is it you need?"
"Ah, nothing," Ria appears to blush. She does it a lot actually, particularly when addressed by her title. "Well, not me, Majesty. Mr. Clemett is here to see you and he's waiting in the throne room, if it pleases you to receive him there."
"Aye." she nods after a moment. "Is it urgent news?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"Very well. Come along then."
Ria seems always so eager to follow. Strange. Like Ghoulbird chicks when the mother first teaches them to fly. Their footsteps are mirrored though she lingers but half an arm's length behind. Jirina focuses on the echoing knock of her staff as it taps and skates over the floor. A sound she isn't too fond of.
"Do you really need that?" she asks.
"What? Oh, I'm sorry." Ria tucks the staff into the crook of her arm. "Yes and no. Does it bother you?"
"A little."
"Apologies." and no sooner than her head dips, somewhat embarrassed, does her free hand latch onto Jirina's thick, hewn wrist. "I-I have most of these corridors in memory...but it helps to know I'm not alone."
"I see. Though...all you had to do was say so."
Ria laughs a little. "Forgive me if I think you are a little...intimidating. It isn't easy to just come out and talk to you."
"I get that a lot."
"I don't doubt that."
Jirina's eyes slide to her for a moment, her chin tipping up a little. "So I'm difficult to talk to...yet you're perfectly at ease with taking my hand."
"As large as it is." The entire stretch of Ria's hand barely comes half way around the she-Org's wrist. "You are far more gentle than you give yourself credit for."
Jirina almost stops, taken by surprise. But her strides maintain and she keeps walking, not wanting to trip up Ria. Many words indeed have been used to describe Jirina, gentle has never been one of them.
The empress wonders in passing if the Gadgeteer saw her pull free of the human woman's grip as she enters the throne room. It doesn't seem to affect the way he greets her with the usual handshake and brief embrace.
"Have you any needs, mechanic?"
"After a spell I think I'd like to tie one on, sure." he nods. "But I've got a letter from topside. Royal invitation."
"Is that so?" She watches him dig the gold embossed envelope from one of his many pouches, taking it gingerly between two stone fingers when he passes it forward. "What's the occasion?"
"Griffon is gettin' married. He and the Navigator must have really hit it off."
"Interesting. For the convenience?"
"I don't think so, but I'm sure it helps to pad that racial relationship all the same. I've got more to deliver, actually, if you wouldn't mind helping me. It would be easier for me to get an audience with Jakir if you were with me, plus you know the new Banori king better than me. Even the Devorians got one."
"I'd be happy to help, we can start tomorrow." she opens the letter, giving it a quick glance. "A month..."
"Is that long enough for you, big gal?"
"Should be, yes." she nods. "Anything else?"
"Oh well," he smooths one hand over his head, "the harbors are finished, Karillon and Metaboline are gettin' real chummy these days. Which is great and..."
Beneath the metal visor one brow lifts. "And what?"
For a moment he says nothing, he can't even meet her gaze. "Ah...must've forgot. Sorry about that...hey, where's the old man?"
Not that she buys that for a second. "I'm sure he's around, he usually is. Likely looking for me, actually. Hardly a soul in this kingdom who isn't. Why not make yourself comfortable, mechanic, I'll have someone fetch him."
The three of them retire to an adjoining, smaller room where a small spread of food and drink is brought. For a while they chat and catch up, all the while Clemett tiptoes around something. At least Jirina is certain he is and encourages him to have more than a little wine to possibly loosen his tongue. If Gadgeteers even possess such a thing. Her curiosity is bordering on lethal when the Premier finally joins them, though this doesn't serve to ease the notion as Clemett asks to speak with Xero in private. "Guy stuff" he explains. Not that she believes that either, but thankfully she has afternoon court to distract herself with.
But one could put money on it that she would be right back at the subject once court concludes. And while it appears that Clemett drank far too much and has retired for the time being, Xero has the unmistakeable air of sobriety and a certain discomfort. Still he is open when she inquires as to what he knows, which mildly surprises her.
"It isn't that we didn't want you to know, Jirina, just an uncertainty as to when we should tell you." his hands are wringing behind his back, his violet eyes unable to focus on one thing for very long.
"Tell me now, then."
The Mage Warrior looks around the throne room, wanting to be sure no stray ears were about. And he was confident he could trust Miss Taj'hal to be discreet about anything that would be said. There is obvious hesitance in his manner as he divulges what he and Clemett discussed: Windleaf would be released within the month and is likely to attend Griffon's wedding. He can almost feel the sudden shift in the empress' energy, a light but distinct prickling to his skin that raises gooseflesh all over him. He watches her closely, waiting for whatever was going through her mind to translate through her body in some way. Initially she says nothing, though there is an obvious tension in her shoulders at the news.
Then "How many years has it been, Xero?"
"Five."
"Five? Hm." she nods, her posture belying an unspoken desire to turn away from him. "That's all?"
His brows knit, suspicion in his eyes. "You're...not angry?"
"I'm furious." It isn't obvious in her level monotone, but is visible in how her hands clench into tight fists and the muscles in her jaw bunch. "To think treason...comes so cheap. Even genocide."
"Jirina," he counters carefully, "the decimation of life was Hokum's doing, not hers."
"Wasn't it?" she takes a half step towards him. "Have you ever thought of the lives that would have been spared were it not for her turning on us? Ten years worth? For Apunn-sii alone, even."
"I have, just as you. But Arkose has passed its judgment."
"And I honor it, I simply disagree. It hardly fits the crime."
"That's not for us to decided."
"Perhaps it should have been." she sneers. "Rest assured Wyldernian justice would have been far more lasting."
He frowns for a moment, scowling even, then the expression softens. "The war is over...it's time to make peace, don't you think?"
"Peace? Surely you jest." she almost laughs, though her mouth fails to upturn at the corners. Instead it tightens into a half snarl. "My people have peace, they are prospering so ask them if it pleases you, but don't you dare make such a grand request of me." and her tone steadily sharpens. "Do you even comprehend what you're really asking?"
He takes a breath, bracing against the surge of energy coming from her that washes over him like hot ashes on the wind. "Mayhaps if you explained-,"
"You saw it," she hisses, teeth together, "you know what happened to me. What more validation are you going to demand?"
"I have never pressured you before, not once...I've always been aware how sensitive the matter is. I simply wish to understand, Jirina, that's all." his heart rate has quickened but he does his best to stay on the level. If she is to lose her temper...
She's quiet for just a moment, one deep breath passing through her flared nostrils. "You had a vendetta once, old man, a just one at that. The one who broke the trust of your brotherhood and stole your body was put to the sword -your sword...and as much as it had to have pained you to destroy Mannheim I know you found pleasure in it. I saw both in equal measure in your eyes that day and I'll never forget it. Am I wrong?"
"No." he sighs, face unreadable and firm.
"Yet here you are trying to peddle to me the idea of forgiveness when you would have stomached no such thing! You have the nerve to try and tell me not to desire what is rightfully mine!"
She isn't shouting yet but he knows it's coming. He swallows, the sharp point of his Adam's apple bobbing once.
"What is so wrong with wanting closure? Tell me."
"Is closure really what you want? It has always sounded like revenge to me."
"One begets the other in my eyes." she growls.
"But-,"
"SHE took my hands," both hands swing upward and whip in his direction as her mouth twists into a hard grimace with flickers of teeth, "after I spat in that dogson's face! And when she didn't have the guts to finish the job, some no name Dargling did it for her!"
Xero's mouth opens, jaw hanging, and he says nothing. His violet eyes widen and all he can do is breathe. His knees threaten to buckle when she takes a step towards him.
Jirina's body pulses with anger, memories flashing over the back of her mind as she puts a searing gaze to the Mage Warrior. Her appendages had been separated from her body by the edge of a white hot blade, Hokum not wishing for her to bleed out and die before he was willing to allow it. It had taken over a dozen Darglings to keep her on her knees even after days of being beaten, interrogated for information she simply didn't have. She still remembers the biting sting of her scalp as they held her by her hair, the clench of a firm and clawed hand at her throat and jaw to keep her head still. To keep her from looking away as glowing steel fell to her flesh. One then the other, enough pause between to make sure the pain from the first injury wouldn't conceal the others.
"You want to understand, old man?" she is still moving forward, stature predatory, and he backs away, looking to not be meaning to. In one fluid motion she reaches up and tears the visor from her face, throwing it to the floor with an echoing metallic clung before lunging forward to snatch the front of Xero's coat in both hands. With one hard jerk they stand almost nose to nose, only the curled toes of his boots are still on the floor. This is the first time Xero has ever felt fear in her presence. This is the first time she has ever laid hands on him in such a way, and the hard lines of fury he can now see pulling her features only amplifies this terrible new feeling. "Then take a good look...tell me what you see."
He can't find the words to respond to her demand, his mind is blank with a unique panic. But he sees well: the scars across her face. One uneven mark in particular that goes from her pitch black hairline, diagonal across her forehead and down into the small space between the thick bridge of her nose and her eye. It ends just an inch or so above her jaw line, standing out as the largest among several smaller ones. And this was just her face; her entire body is covered in various blemishes like these.
Her tone is now just above a whisper and hard. "Hokum spent...hours teaching that back-biting plague-sore how to hurt someone, and she is far from a quick study in the matter. The one you're surely staring at was the first...Hokum held her hand as she did it, made sure she cut deep."
"The face is a great place to start, my dear girl. Highly sensitive flesh with little risk of nicking an artery..."
And it had been nearly two years of this miserable cycle: starvation, beatings, torture, over and over until Hokum had been convinced she couldn't tell him anything he didn't already know. However, even after all that he found her useful still. Jirina goes on to tell him how Hokum's men stripped her of everything but her Org-Ta runes and chained her to a post in the middle of Cyl Og Sul like an untrustworthy hound. The bastard wanted to be sure everyone who still lived in the crumbling town would see what became of anyone who dared to resist him.
Xero knows its true, as much as the idea that Windleaf would ever do such things disgusts him. He cannot ignore the still jarring recollection of the state Jirina was in when Mezzick had lead him to where she was hidden in the Banori caves, under Dashau's protection.
"And every day that I walk these corridors and those streets I am reminded of it all." her lips tremble though it's obvious she's trying to fight it. There's a tightness in her throat that she tries desperately to swallow so she can speak. Her body shakes. "Forgiveness won't give me any peace because there is no such thing! Not when every waking moment is a nightmare!" one tear slips from the corner of her eye, just barely catching torchlight to flash for an instant. "So are you satisfied now? Do you finally understand?"
He still cannot speak though his mouth tries to form words. He trembles in her grasp and can only stare back at the staggering grimace on her face and telling blueness around the edges of her eyes. More tears are coming though she fights them, but there are just too many to hold back.
When his silence no longer suits her she lets go, simply refusing to care that he stumbles onto his backside. With a snap of motion Jirina puts her back to him and forges for the exit of the throne room. If ever she needed to be alone...
"J-Jirina," he finally stutters, "please,"
"Not another word lest I break the only promise I ever made you!"
His jaw snaps shut, one hand instinctively going to the seam at his throat as he watches her leave the chamber.
(II)
She remembers the first day feeling the longest, partly because she couldn't find it in her to sleep. Instead she just stared at the shadows the bars in the window made within the moonlight on the walls. Now, five years later as she does the same thing, Windleaf rethinks the prospect. This, her last night, is lasting forever. Again she cannot sleep and there isn't enough light to read by as the moon is in its waning stages. Not that there is a book she hasn't read in the small stack by the bed. So now, as then, she lays in here, hands folded over her stomach with thumbs twiddling. When that no longer pacifies her mind she starts to hum to herself, old songs from home that hold a bitter sweetness as she'll likely never hear them again otherwise. This serves to lull her mind closer to sleep, eventually pushing her over to it though it's an uneasy slumber. She wakes several times throughout the night.
Windleaf rouses herself one last time at the behest of the morning watchman, taking a moment to make herself presentable before presenting her hands through the bars. It is time to make breakfast for the knights and, by the same token, herself. It keeps her busy enough to forget the ticking seconds, though she struggles to keep her eyes off the old wooden cuckoo clock in the kitchen. The warden would allow her to leave when the little bird inside the clock sings for midday, no sooner. It's going to be the longest five hours of her life.
When the time finally -finally- comes she spares only a moment to tuck the few books she has into a cloth bag when Sir George comes to escort her out of the keep. And while he is walking her from her cell to the entrance on the far side -away from Karillon- there is no need for her to wear manacles anymore. Now she stands on the other side of the gate at the rear of the keep, looking out along the winding path that cuts through the Crescent Valley. Free.
"Let's not meet again under these circumstances, aye?" the old knight nods and smiles.
"I'll do my best. Thank you, Sir George." she opens her arms in offering for an embrace, hoping it's allowed now.
He happily concedes. "Take care of yourself, missy."
She nods in response before managing a soft good bye in the same instant as she turns to start down the path. She makes for the Magic Academy, the only place she knows she is welcome.
By the gods did it feel good to have soil under her feet again instead of unforgiving flagstones. There's a soft pulse of energy between the small contact of her skin and the earth, like it once had when she still had her magic. The air is fresh and clean, heated by the sun, and she smooths her fingers through her hair in tandem with a nudging breeze. She reaches the end of the path and can't help but laugh at the gentle scratch of the tall, wild grains and grasses of the valley against her legs. Nearly every step she takes scatters countless insects and small birds from their hiding places, almost conjuring memories of before when the whole valley was crawling with monsters. Strange.
Perhaps a third of the way to her destination she pauses, mostly to take in the area, remind herself exactly where she is. But before she begins again she squints at the southern horizon, spotting something moving. An initially nondescript silhouette steadily becomes something human looking, arms waving. Then she catches the faint echo of a voice calling her name. Windleaf breaks into a full sprint without further encouragement.
Stinger meets with her over a patch of clover, catching her about the waist as she throws open her arms once she's close enough. They forgo the awkward pleasantries and greetings in exchange for a deep, almost searing kiss. He holds her above the ground for but a moment, his knees giving under their combined weight. They laugh at themselves when they hit the ground, Stinger on his back with his arms still tight around her.
"You came after all." she says once she composes herself a little, smiling down at him.
"Of course I did, though I'm sorry I didn't meet you at the door."
"It's fine, you're here now." she kisses him again, this time not so intensely. At least that's how it started, as she couldn't stop with just one. "I missed you."
"Missed you too." he manages. "And as much as I would like to take this further, vultures are starting to circle."
She twists upright and lifts her head. "Oh my."
"That isn't like some bad omen, is it?"
"Not that I know of...not that I'm willing to tempt the chance, either. Come on." She stands, careful not to trip over him before offering her hand to pull Stinger to his feet. They start walking south together, as close as two people physically can be before movement starts being more trouble than it's worth.
"Anari is planning some fancy dinner." he says seemingly in passing.
Windleaf smirks to herself with a gentle roll of her eyes. "I all but begged her not to."
"I know...and she knows you're not one for the attention but...you're important to her. You're her mentor."
"Yeah, but it isn't like I'm coming back from the dead."
"True." he nods once. "Still, you practically raised that girl. You taught her everything she knows and she's had to spend the last few years without you to hold her hand, you know? I bet it's just as much a welcome home party as it is a 'be proud of me, I didn't burn the place down' celebration."
"Ah-hah, good point. Well, be that as it may...the first thing I'm doing -come hell or high water- is taking a hot bath."
"Got drafty up in that old keep, did it?"
She shivers, cringing. "Then I'm going to sulk for a while over how I'm going to come up with two-hundred and fifty thousand gold pieces." Her posture deflates.
Stinger tips his chin up, a smug smirk on his mouth that she can't see. "Well..."
Windleaf slides her piercing blue eyes on the diagonal to try and catch his face. "Well what? What did you do?"
His hand smooths down her back, fingers eventually curling over her hip to pull her just a little closer. "I may or may not have been putting some of my salary towards your debt."
She shrugs a little. "When are you going to stop trying to bail me out every time I get in trouble?"
He lowers his head, pressing a brief kiss to her hair. "When I stop giving a damn about you."
How do you argue that?
They arrive at the academy in the early evening, just as the sky begins to turn to burning hues of orange and gold. Fessen, the resident ghost, is the first to greet them. Windleaf seems pleased to see him, having been convinced he'd left the place shortly after she had taken over as Archmage. Stinger takes the spirit's presence with the usual abrasion, the two never really having taken to one another.
Igraine comes into the atrium with a beaming smile and open arms, embracing Windleaf and offering a most warm welcome home. Almost immediately she goes into the details of the dinner, how all the senior students are so excited that she'll be there, and how everyone has been working so hard to make the academy presentable for her arrival.
Windleaf makes a conscious effort to show genuine gratitude -not that she has to fake it- as she feels a little overwhelmed at the attention. With a nod of acknowledgment to all of Igrain's efforts she gently asks "How soon?"
"A few hours yet. It'll be after dark."
Another nod. "Is there somewhere I can relax until then?"
"Of course," by the blue Org's tone she must have thought that a silly question, "you're apartment is just as you left it. Please, make yourself at home."
"I will, if you'll excuse me."
"I'll send Fessen for you then?"
"That would be fine."
Igraine raises an eyebrow as Windleaf turns away and begins to walk. "And for the admiral? Should I arrange a room for him?"
"Not necessary, thank you, Igraine."
And Igraine watches, gasping quietly with both hands over her mouth as Stinger puts an arm around Windleaf's shoulders and winks back at her with a knowing smirk. A short walk down the spiraling walkway that runs the depth of the academy brings them to the proper door that the former Archmage opens without delay. A vibration of energy comes out of the opening and sweeps over them, even Stinger feels it and shivers at the goosebumps on his skin.
The room within is bathed with a gently warm and copper light that comes from a hemisphere of stained glass in the ceiling. Several different colored panes on the fixture's extreme edges cast other colors, the glow settling on the flowering plants and mosses that seem to grow right out of the stone walls. The entire space hums with a sort of life, a sentient tranquility not unlike the Etherwell. The admiral glances over the space, one end to the other, finding mostly common items one would expect to: a chest of drawers, a bed, bookshelves of various populations. The only thing he doesn't immediately recognize is the bench and table along the western wall, littered with colored bottles and drying bundles of plants.
"Sit down, stay a while." she says as they step through the door, amused.
"Fancy place." he responds in passing, immediately going for the workbench to have a closer look. "What's all this?"
"Turns out I'm quite the potion maker. It was something I could study without Hokum constantly looking over my shoulder; he never put much stock in the craft. Thought black magic was all he ever needed."
"I'll believe it. And the plants growing in here?"
Windleaf practically flops onto the edge of the bed, happy to sit. "The components could grow all through the academy if Fessen didn't keep house so well, but they seem to really like it in here. One of the reasons I picked it."
He nods, turning away from the bench to face her. "How good are you at love potions then?"
She grins, crossing her legs and leaning back on her hands. "Wouldn't you like to know."
"I asked, after all."
"Well, pity for you that kind of potion-craft is greatly frowned upon. I don't think there's even a book on it in the archives, and I've never looked."
"Too bad." he feigns a cringe. "You could probably pay off Karillon in a year if you started selling something like that."
"Sure, and while I'm at it, become the mother of industrial date rape. Sounds like a good time."
He stops mid stride, perhaps shocked at hearing the implication he hadn't considered. "Okay...putting it like that...forget I said anything."
"Done and done." one punctuated nod. Then she pats the space next to her with an open hand. "Have a seat. Get comfortable."
Conversation completely forgotten, her lets his heavy leather long coat slip from his shoulders and folds it over one arm. He lays it on the foot of the bed before sitting down, inching as close to her as possible, all the while smiling like a fool. He catches her gaze for a moment before leaning in for a kiss, no warning. She laughs a little and returns the gesture. Again. And Again. Short butterfly kisses morph into something greater, their lips refusing to separate as Stinger pulls her against his chest and lays back on the mattress. Before it gets too serious, however, they unconsciously decide a quick nap is more pressing. Windleaf manages to wake herself and bathe before Fessen arrives, though she has to prod Stinger a few times to get him moving. She convinces him to freshen up a little before the two leave together.
Igraine proves to be a fine hostess, providing various wines and top quality dishes for the gathering of just over a dozen people. Stinger knows hardly a soul in the room, but still finds contentment in trying all the spirits and watching the others interact. The other mages appear genuinely pleased to have Windleaf among them again, most of them likely having been her students at one time or another. And Windleaf was happy to be here, the happiest he had seen her in some time. The academy had been the closest thing she had to a home since Enclaan had been leveled, and now she was back where she belonged. When was the last time she had smiled so much?
Windleaf knows all of the students present, remembers when they were still little more than children. Now they're adults and on the cusp of graduating, and they all have such fine things to say about Igraine's management as Archmage. Not that she had ever doubted her. All Anari ever needed, even as a little girl, was an occasional push. If she ever gained the self-confidence to match her talent, she would be a force to be reckoned with to say the least. Windleaf couldn't be more proud of her apprentice.
It is well after midnight when they all retire to their rooms. Windleaf walks with her arm around Stinger's waist, making sure he's steady enough as she worries over his sobriety. He swears he's fine, several times, but he always swears so she takes it with a grain of salt. Though he convinces her to at least let him walk into her apartment on his own, you know, to prove he can. Once inside his first thought is to kick off his boots, his feet feeling too swollen and sore for him to stand wearing them any longer. He fumbles with the laces at his collar, haphazardly pulling them apart as he stands on one side of the bed. He then hooks his fingers into the hem of his shirt, meaning to give it one hard pull over his head.
He pauses, feeling thin fingers quickly line up with his own from behind him. Warmth washes over him and he thinks twice before looking over his shoulder. He says nothing, only catches and holds her bright blue gaze like he would a precious gem as his fingers loose to lace between hers.
"Make love to me." her tone is just above a whisper, her eyes straying for all of a second. "Do you want to?"
His heart skips a beat, his grip tightening a little. "I...we don't have to do it tonight."
"I didn't say anything about having to." she corrects with a kiss to the back of his neck, a smirk forming when he shivers under her touch. "I asked if you wanted to. Do you?"
"Yes." comes his heated exhale. He wants her more than his next breath, has wanted her for years. Stinger lets her turn him around, lifting up his arms as she starts pulling on his shirt. He shudders as her hands fan across his chest, move over his collar bones, and then find purchase in his ponytail to force his head down. Their lips come together with the cautionary pressure of teeth, desire arcing between them like hot static. Her nails bite into his scalp as he bends his knees, lowering himself to gather her up in his arms without breaking contact.
She can't stop the fit of giggles that bubble out of her when he lets her drop to the mattress, her smile only growing at the sight of his own amused grin.
"Just like this," he whispers as he moves over her, knees pushing between her legs, "I want you just like this." Open, willing, accepting. His dark eyes focus on the quickened rise and fall of her bare stomach. He licks his lips. "Is that okay?"
Windleaf nods. "Although I'm sure it'll be better with my clothes off."
"Of course." he smirks, kissing her once.
Awkward at first. Too slow. Too fast. They laugh at each other. Not so rough. Just like that. Right there. Right there. Harder. Yes.
They lay together afterward, tangled in the sheets and each other, wide awake but mostly quiet. She threads his hair through her fingers, his head resting on her chest. He kisses her throat in passing, she reciprocates the gesture to his forehead. They are content.
"You know," he mumbles, "I still want you to live with me in Treeside."
"I had a feeling." she tries to ignore the hitching of her heart beat. "I haven't given it proper thought yet."
He nestles a little closer, his arm bending across her stomach. "Would you rather stay here? I can't help but feel like Anari was trying to convince you to."
"She was. She wants me as a teacher, that and she's considering getting the Magi back together. Though I can't see how me being a part of it would help matters. I mean," Windleaf pauses a moment, winding blond strands around two fingers, tugging a little. "These kids...they've got the potential to be ten times the mage I was."
"Yeah...but just imagine what they could do with your help?"
"I know. That's what I've had going through my head half the night." eventually she shakes her head, settling a little further under the blanket. "I have a lot to think over."
"Yeah...can I give you one more thing to think about?"
She agrees, just to humor him.
"You don't have to say anything now, just...just sleep on it, you know?" he swallows, shifting to prop himself on one elbow. He wants to look at her. "I want to marry you."
Windleaf's eyes widen, focusing on the ceiling. "Is this because I'm your first?"
"It's because I love you like I've never loved anyone. Because you're the wind in my sails and the bough-tide beneath my ship. And I don't care how ridiculous you think that sounds."
She smiles, a little laugh as her eyes close for a moment. "I don't think it's ridiculous at all. I'm just surprised. Never took you as the poetic type."
He's blushing, raking the back of his head with hooked fingers. "I've had a lot of time to think about it. But it's all true."
Not that she has any doubt about that. Still, like everything else, it was something to think about. Something else to worry over come the morning.
Author's Note: I'm hitting the burn out line pretty fast now, I think. Likely one chapter left in this, maybe two. After that there'll be a little follow up. Not multi-chapter, but likely long winded. In reality I just needed to get all this out of my head. I'm sure a lot of writers get like that. Anyway, any questions? Feel free to ask. Thanks for reading, that is, if you made it this far.