Genres/Rating: Family, Romance, Truth. (M)

Characters: Warin, Shamir.

Summary: Days on days of tension, of awkward silences and fervent prayer from the masses were beginning to wear on the already frayed tempers of those who were not yet ready to return to the morn of peace. War still held in the distance for the few ragged soldiers ready to face those enemies that still held in the shadows, and concern for the return of the archbishop was the last thing on their minds. For the two most eager to move forward there could be no advancement, not until Rhea's health improved and their next move was made... but patience was not Warin's strong suit, and what little he already had was wearing painfully thin.


Horsebow Moon

Garreg Mach (Arena)

Evening

Jab.

Uppercut.

Downward slash.

Roundhouse kick.

Guard.

Repeat.

The drill was monotonous without a partner, numb and mechanical, but Warin threw himself into the motions nonetheless with all that he had. Each movement of his arms and legs came with a great exhalation of breath, as if he was truly trying to do harm to the swarms of invisible enemies he was fighting off, and the blades on his gauntlets whistled in time with his every swing. Sweat trickled down from his matted hair, sliding underneath his open collar to elicit a round of goosebumps, but still he continued without notice. His body wasn't yet tired, even if his mind was, and he needed something, anything, to distract himself from the exhaustion and tension that had been slowly but surely building up for the past week and a half.

Had it been only so short of a time? It felt like weeks had already passed since the archbishop had returned to Garreg Mach, but he knew better. She had retreated to her quarters in the centre building, attended to by her own retinue of healers so not to disturb the influx of men and women who were burdening the infirmary, and had not shown her face since. It did not matter, though, as her presence was felt wherever one looked with little difficulty, whether it be the hope the faithful were showing with their smiles, or the quiet, wary footsteps of the Blue Lions as they watched their professor closely for a sign for their next move.

If there was a sign to be given of what to do next concerning her return, Raine was giving absolutely none. All she spoke of was the wait for the scouts, the mustering of their remaining forces for the fortress of the Agarthans, and little else. According to the note she had seen from Hubert, the mountain range far in the north, deep in the Alliance territory was where their enemies had made their base, and all of the generals had agreed that it was suicidal to take an army so far with such little knowledge to go on. So, instead, House Goneril was providing scouts, seeing as Holst had seen fit to withdraw his troops back to his territory to begin repairs, and he had offered some of his men to the effort in lieu of his withdrawal.

They now were waiting, sitting on what felt like a powder keg as none broached the subject of what was to come next now that the archbishop had finally returned after her years of imprisonment. She was weak and sickly, needing time and magic to heal both her battered body and mind, and the healers had been blunt in explaining her situation was a difficult one. She would need intensive care and even more watchful eyes on her at all times before anyone could even consider the idea of the transfer of power back to where it truly belonged. For now, it was a tacit agreement that Raine, as she had been ordered before, would continue to act on her behalf when it came to dealing with the Agarthan threat they were facing, but all else still remained painfully up in the air.

Their army had diminished greatly, leaving only a handful of men and women left to finish what had been started. Warin admittedly could not blame those who had turned homeward, as the three territories had suffered greatly already, and if their smallfolk were to ever begin recovery, it had to begin immediately. The entirety of the Alliance's forces had withdrawn back to their respective territories, while Claude and Leonie remained behind. Claude's Almyran forces stayed with him, but no one admittedly was sure whether it was an oath, threat, or promise of power that kept his men at hand. Rodrigue had likewise withdrawn to Fhirdiad, after an explicit order from Dimitri to begin the reclamation of his territory in his absence, and to take his war-weary men along with him. They had been fighting too long, and many were simply too tired to continue onwards. They needed to return home, to see their families and rest and rebuild, and Dimitri had been wise to send them back for both their sake, and the sake of the people he could not yet return to himself.

Many were fleeing, but others were also returning, leaving the monastery in an odd space of limbo that was doing no good for those who remained behind in wait of their next mission. The few who had hidden in the Empire, fearing retribution for their faith, or for their anger at Edelgard's reign, had come in search of refuge now that Enbarr had been emptied of their former oppressors. There was still so much damage in the capital that few of the residents in the city could hope to return or settle without rebuilding first, and while many of the defected Imperial soldiers had turned for home, it would be moons, long, long moons, before the damage that had been done, and the blood that had been spilled in the streets would be washed away.

Then there was the obvious vacuum of power that had been left behind in the wake of the Emperor's death, and there was unease at every turn when the words of who was to take the throne came up in conversation. It did not matter that Dimitri had made his intent as a liberator and not a conqueror known to all, as the Empire was still left without leadership in the interim. Those loyal to their homeland were returning to build what they had torn down, but no one was in a clear position of guiding them. There were whispers of course, of who would be best suited, or appointed, but Dimitri and Raine had both coldly shut the topic down when it had first been broached after their return to the monastery. The fires in the streets had only just stopped smoking, and many were still unburied. It was not yet time for politics, regardless of the outside pressure of the nobility.

Warin grimaced, wondering how on earth the two could manage such a delicate dance, but he knew full well they were barely scraping by with their sanity intact. Raine was feeling more pressure than ever now, and yet she was standing tall instead of retreating as she once would have done to save her own mental health. She attended her training and councils without fail, always calm, always calculated, but there was little doubt in anyone's mind that she was more burdened than ever. Dimitri was always by her side, a quiet but fierce presence that kept the impatient and demanding away, but even he was lagging. He was carrying both his own burden and her own, and as much as they were supporting one another, there was only so much they could carry before their knees weakened under the weight.

The doors of the arena swinging open alerted him to the presence of another, and despite himself, Warin felt his arms twitch at his sides in irritation. It was late, and most of the drills that were still being run were usually held in the early afternoon when the air was a little more brisker. He had chosen a later hour for hopes of not being interrupted by Rodrigue's son, who had been taking to training alone more and more often as of late, and he had little desire to put his lance to the young man's sword. He was still carrying guilt from the battle in Enbarr's streets, and the wound that was faintly caressing his lover's pale throat, and such a bout weighed down by those feelings were of no good to either man. He needed clarity and sharpness, not muddled emotions and self-loathing... though with a wry smile, he had to wonder if he was thinking only of his sister's student, or rather his own needs.

"Well, you look terrible. Have you been training all day?"

Sighing, Warin dropped his arms as Shamir's question went through him like an arrow made of ice. Her tone was conversational, but as he took a glimpse upwards over the walls at the setting sun, he was well aware that she was not there simply to talk. He was late in his usual routine of returning, for the third straight day, and she had finally come calling rather than sitting back and waiting for him to come to her. It was a sign of her waning patience, something he knew he owed her an apology for, but instead he shook his arms, brushing the sweat from his brow on the back of his sleeve as he answered her question flatly, "Most of the afternoon, really... It's stifling everywhere I go. At least here, there's a little bit of quiet to enjoy."

"Quiet... Right." Shamir mused, and Warin caught her lifting her eyebrows in disbelief out of the corner of his eye as she rounded him with a questioning look. He didn't move, allowing for her sharp gaze to take in everything she wanted to see, and clearly she wasn't impressed as she finally shook her head and moved to seat herself on a nearby crate just out of his reach. She perched on the edge, head tilted somewhat like a cat inspecting something they were questioning pouncing on, and she continued with an errant flick of her wrist, "It's been nothing but quiet since our march back... Annoyingly so. Even the celebrations in the chapel are muted out of concern for the so-called "respite" Rhea is taking. There's been whispers she may be permanently handing off her mantle, even with her return."

"To who? Seteth?" Warin asked dryly, though a small, and dark little part of him was fully aware that his question was not at all a rhetorical one. He hadn't heard the whispers himself, but he could well imagine what was being said in hushed tones whenever Rhea's health was being questioned. The commander of the rebellion, the future King's right-hand and the current acting leader of the Church of Seiros had made a name for herself in this war... It was not surprising that the masses she had saved, willingly or no, would wish for her to remain if Rhea would not. He shook his head, hands clenching down into tight fists as he muttered darkly, "If that's her plan, trying to rope her into staying permanently, she's taken too many blows to the head in the dungeons... I won't allow it. She could easily issue comforting words through her mouthpieces, but instead she's holed up in her quarters and letting the populace spin things for her..."

Shamir watched him silently for a moment, musing that more than ever he looked like a caged animal that was desperately seeking for an escape from his chains. His eyes were distant and cold, his body language tense and closed off, but none of it was truly a surprise. He didn't want to be within a league of Rhea, and being forced to live under the same roof as her again had ignited all of the worst traits in him with a fury. It was almost as if he had been transported back in time six years, when he had been an angry, unwilling and icy young man under the yoke of his father, but Shamir knew better. He had no chains to bind him except for those he wore willingly, and those almost were more dangerous than the leash that had been put on him all those years ago when he had first arrived. "I'm surprised you haven't kicked down the doors yourself yet."

"I've wanted to, but the threat of losing my head to Catherine, or to Raine, is keeping me tightly at heel for the moment." Warin answered with an annoyed grunt, and he clenched his fists once more before retracting the blades on his gauntlets before his temper got the better of him. Catherine hadn't left the centre building since Rhea's return, taking up her post as her lady's bodyguard once more with her return, and Cyril had joined her without a word. The only two who were permitted through the closed doors to her inner chambers besides her hand-picked healers were Seteth and Flayn, but even their visits had been sparse. Seteth had been forced into action, soothing those who wanted to see their spiritual leader and delaying their questions and demands, while his daughter was balancing her duties with Rhea and inside of the infirmary. "There's little I can do right now but wait... and I've never been the most patient man. This at least is all I can do, until it's time to fight. It's the only damned thing I'm good at."

"You and your sister have a very strange habit of underselling your better qualities." Shamir noted with that same ironically cocked eyebrow, but there was a tinge of gentleness in her gaze that belied her words. She swung herself off of her perch, stretching her arms over her head in an errant sort of way before she glanced over to the lance that Warin had set aside for his training. She reached for it without asking for permission, knowing she didn't need it anyway as she hefted the weapon experimentally in one hand. It was Warin's personal lance, therefore it was heavier than the one she usually would fight with, but it was a lance all the same and she gave it an easy twirl before turning on her heel to face him. "You aren't tired, right? Shall we spar a little?"

"I'm not tired, but I don't think it's a good idea-" Warin began hesitantly, and the rest of his words were cut off as Shamir pounced without waiting for his permission. Instinctively he raised his arms, catching the blow between his gauntlets, and he leapt back as she forced herself forward. It shouldn't have surprised him, her deciding to continue without his input, but he pulled back all the same as she began to circle him. Her footwork was immaculate, keeping him turning in time with her every movement, and he pulled a face as he tensed instinctively for her next blow, "You're not going to stop, are you?"

"No." The answer was blunt, and came with a sharp stab that Warin had to spin to avoid. She was fast even with a heavy weapon in hand, and worse, she knew exactly how he fought and how to counteract it. They were partners in battle more often than they were in sparring these days, but that didn't matter. They still knew each other better than anyone else, and Shamir was not merciful with that knowledge as she pushed her advantage. Her opponent was hesitant, dodging rather than countering, and she pushed on forward with another sweep to his mid-section, "You've been fighting a ghost since you were a little boy. Now, you've a chance to fight the person responsible for most of your misery, and you're still holding back. Still fighting ghosts. Fight me instead for a little while. I can handle it."

Warin gritted his teeth as his arms moved automatically, catching the tip of the lance on his left gauntlet to absorb the majority of the blow. As strong and thick as his weapon was, it required equal strength to use it properly, and Shamir simply didn't have the brute strength he had. Speed and skill weren't enough to supplement the force, but it kept him on his toes all the same when she withdrew gamely, watching him closely for a reaction. He didn't give chase, shaking his head even as her words pierced into him as if he wasn't wearing armour at all. He hated how accurate she was, how cruelly she could shoot her words as well as her arrows, but he was well aware he was deserving of it even as he asked wearily, "And if I don't want to?"

"Then I'll make you. Unlike the others here, and unlike yourself, I'm not afraid of you." Shamir countered easily, and she leapt with a slash, forcing Warin again to slide backwards in an attempt to evade her. It irked her, seeing how adamant he was about dancing about both her and the subject he still wasn't broaching, though a small part of her did understand. He was still hurting. Those wounds from his boyhood hadn't ever really healed. They'd merely scabbed over, and time after time, those scabs had been ripped open before scar tissue could take their place. Now, his wounds were bleeding freely, with no one and nothing capable of staunching the flow... but she hadn't been there before to try. She was there now. "Come on, now. Stop dancing about. It's not your style. Fight me like you mean it, or I'll corner you, and make you. You don't have much of a choice here."

A neat twirl sent the blunt end of the lance flying upwards, and Warin only barely managed to swing his head left to avoid having it connect directly with his chin. The whistle of the thick steel by his ear was almost deafening, and as the lance finished its rotation, he was forced to lift his arms as the blade came down again. His gauntlets caught the blow with ease, though sparks hissed up as the metal screeched along metal, and his chest felt hot and tight as Shamir refused to give ground. Her expression was painfully neutral, painfully calm, and he wondered at her with a clench deep in his stomach. She was stubborn... but he was, too, and that was simply something they were both incapable of stopping no matter how they tried.

The blows came faster, forcing him on the defensive as she refused to give him even a moment to breathe. He had no choice but to raise his fists, blocking each time she swung and catching the blade on the thick, layered plates that now protected his forearms. He hissed instinctively, teeth grinding as he wondered at her and bristled simultaneously. It wasn't often that she pushed him, and usually when she did, it was always for his betterment. This however felt different, felt too risky, and he hesitated to cede to her, blocking her blows as best as he could manage rather than allowing for himself to return them. They were both appropriately geared for it, she had obviously come knowing a match was a possibility, but it didn't give him any comfort.

Still, she wasn't giving him an inch and his body was reacting instinctively even if he didn't wish for it. Every blow was coming harder, and he was reacting as he pushed away her stabs and slashes with more force each time. There was a flash in her eye as she circled about him, either amusement or appreciation, and his temper flared despite himself as she whirled out again for his midsection. He swung his hips right, easily sidestepping her movement and his right hand moved automatically to knock the blade farther away from his body. Her grip tightened automatically, attempting to leverage herself, and Warin felt his body moving without his consent as instinct and anger took over.

In a flash, the lance was knocked out of her hand, and he pinned her against the nearest wall with one arm grasping her wrist while the other raised for her throat. His hand trembled in his gauntlet as he fought the instinctive urge to press the button that would unsheathe the blades, and for a moment everything was silent and cold as he realized where his training and basic reaction had brought him. He hadn't thought, only moved, and in an instant she was at his mercy, her throat exposed for his blades and her clear, wine-coloured eyes locked fearlessly onto his as if challenging him to finish what would normally come so easily to him. How many others had he felled in the exact same manner, with just a twitch of his finger, and a spray of crimson? He had long since stopped counting, but the number still kept growing all the same.

His blood turned to ice as he stood like a statue, realizing where he had been pushed and just how damn easy it had been for her to do so. It didn't seem to matter how tightly he leashed himself, how much time he poured into training, as everything seemed to be tied as tightly to the triggers on his gauntlets, and needed so little to push them down. It would be so easy, too easy, for the blades to swing and for her throat to open. Too easy for her blood to flow at his own hands with merciless precision. He'd done it so many times... but once more would bring the entirety of the world crashing down if he hadn't stopped himself at the very last second.

Cursing, Warin jerked his arm away and stepped back as his heart begun to pick up speed in his chest from the panic of the realization of just how close he had come to harming her. He moved to fully retreat, thinking of nothing but turning his back and fleeing both her and the arena, but a strong grasp on his arm stopped him in his tracks. He was yanked back none too gently, and he all but stumbled from the force of her pull. This time she was the one to sidestep, letting him crash into the wall before she turned the positions around and pinned him against the stone instead. She pressed a hand to his chest, holding him in place as the other grasped at his hand, pulling insistently even as he began in protest, "H-Hey, what are you-"

Words failed him as she finally grasped his hand and raised it, settling his long fingers on her throat without once ever breaking eye-contact with him. His blood froze over and his body refused to move as he felt her pulse hammering against his fingers in testament to the adrenaline that had been flowing through her during their bout. He noted that his hand was trembling under her grip, refusing to dare to even twitch in case he applied any sort of pressure to her throat, but whatever words he wanted to speak were cut out from under him as she spoke in a clear, calm voice, "If you wanted to hurt me, you've had plenty of chances to since we met. All it would take is a squeeze of your hand. Death is easy. I know that just as well as you do. It's in our blood to be mercenaries. To be killers. I made my peace with that when I was dying in Dagda, under the corpses of my partners and friends. You made yours when you were chased across the continent with the Imperial army at your back. But that time is over. For both of us. I am not afraid of you. So stop being afraid for me. You couldn't hurt me even if you wanted to."

Warin shook his head slowly, but with firm strength, he pulled his hand loose of her grip to settle it down at his side. She didn't remove her own hand, keeping him pinned, and he allowed for it as much as his entire body was screaming at him to push her aside and run. He hated being trapped. Hated the idea of restraints. It was enough to bring bile up into his throat, to make his body shiver with fear and hate and the urge to fight, but he mastered it with brute force as he understood Shamir wasn't going to allow him to flee. Not unless he moved her himself, and he did not have the strength of will to do so. Not after what he had almost already did. The thought made his voice hoarse and ragged as he corrected her even as he cast his eyes away from hers, "I nearly did."

"And you tried to run away the second you saw where instinct took you. You have better control of yourself than you think. Too much, maybe. If you just vented every once and awhile instead of holding it so close to your chest, you wouldn't have to be on edge as often as you are." Shamir answered in that same calm and even tone, and he winced under her hand in proof that she had hit far too accurately for his liking. Still, he was staying where she had pinned him, giving into her despite his desires, and she took full advantage of it while she had it. She knew well enough that the situation could break like glass in an instant if either of them faltered, and so she pushed forward to not give him a moment to let his thoughts run away with his better sense, "Rhea will be dealt with eventually. I won't question you or your sister's desires to finish this war entirely before attending to your personal matters... but I won't let you abuse yourself in the interim, either. I may not be capable of picking you up and dragging you off the training grounds like the prince can, but I can stop you in your tracks with other means. I'm not afraid to fight dirty, if you haven't noticed. So are you going to listen to me, or are you going to make me knock you unconscious for a few hours?"

"Are those my only options?"

Shamir cocked an eyebrow, silently questioning if he was going to push her, but he held his ground and her gaze fearlessly. There was a tortured look in his eye, pained and tense and haunted, and she let out a tired breath as she felt an odd sort of loving exasperation. He never made anything easy... but she supposed that was why she had fallen in love with him in the first place. She had always loved a challenge, and a good gamble. He made both too exciting, too tantalizing, and the thought brought a smirk to her lips as she pushed on his chest a bit more firmly to hold him still as she stepped in closer.

Warin wasn't sure what he had expected of her as she advanced, but the sensation of her lips on his moments after her strong push was definitely not on the list. Her hand lay flat and commanding, refusing to let him shrug her away, but any such thoughts of escape were fleeting as her other raised to gently feather its way over his chest and throat. Her fingertips were gentle, tracing the shape of his scar as it was lost behind his ear and then curling up into his hair, and he heard more than he felt himself sigh as she nipped his lower lip to force him to open his mouth for her tongue. His arms twitched at his sides as she swept in fearlessly, tasting, claiming and urging an answer, and again instinct overrode better sense and complied with her.

"Mm..." Shamir murmured her approval, pressing herself closer as she felt his tension easing underneath her palm when he answered her. His left arm was slow in lifting, careful and almost hesitant in draping itself over her waist to draw her against him, but she didn't mind it overmuch. He was still vulnerable, still afraid, but she knew how to draw him out, and was not nearly as concerned as he was. He flattened himself against the pillar, allowing for her to press herself all the more firmly against him, and she leaned in closer as she pulled his head down none too gently to urge him to further passion.

She tasted sweet, even if her movements were harsh and unyielding as she pulled him around the pillar and out of sight of the doors lest someone walk in to see them. He followed her wordless orders obediently, unable to resist even though a small part of him told him he had to unless he wanted her to sweep him entirely away. However, by the time he had the better sense to think of it, she had already taken him to the ground, shoving him onto his knees and straddling him in the same movement with graceful ease. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tilting his head back for easier access, and his hands moved of their own will to grasp her hips and clasp her closer.

Shamir broke first, pulling away with a heavy pant lacing her breathing as she looked down at him with lust purring away heatedly in her veins. His face had flushed, even in the darkening shadows where she had pulled him away to hide themselves, and his eyes were half-lidded as he stared up at her with a similar hunger clouding that sharp, navy gaze. His hands felt hot as they slid themselves thoughtlessly underneath her jacket, wanting to feel even the slightest hint of her bare skin under her bodice, and she arched her back, guiding his touch southwards as she murmured, "You haven't touched me since we marched to Enbarr... I'm not waiting until we get back to my quarters. Is that all right with you?"

Warin's brow furrowed as he realized she was speaking the truth, and it came as a bit of a shock as he looked up at her wordlessly. He hadn't laid a hand on her ever since their march into the Imperial capital weeks ago, and only once during the fighting had he abandoned pretence to hold her for a kiss. His thoughts had been too cloudy and dark to think of her, and it irked him to realize he had left her wanting for more than a fortnight without even thinking about her. He shook his head slowly, hands tightening their grip on her as he leaned forward to nuzzle her heaving chest, "Damn it all, you're right... How have you been so patient with me...?"

"Does this look like patience to you?" Shamir shot back with a barely stifled laugh, and she helped his pulling hands to shrug herself out of her jacket before again rearranging herself in his lap. She tugged at his shirt in turn, and he lifted his arms obediently, and she couldn't hide an approving smile as she quickly rid him of one of the few obstacles keeping his body hidden from her eyes and hands. She sat up on her knees, pulling his arms to her front so she could begin unbuckling his gauntlets, and she pointed out with another trace of a chuckle as he lifted his hips to grind himself against her, "I have you on the ground in the training arena... Not exactly somewhere we've been brave enough to make into our own little hiding place for a tryst. I've tried to be patient, but clearly I'm not as good as you are at the waiting game."

"Odd, for a sniper." Warin couldn't help but reply as his gauntlets fell off his arms like a snakeskin, and he watched as she took his weapons with both of her hands and set them aside with a gentle care he knew she didn't need to show. She was already eager, the way she had almost torn his shirt off of him had proved it, but she was still caring for the things he treasured all the same, proving that even in the heat of things, she was never truly out of control. He yearned for that steadiness that he simply didn't have, and his hands were immediate in returning to her skin, fingertips kneading at the gentle slope of her waist as he pulled her closer to feather a hot breath against her neck, "You should be the epitome of patience..."

"You aren't my usual target." Shamir answered with a low sigh, and her head fell back as his lips pressed at first errantly to her collarbone, and then with more hunger and impatience. His tongue flicked out, tracing the curve of her throat as his hands reached south to fix on her backside, and he pulled her roughly into a better fit against his groin. She was happy to oblige him, settling herself more snugly and tightening her legs about his waist, and again his hips jerked upwards as he tugged her down, and her breath left her in a pleasured gasp as he ground into her with a surprising amount of force. Already his arousal was straining against his trousers, wanting and desperate for her, and her body reacted instinctively to apply more pressure and friction as she hissed back, "I don't have the willpower to wait for you to come to me every single time..."

"Sorry for making you wait, then..." Warin muttered as his mouth left a hot trail of wet kisses down her throat and towards the thin, black fabric of her bodice. He tugged it down with his teeth, too impatient to use his hands which were firmly fixed on her backside, squeezing and pushing her into a mocking rhythm of what their bodies truly wanted even though their clothes were keeping them apart. He growled approvingly as the stiff material gave way, exposing her chest to him and the chill air of the arena, and his lips found a new target for his ministrations almost at once. Her pleased little gasp as his tongue rolled her pert nipple in his mouth sent a sharp heat shooting down his spine, and his fingers tightened, kneading into her skin before he muttered roughly, "Tell me what you want me to do."

"Don't bother with your trousers... I want you now." Shamir's voice was strained, muffled through her hand as his teeth closed down on her sensitive peak in approval of her unabashed commands. His hands released her only for a moment, shuffling to obey as his tongue swirled about her one straining nipple before finding its mate to give it equal attention, and her own hands were clumsy and rushed as she yanked her own trousers down her legs to free herself for him. There was only a few more moments of impatient fussing before they both were well enough prepared, and she bit her lower lip to stifle a groan as she lowered her knees to take him inside with one smooth movement.

Warin didn't bother to try to hide his pleasure, hissing loudly as she took him to the brink with one thrust of her hips, and the way their clothes rubbed between their connected bodies was an odd pleasure all of its own as they started to move. She wrapped her arms about his shoulders, anchoring herself to his beat as he found the rhythm easily enough, and every little gasp and moan she made was music to his ears. She was trying her best to muffle herself, and a saner, detached part of him understood well considering how well the arena could echo, but another part of him was dissatisfied with her attempts to hide her satisfaction.

It had been weeks since he had last tasted her, and the reminder of her was now roaring through his body like a live flame. It craved her above all else, sanity included, and it was not pleased to hear her trying to stifle her voice now. He minded his position, not wishing to throw her against the cold stone to have his way with her, but she wasn't permitted to leash herself if he had to do the same. His hands moved to her thighs, pulling her roughly down each time she descended, and when she choked on a moan his teeth scored her nipple with eager intent. She gasped and pulled back, clearly surprised, and he met her cloudy eyes with a sharp, demanding glare before he ordered her gruffly, "Moan for me. As loud as you want. I want to hear you and feel you, Shamir."

"Damn you..." Shamir hissed as a sweet pinch of pain blossomed from his eager teeth, and there was little fighting him when he was so damned insistent. It was rare, too, that he would give her orders, and the thought truly didn't do her rebellious spirit any favours. She was craving him, after all, and if he wanted her to give voice to her pleasure, she doubted she would be able to disobey. Her hands clutched tighter, her nails scraping along his back and neck before tangling into his hair, and she jerked his head up as she lowered her own, panting into his ear as she continued to move with him, "You make me miss you, and then you've the gall to make demands...? If we were anywhere else, I'd throw you on the floor for that and make you beg until sunrise...!"

"There's time for that later." Warin's answer was harsh and unrelenting, and he growled with a primal sort of satisfaction as he heard her moan as his hips slammed upwards in time with hers. This time she couldn't muffle herself, and the sound of her breathless ecstasy was like a heavy, fine wine running through his veins. He had no idea how he had lasted so long without her, ignoring her, and the very idea made his head heavy with self-loathing and desire. He had to carve himself out in her body all over again, to remind the both of them that parting for any reason at all was criminal, and to ensure it would never happen again. It wasn't permitted. He needed her at all times, always. Forever.

"Stop making... promises you can't keep...!" Shamir groaned, her voice tightening as she fought to stave off that wild surging of electricity that was sparking across her skin. It hadn't truly been that long, and yet when he touched her now in such an obvious frenzy, it felt as if he hadn't caressed her in forever. What was a little more than a fortnight, compared to the five long years she'd spent yearning and dreaming after him with so much unsaid and undone? Yet it seemed like an eternity, like they hadn't touched one another in a lifetime, and every inch of her was throbbing with want and pleasure and an insane lack of control that should have scared her instead of comforted her. He hadn't forgotten... He had only been distracted, and that was something she could correct.

Warin grunted in answer, pushing harder and tightening his grip on her creamy skin until he was sure he would leave marks for him to lave in apologetic and affectionate attention later. For now, however, that was a distant fever dream, and his mind was full of nothing but the desire for climax. Her hitched breathing in his ear, the low, purr-like moans and calls for his name each time he struck her deep inside, in that exact right spot that made her entire body tremble around his like some sort of pagan magic... He grit his teeth, burying his face in her neck as his body worked frantically, "D-Damn... I can't... I'm...!"

"Come for me, Warin." Shamir's voice was a silken whisper in his ear, encouraging, comforting and seductive all at once, and there was no fighting such an order. His hips moved in sharp, deep strokes, each one reaching that sweet spot she craved, and her nails sank into his back as she clung to him lest his sheer strength simply bucked her clear off. Sometimes, with how sweet and tender he usually was in bed, she forgot how strong he actually was, and the reminder only served to make her all the more eager to feel him shudder and tense and climax for her. It came an instant later, with an anguished, guttural noise somewhere in the crook of her neck and a powerful surge of his hips, and she felt her own orgasm instantaneously trigger with that one last push.

They froze like that for a few precious seconds, clinging so tightly their knuckles were white and their lips bitten so tightly that the threat of bleeding was incredibly real. They shivered and twitched together, holding on so tightly that for a blissful few moments, neither mercenary could really be certain where one ended and the other began. Shamir was the first to unravel, groaning softly as the strength in her body was swept away, and her chin came to rest on his shoulder as her eyes slid closed and her shoulders heaved with the effort to bring in air to her lungs. He followed her several moments later, his tense arms slackening and his body relaxing, and she felt rather than heard the satisfying thud of his back hitting the pillar they had been hiding behind.

It amused her, the idea of him flattening out on the ground from the effort and the blinding pleasure of the afterglow, but she didn't have the energy to look up and tease him for it just yet. Instead she stayed where she was, curled up around him and resting on his chest, enjoying the feeling of his bare skin on her own and the sensation of his heavy breathing in her hair. Every little twitch between their connected bodies sent a lightning flash through her nerves, making her bite her lip to muffle a whimper of both dismay and want, but she held it back with the last bit of self-control she had. It was risky enough already what they had done, and she respected his want for their more physical aspects of their relationship to mostly be left to the bedroom. She could be satisfied with this much for the moment. Their bed would still be there when they finally unravelled themselves from each other.

Yet, for all his usual diligence, Warin didn't seem at all inclined to move. His arms had tightened again about her, holding her close and with purpose, and she nestled just a little bit deeper into his embrace in quiet acceptance. His skin was hot in the chill of the coming night, a welcome balm considering her clothes were still half discarded, and she let her own arms remain curled loosely about his neck. He nuzzled the top of her head, his movement slow but careful, and she felt his hand extend somewhere behind her to grope for something before pulling back. He was silent as he shook her jacket out, carefully draping it over her bare shoulders in lieu of pulling her bodice up, and she hid a smile against his shoulder when he muttered against her temple, "I'd give you mine, but I'm not quite sure where it is at the moment. And I'm not really all that inclined to be moving yet."

"That's fine." Shamir bit the inside of her cheek to fight a giggle, and she let out a long, satisfied breath as those tight arms of his gave her an equally long, comforting squeeze. His hands were rubbing slow, methodical circles into her back and shoulders, easing out weeks worth of tension with careful strength, and against her better judgement, she allowed herself to relax. If he was in no hurry to dress and leave the scene of the crime, she felt no real need to rush, either, even if it was a risk. It wasn't as if the arena ever really stayed empty, regardless of the hour, and they were pushing things as it was. Still, his hands were warm, his embrace was comforting, and she was more than happy to enjoy what little she could snatch after being left quietly waiting.

A soft kiss pressed against the top of her head, and then those strong hands were gently moving her about in his lap with careful, but inescapable strength. She hissed softly as she felt herself being lifted off of him, her body already protesting and craving for more, but either he was wiser than she was, or was trying to avoid a repeat performance as he turned her about all the same. She wasn't entirely sure which was the case, so she didn't argue when his hands caressed her thighs and began to go about fixing her clothes for her. Her eyes fluttered closed as his callused skin brushed lovingly on hers, and each slow, intimate movement he made as he redressed her was nearly as erotic as the act of pulling her clothes off. Her head fell back despite herself as he lifted her bodice up, and she murmured as his hands cupped her chest to ensure the fit was right, "Do you have to make it feel so good...? You'll be taking it off again soon enough anyway..."

"No one gets to see you like this but me." Warin's answer came huskily in her ear, sending a delicious shiver through her body at the heat and hunger in his voice. She could well imagine the expression he was wearing was similar, possessive and jealous and lustful, though the hands that were smoothing themselves over her shoulders and arms were still as soft and gentle as ever. She stretched out luxuriously against him, firmly leaning back into his chest and curling her hands over the arm that was settled over her stomach, and she nearly purred when she felt him nuzzle against her neck. He peppered her skin with gentle kisses, likely roaming over marks he had left earlier that she couldn't yet see, and he squeezed her closer as she sat quiet and content between her legs, "Shamir..."

Hearing her name leave his lips in a low, almost worshipful-sounding sigh made her smile, and she watched as his left hand moved lazily down her arm to capture her hand in his. His thumb brushed against the band she was wearing on her ring finger, and she watched the way he played with her fingers as if he was trying to pretend his fixation wasn't actually there. His chin remained on her shoulder, clearly watching himself as she was watching him, and time and time again he would draw back to his mother's ring in a gentle caress that would have broken her heart in any other circumstance.

Now, however... Shamir watched him and felt something hardening in the pits of her stomach as he traced the shape of his mother's ring on her hand repeatedly. He had been true to his word all those moons ago, about never giving her a promise that he was unsure he could keep until the war was over, but she wondered why such a vow was now feeling more irksome than comforting. She had no illusions of what a future with him would entail, even after the war ended, and some sort of peace settled itself over the continent. Warin was a mercenary at heart, just as she was, and he would be leaving Garreg Mach far behind him in search of a return to the life he had once known and lived before the Church of Seiros, before Rhea, had once again gotten their claws into him and his family.

There was no question that she planned to follow him. There was even less that the remnants of Jeralt's men, and even a handful of the Knights, would also be chasing after him once he went. In everything but name he had become his father's successor, and his men, and her, would have no other leader. He was fair, blunt, and most importantly his care for his subordinates was real. He would see them all well-looked after, even if "peace" usually meant that those like them would have difficulty finding a way to fill their stomachs and keep a roof over their heads. He would pick missions that needed to be done, would apply his sense of justice to an uneven and unstable world, and would likely keep in close contact with his sister, which meant a steady supply of information and job opportunities would always be sent his way. He was an ideal employer. An ideal partner... She couldn't ask for a better future.

Yet... That promise hung over his head, and her own all the same. Mercenaries lived their lives by the edge of the blade. What future could he offer if the fighting was never going to really stop? She had seen the idea flicker in his eyes before, had caught him pondering over his own logic when he was alone and thought himself free to do so, and it had irked her then just as much as it irked her now. It was an unwritten rule, like so many that they lived by, that if one wanted to settle down and live a life with a partner, that it usually meant the end of their occupation. Young girls and boys were always warned about sharing a bed with a mercenary who would be gone in a fortnight, or perhaps dead even sooner.

Part of her was a little surprised by her own annoyance. She had agreed with him, after all. That she couldn't give him marriage or anything remotely of the sort while a war was raging. She had never really considered herself to be one for such formalities anyway. The actions between them meant more than words did, and she wore his ring regardless of vows, so what did it matter? Yet, all the same... She almost wanted to sigh. It was jealousy, plain and simple, that was causing all these conflicting feelings, and that was almost more annoying than anything else.

She was the sharpest eyed out of all of the archers in the rebellion's army, and little to nothing ever escaped her notice. Though it was usually in whispers, or in silent, subtle gestures, now that the chapter of the Flame Emperor had closed... Some were reaching for a new book altogether. She was well aware that the princess of Brigid was preparing to form a retinue of knights in her homeland, solely for the sake of one young archer who wished to be a knight almost as much as he loved a woman he believed to be far beyond his station. She had heard the young son of Rodrigue tell his father flatly that he would not be returning to Fraldarius alone, and to ensure that when his business with the Blue Lions was finished, that he would properly go about his training to be a lord, if there would be no quarrel about the woman he was choosing to bring home with him. Left and right were the signs of young couples readying themselves for true commitment, and she had seen, though she had not meant to, that even the prince was carrying a ring in his pocket, and there was no question there who he wished to take to Faerghus to be his queen once the battle was truly over.

"You can ask me, you know."

The words escaped her without warning, but once they fled her lips, she knew there was no taking them back. Warin had stiffened behind her, suddenly frozen at her declaration, and for a heartbeat, she couldn't quite blame him. She had taken herself aback with her sudden speech, but now that the words were hanging in an echo about them... She was aware of that ugly ball of heat and metal in her stomach finally beginning to melt. She extended her fingers, allowing Warin's own to slip into the spaces in between, but she kept her eyes down as she repeated herself clearly, firmly, "I wouldn't... be put off... if you asked me."

Warin didn't answer immediately, feeling the weight of her words on his shoulders despite the warmth of the hand he was currently holding onto. She had ducked her head down, making it difficult for him to see her expression, but he didn't much need to, really. After all, her words had been more than enough to put everything cleanly on the table regardless, which he knew had been her intention. He tightened his hand, squeezing lovingly and feeling the warmth of her skin on his, and he brushed his thumb slowly across the rough shape of the gemstones on her band before speaking quietly, "You know what's been on my mind, I warrant... I doubt I need to explain myself, so I won't... but can I ask you to clarify something for me? Are you saying this to give me an out, or are you saying it because you've grown impatient?"

"I wouldn't call it an out. An out would imply you don't want to ask me at all." Shamir corrected him pertly, and she shifted just a little so she could glance over her shoulder to take in his face. His expression was sombre, intense, but there wasn't any fear or hesitation in his eyes. Just quiet concern, thoughtful worry, and that alone did wonders to her own sudden burst of anxiety. She met and held his gaze as her fingers returned the pressure on her own, and she continued calmly, quietly, "You want to ask me, but you're also afraid to. As if somehow you'd be making me a promise you can't keep if you did. Is that really the case?"

"Marriage on the road, marriage as mercenaries... I've never seen it happen in my lifetime, and I've been a mercenary since I was six... I said when the fighting was over, I could give you anything you asked for. But that implies an end to the fighting. An end to our careers. I don't see that being an option in our near future." Warin's answer came slowly, tiredly, but the hand on hers never once twitched or seemed willing to release hers. Rather, he held on tighter, his thumb slowly, repeatedly stroking her ring finger as he continued, "We both aren't the type that want that standard happy ending that the brats seem to be searching for... but I won't lie and say that that kind of peace is abhorrent to me or anything. I just don't feel ready to... "settle down". I'll go anywhere with you, fight any battle I'm paid for and can stomach, but that's just like living the war, still, isn't it? Would you be happy with a marriage like that, without an "ending" really in mind? Or are you imagining something different, when you picture a future with me?"

Shamir bit her lower lip to hide a smile at his hesitant questioning, and her chest was tight as she let his words wander their way with lazy purpose through her mind. The future had always more often than not been a distant sort of concept rather than something she could actually imagine. That was a mercenary's life, moving constantly from one contract to the next, with life and limb always on the line for food and shelter. Settling down was usually something forced upon a sellsword, due to an injury or old age, and very few found themselves lucky to leave such an occupation for love or a happy retirement.

Still... Shamir let out a quiet breath before leaning in to rest her shoulder against his chest. He stiffened somewhat, surprised, but she only took advantage of the moment to snuggle herself in closer. She knew what he wasn't asking, what he was simply too afraid to speak about, but she wasn't about to force the words out of him. It simply wasn't fair, and she nestled in closer with another soft sigh as she felt his callused hand cradling hers with gentle, uncertain strength. Her answer came calm and gentle, but still straight to the point and merciless when she leaned her head against his chest, "I already considered all of this, you know. From that night when you tossed me the ring. And, if it gives you any comfort, I've also already made moves to walk on this path you're worrying over. I've already finished negotiations on one contract to leave me open for yours. Though, I'd prefer to think of it as more of a promise, and less of a contract, if I have to."

"Negotiations on a contract?" Warin repeated with narrowing eyes, though the understanding came swiftly as Shamir looked at him with a small, cat-like smile curling at her lips. He wondered why it surprised him, why she would already be three steps ahead of him, but that was just her way. Unlike him, she had no reason to dally, and also unlike him, she was already committed to a future. Or at least, from the sounds of it, she had been. He shook his head slowly, bemused, yet genuinely appreciative as he muttered into her shoulder, "The Church must have hated to see you go... I can't imagine what they must have offered you to get you to stay."

"Not nearly enough." Shamir answered with a flippant flick of her wrist, but it amused her how he was looking down at her like she was holding the world in her hands for him. It couldn't have come as a surprise, that she would need to formally break her contract, or refuse to renew it, in order to leave alongside him. The war was over, and as such, so were her services. It was a formality more than anything, but she did muse that he was right that no one had been glad to see her make such a move. Seteth had openly mourned that her shoes would never be replaced, and while Catherine had forced a smile for her, there had been pain and a faint hint of loneliness already starting to darken her eyes.

It wasn't easy to do, and she was more aware than ever that she would miss her partner sorely when they went their own ways, but it was clear to both of them now that their paths had never meant to stay the same. Catherine's devotion to the Church, to Rhea, would always come first... even if she wasn't entirely sure whether or not those longing looks Seteth was giving her would ever be compelling enough to sway her one way or another someday. Regardless, Shamir interlaced her fingers through Warin's, taking comfort from the strong, warm grip, the familiar calluses and scars, and everything else she had memorized in the past several moons. She took a deep breath, feeling heat cresting high in her cheeks as she summoned the words she had been mulling over ever since she had found Seteth in his office to announce her intentions a fortnight ago, "My "place" has always been a question mark. From Dagda, Brigid, here, in Garreg Mach... I was content with that, before you. Now... I want to be able to do, and say things I hadn't thought of before. You make me want to do and say things I hadn't thought I needed. And even though I see the logic of what you said, all those moons ago about vows and marriage, the war is mostly over. We've one more thing to do. I'd rather not wait any longer than I have to. Call me greedy."

"Now it sounds as if you're the one proposing to me." Warin regretted the words the moment they left his lips as a sharp elbow drove immediately into his solar plexus to rob him of breath as soon as he spoke. She was cruel and merciless, and the red tips of her ears peeking through her dark violet hair was all the proof he needed to know he'd poked her a tad too often already. He deserved whatever punishment she deemed necessary, though he still couldn't quite help himself from teasing her. This was different, but not at all in a way he disliked, and he coughed even as he tried to stymie a chuckle in the same breath, "It's the truth!"

"This isn't easy, you know...!" Shamir's mutter was less sour that intended, but as Warin's arm squeezed her so damned sweetly about her middle, she had more trouble than she wanted to admit staying annoyed. They said so much without words more often than not. They had fought alongside each other so often, for so long, that it didn't seem like the words were necessary. Yet, Shamir knew better, because she knew him. The words were important, just as much as the actions were, because without them there was always that little fraction of room to misinterpret, and correct. She didn't want that space between them on this. Never on this. Her face was burning even if the warmth surrounding her was comforting, but for the life of her she could barely look up to meet his eyes as she spoke quietly, "If you want a proposal so badly, then here it is for you... I vow to stay with you through life's many hardships. I will stay by your side, as I want you to stay by mine. My life has been colourful, but it's always been something I chose for myself. To live wherever and however I pleased... Now, I'm making another choice. To stay with you, if you'd have me... For as long as life will let me."

Warin closed his eyes as he let her words wash over him like a wave, and he felt the sting of salt in his various wounds just as much as he felt the comfort of the grime and the wear and the fear being washed away. She was too good at giving him exactly what he needed, especially when he would never dare to ask for it, and he wondered at the luck that had landed him where he was sitting. It was unfathomable, in a way he did not want to dwell on. For a younger him, he would have laughed and dismissed the very idea that he needed anything outside of those he called his family. Now...? His arms wrapped tightly about her, squeezing her closer as he buried his face in her neck and whispered raggedly in return, "I'd give anything and everything to keep you by my side. And that terrifies the absolute wits out of me... but it's still the truth. I can't imagine a world without you in it. I won't. There's been too much loss. Too much mourning in my life... Happiness scares me. It seems too unobtainable most days... I held you at arm's length in a stupid attempt to lessen the sting of possibly losing you. It wouldn't have helped an ounce had something happened. I won't hold out a moment longer. There's absolutely no reason to. Marry me. Marry me, and let's keep the road under our feet until we're ready and willing to find a place to carve out as our own for the rest of our lives."

"You absolute ass..." The words were almost hissed, but it didn't matter as Shamir forcibly shrugged herself out of his grasp to turn around to confront him head-on. Her wine-coloured eyes were shining, her mouth pulled into something halfway between a scowl and a smirk, and Warin didn't fight her as she sat up on her knees and reached to grasp his face. He surrendered willingly as she yanked him forwards for a kiss, and he readjusted his hold on her in the same moment. She was so damned warm and soft, curling herself intimately about him as his lips parted for her hungry tongue, and when she finally had to draw back for lack of air, her entire face had turned a gorgeous shade of crimson.

To his disappointment, she didn't allow him to continue to look as she instead wrapped her arms about his shoulders and buried her face in them as she embraced him tightly. He had to stifle a chuckle at her last-ditch attempt to cling to her pride, but he didn't mind overmuch as he adjusted himself for her. He understood. His own face felt like it had been set aflame, but there was a much more comforting warmth settling itself deep in his stomach and over his body like a good, heavy blanket. For once in what felt like months, his mind had quit its racing, and he could hear his own thoughts clearly again. His heartbeat was no longer a constant, unending drumbeat, but rather was humming away quietly as he cradled her tenderly in his lap. It was that same sense of peace he had experienced their first night, before the icy grip of his trauma had made itself known with a vengeance.

This time, however, Warin could not feel even an ounce of it threatening to rear its head again as Shamir curled up pointedly into his chest. Instead there was only calm, with the faintest whisper of eager wonder that he only barely recognized. It was a strange feeling, as if he was seeing something new and miraculous and unexplainable for the first time, and he wondered how long it had been since he had experienced such a thing. His only memory of such wonder was the first time he had felt Raine's hand on his own, all those long years ago in a half-torn down inn when he, his father, and his sister had been on the run from the Church.

"I love you." The words came in a slow, quiet whisper into her ear, and Warin didn't try to hide his smile as his arms squeezed down. She was a constant reminder of the things he had forgotten in his youth, despite it all. Her harsh barbs, her stern refusal to let him wallow, her unending warmth when he was finally pulled out of the sand he had buried his head in... He deserved absolutely none of it, but his appreciation was boundless. He nuzzled against her, breathing in her scent with both hunger and relish, and his voice was a rough mutter as he felt her hands squeezing the forearms that were cradling her so tightly, "Should we go back to our dorm...? It seems we've something to celebrate."

Shamir smiled, still hiding her face in the crook of his neck as her blush both rose higher into the very tips of her ears, and shot down deep into her middle simultaneously. That was a promise she wanted to leap on, unspoken or no, but the comfort of her current position made it difficult to want to move to get there. She could feel the lack of tension in his every muscle, and his smile was curved into her ear as they sat in the shadow of the already darkened arena. They could leave freely without suspicion of what they had done there easily enough, and it wasn't as if the trek back to the barracks would be a long one, yet... Shamir lifted her head slightly, kissing his cheek as she went before her wine-coloured eyes fixed on his own as she answered him pertly, "Another minute."

Chuckling at her, Warin leaned back against the pillar that had been supporting him. She was curled up neatly between his legs, her clothes still rumpled but her eyes as sharp as ever. The amusement had curled her lips up into a catty smirk, and it took almost all of his self-control not to lean down to capture them with his own. He had little doubt if he did that they wouldn't make it past the arena's walls without being able to succumb to temptation, though a part of him wondered if it mattered. His knuckles brushed along her cheek, tracing the colour of her blush, and her low, pleased sigh as his fingers moved to comb through her hair only made him want her more. He couldn't quite help himself, allowing his fingertips to drift down across the contour of her spine, and he mused as she shivered instinctively and straightened, "Another minute and I may have to redress you again..."

"Keep your hands to yourself if it worries you that much." Shamir countered with a laugh of her own, but her eyes were glittering as she allowed his caresses to continue. It was slow and soothing, gentle and reassuring, and she was surprised by how much weight had been shed from her shoulders. It was strange how he managed to do that, to both create and discard weight she had never carried before, but she didn't much mind it. Rather, she had grown to enjoy it, him and his odd challenges, even if it frustrated her beyond words at times. Now, however, her own hand lifted as his rubbed her back, and she idly toyed with the empty silver chain he had never taken off, despite its trinket having long since left it. He followed her fingers, puzzled but not at all showing an inclination of drawing away, and this time she was the one to muse as she fingered the delicate chain-links, "I imagine you want to follow tradition, and exchange rings... I'm sorry that I don't have anything for you at the moment. I thought of it, but..."

Warin smiled wryly as her voice fell off in a tired sort of way, but he understood nonetheless. It didn't matter that the ring on her hand had found its home there... The words were still unsaid, after all, and in a way... that made it less real. All the moons of sharing a bed, the days of fighting side by side were not diminished just because words weren't exchanged, but it was so much easier to put up a veil, or hide behind a wall, because those words didn't bind them together in a traditional sense. He gently captured her hand, lifting her fingers to his mouth to kiss at them gently as he finished for her, "That made it real?"

Shamir made a noise of discontent, but the furrow on her brow proved he had hit the mark a little too accurately. She allowed him however to caress her hand, his thumb moving in slow circles against her palm as his lips feathered gently across her fingertips, and a soft shiver went over her despite herself. She hated that he was right, yet a part of her was glad that he so easily understood. It made things easier... Perhaps too easy, but she wouldn't permit him, or herself, to get away with it. She reached for his left hand, now taking the time to caress his empty ring finger before she admitted wearily, "That made it real. Now, though... I'd prefer if it was. Before the end of this, I'll have something for you, too... So long as that's what you want."

Warin bit the inside of his cheek, stifling a chuckle of both amusement and tired exasperation as he wondered at such a simple reassurance. What he wanted... Images flickered like bolts of lightning across a clear sky through his head, and each one seemed more wild and impossible than the next. It had been a lifetime, or perhaps longer, since he had even dared to consider such a thing as selfish as a "want". She knew that just as well as he did, but still she ceded to him. It was hard not to crush her to him in the tightest embrace his body could manage, to pull her closer and keep her to him as ferociously as he could.

It would be a little bit longer, he mused, until he had the courage to tell her honestly what it was he pictured when she told him he could have whatever it was he wanted. The images did not frighten him as much as the implication of it did, but he supposed that was simply the fear of the unknown creeping into his heart. He knew already he was his father's son. There was no question that he had always taken after Jeralt in almost every manner... but that did not mean he would be even half of the man his father had been in raising children. Still, the thought, of children with wine-coloured eyes and tousled navy hair made him smile, but that was a secret he would keep to himself for just a little while more... He had no proof he would be a good father. That he could provide properly as a husband... but he could hope... He could hope.

AN:

This story kind of grabbed me, hit me over the head, and ran away with me slung over its shoulder. This really did not turn out to be the story I started writing, but to be fair, I don't exactly mind where it ended. Warin's been due for a little spotlight (and peace) and I really wanted to touch on his evolving relationship with Shamir... but it just wasn't meant to be THIS particular fic where that spotlight was meant to shine. Still, I'll admit, I enjoyed writing it. I enjoyed watching it evolve on its own. It was fun, and it's been awhile since I've had some real actual fun in writing.

These past few weeks haven't been kind to me. This whole month was actually quite rough. First there was super strict quarantine after coming back from the USA (Canada does NOT take this lightly, I've experienced firsthand!), and shortly after quarantine, I hurt myself and ended up in the ER for most of the day... This put me back into quarantine because of the exposure, and I was also put on some pretty heavy-duty medication which didn't exactly like me, or me it. I tweaked something in my back, so I've spent the last two weeks hobbling around and being incapable of even rolling over in bed. Writing has pretty much halted, seeing as I couldn't sit up, but I've been on the mend. Of course, this won't really line up with my writing, seeing as I always try to have a chapter finished in advance for uploading... X'D

Regardless! I'm working, as well as I possibly can. I'm trying to enjoy myself, and get back on track with a lot of things that have gotten messed up in the past month and a half. We'll see how well that goes. I don't have much more of an AN to write, seeing as this story kind of went it's own way, and I'm pretty spent, even just writing this small bit as it is. So, as usual, I'll wish you guys your best health, as well as a hope for a review and a thank-you for reading this far. You guys keep me going, and I do really love your feedback and the knowledge that you're enjoying yourself as much as I am enjoying myself! So have a good one until I see you next!

Mood: Bemused.

Listening To: "Heaven Knows" - Five for Fighting

~ Sky