A Quick Note On Chapter Numbering:

On 24 Sept 2022, I added the Foreword. This means that all the chapters were pushed up a number. So now Chapter 10 is labeled Chapter 11 in navigation. Please note that reviews made by that date refer to the actual chapter number. So reviews for this chapter made by 24 Sept would be labeled Chapter 10, but after 25 Sept they'll be Chapter 11. I'm sorry for the confusion.

A/N Remember chapter 5 when I put Van through the wringer? Well this time it's Hitomi's turn. Buckle in. Let me know what you think.

Trigger warning: mention of infertility and pregnancy.

I know song inspirations are kind of dumb. Fully aware. But have you ever listened to Dimash sing S.O.S.? If you haven't, you should. Look it up on YouTube or Spotify. It's amazing and it's the soundtrack later in the chapter. Also, Spotify has the Escaflowne movie OST and it's gorgeous, too. 10/10 highly recommend.

Chapter 10 - Moon and Stars

She did not, in the end, let Van keep on his uniform.

Possessed of a simmering passion, Van had worshiped her without words. His hands had burned patient tracks across her body. His lips devoured, his tongue teased, his eyes glinted. And when her yearning became too much, when she needed to feel his skin against hers, he obliged.

Now Hitomi lay savoring the serene euphoria he'd left her in, holding him close and wondering but not daring to ask what Van thought of this new part of their relationship.

Prior to the war, she had contented herself that their mutual civility, their love for Fanelia, and their compatible personalities and goals were the only important parts of their marriage, especially for a king and queen. At the time, the physical and emotional aspects didn't seem to matter. It wasn't until their separation that she realized how very much they might have been missing.

And she was right. Adding this connected them in a way she'd never thought possible. For those moments, he was her entire existence, and he seemed to have a rather frenzied focus on her. He left her feeling heady, maybe a little sore, but exultant… and cared for.

Caressing him now, she hoped he felt the same. He rested, curled on his belly, his head on her chest, partly covering her with his body and legs. One of his hands had tangled in her hair while the other rested around her hip. He lay still, except for his fingers pressing little rhythms into her skin.

With one hand she stroked his lustrous hair, brushing the thick strands off his face and playing with them between her fingers. Running her other hand up and down his bare back, she traced the rise and fall of his muscles, feeling out the puffy, uneven scars scoring the back of his left shoulder.

"Van, how did you get these scars?" she asked in a murmur. She knew it was his dragon slaying but didn't know the details.

After a long breath, he mumbled, "The dragon caught me and threw me."

The movement of his chin tickled her skin, contrasting the fear she could only imagine making her breath hitch. "Gods, Van. How did you survive?"

"My armor tore off and snagged in her teeth, and that distracted her," he said. "I was able to get my sword in her neck."

His voice rumbled through the hand pressed into his back. That she could hear him now—that he was okay and had survived being tossed by a dragon—was her consolation, but she wished he would keep talking. With a shiver, she asked, "Does the injury ever bother you?"

He yawned, nuzzling a little into her breasts and unintentionally tugging her hair tangled in his hand. "Sometimes, but usually just the scar itches," he said, his voice fading into a whisper.

Hitomi gently scratched his back in long, slow motions, eliciting a low hum of pleasure from him that vibrated through her body. Happy to do something he found nice, she kept it up even after his breathing slowed and deepened, and his rhythmic exhales rippled across her belly. With a little twitch of his hands and arms, his body relaxed heavily into her, and she knew even without seeing his face that he was asleep.

The satisfaction of the moment settled warmly within her, and she smiled to herself.

She and Van were in the shadows. The only light in the room came from the little golden lamp on the table. Van hadn't even built up the fire when returned, and now the window she had opened earlier let in a cool breeze. It skimmed the half of her not covered by her sleeping husband.

Heat emanated from him as she imagined it did a dragon, and Hitomi couldn't help but think back to what she'd learned years ago in Adom. How aptly those lessons about dragons could be applied to her husband. She'd been taught that while they might seem frightening, if she emoted peace and patience and trust, rather than fear or frustration or aggression, they would remain harmless creatures. In practice in the wild, that principle hadn't saved her horse, but it had saved her. In her marriage, it had given her the tools to cultivate Van's trust, and from there, other things could grow.

Like love.

But that would take time, as it had for her parents.

For now, Hitomi had his confidence, and that was something she'd hold close. That he'd trusted her with the story of his dragon slaying, his body, and his passions were no small things.

He had also trusted her with his grief.

Surprising him with her Fanelian dress had been unintentionally painful for him. The dress had been the padding in the pillow, and when Rena the maid had taken her travel clothes, she'd also taken it to be properly laundered. It had been her only royal robe to survive the burning, and she'd brought it to wear in Asturia, should the need arise. When the maid returned it that afternoon, she'd thought it would be nice to wear tonight, especially since it closed by only a couple hooks and a sash.

Perhaps, had she warned him of its existence, he wouldn't have been so distressed by it. The sorrow evident in his eyes had split her heart in two. She couldn't help wanting to comfort him. She couldn't help reaching out to hold him. And when she saw a look in his eyes as fervent as it was formidable, she couldn't help teasing him to make him smile.

Hitomi touched her lips, still feeling the intoxicating intensity of his kisses. He had practically overcome her. She'd clung to him, struggling to keep up, even as she enjoyed the taste of spices on his tongue, the urgency of his need, the way his adept hands traveled her body and then lifted her onto the bed. Her desire had been such that she had hardly held still all evening waiting for him. His kiss had fed that energy like one feeds a fire, and then he had taken his time thoroughly quenching it, almost as if he knew their time together was precious.

She shivered, though there was no breeze at the moment.

Like a dark precipice she was being pushed towards, their separation yawned as a threatening hollow in her heart. When he'd left Fanelia those months ago, without so much as a farewell kiss on the hand, she'd felt a similar, though less acute, pain. At the time, she had wished him farewell as she suppressed a nebulous feeling of dread, only for her new life to be burned out from under her days later.

The memory of that parting made her head throb and her throat constrict. She did not look forward to another farewell. This time the dread weaving itself through the back of her mind was not ambiguous. Unlike last time, however, she knew she was sending him away to war. Not only would she be as alone as she had been before, but now she had a rather powerful connection to a husband who would be risking his life fighting a war.

This could be their only time together. What if something happened to him?

Perhaps becoming intimate made things worse. Perhaps it had only opened a door that would have been better left shut for the time being. Perhaps she never should have let herself get close to him and care this much.

Hitomi's once relaxed body began to quiver.

In moments like this, moments when dread and panic strangled her heart, she drew on that fierce independence her parents had fostered, not just as an only child, but as the daughter of a general and a countess. Hitomi told herself she could survive, she could get through it. She was Fanelia's queen, and she could be strong for their people.

But these thoughts introduced another bitter thought into her mind, a suspicion that Van's passion towards her was an outlet for his grief and not actually an expression of how he might feel for her. As his queen, she was, after all, his most direct connection to Fanelia, and so was in many ways a representation of all he'd lost and all he had left. Was he making love to her or to what she represented as queen of his scorched country?

She didn't know, and she wasn't sure she wanted to.

After all, she'd chosen to follow the dragon from her dreams. She'd accepted becoming Van's wife. She'd made Fanelia her home as its queen. Maybe her purpose was just to be useful to him in whatever way he needed. That was a woman's job, wasn't it? A queen's? To serve and uplift her husband and meet his needs? That kind of service was a form of love, wasn't it? That's all this was, right?

The thought hurt her heart and she pawed tears from her eyes, sucking in and holding a breath.

Her mother had advised her that her first love probably would not be her husband. Her people ought to be her first love, as they were her primary responsibility. It was a charge she'd taken seriously. In their life before the war, she'd served at Van's side, mediating disputes, mitigating problems, making sure the needy were taken care of. Since the war, she'd served them in their refuge, managing supplies, helping find shelter, making an inventory of resources, people, and leaders, and finally by coming here to bring intelligence and communication to her husband, their king. She would certainly do her best again upon her return, this time with supplies to get them through the winter.

Her second love would be her children– if she didn't struggle with childbearing as her mother had. The promise of heirs had been something that had been left assumed but unspoken both before and after their marriage, and, since they hadn't consummated things between them, she'd never really given thought to it. Now, she wondered if she'd just dug herself into a hole. What if she fell pregnant after these short days together? What if, by coming here faking a pregnancy, she'd called that fate into reality for herself?

Almost, she felt betrayed by her body for her visceral attraction to Van. The more she thought about it, the more her stomach knotted and her chest constricted. What if she was left to pay the consequences alone? How would she rebuild a kingdom and raise a little royal child as a lone queen with a couple ministers and no infrastructure? Certainly, they'd be usurped….

Yet again, that oppressive, niggling idea threaded through her thoughts that perhaps this had been too terrible a risk to take.

Van's growling stomach interrupted Hitomi's spiraling thoughts. He stirred, his hair tickling her neck, as he ran his warm hand up her waist to rub his face before he settled back into sleep.

Inhaling a slow, deep breath, she chided herself for her pessimism and for forgetting that her husband–her guarded, aloof husband– had just made love to her as if there were no tomorrow and had then fallen blissfully asleep using her humble breasts as a pillow.

Through a pitiful, breathy laugh, she rubbed away the tears from her eyes. Her hair was wet now and her eyes puffy and scratchy.

Hadn't she married Van without being in love with him? Her mother had told her that in marriage, she would reap what she sowed. It may take years of cultivating, but love could grow from once-stony ground, as it had for her parents. It might be love born from service, or respect, or gratitude, or it might be a more platonic, companionable love. It didn't have to be passionate or romantic or anything like that.

There was hope. Some sort of love was possible, but it was best to not have expectations for things like that.

As far as falling pregnant… well, she wouldn't expect that, either. After all, her mother had struggled for years before and after she was born. Besides, if she did have a baby from this, wouldn't she be happy to have proof that her husband felt something for her, whatever that something was? Maybe that would be consolation enough if it came down to it, but for now, she wasn't certain. There was nothing she could do. As with her marriage to him in the first place, she'd made a choice to share her body with him, and whatever happened, happened. She'd expect nothing.

Expecting nothing made the pain more bearable anyway.

Tired of the doubt and self pity, she intentionally matched his breathing, relaxing her ribs and throat, and pushing away the ache in her heart. As she did, her tears dried. Her body calmed.

Tonight he'd made her feel cherished, and his motivation was unimportant. For now, he was here with her, in her arms. For this brief time, there was nothing else that mattered.

Closing her eyes, she grounded herself by letting her fingers find his hair and skin again, focusing on the feel of him beneath every fingertip. She mapped the scars from his dragon-slaying, found a probable scar on his head behind his ear, felt where his muscles connected to each nub down his spine.

She wished this moment didn't have to end– that she could hold him like this forever, even if his hair tickled her neck– but when his stomach growled loudly again, she knew it was time to wake him.

"Van, wake up. You need dinner," she said, her voice cracking in the stillness of the room.

His breathing paused but he didn't stir.

Scratching his back with a little pressure, she said louder, "My Lord Dragon, you need to eat."

He sniffed and lifted his head momentarily, disentangling his hand out of her hair. When he snuggled back into her chest with a funny little hum, she chuckled and stroked her hand down his face. His hand found hers and he gripped her fingers gently.

"That was a nice nap," he mumbled groggily into her skin.

She lifted his heavy hand to her lips and kissed it. "Was it? Your stomach requires you to wake up, though."

Intertwining their fingers, he rested their hands near his lips, as if this had happened for months instead of just today. For an all-too-brief moment, she closed her eyes to enjoy the warm, strong feel of his fingers between hers.

Then he spoke, his body suddenly tense and his voice alert, "You said something about a picnic?"

Caught off guard by his excitement, she giggled, and it helped ease just a little of the melancholy that had settled over her. "Yes, I had one prepared, but we can just eat here."

"No. You want to go out. We can do that," he said decisively, as if he actually liked her silly idea. Without any warning, he peeled himself away from her skin and exposed her fully to the chilly room. "But let's hurry, I'm hungry." He scanned her naked body with a wink before reaching to help her out of bed.

She cleaned off, pressed a cold washcloth to her eyes, dressed, and brushed out her mussed hair. Her eyes were red, but perhaps not noticeably so, and she had to practice smiling in the mirror to break the somber expression she wore.

Before they left, Van surprised her by pulling a dark blue cloak out of his trunk and stepping close to wrap it around her shoulders and do up the clasp. Her breath caught a little when he lifted his gentle garnet eyes to hers and asked, "Roof or garden?" as he tucked her hair behind an ear.

Suppressing a shiver, she gaped before murmuring, "Somewhere with the sound of leaves."

With a little nod, he stepped back, freeing her to breathe again, and lifted the heavy basket off the table as if it weighed nothing at all.

Lamp in hand, she kept shoulder to shoulder with him as they walked down the halls.

"How are you feeling, by the way?" he asked her.

Wondering if he'd noticed her red eyes, she said, "Fine, why?"

"After the counsel this morning, and when I left you at lunchtime, you weren't well."

"Oh," she said, relieved. "Well, I slept a few hours and drank an entire pitcher of water, so I think that helped." Her smile felt a little false, but he returned it anyway and guided her to a staircase.

They stepped outside, down the steps by a fountain, and into the dark maze of the garden.

"Do you think it will rain again? Last night the storm came in so quickly," she asked quietly, so as not to break the peacefulness over the garden. A smattering of lit windows cast a golden light from the palace, but the farther they walked down the paths, the darker it became.

"No, I can see the stars," he said softly, tossing a glance upwards.

He directed her with a low, intimate voice through the garden. Passing by hedges and crossing little bridges here and there, they wove from one path to the next. Finally, they stepped over a little rushing brook and onto a compact lawn. A looming silhouette of a large tree with long, ground-sweeping branches blocked the lingering light from the palace. Between the soft echoes of the babbling water and the rustling of the leaves above, the copse seemed as secluded and private as their room.

While Van set the basket down, she explored the shadows and found a small fountain bubbling from the mouth of a carved Jeture in the wall opposite their entry. Hitomi inhaled the earthy, mossy air as she returned to Van to lay out the blanket. "This is nice. I knew you'd know where to go. Do you come here often?" she asked as the blanket settled.

"No," Van said, staring into the darkness towards the fountain.

She knelt, adjusted her skirts and his cloak around herself, and began unloading their dishes onto the blanket. Trying to lighten his mood as well as hers, she said, "But you have been here, right, you didn't just lose us in the maze?"

"Yeah, I've been here," he said distractedly. He kept eerily still and didn't move until she'd set everything out.

"Van?" she said, reaching out to wrap her fingers around his again.

He tightened his hand automatically and looked down at her.

"Sit down," she said. He obliged as he sat cross-legged, angled away so he was facing her. When he had settled, she handed him a bowl of rice and fruit.

She watched him dig in ravenously, as she had expected him to do.

Hitomi took a bite out of her own bowl, enjoying the savory and sweet mixture. "What were you thinking about just a moment ago?" she asked.

"Hmm?"

"When you were staring at the fountain?"

"Hm. Nothing probably," he said. "I just like the sound of water. It clears my mind."

"Oh," she said.

After eating a few more bites in silence, she asked, "How did the inspections go today?"

He was scraping his bowl already. "Fine," he said.

"Were there any problems?"

He pressed his lips together and shrugged.

Hitomi presented him with a little meat pie in a ramekin. "You won't tell me about it?"

Accepting the dish, he held it up, eying it curiously. "I don't want to talk about it right now," he said decisively before breaking into the crust.

Hitomi watched him for a moment, noticing how the shadows of light played on his jaw muscles. "I guess it's all you've worried about today," she sighed.

He grunted agreement and they both ate to the backdrop of water over rocks.

When she moved on to her own meat pie, she asked, "So is there something you would like to talk about?" Hopefully the false cheer she put in her tone wasn't obvious.

He shook his head, glancing up at her. "I don't know. Anything but war. Tell me a story from your childhood."

His request surprised her, and she laughed honestly at him, feeling her spirits lighten. Van looked up, his eyes brightening a little at her reaction.

"A story from my childhood?" she repeated.

"Yeah, what's so funny about that? You've told me some. Like about the swimming hole or how you once stole a soldier's horse," he said.

She laughed again, pleased and impressed that he remembered any at all. "Oh, I see, is that what I'm good for?" she asked. "Because I can pull a story out of my pocket for your entertainment?"

His wide, dark eyes darted away from hers before he answered, "I like your stories."

At a loss for anything else to say, she poked his leg and said, "I should ask you to tell me a story about your childhood."

For a moment, he chewed thoughtfully before he pressed flat a fold of the blanket with one finger. "Well, I spent a third of my waking hours studying, another third learning war and combat, and the last third being forced to socialize in various unpleasant ways. Every week we had a worship service, as you know, and once a month, I got a break by going on a hunting trip." He scraped the sides of his ramekin and shoveled the food into his mouth. When he was done, he flashed his eyebrows and said, "That's all there was to my childhood."

Hitomi smiled sadly. "I'm sure you have stories in there somewhere," she said to him as she handed him his third course, a bowl of roasted vegetables. She wasn't as hungry, since she had eaten his lunch as well as her own, and had left her ramekin half eaten and was now picking at a roll.

"That reminds me," he said. "When you were telling me your story this morning, I meant to tell you something."

"Yeah?"

"The man who taught you about dragons is my cousin, Folken."

Hitomi– having just taken a nibble of her roll– spluttered mid bite and choked. As she coughed, Van sat up and filled a glass from the carafe for her. She took it with a brush of fingers.

Thoughts tumbled through her head. Folken from Adom? Folken, the dragon tamer? Folken from when she was a mere girl? He was connected? Staring at Van in wide-eyed surprise and confusion, she sipped on the water as the burning in her lungs eased.

Van must've sensed her questions, because when he'd ascertained she was okay, he volunteered, "Folken is a cousin on my mother's side. He's a hermit, as you know, but when he visited me a year ago and heard about my gala, he recommended I meet you."

"That doesn't make any sense, though. Why would he remember me after all these years? I was just some scrappy girl when he knew me."

Shrugging, he said nonchalantly, "Does it matter?"

"So…" She busied her hands stacking some of the dishes, unable to look at him as she ventured to ask, "Is that why you chose me? Because of Folken?"

"No, but that's how we got a long dance together."

Her face flushed with heat as she noticed his choice of words. "Nobody ever said he was cousins to the royal family," was all she could think to say.

He lifted their shared glass in acknowledgement, as if that somehow was reply enough, and took a sip of water. Then, in an abrupt change of direction, he asked offhandedly, "So I'm curious. Did you have any suitors other than Allen?"

Hitomi blinked into the darkness before she could think of what to say. "I had an Ezgardian suitor when your invitation came."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Really?"

She shrugged. "I wrote to him and let him down."

Lips twitching, his dark eyes watched her carefully. "Before or after our engagement?"

Sucking her lips into her mouth, Hitomi hesitated before answering with a flick of her eyebrows, "As soon as I got the invitation."

Eyes darting between Van and anything else, she watched him scrutinize her with furrowed brows before realization lit up his face and he leaned closer, a slow, sensual smile curling his lips. "You had dreams about me again, didn't you?" he asked in a murmur that made her ears tingle.

"No," she said quickly, tipping her chin to let her hair fall in a curtain between them, blocking him from view before he could weaponize his smile and get more information out of her.

He pushed her hair aside and tucked it behind her ear, his knuckles lingering warmly against her neck. "Why are you embarrassed? I like that you have dreams about me."

"Of course you do," Hitomi muttered, pressing a cool hand to her burning face. "But I didn't ask for them, and it's not like you dream of me," she said, sounding a little more petulant than she wanted.

He removed his hand from her hair and cleared his throat before draining the glass of water. "So what was it that made you end this courtship?" he asked, shifting back onto one hand and returning to his meal.

She touched the spot on her neck where his hand had been and sighed in resignation. "Don't you remember your invitation?"

"No."

"Really?" She shook her head at him. No wonder he didn't pick up on her hint this morning. "Because it had a dragon curled around the Fanelian crest," she said flatly.

"Ah." He nodded. "Like the dragon around the palace in your dreams."

"Exactly. My father handed me the invitation, and as soon as I saw that, I fainted."

"You did?" he asked, his voice pitching higher.

"Yep," she said with a shrug. "So that was that. I wrote to him the next morning."

"You just knew?" he asked, his chin tucking back and his eyes large and inquisitive.

"No," she said slowly, looking away and up at the stars she could see outside the halo of golden light from the lamp. "But I figured it was best to go unattached."

Before he could respond, a brisk wave of wind rushed over the garden, leaves rustling as it came ever closer, and their attention turned in unison to watch as the long, wispy branches of the tall tree whipped in whispers across the grass. This moment mirrored so much their moment last night at the table– when they turned together to watch the storm out the window– that Hitomi found her hand itching to feel Van's hand again. He seemed so far away, though, leaning back and away from her, and his hands were out of reach.

Perhaps it was best if she didn't get too used to having him close anyway, she reminded herself.

Without warning, her eyes stung and her stomach knotted. With a shudder, she tucked her chin into his cloak and breathed in the warm, woodsy scent that permeated the fabric.

"Are you cold?" she heard him ask.

"Nope," she said, unable to look at him, shaking her head to distract herself from crying. "What about you?" she asked, her voice sounding too chipper. "I stole your cloak."

"Stole?" He chuckled, and the sound of it made her heart throb and skin tingle. "If I remember correctly, I was the one who put it on you."

Taking a chance, she peered up at him. He was leaning back on his hands, watching her, his smile relaxed and amused, his hair mussed from the wind.

She had a choice. Part of her wanted to spring at him and hold him close, bathe him with her tears. The other part would draw on that fierce independence she'd fostered, the part that had helped her survive as a lone queen in a burned country who would survive months or years with a husband who didn't care.

Her whole body shook, but she fought it with a lift of her chin. When her eyes grew blurry and she could no longer see Van sitting an arm's reach away, she turned to look towards the other end of the garden.

Hitomi almost wished she hadn't come to Asturia. Why had she again? Why had she opened herself to him? How was she going to go back to being alone after this? She wished she hadn't tasted whatever this was. The pain was too overwhelming and her heart hurt.

"Don't you love the sound of the wind?" she asked, her voice strained.

"Yeah," she heard him answer, but it was almost a question.

She could feel him watching her, but she refused to look his way and refused to even wipe the tears so she wouldn't give herself away.

"This might be my favorite place here in Palas. When you're gone, I won't be able to find it again, I just know it. I wasn't paying any attention to where you were taking me," she said with what she realized after the fact was an unnatural giggle. "How did you find this place anyway?"

Before Van could answer, she changed her mind, needing to move to a different topic from that running through her head. He had asked for a childhood story, and one suddenly came to mind. "Oh, I have a story for you. It's about that time I accidentally killed all the fish in one of our ponds." She laughed a little hysterically. This was an appropriate topic at dinner, right? Before sending her husband away to war, right? Hitomi couldn't stop herself.

"Our gardens back home aren't anything like this. They're all stone walks and boxy hedges and paved streams." While her voice strained, her tears began to fall freely. She let them, as she could blame them on missing her homeland. "You haven't ever seen them. I could be mad at you for that, you realize. But it's okay. I understand. I promise I understand. But I left all of that behind for you. You could've at least come to propose or escort me to Fanelia. But I digress. It's okay. I've never been bothered by it, I'm just– I'm just– homesick," she lied, wiping her tears away.

She glanced at Van, who was sitting forward with his head tipped so his shadowy hair hid his face. Cowardice made her look away, so she couldn't tell if he was bothered by her sudden outburst. She took a breath. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I promise I don't regret my decision. I love Fanelia with my whole heart, but I think I–" she stopped herself with a shake of her head.

"I've never really thought my family gardens were beautiful. Especially after living in Fanelia, I could never call anything else beautiful. Even this doesn't compare," she gestured out into the darkness before wiping her face again. "I much prefer to have gardens that are wild and untamed and not so curated as those back home.

"Anyway, when I came back from Adom, our land had been ransacked by Basram and the gardens were all but destroyed. I took it upon myself to manage the one pond that hadn't been drained and still had fish left in it. These fish had survived the entire war and some of them were older than I was, but…."

Throat aching, she sucked in a sharp breath and held it, pressing her eyes with her fingers. She was fooling herself thinking she was homesick or even mourning those fish. Neither was she angry that Van had never seen her home. Those were just excuses, they were a front for what she really felt that she didn't want to define.

When she opened her eyes again, she turned her back to Van to better tune into the sound of the nearby brook. Releasing her breath, she listened to the water rushing over the rocks, forcing herself to relax, to regain her composure.

"Water always sounds the same, no matter where you are," she said.

"Yeah, it does," Van agreed quietly behind her.

Closing her eyes with a last, shuddering breath, she pretended she was hearing the little waterfall. She could just picture the golden fish and smell the damp pavers around her pond from home. Only the rustling leaves broke the spell, as her home gardens didn't have such trees.

"The pond was a mucky, mossy, slimy mess after the war," she said, shaking her head at her alliteration. "Full of trash and debris the soldiers had dumped. I'm surprised the fish even survived, but it was the one place where water had stayed circulating." Her words came easier now. "I'd asked the gardener for permission to clean the pond. I was determined to fix it up and make it beautiful for the fish again. But I accidentally killed them all. I used what I thought was dye to turn the water clear, but it was mole poison. I killed every single thing in that damned pond."

Why was she sharing this story again? Now she told it aloud, a shiver of mortification crept over her. "Oh, gods. I can't believe I just told you that," she said, covering her face with her hands. With a bitter laugh, she said, "Now you must think I'm a quack. I bet you're regretting your choice of queen now?" Smearing her tears off her face, she turned her eyes back out into the darkness.

"No, I don't," came his voice, right in her ear.

She gasped and recoiled. Turning around, her heart in her throat, she saw that he had moved to sit much closer than before. Where he had been sitting an arm's reach away, he was now so close she could feel his inhuman heat, even through the cloak– either that or it was the heat of her own embarrassment. If she hadn't been trying to suppress her wavering emotions, she might have laughed and leaned into him as she had last night, but she, as impassioned as she was at the moment, did not want to give in again to that pull.

She needed to be strong. He was leaving tomorrow, she reminded herself as she rubbed her arms instinctively. He'd left her before and he was going to leave her again. She couldn't give in. She had to get used to being alone again.

He'd even set aside their forgotten dinner dishes. A sardonic laugh escaped her mouth as she turned away. "How do you move so silently?" she asked.

"I know how to hunt, remember?" he said, his voice sending shivers up her back. "It's a survival skill."

"A survival skill you like to use to your wife's disadvantage?" she tossed over her shoulder.

"If I need to, yes," he said carefully as he shifted yet closer.

This time, her nerves, all alight and alert for him, noticed every movement and contact, and she stiffened. With a clenched fist, she held the cloak closed around herself. Her muscles trembled with the tension, and her neck ached.

"If I had to guess," he continued, "you learned that making a mistake can come at the cost of the lives over whom you have stewardship. That's a good lesson for a future queen."

Her breath left her and she turned her chin slightly back towards him.

"Am I right? That's what you learned?" he asked as she felt a tentative tug on her hair when he began to play with it.

"Yeah," she said breathlessly. "Though I've never put it into words."

He hummed in satisfaction, stroking her hair. "Hitomi," he said softly, and she flinched at her name on his lips. "I've been meaning to tell you… I'm sorry for how I was before," he said.

She licked her lips and waited for him to continue.

"I– I've had a lot of time to think about things, and you deserved better… than how I treated you."

Even through her layers, the brief caresses eased away a little of the tension in her neck.

"You have given me hope for the first time. I meant it when I said I am indebted to you for what you've done for Fanelia. I wish I could do for you what you have done. And seeing you tonight in this dress made me realize how–"

He paused and Hitomi straightened to listen.

"I realized how much I– how I missed–," he stumbled over his words. "How much I– look forward to spending time with you…after the war."

Hitomi let out an audible breath. Had she expected him to say something more? Swallowing the sting of disappointment, she squeezed her eyes shut and let a couple tears drip down her face.

But then he slid his warm, heavy hand to her shoulder and pulled her against himself. Going against her previous self-assertions, she curled into the strong circle of his arms, turning to him, gripping his tunic, burying her face in his chest, and letting her tears come freely.

She was worried for him. It had been a long couple of days. It had been a stressful couple of months. She'd been so alone. It was late. These were all good reasons to cry. She was angry. She was tired. So much had happened. Her body was still weary from her days of travel. Her heart had been unprepared for all of this emotion, for all these feelings and sensations. That's all.

She hadn't expected to come here and experience this. Not really. She hadn't expected anything from him, let alone whatever this was. Maybe it was sympathy, she didn't know. Or it could be gratitude or grief, she wasn't going to guess. She'd told herself she could live without his company and attention just fine. She had before, and she would again.

But this contradicted that. His scent, the weight of his arms around her, this simple act of holding her as she cried, all of that stirred the anguish she'd been staving off all afternoon. Stress had been building for months. This time with him had softened her in a way she hadn't realized she'd needed, and now it all came out. She'd been concerned about him before, but this separation would be different. He was going to leave her again, and this time, her loneliness and worry for him would be all the more excruciating.

So she sobbed and cried until her tears soaked his cloak and his tunic. Gradually, as she sucked in sharply and held her breath, her sobs eased. He kissed the top of her head, the pressure reassuring, and his fingers kept stroking down her hair and across her neck. He didn't ask why she was upset, but when eventually she had her breathing better under control and had dried her tears, he started speaking.

"The moon is rising," he said. "Look," he loosened his arms and nodded to her other side.

She shifted to face the other way as he put out the lamp. While her eyes adjusted, she snuggled back into his embrace, resting her head against him and gripping one hand around his warm arm.

They watched as the long eye of the moon began to rise over the wall with the Jeture fountain.

"Do you know about the constellation Escaflowne?" he asked.

"No," she said with a quick shake of her head.

"I'm surprised you didn't learn it from Folken," he said.

"My nanny insisted I be in her home by sunset," she explained. It had been a hard rule, one Hitomi had begrudgingly followed, but now she had a reason to be grateful for it.

"Good, then I can show you," he said warmly, and she smiled because that had also been her thought.

"See that zigzag of five stars?" he continued, lifting his arm to point a little away from the moonrise. As he gestured, she followed his finger with her eyes. "Those are his wings. The three stars curved in a line are his neck and head. That triangle of stars close to the moon is his tail, and the two stars below the zigzag mark his feet."

He waited patiently for her to find the god of the sky in the stars. It took some adjusting on her part, as she was used to seeing Freidian constellations, but she did finally see the abstract flying dragon. "Oh yes, I see it now," she said, pointing them out herself. "His tail is very long."

"Yes." His arm tightened around her, and she rested back into him. Her thoughts drifted to the white dragon of her dreams, and, not for the first time, she connected them with Fanelia's god of the sky.

Before her thoughts could go any further, Van began speaking, "As a boy, I had a playmate named Merle."

"Did you?"

"Yeah, she showed me how to climb to the roof, and we'd sneak around together. After she was gone, I would do just that and get out of dinners and parties and watch the moon."

"You disappeared from your own social events? Why am I not surprised?" Hitomi laughed, looking up at him.

"I know," he agreed, smiling down at her. "I've never enjoyed being around people. It's strange to feel alone in a crowd. I don't like it, and I would rather be alone, by myself." He chuckled, and the sound made Hitomi grip his arm tighter as she tried to memorize the sound of it. "So I'd watch the moon rise. It comforted me, I guess. I liked to watch it move across the sky, all by itself. We were alone together."

The garden around them seemed brighter than ever, now the moon had risen. The brook and grass and willow tree were all bathed in silver light.

"Did you feel alone with Merle?"

"No. She was my friend and an orphan, too. Unfortunately, my advisors didn't care for her. That's why we had to sneak around on the roof."

"Oh, that's…sad and funny. I'm glad you had a friend like her." Thinking of how he phrased something he said previously, she asked tentatively, "What… happened to her?"

She listened as Van took a deep breath and let it out. When he spoke, his voice was slow and sad. "I had a tutor and his wife try to adopt her when they moved back to Asturia, but she ran away and disappeared in the middle of dragon country. We think she was killed by dragons."

Hitomi's chest deflated with a piercing stab of emotion. "Oh, Van. I'm so sorry. When did that happen?"

Another sigh. "Halfway between my coronation and my mother's death, so… I was twelve. She was a little younger."

It was easier to focus on his pain than hers, and Hitomi's heart stung afresh for him. On top of losing his parents, he lost his childhood friend. She hadn't lost anyone to death yet, but she understood not having a friend. She'd been alone, too, most of her childhood.

Wanting to comfort him, she twisted herself, snaking her left hand up and around his neck and pressing her right hand over his heart. He relaxed his limbs to accommodate her, shifting until he was comfortable as she knelt between his bent legs and faced him. One of his hands brushed her hair, while the other slid down to stroke the bare skin of her right arm.

"Van, I'm so sorry," she said softly as she grazed his cheek with her thumb. He was looking off into the darkness behind her. "Thank you for sharing that with me," she said. "I'm sorry you lost a friend."

His lips relaxed from their tight line when he turned his expressive eyes to hers. "Looking back, she was like a sister," he said. His eyes and fingers played along her hair as he thought. "Thank you for telling your stories too," he said. "Thank you for leaving your old life behind for me."

Without thinking, she replied, "Maybe we should thank Escaflowne for bringing us together." The idea had never occurred to her before, but looking back, it seemed as good of an explanation for her dreams as anything. Sitting up sharply, his wide eyes darted to hers as his breath caught. Scanning his stunned face, a laugh bubbled up her throat and she smiled at him until his face softened.

"Yeah, maybe we can," he agreed.

She stared, appreciating his smile. Her pulse began to rush loudly in her ears. Though the light of the moon was icy and the air cool, a calm warmth overtook her. Goosebumps rushed over her neck and arms, her skin electrified, and her mouth parched.

She swallowed, attempting to wet her mouth. "Van, I–," she began, licking her lips. His eyes followed the action. "Van, I–" she tried again, but her throat constricted and her words caught. Her heart skipped with her intention, and she saw his follow suit as his eyes widened at her and his lips parted. Fingers clenching slightly in his hair, she gaped.

With a rush of leaves, a crisp autumn wind blew over them, whisking Van's hair away from his face and whipping her hair between them so it alternately hid and revealed his eyes from view. The scent of grass and earth and mossy water filled the air, and she inhaled, letting the freshness free her seized lungs and cool her burning skin. Those long, wispy branches swayed and sighed in the shadows behind Van, scattering the pearly moonlight through the rustling leaves and waving grass.

All around them was motion, and she might have been dizzy except that she chose not to look away from him. It seemed to her that she and Van were a bulwark upon which the waves of the wind broke. His grip on her arm tightened, and she leaned a degree closer.

Another breath and the garden grew still. His fingers, warm and solid, lifted to brush her hair out of her eyelashes, off her face, behind her ears. His knuckles caressed down her neck, sending yet more chills across her skin.

She brushed away his hair, too, sweeping it out of his eyes, stroking his face. Not for the first time, she noticed how terribly long and beautiful his eyelashes were, casting shadows even in the moonlight, and his eyes, usually a bright russet, were deep and dark as he gazed softly at her.

Her chest heaved as his fingers again lifted to linger along her lips, brushing away a stray hair before his work-roughened knuckles grazed again down her neck. They came to rest over her left breast– covering where her racing heartbeat was certain to be visible. His other hand stroked warm and strong up her arm, drawing her nearer. As his lips moved closer, her hand over his heart gripped and twisted his tunic to pull him towards her.

When he began pressing tender kisses to her forehead, she leaned into him. One at a time, slowly, he pressed hot kiss after hot kiss down one temple, across her nose, and down her other cheek.

"Hitomi," he whispered passionately as he kissed across her jaw.

"Van, I–," but it was too late. Her words were consumed by the touch of his lips over hers, soft at first but quickly growing fervent. Strong arms wrapped tightly around her, gripping her waist and cradling her head. Her hands slid over his body to weave through his hair. As he kissed her with a gentle intensity, she met him with all the warmth and affection she had, until they fell back together into the grass.

She didn't need his words.

She knew what this was.

It was love.

A/N

If anyone wants to draw that last scene after the windstorm, please let me know. I'd love for it to be the cover art for this piece. I have no talent with the art pen. lol