A/N: Entry to the Lara/Jacob -fic challenge at AO3. (Come aboard this is fun!) Prompt: Soulmate-identifying marks. Huge thank you to fanfic. addicted01 (yes site, still all together) for beta-reading on ideas and story-telling! Thanks to her, Jacob's chapter now has 2,5x and Lara's chapter 2x more FEELS. Plus, Lara's version would probably never have materialized without the extra push from her. :3
Jacob
The name is on his wrist since birth like it is on some people.
No one knows why though.
And to add to the confusion, the handwritten word on his wrist is not even comprehensible as it's written in letters that are not known in Constantinople.
There's a lot of commotion about some people having a name on their skin, thus he keeps his own under a small band of leather at his mother's request. There is no point to distinguish oneself too much from the crowd in the tumultuous times. The iconoclasm might have ended just before his birth but having an unintelligible word on his skin can still be interpreted the wrong way and lead to banishment.
In the end, it's not the mark that brings tragedy to his life; he is not even 18-years-old when the pagan Rus attack Constantinople and kill his family. With the basis of his life crumpled, he tries to find a new meaning for his life from the sacred teachings and becomes a novice. However, neither the church nor Byzantium can offer him a home that he'd accept full-heartedly, so, he leaves them behind to continue his life in solitude.
Yet, all that changes when he finds the Source and learns to unlock its power. He is not going to stay silent anymore. And soon people are seeking him out, he is preaching to them on how to live, and he finds a purpose.
But his mother's wisdom of not drawing the wrong type of attention still applies because before long, the king of Byzantium is dead, and he has to flee from the empire with his people.
It's only on a particularly hot day, one when they have worked non-stop to build a new city around the Oasis in Syria, that he takes the leather band off from where it's tormenting his ever-young skin in the heat. And to his shock, he can now read the name – no doubt by the courtesy of the Source – 'Lara'. The word doesn't resemble anything in their language, so it's probably a name like the other marks of its kind. But it's not a name from Byzantine, the North, or Fatimids.
He lets the realization fall to the back of his mind because it doesn't do them any good now, the least when their attackers have not relented to pursue them.
The next time when he properly thinks about the name is nearly two hundred years into the future with a group of great scientists seeking refuge from Kitezh, eager to learn about their findings and share their own in return. And there, amidst tales and drawings of recent steps in medicine and mathematics, is the notion that the name on one's wrist has been studied to mean the name of the significant other.
Most people do not know about the name under the band, hidden further by the slightly longer sleeves that he wears. There are few who have been born with a name-mark in Kitezh, and true to the scientists' words, he realizes, they have always ended up together.
Yet, he can only think of his beloved, late Sofia whom he had adored and cherished until time had taken her away from him. There are few whom he has let into his heart because finding a true connection of spirit is rare - no matter how many people one meets during one's life. Moreover, the number of people that he can build a mutual understanding with are becoming fewer and fewer as every recurrent season drifts him further away from his fellow men and women. But Sofia had understood him, helped him carry his burden.
Then the Mongols and Trinity come, and he manages to destroy everything that his people had fought for and given their lives for to build while following his delusions. He cannot bear the guilt and the doubt that come back with vengeance after despising those humble human feelings for far too long. And it's only into the ninth year of his self-imposed exile when he pries the name visible again, staring at it in the moonlight. How could anyone love him after what he has caused?
And as it turns out, there is no Lara. Try as he might to hide the enthusiasm that mixes with fear when new people find the Valley, no one is named Lara. Centuries pass, and he is forced to resign to the fact that hope is useless. Maybe that's the price of his sins. So, in the place of seeking his own partner, he helps people bearing identical names meet each other; it's the little something he can do, because he has learned to read the happiness that is always a little bit deeper, love that is a little bit stronger with those couples.
And with time, he resigns to his faith, to the belief that maybe, someday.
However, the next larger group of people to come to the wilderness are conquerors again. And his people suffer terrible losses, babies are taken from their mothers, and spouses lose each other forever.
And he is broken after that, and so, so tired. Maybe his people can see his worn-out soul for what it is as they vigorously try to include him, and he is lonely enough to accept the help, to get to know the survivors better - even with the danger that something will take them away from him the next day or certainly by the next century.
But through those meetings and festives, he meets Alya. The woman is a balm to his fractured heart with her generous, grounded heart that cherishes not only him but her life in the Valley. More than that, when they have a daughter, his life changes in ways that he couldn't have foreseen. He wages an internal battle with what to name the baby, but they end up in Sofia anyway. Treasured, past love is easier to choose than fictive dreams that never materialize.
His life goes by its own weight after that: Alya passes on, but Sofia grows into a righteous, kind-hearted adult, and he couldn't be more proud of her.
Trinity is on them again much faster than he could have ever anticipated. The Remnants are hardly prepared for any sort of attack and certainly not for the machines and the weapons their enemies bring with them.
That leads him straight into the Gulag's holding cell to contemplate on his life while listening to his men being tortured to death. He is simply a pawn to be used against his people. It's a terrible reality but one that he doesn't know how to escape.
Noises from the hallway break his thoughts, and he watches quietly from the side as Konstantin himself drags a young woman into the cell next to his. The woman is small, probably a head shorter than him, and definitely not dressed for the weather in her blue shirt. Her hands behind her back and the bruising on her face do not seem to deter her spirit though, as she is of steel and temper, shouting profanities at the Trinity leader.
Her clear lack of caution over her well-being almost makes him sigh, but as he watches the scene unfold and Konstantin leave with the soldiers, he cannot deny that he is slightly jealous of her fight. But now they are the same, prisoners with their choices made for them. Still, he tries to placate her anger to protect her because these people are not known for mercy.
His presence seems to shock her, but despite her curtness, he gets a startling intuition from somewhere deep inside him: she is Lara. It may start only as a little speck of hope behind his sternum but the Source has always amplified his senses. Moreover, he has met tens of thousands of people over the centuries and she has a different air around her: steadfast and strong like seasons.
Could it be?
"So, what should I call my new acquaintance?" he asks to get her attention and wishing to learn more about her.
"There is no us," she stresses to him, seeing easily past his feigned nonchalance. And true to her word, she is more interested in the opposite wall than in him.
Despite her words, the feeling in his gut is only strengthened. More than that, every second that he spends watching her soothes the opposition in his mind - especially when something unexpectedly makes her take her harshest words back. Naturally, he cannot be fully certain, and yet, he is working more on coming to terms with the sudden change in the situation than fighting against that it could be possible in the first place.
He tries to keep up a small talk about their common enemy but he is not spared even a single, frustrated glance. She does show interest towards Trinity though and retains her cocky attitude despite the bleak circumstances. She is an explorer, that much he can recognize with certainty.
Now that he has seen a touch of vulnerability in her, the stubbornness amuses him a great deal, making him smile in the cold cell. And the woman amazes him, too, because he has the front-row seat to watch her beat her way through the wall and into freedom.
However, it appears that the budding feeling that is now almost roaring inside him is one-sided, or she is simply too focused on her mission, because she rejects all his efforts to get her to free him.
There is a brief twinge of pain in his soul. He is certain of her – wonders even why he spent so long time actively looking when the answer is obvious to his heart when he observes her. Centuries ago, their scientists had proposed that people fall in love if they have the same sized spleens - maybe it's that, but it feels that her existence alone is enough of a reason. And he feels a strong urge to touch her, make sure that she is real, but he is left to grasp the unyielding bars of his cell.
More than touching her to appease his soul, he harbors the hope that simply holding her hand and making her stop even for a second to look at him would convince her young, hasty heart. Because he is starting to fear that she might be preoccupied enough with her escape to leave him here. Not to mention, he is anxious that the soulmate-concept may have been deemed obsolete in the world around the Valley. His last verification was from the Soviet prisoners, but that was nearly forty years ago.
What if he is too old? What if he would have been the right soulmate over a thousand years ago as someone with fewer mistakes and years behind him, whereas she is young, probably younger than Sofia, filled with the passion and the impulsiveness of youth.
And this is not only about him but about his people who need him.
The woman has already opened the cabinets and is readying herself for the fight that will wait for her on her way out. His time is running out to turn her head. She must be after the Source and he could offer her a pointer, but... maybe he can still make a safer offer, one that is more valuable in her eyes – if she appreciates it so.
"My name is Jacob," he gives quietly and watches with enormous heartfelt relief how her fingers still and back tenses at his words.
So, she hadn't noticed him yet and chosen simply to ignore him. He commits carefully to his memory how strongly her mind focuses on her mission.
"I assume you're Lara. I'm glad to finally have the chance to meet you."
She doesn't move immediately, and it seems that he is not the only one who hadn't expected to find his other half in a crumpling prison in the first beats of war. The decision comes naturally to her though as she grabs the keys and walks to the cell door.
From up close, she is beautiful like the first dawn after the polar night. He doesn't let himself think the thought of holding her in his arms, but he can feel it.
Yet, her walls are higher, guarding her vulnerability. "Can I see it?" she asks with apprehensive eyes.
He feels sorrowful at how truthful her earlier admission of not feeling particularly trusting right now had been. He easily unwraps the letters for her to see.
She lets him out without further ado after that. Yet, the simple action speaks of so much more, and for the first time ever, he truly feels the mutual trust, the shared heart.
"I'm glad to meet you too," she confesses soberly before walking back to the cabinet with barely concealed glances which make it obvious how much trouble she has adjusting to the situation. He finds sympathy in her reaction even if it should be him having trouble believing to have finally been blessed like this. Her professionalism doesn't waver though as she hands him a radio, "In case we get separated."
He prays that that won't happen, not when he has just found her. He wants to grasp her fingers to keep her close - safe - but the single action feels monumental, and they need to stay focused on getting out. Moreover, he doesn't want to mess this up, to make her uneasy when they don't know each other yet. It wouldn't matter, his heart tells him, but time has made him cautious.
He lets her have the time to adapt to the situation and they walk in silence while trying to find a way outside. Still, they stay close and walk in evenly paced steps despite their height difference.
In the face of her carefully built, almost perfect, unaffected mask, he is reassured when she weighs him and tells him to stay in cover while she leaves to clear the area.
She is a gifted fighter for someone so young and he cannot help but wonder how much there is in her to learn and uncover. And for a moment, his age and past don't feel as heavy burdens as he had feared. He takes comfort in her skills when he has to leave her to her fight while heading after Konstantin. Because no matter his personal interests, he still has people to protect from these soldiers.
Lara finds him soon though, and she is less than happy and bemused by his risk-taking. He is even given a look from briefly narrowed eyes and a tiny tilt of the head before they leave while they still can. He follows her a little begrudgingly.
Before long, they get separated again, only to meet near the old train yard when he is pulling her up and forward not to be slaughtered by the bullets fired at them. It might be the most unfortunate first touch between them, so close to the jaws of death, but they are both still alive and running which will bring out a prayer from him once they are not in imminent life threat. He needs to get her out of here because she is surely mortal and he cannot continue his life without her, no matter how many times he would be reborn. Unfortunately, the only way forward is down, and they both jump into the icy depths that pierce their bodies like invisible bullets.
The freezing, murky water is a frightening enemy in its own right and he focuses on helping Lara. He has spent more than enough time under these waters to keep his bearings, but he is worried that the lack of direction and the following panic will sink their claws in her. Thankfully she is not far, and he swiftly guides her to breathe air in a safer place.
She is already shaking badly when they lift their heads above the surface but he hopes that the determination in her eyes will give them time. Now when the original spell is broken, he feels very little fear to pull her against his chest for warmth. Fortunately, she is small enough to easily fit into his arm, so that he can cover her whole back with his front and large areas of her upper body with his arms. She gives him a hesitant glance, making it clear that she is not accustomed to people holding her this close but she nuzzles herself closer to him either way, trying to leave as little water between them to maximize the body heat. The Source dulls the effects of the cold on his body, helping him maintain his body temperature for Lara to draw the much-needed warmth from. Only once the helicopter moves downstream do they dare to break into the freezing cold air that gives no mercy to their soaked clothes and bodies.
Lara is immediately curling in on herself, but she accepts him to drag her forward. The cave by the old sawmill is not far if they just keep on moving. His whole body protests against the burning cold spreading in his limbs and squeezing his lungs, and he can only guess what it's like for her. The deep snow and the climb awaiting them are not making things any less daunting but they should be able to make it. However, despite her small pale form, Lara is digging up a fighting spirit from inside her; and when she asks him how much more to a shelter is not a signal that she is losing her energy, but trying to see the plan.
He is more than shocked when Lara replies to his answer with a single suggestion that they'd run. And subsequently, after taking one look to see that he can manage, she forces herself to pick up speed, step by step to coax her muscles to produce warmth and reach the safety faster. He cannot remember when was the last time that he has met someone like her. She does stumble in the snow, but together, they reach the cave.
Fortunately, there is already a fire in the stove after his men have used the hideout in recent hours. Teeth chattering together and fingers numb, they fight to take off the cold, frosted clothes and seek refuge by the fire.
At first, he is worried about revealing his heavily scarred body because he doesn't want to have that conversation now. However, amidst considering whether to leave his wet underclothes on, Lara calls him out of his assumed stupidity with enough certainty to make his glance at her. He is not to ogle her undressed body but he forgets his own scars the minute he sees the ones on her. What has been done to her? But the scars look too scattered and random to be a result of torture. In addition, there are new bruises all over her.
The hesitancy on her face is growing in intensity telling him to react in some other way than simply staring at the testimonies of the hardships that she has pushed through. But words fail him. Instead, he forces himself to act and pick up one of the pelts on the side and move to wrap it tightly on her bare shoulders. Their eyes meet for a second before he takes his long-shirt off to reveal his own scars which makes her breath hitch silently. But she is quick to recover and repeats his motions with another pelt.
They have just managed to wrap the rest of the pelts on - he insists her to take the most of them with her smaller frame that is more susceptible to the cold - before his men find them. The Remnant warriors have been on stand-by after his capture, so they come hastily to check on them after seeing them near the river. Lara watches from her spot in front of the stove as he orders the scouts to bring them food and materials. Yet, she is badly shaking, blinking to fight against the haze, worrying him.
"Your fingers and toes?" he asks when he descends on one knee next to her and adds another log into the fire.
"Cold," she replies dryly before swallowing arduously, "They hurt."
He would like to save the conversation of his past for a better time, but he is not going to let her lose a toe if he can do anything to avoid it. So, he simply nods at her to uncurl her fingers from where she is trying to warm them by the fire. "I can help."
"How?" she asks apprehensively, but there is no clear rejection on her face.
He cannot explain his mistakes, not now when everything is still so new and fragile, thus he simply offers his own hands, palms facing upwards, and nods again gently to encourage her.
Her hands are incredibly soft against his larger ones. Her fingers are cold and slightly swollen with the extreme temperature shifts but he marvels at the feeling. And for a second, he worries if it will be the last time he'll ever get to touch her before she'll realize who he is and the inevitable mistakes that he'll soon be forced to admit to her.
However, she reacts very differently after he confirms his identity when he is finished healing her toes as well. "So, I'm your soulmate in this life?" she asks, and when he is confused, "I've read that you've died before, so you've had soulmates in other lives?"
He can only shake his head and look at her, "Only you, since my birth. - I've had two long relationships, in one of which I was blessed with a daughter. But as a soulmate, you're the only one, Lara."
She seems very surprised by his words, and after a silent minute, turns her head away from him. He almost feels pain at the gesture before the tone of her apology fails to match the situation. She exhales a small smile before continuing and facing his gaze again, more shyly this time, "I… have had a few quite tough years, and I've… been relatively mad at my soulmate for not being there. But I guess …that my troubles are quite small and brief compared to yours." She laughs in relief and looks at him with her vulnerability openly showcased before she pushes her hair out of her face with an even wider smile and a repeated apology.
He knows very little of her, and yet, it's unusually easy to get along, to feel her emotions that now beg him to meet her. Moreover, he feels that despite everything, they know each other under the walls and masks. And, even if she never once voices the thought out loud, he can recognize it effortlessly - for it is the same fear that he has harbored in his own heart. "I doubt that there is a world where I wouldn't have wanted to have you in my life from the start."
The smile that his words bring out is radiating, alluring him to respond in kind.
They manage to keep their distance when his men come to bring them herbs and a rabbit, but before long, it is the most natural thing to have her curled up against his chest. It helps to share warmth under the pelts. However, they are both already out of the danger zone and able to survive thanks to the stove. What keeps them nestled together is an even more vital need than staying warm. And, at the moment, is not yet anything sexual in itself because the way Lara rests her head against the crook of his neck alone feels like home.
He has learned that soulmate-relationships advance faster than most other relationships, but he hadn't thought that he'd go from having never met her, to having her sit naked in his arms in less than four hours. And based on the tired but relieved and happy tittering he feels against him, neither did she.
