A/N: Well, here we are, everybody: the last chapter. The first section is entirely new, and quite a bit has been altered/added to the second section. I hope it's an ending that doesn't disappoint.
Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing. I'm quite surprised that the Guy/Djaq pairing managed to find so many interested readers, but I'm glad for it. I really appreciate everyone's feedback and support. Thank you.
Bound Home
Chapter 24
The limpid river, past its bushes
Running slowly as my chariot,
Becomes a fellow voyager
Returning home with the evening birds.
A ruined city-wall overtop an old ferry,
Autumn sunset floods the peaks.
...Far away, beside Mount Song,
I shall close my door and be at peace.
-Wang Wei, Bound Home to Mount Song
He toys with the ring, turning it round and round. The firelight glimmers as it snakes along the curves and pockmarks of the polished metal. It is a very simple ring. He has never known Saffiya to be a woman who enjoys excessive ornamentation, and he thought a plain band would suit her practical nature. He reassures himself that, when he is able and when she is feeling permissive, he will wrap her in silk and velvet, and hang jewels around her neck and wrists until she is dripping in finery, until her decorations start to at last befit a woman of such internal majesty.
As of yet, he is far too frightened to tell her of these desires, or to even express the full breadth of his admiration. He worries about smothering her, because his love is an intense, deep, living and breathing thing – a beautiful creature that burrowed into his heart and grew until it encompassed him entirely. He worries that his emotions will sway him to the type of excess that breeds darker things. He worries that he will make terrible mistakes. There are treacherous paths in his past that he has walked before, and that he fears walking again.
But he has never been so in love, and he cannot stop himself now from surrendering to it. Robin and Archer laugh at him, but they understand. They can see Saffiya's worth. They can understand his devotion.
The sound of heavy footsteps breaks his reverie. Without looking up, he knows it's his brother.
There is silence for a long moment. Guy feels Archer's eyes on him.
"Get on with it, then, will you?" his brother yells, startling Guy nearly out of his chair. "You've had countless opportunities to ask her, so just do it."
He counts to ten before replying, reminding himself that his brother is still young, and has not experienced yet how love can change a man, and not always for the better. "It's not every day you ask a woman to bind her life to yours," he finally says. "It's...an unsettling proposition."
Every time he thinks of approaching Saffiya, he remembers his sorry history with marriage – how bullheaded he had been in insisting that Marian devote herself to him, how relentless and blind.
And he thinks of how she had looked as she told him the truth. Dressed in white - a bride for another man. Mocking him, laughing at him, arms spread wide as though she was finally flying free out of a cage he had never meant to lock her in.
All those months spent haunting her grave, and still he can't let go of that moment. He doubts he ever will.
"Are you listening to me?"
He looks up and finds Archer stood over him, hands on his hips, frowning heavily. Guy manages an apology, sorry that he had, in fact, not heard a word his brother was saying.
Archer sighs. "I said, If she wanted out of it, I can assure you she'd have been on a boat back to Acre a long time ago. So stop worrying. Just do it. Just tell her how you feel and get it over with so you'll stop moping."
"I'm not moping," Guy grumbles in reply, but he feels the truth of Archer's words, and bows his head to study the ring and avoid his brother's eyes. "I've been very wrong about this sort of thing before," he slowly explains. "Very wrong."
"I know. I suppose you'll just have to trust me on this."
Guy smirks, a flare of humor burning through a bit of his black mood. "You? Trustworthy?"
Archer grins. "I have always been known as an honorable man. I'm quite famous for it, actually."
His reply manages to drag a fuller smile onto Guy's mouth. Archer preens with his success, standing a bit taller, and he laughs softly. "You know," he adds, "You really do deserve her. You're not who you were all those years ago. And she's an admirable woman, Guy, she knows her own mind. If she's ready, then there's no need to worry. I know you'll do everything for her happiness."
"I will," Guy says firmly. "I want to, more than anything."
"Alright, then," his brother replies with a nod, as though the issue has been resolved. Guy wishes he could be as confident, but owns that Archer is right – he really shouldn't be so terrified of repeating his mistakes, because Saffiya is not a woman who would let him. She is far too independent to ever let herself be caged by jealous affection. They are both free people. And in all the ways that matter, he is stronger than he was before.
Archer is studying him, watching the changing expressions on his face. He apparently sees the moment when Guy's thoughts take him to the right conclusion, because he lets out a deep breath and then extends his hand. Guy smiles at the offer, at the encouragement and approval it entails, and, grasping his brother's hand, pulls himself to his feet.
"Let's get you married!" Archer crows, pushing him to the door.
"What –" Guy stumbles and gapes at his brother. " I'm not going to ask her now."
"No? Why not?"
"Because..." He struggles for a moment to find the right words, and then blows out a heavy breath. "There is a time and a place for proposing marriage," he explains, reminding himself again to be patient with his brother. "Believe me. I've enough experience with it to know." He turns to leave, but Archer halts him, looping his arm over Guy's shoulders.
"I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm a man who tends to make his own times and places."
"Yes, your reckless abandon is infamous." Guy shrugs out from under Archer's arm, shaking his head in amusement, and heads out of the room.
His brother merrily shouts after him. "Reckless abandon is a perfectly satisfactory way of getting things done. I highly recommend it!"
The pile of documents is large and messy, scattered across Guy's dining table, no order to it whatsoever. She looks at it with narrowed eyes and a sour tilt to her mouth. Her efforts to translate her father's medical texts into English and French – Matilda's idea – is not a monumental task in itself. Her knowledge of English medical vocabulary has been greatly broadened since her time spent working with Matilda.
The difficulty lies in her translating partner.
Guy sits quietly at the table, just a few inches away from her, studying her English texts and working on translating them into French. When she first asked him for his help and he agreed, he told her with a laugh, "First tutoring in Acre, now translating medical books. I've never been so studious in my life." Now, looking back, she almost regrets his scholarly turn, because it means long hours sat at his side, often in the dark of the evening hours, where the only sound is the scratching of their quills and his slow, even breaths. Lately, she's gotten the feeling that he is close to a confession of some kind – that he means to say something important to her, but as yet he has said nothing. Their hours working together seem to be a prime opportunity to take advantage of, but he will sometimes ignore her for an entire hour, absorbed completely in his work while she struggles not to be irritated; and then other times she'll catch him staring at her in a way that makes her skin flush and her heart pound – but nothing ever comes of it.
Very irritating.
They work well together, companionable, comfortable. Most of the time she is able to concentrate on the task at hand. But she is finding that her impatience is growing, and he is becoming more and more of a distraction.
"What happened here?" she asks him, trying to focus on the mess on the table rather than on the long line of Guy's shoulders.
"One of the cats managed to sneak in here and decided to take a nap on our books," he replies. "He pushed them all out of their stacks. It shouldn't be but a few minute's work to organize it all again."
She nods and watches as he begins to sort through the texts and loose sheets of parchment. His hair, a thick, glossy black that has recently been tempting her fingers, falls into his eyes as he leans over the table to grab one book that managed to get pushed to the other side of the table. When he looks back at her – maybe to ask her why she's just standing there – she blurts, "You Englishmen are very slow."
Guy pauses, arm still stretched out to grab the book. "I'm sorry?"
She wants very much to look away, but can't. She holds his gaze and feels her heart start to pound. "With this marrying business," she answers, and an intense feeling of both relief and trepidation burns through her at having it finally said. "My people do not waste so much time."
He is staring in complete stupefaction.
"I'm sorry?" he says again.
Her blood thunders in her ears as she watches him slowly straighten and come to stand at his full height. Doubt and joy run arm-in-arm through every corner of her heart. She clears her throat to banish the tremor that has overtaken her. "I do not want a large celebration – no matter what Robin says – and only those closest to us will attend. And I expect a sadaq."
Guy's lips move silently, as if he is repeating in his mind everything she has just said. His eyes are unblinking, fastened on hers, mouth still slack. "Sadaq?" he echoes dumbly.
"A wedding gift. The groom is required to give one to his bride."
"You..."
She lifts an eyebrow. He turns away for a second, and then turns back again to fully face her, an abrupt, jerky motion – and still he stares, silent.
"Yes?" she prods.
He shakes his head. "Are you...proposing marriage to me?" His disbelief is slowly fading. A smile pulls at one side of his mouth. The transformation is lovely. She feels a smile of her own growing to match his, but she purses her lips to keep her face neutral, happy now to prolong his stupefaction. Teasing him has become one of her fondest pasttimes – she cannot resist this opportunity, not when he falls into it so charmingly.
"Yes, since you will not propose to me. As I said, you Englishmen are very slow about this-"
She is stopped when, in one terribly swift movement, he cups her face in his hands and presses his mouth to hers.
Distantly, she hears herself gasp. Slowly, as his lips trace fire upon her mouth, realization dawns – he will marry her. They will spend the rest of their lives together. It is happening, it is starting right now, while his hands clutch her tightly and her breath runs ragged.
"I love you," he says against her cheek, and then he pulls back and looks into her eyes. His voice is pleading, urgent "Be my wife - stay with me."
"Yes," she replies.
She stares up at him and feels as though a veil has been lifted, that she is seeing him for the first time - a man beautiful and free, a man who is giving himself to her, giving her everything; her breath catches. A smile blooms on her lips and she sees it mirrored on his.
He drops his gaze suddenly, backs away a step and begins to nervously pat his clothes as though looking for something. "I-I actually have a ring-"
The rest of his words are cut off when she throws her arms around his neck, pulls him tightly against her, and kisses him again.
Weeks later, she stands at an altar, surrounded by the people who mean the most to her. Guy surprises her with his calmness. He has confided to her his doubts about his ability to be a good husband and why he hesitated to take this final step, but now he is at ease, quiet in his happiness. She catches his eye – he smiles at her. There is more peace in it than she has ever seen before.
As the ceremony comes to its finish, she takes her new husband's hand, thinks of a brave man who loved her years ago, and tells herself, He would want this for me.
The days and weeks and months pass. There are changes, adjustments. Beyond a few minor differences in preference and habit, their first few months as husband and wife hold no surprising revelations. She already knows him so well. And he, as is he fond of telling her, has long thought her to be the other half of his soul.
One night, she is stirred from her sleep by a murmur and a shifting on one side of the bed. She rolls over and opens her eyes. Her husband is awake and staring at the ceiling. She brushes away a tendril of hair from his cheek. "Everything alright?"
In the moonlight, she can see him smile. "Yes," he replies. "I was only dreaming."
"About?"
He turns on his side to face her. "Stairs. I was climbing up a long set of stairs."
She pulls a face, vaguely disappointed. "That does not sound like a very interesting dream."
He shakes his head. "It's not about the stairs – it's about what was at the top of them."
"And what was that?"
He runs a finger down the curve of her cheek. "White light. And voices, laughter. Happiness."
"Oh," she sighs, eyes drifting closed while he continues to caress her face. "Then that is a good dream."
She takes a deep breath, and is nearly asleep again when she hears Guy say her name.
"Yes?" she mumbles without opening her eyes.
"I was thinking..."
He pauses. She is pulled a bit from her drowsiness. "About?"
He moves closer. His arm comes to rest in the curve of her waist. "How do you feel about going back to Acre?"
"To live?" she blurts in reply as she sits up, now fully awake.
He shakes his head and answers quickly, "No. No, just to visit, if you'd like. I thought you might wish to return someday."
"Oh." She relaxes against him again, thinking. "Perhaps. Yes. But I don't want you to make the journey just for me. It's too long, too expensive."
"It wouldn't just be for you. I have fond memories there now. And...there is a friend I'd like to see again."
She nods, understanding who he means though she cannot remember the man's name. She gives up on thinking about it, eyes once again too heavy to keep open, her body becoming boneless and far away. "Good," she murmurs into Guy's shoulder. "Then we will go."
"Alright," she hears him whisper. Before sleep takes over, she feels his hold tighten around her, and hears the spring wind gust against the walls. She burrows closer to her husband. He smells like the fields that stretch around their house, like the earth and the sun.
His embrace is her home, and within it she sleeps.
End