#how many people through time have wished they had a lion's claws or a deer's speed?

[sharkgirldick]

Not to be controversial to my most beloved audience members but. I think people who wish they weren't human or believe they aren't human have one of the most fundamentally human beliefs.

[cicada-bones]

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 31: A Call for Aid

This one is a little bit different - but I really hope you all enjoy it! (I certainly did!) 

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Gavriel’s sword hand shot out, the sleek metal shrieking through the air as he sliced and chopped, his feet carefully marking their set pattern over the packed earth. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of other soldiers practicing; grunts and shouts and sharp clangs echoing over the practice fields as they went through their daily routines. The faint morning sun lit the mists all around them, a golden haze.

Gavriel wiped the sweat from his brow with a towel, the familiar ache just beginning to start in his muscles. He sighed, then made to leave the practice fields, finished for the day.

He’d been coming here more often lately, and was staying for longer and longer stretches of time. Following his return from the post in the northern mountains, Gavriel had been different, slightly off. He knew that his queen and his fellow warriors were attributing that difference to grief, to the guilt at the loss of his men. To the three new markings that just barely peeked out the side of his leather jerkin when he raised his arms over his head. But that wasn’t the reason for the change.

No matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he worked, how tired he was, that face wouldn’t go away. The girl with the face of the woman. His lost love. Tamalina, the second princess of Wendlyn.

Gavriel’s feet pounded into the earth as he walked, dirt and rock scattering in his wake.

He turned the memory over and over in his mind – the image of the princess, bearing a tray of stew and bread. Rowan’s snarl of rage as she edged into the room, the shock and hurt that filled her scent. The overwhelming blankness behind her eyes. The golden head of hair that so matched his own.

The possibility grated on him, itching and scratching. A splinter in the back of his mind, that refused to be removed. His daughter.

The girl might be his daughter.

He’d spent the last weeks wrestling with this fact, trying to eliminate it, or at least subdue it. Trying to forget. But his efforts were in vain.

So instead he stormed through the castle, surly and distant. He knew he was beginning to irritate Fenrys, but he didn’t care. The young male could get in line.

Gavriel didn’t want to admit it to himself, but really he was just waiting. Waiting for Rowan to appear, the girl in tow. Waiting to see if his suspicions were correct. To see if it were possible that time had stretched and morphed his memory of the girl until she fit the picture of his love. To see if there was a chance he was wrong.

Even if, deep down, he was sure that he wasn’t.

But it felt shameful to just wait – to not act. Even if there wasn’t anything he could do. He wasn’t even sure that the girl was his responsibility. But still, this waiting…it was going to drive him completely mad.

Gavriel reached his rooms, shutting the door behind him with a loud thud and striding over to sit at the desk that straddled the far wall. A window was set into the stone above it, providing a small view of the city. A gray frame surrounding its expanse of blue rooftops and white cobblestones. The great river flowed idly by, casting up great lots of mist that drifted over the many alleys, buildings and plazas. It was picturesque. Gavriel didn’t see any of it.

He didn’t mind his fate, not all that much. The rewards of his life still outweighed the trials. Nor did he hate Maeve, for all she put them through. She was his Queen, and she would always be. So despite everything, he was glad of his position – both for the responsibility and honor it provided, and for the purpose.

Gavriel was the linchpin, a connector between warriors who otherwise might have ripped each other to pieces. He kept the peace between them, and made sure that they didn’t fall apart. Lorcan was their leader, with Rowan as his second, and Gavriel stood mostly in the background, hidden in the shadows. But he knew he was essential.

But for the girl...he wouldn’t wish this life on her. He wouldn’t wish his life on anyone. And yet she was coming, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Gavriel hoped that the princess would just fulfill her bargain and go – that she would be allowed to leave, unscathed and unburdened. But still, he worried. The power he had felt in her...it was greater than any he’d ever felt before. Only Queen Maeve could match it.

He couldn't imagine his queen just letting the girl go, not when she could be such a useful tool. Not when the princess might be powerful enough to beat her.

Maeve must have a plan, must have some leverage on the child. But for the life of him, Gavriel couldn’t figure out what it was. The only thing that seemed remotely possible was…Rowan.

Their Queen had chosen him for this task, chosen him specifically. And the feelings Gavriel had sensed in the male, the changes…they hinted at something more. An attachment of some kind. He couldn’t speculate about the princess, but still – something had shifted in the Prince while in Mistward. And Gavriel was sure that it marked change.

Perhaps the girl would join them, and perhaps she would instead be sent out to retake her throne. Maybe they would even help her. Maeve had long coveted the western continent, perhaps she now thought to conquer.

All their spies indicated that war was coming. Adarlan was poised to attack Wendlyn, seeking to stretch their empire eastwards. So no matter what, soon Maeve would send them into battle. The question was – which side would they be fighting for this time?

All Gavriel knew was that he would do all he could to keep that child safe. Whether she was his or not, he owed as much to her mother. To Tamalina.

But he had no idea what he could possibly do to help the princess. He was forced to obey his Queen, to bend to her every wish. All he could do for her was keep her secrets, and his silence. For as long as he could manage it.

Gavriel sighed, and turned to the papers on his desk. He knew there was a report from Vaughn that needed looking at, as well as a dispatch from the eastern border and one from the admiral commanding the fleet currently guarding their western flank.

While Lorcan was still traveling up from the south, and Rowan was stationed in Mistward, Gavriel was the highest ranked member of the blood-sworn in the capital. As a result, he had to deal with much of their mail. He had just begun to sift through the papers when an unmarked letter fell through the pile.

It was light, and hastily closed, the wax seal clumsy and misshapen. But still – Gavriel could just recognize the symbol embossed in the wax. It was a bird, its wings extended in flight, its beak curved and sharp. A hawk.

A frown twisted Gavriel’s face as he used a letter opener to slice open Rowan’s message, and unfolded the paper within.

Gavriel –

I can only hope that this will reach you in time.

Adarlan has sent a company of two hundred soldiers and three demons to attack Mistward, and capture or kill the demi-Fae housed here. There are barely thirty demi-Fae soldiers who have seen battle, and as you know, the fortress is not properly outfitted for war. We have called for assistance from Wendlyn, but I have no hope of victory.

Come to our aid.

I know that I have no right to ask this of you, that I have no right to expect this of you. But I have no choice. I must.

I beg you, please come to our aid.

I will fight and die alongside these men. If you choose not to come, remember me well. If you choose not to come, I will understand.

But if you choose not to come, you doom these men to death.

I beg you, come to my aid.

With you at my side, we have a chance at survival. With you at my side, perhaps these people can live. Have a future.

Please, come to my aid.

Our lives are in your hands.

– Rowan

The paper crumpled between Gavriel’s fingers. That face was still fixed in his vision, only now the eyes were empty, her face white as death. Aelin, dead or dying. Her fires waning.

Gavriel’s chest was a hollow space, empty and still. Thoughtlessly, he stood and walked from the room, his blood spiked with shock. Within seconds, he reached a courtyard and transformed. His lion’s paws thundered on the stone as he raced down the castle hallways and out into the city beyond.

He ran, without needing a moment to reconsider. Without a moment of doubt. Ran for

···

Fenrys was dreaming. He knew it, and yet he still longed for it to be real. Still longed for his dreams to leap from the ether of his mind and out into the world.

In the dream, he was running. His paws digging into the earthy loam, bits of grass catching in his claws, wiping them clean of the blood of the deer he’d just eaten for lunch. Its sweet meat lined his stomach and weighed him down in that comfortable, satisfying way that only a good meal could.

In the dream, the wind whipped through his fur, its fingers flowing over his coat and making it ripple like water. In the dream, the sun warmed his limbs and flashed in his eyes, a bright discomfort. In the dream, there was no catch over his heart, no chains or locks or ropes tying him to a dark queen. He was free.

But he wasn’t dreaming anymore.

Now, he was lying on Maeve’s bed. Hating himself. And everyone else under the sun. Drunk, but not sufficiently so. A glass of red wine rested in one of his hands.

Maeve had left a while ago now, but he couldn’t quite remember why. It didn’t really matter.

Fenrys didn’t know whether to be glad of the moment’s peace, or to hate it. It was so much easier to just hate everything. To hate this prison, and to hate the moments of freedom he was given. To hate his pitiful, despicable life, with every single ripped-up piece of him still left.

Maeve didn’t call him every night. In fact, she rarely called him more than once or twice a week. But it was enough. His body didn’t feel like his own anymore – it didn’t feel like it belonged to him. Probably because it didn’t. It belonged to her, just like everything else.

Fenrys shoved those useless thoughts down deep. He knew damn well what a waste of time it was to dwell.

Instead he took another swig of wine. Perhaps if he drank enough of it, he might just forget. Not only everything he’d been forced to do last night, but also the dream that he’d woken up to.

For it was the dream that was the real torture. Without thought of freedom, captivity would not be so great a burden to bear. So Maeve made sure that freedom was always nearby, just close enough to taste.

Like with that trip to Varese, where he had to watch as Rowan took for granted every single thing he held dear. His ability, his autonomy. His independence. And then Fenrys had to watch Rowan leave, with the knowledge that he would never be able to follow.

It was the freedom that tore at him, not the imprisonment. Cages were rather boring, after all. Even ones made of words and blood and darkness.

Even so, Fenrys didn’t think he regretted taking the blood-oath. He fought it with every breath in his body, and would do anything to be free of it – suffer any torture, break any bond. But were he given the option to go back and change his mind, he didn’t think that he would.

Fenrys had taken it to protect his little brother, and nothing more.

Well, maybe a little bit more.

All Fae males were drawn to power, and Maeve was the most powerful Fae living. They were all drawn to her, no matter her darkness. They had all wanted to serve her.

And maybe just a tiny, minuscule little piece of him had been jealous of his brother. Didn’t like being surpassed and overshadowed by him. It was a piece that Fenrys didn’t particularly like looking at, but he saw it nonetheless.

He thought Connall might see it too. They didn’t speak of it.

Fenrys didn’t even know if Connall was grateful for what he had done. For what he protected him from, night after night after night. Didn’t know if his brother even cared. They didn’t speak of that either.

They were still close though. As close as they had been growing up, running through the alleys and markets of Doranelle, play-fighting on the practice fields. They shared the same power, the ability to slip between the folds of the world. And they had learned it together, had figured out each of its valleys and ripples and tears by each other’s sides.

Each time they jumped, slipping through an invisible crack in the universe, they could feel the other pressing in on them, the whole of the world becoming the warmth of their embrace. And then they would fall out into reality – the open air feeling as empty and lonely as the space between stars.

It didn’t matter how far apart they were, didn’t matter where they were coming from or where they were going, that pressure was there. And it was a comfort, especially when they’d been young, and the power felt far more like a burden then a gift.

Once, when they’d been only eight or nine, Connall had forgotten how to get back. For hours, he’d been lost in the space between spaces, trapped by that crushing pressure. But eventually, Fenrys had managed to coax him back out again – by singing him one of the songs their mother sang while hanging the washing.

Oh the blue skies above, they mark the cloth stark white

Back and forth, back and forth

The moon pulls the sea, the green from the earth

As day folds into night, and the children run free

Back and forth, back and forth

Connall had returned, and their mother had scolded him for being so reckless. But it had just made them realize that no one else would ever understand. Realize that their powers were a part of one another, just as they were a part of one another. Inseparable.

And nothing, not even Maeve, could change that. Fenrys wouldn’t let her.

Right now, his brother was probably up in his rooms, reading. That shy bastard almost always had a book in his hands. When they were boys, it had been like pulling teeth to get him to go outside to train.

And he was such a goddamn know-it-all. It was infuriating. Mostly because Fenrys rarely knew what the fuck he was talking about. I mean, he loved the little guy, but that didn’t mean he wanted to hear about the fellowship circles and fertility cycles of freshwater selkies day in and day out, for weeks on end. Or at least until the idiot moved on, pursuing some other esoteric piece of knowledge.

Fenrys had actually been quite surprised that when Rowan wrote, asking for information about his weird little demon problem in Wendlyn, Connall hadn’t known anything about it. Fenrys was sure that the ignorance frustrated him. His brother had spent a whole week in the library after they received Rowan’s letter, searching for anything that could possibly solve the mystery. And he found absolutely nothing.

Fenrys had found it a bit difficult not to gloat as he watched his brother stalk about the castle, a scowl fixed to his brow. It was nice to see him stumped over something, for once.

Fenrys couldn’t help but wonder how Rowan was doing at Mistward, wonder what the princess of fire was like. He’d only seen her briefly, a quick look between the walls of an alleyway in Varese as Rowan led her through the city to collect the horses Fenrys had left for them.

It hadn’t been a good look. She’d been well hidden underneath a dark cloak, though Fenrys still caught the edges of dozens of blades beneath her heavy clothes. Her face had been obscured with dirt and grime and sweat, her hair matted together. And the smell, ungh. Overall, not the most remarkable showing.

What had really impressed itself on him had been the sheer weight of her power. A writhing mass of flames, all bunched up and twisted in on themselves, forced within her small frame. Her power was so massive that even untrained, it had actually overwhelmed the icy wind of the Fae male leading her. Rowan’s power was great, but next to hers…the maelstrom of power felt more like a light rain. A drizzle, if you would.

And Fenrys hadn’t been able to get the feeling out of his head. The touch of the princess’ flames. It burned through him, making him wonder just how wild she would be.  But it wasn’t like Maeve would ever let him near the girl.

Fenrys sighed and turned over on the bed. No matter how much he might want to, getting drunk before nine in the morning probably wasn’t one of his best ideas. He should get up and face the day.

He groaned.

But still, he got to his feet and made his way out of Maeve’s private quarters, bare feet padding on the cold stone. His muscles were stiff, and not in a good way - he was looking forward to his morning training session. But first he had to return to his rooms to grab his gear and wash his face.

Fenrys didn’t pass anyone in the halls, for which he was grateful. Everyone in the castle knew of course, but still. Having to start his day with some page boy averting his eyes as he walked past, usually barefoot and in various states of dress, was far from great.

Fenrys pushed open the door to his rooms, and was already shrugging off yesterday’s clothes and reaching for clean ones when he noticed an unmarked letter resting on his worktable. The couriers usually went through the palace rooms each morning, dropping off the day’s mail, but it wasn’t often that Fenrys received anything. Particularly when a higher ranked member of Maeve’s blood-sworn was present.

He walked over to the desk and ripped open the envelope, absentmindedly pulling out the letter and beginning to read.

His eyes skittered over the black ink, and as he read, his fingers tightened their grip on the thin paper, his knuckles whitening. The bottom fell out of his stomach.

Mistward was under attack. Rowan was under attack.

He was calling for aid.

Fenrys felt strangely panicked. Not once, in all the years he had known him, had Rowan ever come close to writing something like this letter. The male was near-invincible – it had never even entered Fenrys’ head to be concerned about him.

But here he was, needing Fenrys’ help.

Would he answer?

Fenrys wanted to be the type of male who ran into danger, heedless of the consequences. Who came when he was called. Who always helped when asked.

But then a deeper, more personal fear joined the panic choking his throat. Maeve.

If he left without permission and without warning, she would not take it lightly. Unimaginable horrors would be waiting for him when he returned. Except, Fenrys could  actually imagine them - they had been inflicted on him already, time and time again.

The question was – did he care? What more could she do to him that she had not done already, twice over?

The freedom teased at him, tantalizing, just out of his reach. Only this time it was fear that was holding him back. His own fear. And all he wanted, all he had ever wanted, was to be fearless. To be free.

And the princess...she was at Mistward. She was in as much danger as Rowan. Perhaps if he went, he could see her again. Could save her.

Fenrys wanted to do something good, for once. To do one good thing.

With an invisible twist, Fenrys slipped out of time and space and reappeared in his brother’s rooms.

But they were empty – Connall wasn’t there.

Fenrys made to leave, to check the library, or perhaps the training fields, when something caught his eye. A familiar-looking envelope lay open on the desk, the letter inside nowhere to be seen.

A wry grin curved Fenrys’ lips as he vanished once more.

···

There was a small clearing, hidden behind a spur of rock just outside the palace grounds. It was unremarkable in every way, other than the fact that it happened to lie right at the limit of the distance the twins could jump - and was invisible to the palace sentries.

In short, it was a perfect rendezvous point.

Fenrys appeared out of nowhere, a slip of gold against the sun-warmed rock. By contrast, his brother was a shadow lounging just out of sight, easy to miss in the dappled forest.

Connall’s voice was droll. “I was starting to think that you weren’t going to show.”

Fenrys let out a snort. “Touché. I half-expected you wouldn’t be here.”

He frowned. “Me too.”

Fenrys’ own brow furrowed, the question slipping out. “Why did you decide to come?”

Connall shuffled his feet, his face dark. “It felt like…a betrayal to stay. I owe him too much to abandon him like that.”

Fenrys nodded. Connall was quiet, but he was fiercely loyal to those that were close to him. And he had always looked up to the powerful male, ever since they were in training. He wasn’t about to just stand by while his mentor was fighting for his life.

Fenrys opened his mouth to say something when the sound of an approach rippled through the nearby trees. Fenrys immediately drew his weapons, fear icing over his muscles. If Maeve had already discovered them…if Connall had lied and this was a trap…

But the crunch of leaves and brush of undergrowth spoke of something different, not a person, something else. Something familiar…

Fenrys relaxed his stance as Gavriel shouldered his way past the pine boughs and into the clearing, his lion’s coat bright in the warm sunlight. The male’s eyes were focused and intense, his warm scent filled with a wrinkled tension and fierce determination.

Without a word, Fenrys transformed into his wolf, his muscles stretching and filling with anticipation. He felt that strange ripple behind him that indicated Connall had shifted as well.

Gavriel turned and began to run, his claws ripping into the dirt, his heavy bulk pounding the earth. Fenrys shot after him, flowing into the male’s right flank even as Connall moved to his left. Together, the three of them pierced through the undergrowth, the sun warming their backs as they shot into the west.

The breath in their lungs came sharp and cold, their stomachs empty of everything but the desperate, pleading hope that they would make it in time. That they wouldn’t be too late.

···

Lorcan lifted the tankard to his lips, wincing slightly as the sour beer coated his tongue. The tavern was busier than he would’ve liked – filled to the brim with laughing, hungry people out for an evening of drink and merriment.

He’d spent the whole day running, his first after leaving the rest of his crew with the fleet on the southwestern coastline. He should be back in Doranelle within the next few days, and he was looking forwards to his return. He didn't love being away from the capital for so long. Being away from his Queen.

Usually, Lorcan would’ve kept running through the night, only stopping to catch a few hours’ sleep in some hollow or cave. But after only a few hours of travel, he’d passed a familiar scent. A trail leading north.

Vaughn was also traveling back to Doranelle, and Lorcan had caught up with him by midafternoon. The male was in desperate need of a bed, a hot meal and a drink, so Lorcan had (somewhat unwillingly) capitulated to his plan to stay at an inn for the night.

Now Vaughn was over at the bar, chatting to some human female. She’d begun their conversation with clipped answers and dour looks, but now Vaughn had her giggling away, her cheeks touched with happy red dimples.

Lorcan frowned into his drink.

For a moment, he’d considered joining him over there, to see if he could also find someone who might warm his bed tonight. But in the end, he’d decided against it. Far too tired. And too lazy.

Just then, a maid wandered over to his booth, her arms sagging under the weight of a heavily burdened tray of drinks and food. But she carried them easily, her footsteps light and nimble through the lively crowd. Obviously familiar with this type of work. Lorcan was just beginning to reconsider his earlier assertion, to see if this lithe, muscled female might be amenable to him, when the woman pulled a crumpled letter from her apron and dropped it on the table in front of him, with the words, “This just came for ya, from the evening post up from the coast. Seems like its been a long way,  searchin’ for you.” Then she turned, moving to carry her tray back to the kitchen.

Lorcan’s eyes followed her for a moment, then turned back to examine the letter. It was unmarked, which was strange. And the very fact that someone was going to such lengths to contact him, instead of waiting until he returned to Doranelle, was also strange.

Lorcan tentatively ripped open the envelope and pulled out the paper within. What he read there was astounding.

The words took a while to sink in, but when they did, Lorcan found that he was absolutely furious. That he was murderously enraged.

How dare he?

How dare Rowan ask this of him, ask this of all of them? How dare he presume to be above the word of their queen? Presume that Lorcan would betray her for him?

Mistward was under attack, and the lives of the demi-Fae there were in danger, but why in the gods' names did Rowan care? Why wasn’t he leaving them to their fate, and bringing the princess back to Doranelle?

That’s what Lorcan would’ve done. And that certainly was what their Queen would expect. What she would require.

So why, by Hellas’ scythe, was he staying? Why was he protecting them?

Lorcan couldn’t come up with a satisfactory answer. He supposed that it didn’t really matter. Rowan was staying. And he would give his life to protect those people. The demi-Fae. His people, Lorcan supposed. Even if he had spent the past four hundred years distancing himself from them.

Lorcan’s teeth clacked together, his jaw tightening. Rowan was staying, and he was asking Lorcan, and presumably the rest of the blood-sworn, to join him. Rowan knew the consequences for deserting, knew what they all would be facing for disobeying Maeve’s orders and coming to his aid. Rowan knew, and he was asking anyways.

Lorcan’s eyes narrowed. That didn’t sound like the Rowan he knew, like the Rowan he had fought and trained and worked beside these past two centuries.

That Rowan leapt at death with an indifference even Lorcan did not possess. That Rowan would’ve always made the hard choice, regardless of the consequences. This didn’t feel like that Rowan at all.

But still - this was Rowan he was talking about. The male he had relied upon for hundreds of years. The male who was probably - though Lorcan was loathe to admit it - the Fae he was closest to in all the world. Even closer to than Maeve.

And he'd laid out the facts, bare and unguarded. Mistward was weak and defenseless. They were facing a lethal army, and a battle that they would not win. All of those demi-Fae were going to die, Rowan alongside them.

Rowan was going to die. And Lorcan was fucking furious about it.

He slammed his fists into the table, pushing it out of his way, the beer spilling over onto the floor. Then Lorcan tore up the letter, got to his feet, and moved towards the bar to collect Vaughn.

···

They ran through the night, and the following day. Ran through bracken and field and marsh. And finally, through mist.

They ran until they met up with Gavriel, Connall, and Fenrys, and then they ran some more. There was no time for words, no reason for them. They had all come, and the dice would fall where they would. They would face the punishment they justly deserved without complaint.

They ran until they fell into darkness, until the forest around them went quiet. Ran until they reached the crest of a hill, and the fortress appeared below them, wrapped in darkness and chaos and power. Until they saw a lone female standing before the ward stones, the only thing keeping the castle from being overcome.

...

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...

Im so sorry for that cliffhanger! (but also not sorry at all lmao) Please let me know if you would like to be added to this taglist!

@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @booknerdproblems @queen-of-glass @westofmoon @morganofthewildfire

[msbluebell]

Happy Birthday Dimitri

Dimitri is an important character to me.

I didn’t expect him to be. Not to me, personally. When I went into the game, I expected that he wouldn’t be my favorite. I figured he’d be the tragic fallen hero, but I didn’t think he’d hit so many buttons for me.

People like fallen heroes, and I do too, but they’re not usually my favorite characters. When I picked up this game on my way home from a trip, I looked at the cover and thought, “Claude is going to be my favorite.”

But somehow, someway, this boy hit home for me.

Maybe it’s because we get to see him before he fell apart.

Well, alright, this isn’t accurate. He was never all that put together when we meet him in game. He already had a darkness in him, and he already experienced tragedy that would lead to his downfall later. We met this boy, and I didn’t think too much of him. He was the most polite, and sweet, and those were my thoughts. My first playthrough was of Black Eagles house. Now, you all know I nearly didn’t pick the game up again I disliked Black Eagles so much. But Dimitri wasn’t why. When I killed Dimitri in the game all I thought was, “What a shame. I’m sorry guy. You seemed nice enough. I’d spare you if I could.” I’m not going to lie, I felt like his anger in CF was justified even before I cared about him. But I didn’t expect the sheer depts I would come to care for him when I was playing that first route. I obviously played church route next, since for the most part I had half got through the playthrough. And in that one I wanted to help him, but couldn’t and I thought again, “Ah, what a shame. Can’t save you here either.” Except this time we got a little more. The ghost scene got to me. It showed me his guilt, and that’s when I started paying more attention to Dimitri. I had intended to save Golden Deer route for last, but after CF and SS, I thought I deserved self care, and went with Claude. Though this time I was a little regretful I’d leave Dimitri behind. Because I understood what tragedy befalls him when you don’t choose him. Because I know that this sweet boy becomes so angry, and so regretful, and I wished there was a way to save him. Claude was a great character, and I adored him, and I adored Golden Deer. It was the break I needed after CF and SS. I loved them, and I loved their themes, and I loved their energy. I was convinced that they would be my forever favorites. My only real regret was that Dimitri died again. By this time it seemed almost horrific what was going on with Dimitri, and he somehow seemed worse off in this route than the other two. He was crazy, downright insane, and somehow lost an eye. And it was a shame. Something had obviously happened to him to drive him even further over the wall, but I didn’t feel too bad, because while it was tragic what happened to him, there wasn’t anything I could do. So I decide to finish up the game, and I’m not over invested. I like it, but I don’t think it’s going to be my fandom. It’s fun, I enjoyed it. That’s it. I’ll just finish it off and move on. Then I played Blue Lions. Dimitri had no right to do this to me. He had no right to come in and hit all my personal buttons, and make me care so much. I went into Blue Lions already caring a bit about Dimitri, but I didn’t expect him to claw at my heart the way he did. There’s a tragedy to Dimitri that spoke to me more than Claude, or Edelgard, or Rhea. It was more personal, it was more rough, it attacked a raw nerve in me I thought was healed but I suppose never did quite go away. Some people have asked me why I don’t like Edelgard, considering she’s an abuse survivor and I, also, am an abuse survivor. I think, with people who ask me this, they’re looking more at what caused the need to cope rather than the coping itself. Edelgard and I have suffered more similar abuses than Dimitri and myself, though I wouldn’t say my abuse and hers are the same at all. Still, for me, I think it’s the way we deal with the aftermath of our trauma that speaks to me more than the trauma itself. I didn’t like Edelgard, because even before the twist that she was the invading force in the game, I found her abrasive, dismissive, and unintentionally cruel where she was trying to be empathetic.  I just don’t like people who are sharp, I suppose. I never have.  I think that’s ultimately why I warmed up to Dimitri so quickly. He was kind. He is kind. He is so kind, and empathetic, that I adored him right away. I warmed up to him even more quickly than Claude, who I went in wanting and expecting to  be my favorite. He’s kind, and trying to be kind. But it doesn’t always work. I’ve got something called Hyper Empathy Syndrome. It’s a think, and it’s not really federally recognized, but my therapist says it’s a good way to describe what my issues are. I empathize too much. And you wouldn’t think that was a bad thing, but it is. It causes me untold anxiety, and I hyper empathize with people to the point where it’s almost hard to get mad at them, and I keep not wanting to let them down, and I feel guilty if I say no to them and it upsets them even a little. And, overall, it’s a huge hindrance on my life. I think Dimitri may be the same. Or maybe I’m projecting on him because I see so much of myself in him. Looking at Dimitri, and the way he developed. It was like looking to a mirror at some points and getting a glimpse into the shitty person I used to be.  Now, I’m not going to pretend I went through even half the bad shit Dimitri did. His sufferings just kept piling on and on and on over the course of the game, to the point I wondered how this boy was even alive. I wasn’t at all surprised at how bad off he was in Azure Moon, but sad. Oh, he was shitty. He was terribly shitty. But I got it. Because I’ve been there. I was younger than Dimitri was when I was shitty, so I’ve got that “middle school preteen hormone changes” excuse, but I was shittty. I wasn’t as bad as he was; I’ve never murdered someone, or nearly tortured a man, or obsessed  over a death, but I was just as unpleasant to be around. I was shit, because I wasn’t dealing with myself well. I had bad coping, and I felt alone, and used, and I couldn’t stop being angry no matter how hard I tried. My head kept telling me it was my fault, and everyone around me didn’t know how to deal with me, and they kept trying to drag me out of my comfort zone. And I lashed out against everyone around me, even though I knew it wasn’t their fault, and that only made me feel more guilty and alone and like I needed to be alone. And it was all only made worse by the Hyper Empathy.  It was a cycle of self hate and misery that I put myself through, and I saw that in Dimitri. And it hit home a little harder than I could have ever predicted.  I was rooting for Dimitri because I already loved him. I love him. He means a lot to me, and as I would come to find out her personifies everything that I believe about humanity; that no matter how bad we get we can still come back. Dimitri is someone that suffered, fell from grace, brainwashed himself into suffering more, all while suffering from a mental illness, and was still able to come back with some help and a whole lot of work and self reflection.  Dimitri is someone that was surrounded by loved ones who wanted to help him but mostly didn’t know how to, people who supported him, but it wasn’t enough. He had to pull himself out, with support. and it wasn’t easy. Hell, it wasn’t easy to support him either. There was a point where he got so low I legitimately thought there would be no going back for him. I almost gave up. But I didn’t want to, and I didn’t, and it’s because despite it all I still loved who he was and wanted him to get better. And he did. And I guess that gave me hope. I guess it made me hopeful that if he could get better from all that, then maybe it wasn’t impossible for other bad people to get better. It made me happy. It made me appreciate him. It made me thankful. Dimitri gave me hope that people could be better than they were, and I’ll forever be thankful for that. It’s actually not all that often a character affects me this much. And maybe it seems dumb to others that a fictional character could affect my life so much, but then again, no one has a right to judge me for where I find hope. Dimitri isn’t just a character I liked, he’s a character that gave me hope. He’s a character that came back from that bad place. He’s a character that basically looked at me and said, “You can come back from this.” And I’m trying so hard to be better.  Dimitri and I have a lot of the same issue. The guilt, the self hate, the blame, other things. And he still has people that love him, people that don’t give up on him. And, yeah, them being there isn’t always helpful, heck, in some case it makes his issues worse. But they’re there for when he comes back, and they help him, and that gives me more hope too. But nothing gives me more hope than the fact that he came back. And when he came back, he worked to be better. And he forgave. And I feel like that makes him so much stronger than me. Because I don’t think I could have forgave to the same level that he had. I couldn’t look the woman I thought ruined my life in the eye and forgive her. I don’t think I could face a man who did ruin my life in the eye after he told me he’d do it again in the name of justice. I couldn’t forgive to Dimitri’s level. He’s come a long way, Dimitri, and I am so proud of him. Happy Birthday Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, thank you for showing me I can be better.

[candlelight27]

The Golden Deer And The Alabaster Doe

Summary:  After the war, everyone changed, including Marianne, who is trying to find her happy ever after. This leads her to visit Claude in Almyra, where he's been for years.

Warnings: Explicit sex - quite tame and vanilla though, friends to lovers, post timeskip, SMUT, Fluff.

Pairings: Marianne von Edmund/Claude von Riegan

Word Count: 4361

AO3: The Golden Deer And The Alabaster Doe

A/N: I’m working on the Sylvain series but needed to get this out of my chest. Claude is my best boy after all... welp, hope you enjoy it anyways <3

Marianne arrived at night, when the sky of the desert is filled with stars and the cold makes its way to you bones.

Her camel stopped at the big doors of stone, where two guards let her enter the city. The place, so different from her homeland, was in complete silence. There were a few torches lighting their way to the palace.

Marianne felt a familiar thrill in her heart, one she hadn’t felt in a long time. Ever since the war ended – the last time she had seen Claude. She recalled the sweet but distant memories of Garreg Mach, how Claude tried his best to understand her, to observe her, how she had convinced her to pursue what she wanted, even if she felt undeserving. The Almyran was so persuasive she almost confessed her love to him. Yet that bliss was cut short when war broke out and the death and duty was all she had time to think of. In that moment, all they could have been together was plucked out of her.

It seemed like a lifetime had passed by. She had matured, no longer as tortured as her younger self, and she had learnt to make herself useful next to Margrave Edmund. In fact, her adoptive father harboured the hope that she would inherit his lands at his passing. That understanding between father and daughter was what made Marianne take a chance, a step against all she had done when she felt undeserving of living.

This was the first time Marianne had done something remotely selfish. She asked her father for permission to travel to Almyra, and he accepted without objection. Then, she wrote a letter to Claude. She spent hours that night writing and crumpling papers. Too cold, too intrusive, too improper, too needy – nothing was good enough. In the morning, feeling more like herself, she wrote the first thing that came to her mind and sent it.

And a few weeks later Claude sent back a letter welcoming to his home in Almyra, right where she was headed.

The closer they were to the palace, the more nervous she was. Lost in thoughts about protocols and rules, memories and hopes for the future, almost without realising where she was, the small procession arrived and entered the enormous building.

The entrance hall left her in awe. It was as big as Garreg Mach’s had been but decorated with infinitely more opulence. From the ceiling hung silks made in confines of the East, while the lamps had been made with the finest gold and silver from Faerghus, surely a kind present from the actual King, Dimitri. Marianne walked along a rug whose intricate pattern was coloured yellow and green. She scanned the place, looking for someone among the emptiness. On the other edge of the stay, just opposite to where she was looking at, a shadow was moving in the darkness. She turned her head to the sound.

“You can go back to you posts. Thank you for escorting our guest.” The rich voice reverberated throughout the stay. Marianne couldn’t supress the smile that crept to her lips when she recognized the person who had come to greet her.

Claude stepped into the light, the fire of the candles and lamps kissing his tanned skin and colouring his eyes of amber. Her pulse shot up.

He was just as handsome as Marianne remembered him. His clever eyes were tired, yet they carried the glint of a man filled with content. After all, Almyra’s relationship with Fódland had never been better than at the current time, and house Goneril was favouring a long-lasting peace by the hands of Hilda. She felt a pang of jealousy noticing they must have seen each other frequently.

“The servants are in bed. I hope you don’t mind that only your old friend is here to welcome you”, started Claude at ease, as if he had seen her the previous day and not many years ago.

“I actually prefer it that way,” she answered sweetly. Claude approached her with slow and deliberate steps. Discreetly, he observed her and captured her featured with his pupils.

“May I take you to your room?”, he asked, offering his hand for her to take it. She nodded and accepted. The Almyran man linked his arm to hers to guide her across the mosaic of corridors and doors.

For the first time in forever, Claude was nervous – and after a hundred of meetings with a lot of older men and women who belittled him, he had forgotten the feel. Marianne was more beautiful than he remembered. In their academy days, she used to be like a fawn walking through life wobbly and unsure, tender, innocent, scared, a prey. Yet now, the animal he’d use to describe her would be doe. She was graceful and majestic. If he didn’t know better, Claude would think he was before none other than the queen of Fódland – which would had been a shame, because it would mean Dimitri was her husband. Still, all the differences Claude spotted hadn’t change her core at all. She had that caring air, that serenity she always had. And she had a brightness he couldn’t decipher.

The first surprise Marianne gave him was the she was the one to start the a conversation.

He had been convinced he’d have to make an effort to ease her and make her comfortable in order to coat any monosyllable out of her. He had been ready, he prepared questions, pieces of news. But the soon-to-be heir of Mangrave Edmund spoke first.

“How have you been, Claude? We haven’t seen each other in… ages. We have to catch up.”

Marianne even looked at him in the eye, totally disarming him. Not that she could notice, because he knew how to compose himself in a matter of seconds. Some things never change, and Claude would never reveal his cards so soon. Yet, he had to admit, it was truly amusing.

“Frankly, I’ve been busy. So busy.” Claude sighed. “Working on a political alliance with Fódland wasn’t easy and keeping a durable peace while pleasing every part is turning out to be a complete challenge. I’m not complaining, things are going great and according to plan… but it’s like I don’t have time to myself anymore.”

“It’s comprehensible you feel that way, Claude”, Marianne said, with a certainty in her tone he had never heard. It did soothe him. “You are pouring you heart on your mission. You are dedicating your life to your people. I know it’s hard, but it’s what make you a good king.”

“You seem to be informed of my affairs,” Claude tried her, testing the waters.

“I am.” Her simple reply didn’t leave him much to use.

“Did you miss me that much?”

“Me? I…” Marianne doubted what she could say. But the new self she found within her relied on sincerity and worried little about the aftermath when she didn’t have anything to lose. “Yes, Claude. I missed you.” She let out a giggle out of nervousness, ringing bells for Claude. “I can’t lie, I was quite bored when you disappeared off to Almyra.”

“The call of duty”, he shrugged. “Had I known that… and I would have visited.”

After what felt like an eternity walking – and conversing –, Claude stopped before a dark wooden door.

“This is your room,” he stated.

The former Golden Deer leader was ready to call it a day and go to bed. He was indeed tired. A part of him wanted his lovely visitor to beg him to stay, to chat a bit more, mirroring his own wishes, but Marianne had never been that kind of person. But what if? He didn’t walk away, he just stood still, as if something was telling him Marianne only needed a little push to do the second thing remotely selfish she had ever done in her life.

“Are you busy tomorrow?”, she murmured the question tentatively.

“Actually, no. I took some days off meetings to attend a very special guest that was coming from Fódland”, he smiled.

“Then why don’t you stay a little while? I’d love to talk to you a little bit more. It feels like the old days.”

She curled her toes in her shoes, anxious. But of course, he wasn’t going to deny her. Her hunch about Claude was correct. So, he muttered a confident ‘sure’, hiding his surprise, and opened the door for her. She slid past Claude and took in her new stay for the next few months.

She marvelled at the beauty and exquisiteness of the decoration. Every little detail, like the flowers, similar to the ones she had in her room at Garreg Mach, like the small statue of the goddess, like some books beautifully bounded and regarding Fódland’s matters, all those details suggested Claude had personally made all the arrangements to make her feel at home. And it made her heart throb. A teapot caught her eye, as its scent reached her.

“Is that lavender tea?”, she asked, eyes wide.

“Yes, it is.” Claude’s back was facing Marianne and he composed a satisfied smile at her surprise.

“How did you know it was my favourite?”

“I have my ways.” Claude realized in that moment that he loved the sound of her voice when she was pleased, and he hadn’t heard it before. It made him want to fulfil her every wish right there and then. “Go on, help yourself.”

Marianne poured two cups of tea. The Almyran took a seat in a mahogany chair, its legs sculpted like the claws of a lion, and took the warm cups in his hands.

Marianne couldn’t help but stare at him. He was no longer the Claude she remembered, not quite the same. He was a grown man, shaped by a war and the power of a king. His shoulders were broad and strong, and the muscles of his arms, hardened by the use of his bow, couldn’t be hidden by his loose clothes. The cheeks of the young girl from Fódland turned crimson. When did her thoughts shelter lechery? But she forgot all her modesty as her eyes reached his shaped jaw, angles covered with facial hair styled in the fashion of his land. His irises instantly captivated her, watching her every move. They looked like they were made from seawater. He had the kindest gaze she had ever seen in a man of his position, and that could never change.

“I have to be honest here,” Claude started, putting the cup away, “but your letter a month ago stating that you were coming was the last thing I was expecting.” He laughed, a perfect song to Marianne’s ears. “I thought I’d never see you again. Or that I’d have to go there by myself to finally see you… any of the Golden Deer, I mean. I’ve been meaning to send you a letter… or something. But I never found the time.”

“Don’t worry. I’m here, after all,” she tried to soothe him, sipping her tea. He opened his mouth, then closed it as if he regretted even thinking what he wanted to say.

“I can’t believe I choose to be a coward now of all times.” He shook his head from side to side.

“You are not a coward, Claude. In the name of the Goddess, what are you talking about?”

“Yes, yes. You are right. I haven’t said anything.” Claude smiled, but he was hiding something, and it twinkled in his eyes, trying to get out. He tried to lighten up the mood distracting her attention. “Are you married?”

“No!” Marianne blushed, then giggled, as if it was the oddest question in the world.

“But you must have thousands of proposals.”

“I’ve had a few.” She ignored his comment, and the question in her heart of he’d propose to her given the right circumstances. “But father… I mean Margrave Edmund said he wanted me to decide. I rejected them because I didn’t know them.”

“Quite the peculiar Margrave, not after benefits, but her daughter’s happiness,” Claude pointed out.

“And you?”, asked Marianne, her eyes round with curiosity. “Are you married?”

“Wouldn’t have you heard about it if I were?”, he laughed again, yet then a bitter tongue coated his tongue. “No, of course not. Although… people are pestering me. You know, a king must have babies and wives – well, one at least. Ever since Dimitri’s wedding with Byleth, it’s been a nonstop pressure to find someone.”

Marianne put her teacup away and took Claude’s hands in hers. She would have wanted to hug him and press him against her chest, to tell him that everything was going to be fine. It was obvious that the man was affected by the situation. Yet the only thing she could do was showing compassion with that small touch. Still, her pale hands comforted him immensely.

“You’ll find love when you least expect it. Don’t listen to them. And don’t let it concern you that much.”

“Finding love isn’t really what’s concerning me,” he ended up confessing at last. Marianne doubted if she should press him to continue, but curiosity got the best of her.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s… the person I love might not love me back. I don’t deserve her.” Marianne furrowed her brows. She was about to talk, but Claude cut her right before she did. “And even if that worked… I don’t think she’d be happy to leave all she has behind in order to be with me. It’s not that easy, Marianne.”

“You are reminding me of when I was young.” She tilted her head to the side. “Why don’t you begin at the beginning?”

“And that is?”

“Confessing your love”, she said as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I told you I become a coward when the most important decisions ought to be made. I wouldn’t… even if she was… right in front of me right now.”

Marianne then committed another act that surprised herself. It wasn’t exactly selfish, but it was definitely something she wouldn’t have dared to think about some years ago. She was completely sure Claude was talking about her. His glance was declaring his love for her out loud. The way he looked and melted at her touch was revealing the truth behind his secrecy.

Before performing any action, she thought of the consequences. Should she be wrong, would he be mad? Probably not. And if he was, what was the worst that could happen? She’d have to leave Almyra eventually and she’d never hear of him again. But it was probably the exact same thing that would be happening if she didn’t do anything.

She was feeling self-conscious. Her legs were shaking. She couldn’t even breathe. But she didn’t let any of those impediments deter her. She had decided she was going to be the master of her fate, so she would take the chance.

Slowly, Marianne leant in, her eyes closed. The silent of the night wrapped around them. And then, when she finally reached his lips, she kissed him.

Claude stayed still, which she considered a small victory. Her rosy lips were unbelievably tender on his own. He could have sworn time had stopped right away. How could someone so precious as her want him? He didn’t have the answer. He was handsome, but he was sure that was not the only feature a girl like Marianne would be looking for. But he was one to seize his opportunities, so he kissed her back and let his eyelids fall.

The kiss soon turned desperate. Claude placed his hands on the back of her head as he caressed her blue locks, and Marianne just melted in his touch. And a kiss became two, three, and many more. They were tentative, indecisive; they were trying to figure out what the other wanted, neither of them believing what was happening. Between breathy moans, the Almyran dared to use his tongue to seek hers. He’d swear he could spend the rest of his life like that.

“Claude…”, Marianne murmured with her sweet voice.

“What are we doing, Marianne?”, asked Claude, assaulted by his uncertainty.

“Whatever you want,” she smiled, “whatever we want.” The were so close, their nose were almost touching.

“I… Do you love me?” Claude felt so vulnerable he wanted to cry. But he needed to know.

“With all my heart, Claude. I love you.”

Claude then stood up. In a manner as delicate as a rose petal, he undid Marianne’s updo. Her silky, periwinkle hair fell down her back and shoulders like a waterfall. His hands took her cheeks and dove in to kiss her once again.

She fell back on the soft mattress slowly. During the few seconds they stayed apart, his dexterous fingers loosened all the bows, knots and buttons holding her dress together. One of his digits drew a line from her jaw to her clavicle, paying special attention to her neck. Marianne felt how her nipples got hard against the fabric of her clothes.

His next movement was taking off the loose white shirt he was wearing. The gaze of Marianne, his old friend – and now, lover –, was intense, like the one a hungry beast would display. Her pupils were completely black and taken by desire. Marianne herself discarded her dress, too impatient to wait. Her heart was thriving, and she had never felt more alive. She rose to her knees, letting Claude take a good look at her.

Claude thought she was breath-taking. He couldn’t fix his gaze anywhere else. She reminded him of the white marble statues of the goddess he could find around Fódland, with the difference that Marianne could be someone whom he could give his devotion. Her pale skin was practically glowing under the candlelight. Where could he start? One night was not enough to put into practice all the ideas that were crossing his mind.

“Can I touch you?”, was the only thing that he managed to vocalize.

“Please.”

He grabbed one of her tempting breasts, kneading it while he left a trail of kisses that led to the other. Marianne trembled and whined, too overwhelmed to understand all those sensations yet willing to indulge and pursue those pleasures.

Claude licked his lover’s perk nipple. She gripped his dark locks of hair, then moved to scratch his back. Claude felt his leather pants were too tight when his bulge started growing at every scratch Marianne gave him. Still, he didn’t stop and grew even bolder placing his wide hand upon the apex of her thighs.

“You like what I’m doing, don’t you?”, he smirked to himself. “You’re already pretty wet.”

“Not playing shy anymore?”, she answered, with that unprecedented confidence Claude was starting to love.

“I’ve got better things to play with”, said Claude, and as a reward he gained a laugh of her fair mouth.

As he slid a finger into her wetness, she took his face with both hands to plant a hot kiss on his lips. He responded eagerly, offering his tongue, and putting in a second one without any resistance. Marianne welcomed the addition vocally. There was fire in her veins, and bolts of delight went all over her body.

The more adventurous his movements were, the more her hunger grew. Claude was making her feel things she had never felt, yet something within her wanted more. And she wasn’t dumb, she knew Claude was starting to get uncomfortable under his pants.

“Why don’t you take your pants off?”, her voice was the perfect mixture between suggestiveness and purity. She was going to drive him crazy.

“My sweet Marianne, I’ll gladly comply your orders.”

“Is the king tired of commanding other people?”, the tease rolled out of her mouth effortlessly.

“Perhaps.”

“My poor king.” Oh, what Claude would give to hear Marianne saying that while he made love to her.

When he undid his belt and buttons, Marianne kept provoking him. She scratched the skin under his navel with her sharp nails. Claude inhaled loudly. He might have never been this turned on in his life.

“Are you sure this is what you want? There’s no going back once we do this.”

“There is no going back since you crossed the doorstep, Claude,” she said as she guided him to the bed. He threw his pants on the floor.

“How could have you changed so much?” He stuttered. “It’s not that I don’t like it. Or, well, it’s not that you changed entirely. But-” Marianne stopped his rambling.

“I’m merely making the decisions that will make me happy.”

“This might not have a happy ending”, he pointed out.

“If that happens, at least we’ll have something to remember.” She made a pained face but gained her smiled back rapidly. “And right now, I feel beyond happy.”

“You… you are right. Let’s indulge.”

Claude now stood proud and naked. She admired his erection, because it was the first time she saw one in that situation. Claude laughed at her wide eyes, and gleefully Marianne led him on top of her. Claude kissed her once more – and if it had been up to him, he’d kissed her until the end of time – and she noticed his hard member pressing against her thighs.

Having his body caging her and taking in his warmth made her head go dizzy. For Claude, on the other hand, it was as if a spell had been suddenly broken. The contrast of her alabaster frame and his skin of sun and desert, his hardness and her softness, it was as if someone had made her just for him. He felt greedy, but overall, he felt whole.

“Go on,” she mumbled. “I need you inside of me.”

Claude entered her in a slow rhythm to be able to watch her face. He wanted to make sure there wasn’t any pain, and so far, her face only had shown pleasure. The Almyran felt overwhelmed sunk in her essence, but it didn’t distract him. Her expressions were precious to him, and he wanted to see every detail.

“Does it feel good?”, he asked concerned.

“Yes… it feels different from your fingers.”

“Good different…?” He stopped.

“Too good. Don’t- Keep going, my king.”

His member twitched. He laughed to mask the aphrodisiac that name was to him, and then he started thrusting. Once more, he was being careful, but it wasn’t as easy as before. He was constant, but it was difficult to keep a pace.

“I love this, Claude. My king.”

Marianne was completely lost in the moment. She accustomed herself to his manhood quickly and waggled her hips to chase the close promise of her orgasm. The hot pleasure was constant, as if Claude was her other half and they just clicked perfectly. They were so close that all his body rubbed against her, and it was doing indescribable things to her.

Just like their conversations used to be, she was timid but concise and clear, while Claude was an organized mess of passion. Marianne couldn’t contain herself and roamed his back with her nails. She was beginning in the devotion of the flesh, but she was sure she just needed a little push to come.

“You are screaming, Marianne.”

“Does it matter?” She had been so absorbed, she had neglected on keeping it quiet. But she didn’t want to get him into trouble.

“No, who’s going to scold us, anyways? Besides, I adore the way you call me.”

He pushed himself firmly, over and over. He heard the echo of his name and almost lost his mind. Abruptly he grasped her thigh and lifted it, allowing his bulge to dive in deeper. He squeezed her flesh, leaving red marks where his fingers were, making Marianne go wilder.

“Please, Claude, make me come.”

He didn’t need any more cues, and he kept going, trying angles, pinching everything he could reach, kissing and biting her neck, until Marianne’s eyes were blurry. She tried to keep up, making her hips meet his when she could, but when she felt the rush of her peak, she let herself go. The repetitive clench of her wetness was enough to make Claude come too. Still, he had enough sense in him to take himself out and finish on her stomach.

A couple of seconds later, when Claude caught his breath, he reached for a cloth and dutifully cleaned her. She was gasping in the afterglow but looking sharply every move Claude made. He kissed her shoulder.

“We have things to talk about,” Claude began. “I love you, Marianne.”

“I love you too, Claude, but everything you want to ask me can wait until morning.” She extended one of her lover’s arms, using it to rest her head, and placed the other around her waist, so he was hugging her form. “But something tells me you already know the answers.”

“I’m worried about how we are going to make it work,” he confessed. He was surprised at her calmness, but if he was being honest, it was appeasing him.

“We’ll come up with something as long as we don’t give up. And I don’t intend to give you up.” She turned her head and looked him in the eyes. “I don’t want this to be a beautiful memory to hang on the wall of memories. I want to be on your side forever.”

“What about Mangrave Edmund?”, he asked.

“Claude, don’t anticipate problems we might not encounter.” She composed a smile, her eyes closed halfway. She was captivating him. “Do you want this to be a thing of one night?”

“No! No. Marianne I want to marry you. Who knows for how long I’ve wanted. I’m just… Since the war ended and took so much from us, I’m scared of losing any happiness. Of losing you.” He kissed her cheek. “Okay, I’ll trust you on this, since you seem so sure. Just, don’t disappear, please.”

“Try to sleep, Claude. I’m here.”

Claude closed his eyes and he fell asleep as he hadn’t in years.