#ill @ the mods ehen i can fix the post

[dreamiguess]

Day 3: Wedding

Day 3 of @fundyfiles FWT week

apologies for length and formatting. Wrote this one in my phone's notes app, day 2 is locked in my computer and will hopefully posted soon.

On AO3: 

They don't get married in a church or a banquet hall, or even the chambers of a town clerk. They have no rings or ring bearers, no officiant nor witness. No friends to lead toasts, no father to say <em> I'm proud</em>

They get married in woods untouched by pain and it's enough, enough to have whispered promises kept secret by the wind.

Fundy wakes at the creaking of the west window. His pulse beats steady, from an easing of fear rather than gain. He doesn't open his eyes to see what his heart already knows. They can create an image from sound alone, the ring of iron an axe learned against the wall and a thud of a shield next to it. Arrows, too, but much softer, and the rustle of clothing removed and hitting the floor. There's a worrying lack of a bow. It can't have taken more than two minutes but it feels like eons, the beats between each approaching footstep a century. The ache is overpowered by the steady beat of safe, safe, safe.

Neither pretend he's asleep when Dream climbs into bed next to him. His skin is cold to the tough, and his hair is wet when he burries his head into Fundy's chest. No amount of time or care bathing in the river could erase the scent of blood from his clothes, though, wafting from the corner to his unnaturally sensitive nose. It was a kind gesture, though, even if it only saved his sheets and not his mind.

Tucked under Fundy's chin and curled into his warmth, his love begins to shake. It was a bad one, then. They all were, he supposed, just some worse than others. The clock had already started ticking before the next. It could wait, wait for him to run his hands over chilled skin and purr into blonde hair until they both could sleep or till the sun rose, however long it took.

Dream wakes up quickly. He has to, has perfected the art of keeping his eyes closed and breathing slow until the coast was clear, or at least until he could claim the element of surprise. This morning is kind. Gentle fingers trace across his back and somewhere in the distance, the hens and sheep begin to start their busy days. With his nose pressed to Fundy's collarbone, it's like home has flooded his senses and settled into his bones.

He leans back enough to look at Fundy for the first time in weeks, beyond the silhouettes of last night's moon. The sunrise through the east window lights his red hair aflame. A grin stretches across his face, sleepy and unhurried. Like they have all the time in the world.

"I'll pick m' stuff up," he slurs, voice still raspy from sleep. He nuzzles back into the pillow. "Too tired last night."

"That's not what matters," Fundy replies, bumping their foreheads. "You could take your weapons into bed and I wouldn't care, as long as you came back in the first place."

Dream smiles at that and cracks an eye open. The pillow makes his vision fuzzy, but it's enough eye contact to get his message across.

"You'd mind."

"Okay, maybe. But still not the point." Fundy leverages the hand at his back to pull him closer, tucking his chin over dream's head in an image of the night before. Silence settles over them. It's a conversation they've had before, more or less. A tennis match of "you don't have to wait for me" and "I wouldn't know how not to," of "I'm sorry" and "for what?". Of Dream not deserving this love and Fundy giving it willingly. It always ends the same so they don't bother to have it out loud, and Dream have never been strong enough a man to do the right thing and leave.

"Breakfast?" He offers into Fundy's throat. It's been a while since he's gotten to cook for his partner. It's been a while since he's cooked for himself for that matter, besides smoking meats along the trail.

"Marry me?" Fundy responds. Dream laughs at that and finally rolls over, planting his feet on the ground and pulling his torso over his legs.

"No, I mean it." Dream freezes. Turns back towards Fundy to find him sitting on his heels and eyes wild. He waits but Dream can't find any words, and until he apparently can't wait any longer. The bed shifts when he scampers off the edge and circles around to kneel between dream's legs.

"Marry me." Fundy cradles his hands, runs the pads of his fingers over every scar and callous. He holds them like their something precious, not something worn and stained red. His eyes broadcast every emotion hiding within, and they hurt to look at. Dream looks at their hands instead and takes a shaky breath.

"I can't promise to be something permanent."

"You don't have to." Fundy wipes below his eye. He hadn't realized he was crying.

"You just have to promise to be mine."

They get married in the tradition of the Old Gods. It's only right for Dream to, and it's not like Fundy has any love for Prime anymore. They spend the week scavenging and waiting for the full moon. With only suspicions to rise and no coin to spend, they make the best of it they can. He picks daisies and black eyed susans and forget me nots, the flowers that grow wild in lieu of florists, and Dream dyes bow string in green and brown. They don't own enough white between them to look anything near proper, but Fundy puts on his only dress shirt and weaves a crown of clover flowers.

Dream shakes his head when he sees it, but ducks his head for Fundy to adorn him and kisses his cheek in a silent thank you. It's important, whether Dream makes a fuss or not, and it's the only white for a man who's been forced into forest colors for years.

They sneak to a clearing when the day arrives, hand in hand and giggling like children. Even though the trees provide ample privacy they don't dare to light a full circle of candles or leave a mark that could be traced. Four are enough to light them, and their flowers will fade soon enough.

Fundy's fingers feel clumsy wrapping the cord around his wrist, but his embarrassment turns to laughter as they figure out how to pull ends through loops for each other with their nondominant hands, a task clearly meant for a third party.

They have no high priestess to lead their ceremony, so Dream whispers the words instead. His voice is steady until the end, finally cracking as he finishes their vow.

"For as long as our love may last, so may it be."

"For as long as our love may last," he repeats, "so may it be." It's a bittersweet promise. Even now when his heart could not be more full, there's a reminder of their inevitable end. The modern script would have fit them better perhaps: till death do us part.

With a gentle tug their hands are free and their ropes are left in a neat knot. Dream pushes it into his hand and seals his first with his long fingers. And then he leans in, for a ritual Fundy knows the words to as well, kisses him desperately until they can't breathe.

Soon they'll blow out the candles and sweep their flowers out of place. Soon the horns will announce the next hunt, and dream's ichor will stain the forest floor instead of cheap wax. Soon.