Mx._f1shz

"He's so precious," Your mother coos at the baby resting on Tarasha's lap. The other woman laughs, snuggling the boy closer to her chest.

"He is. Truly, a little miracle."

You don't think he can really be called that, not with how massive he was. He was practically your size, and he was still a baby! Normal babies didn't come that big- though, to be fair, normal babies also didn't fall from the sky, so it was pretty safe to assume he was anything but average.

You poke his round cheek.

"He's kinda fat," You say, unable to help yourself. Your mother says your name in a scolding tone, but Tarasha just laughs.

"It's just proof that he's been well looked after," She says, warm and patient and kind.

"Have you named him yet?" Your mother asks before you can say anything else rude.

"We're considering Roboute."

"That's a good name. Strong. It will suit him very well."

"I agree."

You roll the name around in your head, repeating it in your brain over and over.

Roboute. Roboute. Row-boot-ay.

"Boots…"

Both women are looking at you. You hadn't meant to say it out loud, but you were still learning to filter your words.

"That's what I'm gonna call him," You declare bravely. "Boots."

Your mother sighs, pressing her palm into her forehead in exasperation, while Tarasha laughs again.

"You're just filled with surprises, aren't you?" She asks between giggles. You nod, maybe a little too proud of that, though you aren't sure why it would be a bad thing.

You reach for the baby, taking his hand in one of yours. He babbles at you, not quite able to talk as good as you yet.

"I think he likes it," You say. Little Roboute's fingers close around yours, his grip firm. He babbles again, clearly agreeing with you.

…………………………………………

"Boots!"

His head turns, eyes finding you leaning through his window, grinning ear to ear.

"You're back."

"Mmhm!"

You climb the rest of the way through, yelping when your foot catches the bottom, causing you to fall flat on your face. He helps you stand back up, letting you hold onto his hands far longer than anyone else was allowed. He wasn't a fan of being touched, but he didn't mind so much if it was you.

"Did you miss me?" You tease.

"Of course," He's honest as ever, making you laugh.

You drop his hands and slip around him, nosing through his room like always. You've poked through his things over and over, and yet somehow always find something new to interest you. Today, it was one of the puzzle toys he liked to fidget with when he was thinking.

You pluck it off his desk and flop onto his bed like you belonged there.

"How did it go?" He waits patiently for you to scoot over so he can lay next to you, staring up at the ceiling and watching you through his periphery.

"Boring. I spent the whole time sitting with my cousin and listening to her talk about her lessons. Did you know I'm supposed to be learning flower arrangements?"

"I did. Mam gets upset because you skip all the time."

"I'm just not made to be a lady."

"I disagree, I think you'd do fine if you just put some effort into it."

He earns himself a smack for that, the back of your hand hitting his chest. It doesn't hurt- you aren't exactly trying to do that- but it's one of many signs he should rethink his words.

"Perhaps if you attended your lessons properly, you would be allowed to join me sometime," He says. You hum, twisting the puzzle to match some colors together.

"I think that would be more up to Konor, than Tarasha," You say.

"True, but I doubt he would deny the request. He has often said that your presence makes me more honest, though I'm unsure exactly what he means."

"He means that you actually have to work for stuff when I'm around. Probably because I'll beat you up otherwise."

He chuckles, turning his head to look at you properly. You're focused entirely on the toy, eyebrows furrowed together as you work out your next move.

"Only because I wouldn't fight back."

"Yeah, cause you're a wimp."

"Pft-" He turns his head away to laugh. "Only when you're involved. Mam would be angry if you got hurt because of me."

You roll onto your side, facing him, abandoning the toy between the two of you. He mimics your action, rolling over as well. You prop yourself up on your elbow, resting your face in your hand.

"Let's go do something fun."

"Right now?"

"Right now."

He frowns, reaching to poke you gently on the nose, holding his finger there.

"We'll get in trouble."

You swat him away. He lets you.

"Only if we get caught."

"We will absolutely get caught."

You groan, flopping back onto your back and retrieving the toy, face scrunched in annoyance as you go back to fiddling with it. He stays where he is, just watching for a moment.

"I will ask Konor and Tarasha if I can take the day off tomorrow," He offers. "Then you and I can do whatever you want."

"You need to learn to be a little more spontaneous, Boots."

"You tell me that often."

"Boy, I wonder why."

He takes the toy from you and rolls again onto his back, solving it quickly then dropping it to the ground. It clatters, but he knows it's solid enough to not break that easily. Things for him had to be made with extra care, considering his rapidly growing strength. He sighs at your deeply unimpressed glare.

"What do you want to do?"

-

Tarasha sighs softly at the sight of the empty room. The candles are still lit, and the curtains flow in the evening breeze.

Setting Roboute's dinner on his desk, she moves to pick up the abandoned toy sitting on the floor by his bed and straighten the blankets. He left in a hurry, it seems, no doubt dragged all too willingly away to whatever adventure had been decided upon. Walking to the window, she gazes out into the night in a vain attempt to find her son and his partner in sneaking-out crime, finding neither in the dim light from lit torches. The two of you would be back by morning at the latest. Midnight, if Roboute got his way.

A smile touches her lips.

"Morning, then," She hums to herself. "I suppose I should tell the kitchen to prepare for an extra mouth to feed come breakfast time."

She collects the dinner plate, knowing well enough that it was a waste to leave it here as the boy it was meant for was not likely to be back to eat it any time soon, and exits the room.

…………………………………………

You can hear the ringing of swords as they clash together across the yard, and when you look, you can see Roboute definitely winning his sparring match by a landslide. But his opponent would not give up until the young lord had him flat on his ass. That was the rule, and Roboute loved his rules.

"Are you paying attention?" Tarasha asks, amused. Her voice makes you jump, head snapping around to look at her, spine straightening.

"Yes, ma'am."

"What did I just say?"

Shit.

"Um…"

She laughs and shakes her head. She never gets genuinely mad at you, which always makes you feel a little bad. But you're the closest thing to a daughter she has, and she adores you as if she were your mother…even if you already had one.

"I'm sorry…" You mumble.

"It's alright. Etiquette has never been your favorite, but it's important to know especially as you're getting older. As a noblewoman you're expected to know these things."

This is a familiar lecture- she gives it to you often. Your own mother has long since given up with you, but Tarasha refuses to. You don't really get why.

"You'll be getting engaged and married before you know it, you don't want to be in a position where you're having to take all these lessons while also trying to maintain your household."

Ugh. Marriage. You had no real interest in the concept, but you still haven't figured out a good way to avoid it without explaining your…issue. Only Roboute knew, and he'd sworn never to tell anyone without your go-ahead. So you were usually stuck with simply responding:

"I don't want to get married, though."

Tarasha sighs.

"I know. I didn't want to get married when I was your age either, but that will change."

You press your lips tightly together, forcing yourself not to respond verbally, and give a stiff nod. She sighs again, and casts a glance out towards the yard. You hesitate a moment before following her gaze.

Roboute was helping his sparring partner back to his feet with a smile. He'd gotten taller again, seemingly overnight. He'd been bigger than you for a while now, but he'd begun to tower over the adults, too, recently. Part of you wondered if the growing would ever stop, or if he'd eventually be able to touch the stars and pull them from the sky. He promised you the moon, once- mostly as a joke after a birthday gone sour- but you're starting to think he'll actually be able to give it to you one day.

"Go on," Tarasha says, waving you away. "You can be finished for the day."

You breathe out a quick thanks, and all but throw yourself over the railing and into the grass, gathering your skirts so you can run to your friend. He turns, reaching to grab you by the biceps before you can tackle him. Konor starts laughing from where he's been observing the sparring matches like he always does.

"Have your lessons finished already?" The man asks. You nod at him, fingers holding onto Roboute's forearms. "My son still has some time before he can run off with you for the day."

"That's alright, I can wait."

"That sounds dangerous," Roboute says. "Waiting means you have time to think."

"You say that like I don't think normally."

"Do you?"

"… give me a sword. I'm gonna beat his ass."

Konor laughs so hard he nearly topples over.

…………………………………………

The door comes down easy under his foot, all but shattering with the force he puts into breaking it. But he would not- could not- be stopped in his quest. His home was in disarray, his father lay dead, and he can't find you anywhere.

He curses himself for not just allowing you to come with him to Illyrium when you'd asked. At least then he would know you were alright, would know you weren't hurt and scared on your own somewhere he couldn't get to you because someone decided to attempt a coup in his absence.

You weren't here either. He was running out of places to look- the palace was only so large, and he'd already been through your actual home. Time was short- he had to find you, had to make sure you were unharmed. He'd promised you he'd never let you get hurt again. Not after-

A crash, a bang, an all-too familiar shriek.

He follows the noise, barreling into the next room to finally finally find you. Your whole body is shaking, blood splattered across your torn clothing and soaking your hands, as well as the piece of broken chair you'd clearly been using as a club to defend yourself with. A man lies unmoving on the ground, his head split open.

It's easy to guess what happened.

He calls your name, watching your whole body flinch, wild eyes finding him and for a split second, not recognizing him in your panic. You raise the improvised weapon, ready to swing it at him, but he's quick to raise his hands in surrender, speaking quietly.

"It's only me."

"Oh…" You breathe, every muscle relaxing. "Roboute…"

He catches you before you can crumple completely, pulling you back up to your feet and kneeling so he could hold you against himself more comfortably. You throw your arms around his neck, fingers digging into the fabric of his clothes. He can feel your tears, but knows better than to mention them.

"You're late," You mumble into his shoulder.

"I am. Forgive me."

"No, I won't."

"Good."

He holds you a little tighter. You weren't one to scare easily, but this must have been terrifying after you'd lived such a comfortable life. This wasn't the worst thing to ever happen to you- that was reserved to being the worst thing to happen to both of you- but this was likely a close second.

You'd taken a life with your own hands- you'd never had to do that before. You'd trained with him because it was fun, not because you ever expected to actually need the skills. That's what he was always here for, he and all the soldiers he commanded. You were never meant to be put in this position. He didn't deserve to be forgiven for letting you fall into it.

He stands, lifting you into his arms easily.

"Let's go. I'm going to put an end to this now."

…………………………………………

The room is quiet, the lighting dimmed from too many candles having long burned out due to overuse, the only sound the constant scratching of a quill on paper. He's easy to find, sitting at his desk, focused entirely on what he was doing. He does not look up when you enter, doesn't even seem to register you're there at all.

You close the door as gently as you can so as to not disturb him too much, and make your way towards him.

His room had barely changed since the last you were in it, but the light atmosphere had long dissipated in favor of his heavy grief and overwork. His bed looked completely unused, and there was untouched food sitting cold next to him.

"Roboute," You say softly. He doesn't react. "Roboute."

Still nothing. He's completely ignoring you. That, or he's so focused he still honestly doesn't even know you're there. Either is possible at this point, you think.

You move closer, daring to press your hand to his shoulder lightly.

"Boots."

That has him going still, his eyes flicking to glance at you. Then he turns, sitting straighter. He says your name in a quiet, almost hoarse voice, and something in your chest aches.

"What are you doing here?" He asks. "It's late."

"Never stopped me before," You try to joke, but you can't manage to keep your voice light enough.

"No," He entertains it anyway. "It hasn't."

You look at his desk, at all the papers and ink. At the several broken quills and documents written unevenly due to his exhaustion. Tarasha had been right to worry.

"It's late," You use his own words against him. "You should stop for the night and lie down for a while."

He looks away, returning to his writing.

"I cannot. I have far too much to do."

"Yes, you can. You're exhausted, you need to rest."

"I'm fine."

"Boots-"

"I said I was fine!"

"Roboute Guilliman."

His head snaps up, eyes finding you. You'd never once used his full name like that before, not even when you were your angriest with him.

You put a hand over the paper he's currently writing, not caring in the slightest that you're probably getting wet ink all over your palm and fingers.

"You are the farthest thing from fine. Others who don't know you may be willing to believe that bullshit, but you forget who you're talking to right now. Get your ass out of the chair. You're going to bathe yourself, eat, and lie down."

He stares at you for a moment, and you know what's coming before he can even open his mouth.

"Not right now. I have to-"

The sound of paper ripping has him going absolutely rigid.

"Oh no," You don't sound sorry in the slightest as you drop the ripped document on the ground. "What a terrible accident."

You can't tell if he looks angry, tired, or constipated.

"Too bad. It seems you'll have to stop for the night so that your aides can have that re-made for you," You sigh overdramatically for extra flair. He is no more amused than he was a second ago.

"That was important."

"It can be important tomorrow."

He sighs your name, rubbing his forehead then pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You don't understand-"

"I understand well enough, Roboute. I understand that you're grieving, that you don't know how to handle it in any way other than this. But I also understand that you're slowly killing yourself. Not eating, not sleeping, not doing anything that isn't-" You wave your hand at the desk. "It's not good for you. I know you're big and strong and all that, but you're still human, Boots. And if I'm not allowed to die, you're not allowed to die. That's the rule."

"When did that become a rule?"

"Just now. Put it in your little notebook of rules. Roboute Guilliman is not allowed to die through his own neglect of himself, stupidity, or bad decisions."

The sigh that comes out of him is heavy enough to weigh down an entire planet. But he opens a drawer, pulls out the well used little book, finds an empty section, and writes his new rule for himself. He didn't actually have to, but he knew you were right- this was his quiet admission of that fact.

He returns the notebook to his desk, and reluctantly stands.

"I suppose I have no other choice," He says.

"You really don't."

He starts for the door, pausing once his hand is on the handle.

"Will you be here when I return from my bath?"

"Do you want me to be?"

He's quiet a moment.

"I would rather not be alone."

"Then I'll be here."

He nods once, and exits. You hear Tarasha call for him, relieved, and you have no doubts she hurries him along.

He would be gone a while, not likely to be allowed back here until after he's bathed and eaten. Tarasha wouldn't allow it, and Roboute wasn't likely to argue with her. Not with how tired he was. Now that you'd gotten him separated from his work, his mother would do the rest.

While you waited, you took the time to do a little…cleaning.

You toss the papers you tore directly into the garbage and start digging through his desk for every quill and anything of the like that could be used as a writing utensil will full intentions to hide it all so that he couldn't argue for doing 'just a little more' before laying down. You don't put them anywhere all that difficult to find- he'd throw a fit in the morning otherwise- but you make sure they're secured and out of sight for now.

Looking back at his desk, you debate for a solid moment gathering his papers and tossing them straight out the window, but that would definitely cause an actual fight. You glare at them though, wishing they would all just catch fire and disappear…just for a few hours.

You gather them all into your hands, and shove them into a drawer in his desk at random.

Then, you sit on the edge of his bed, and wait. You pick at your nails and hum to yourself, eventually getting bored. You locate one of his puzzle fidgets on a shelf and fiddle with it while you pace the length of the room.

Patience has never been your strongest attribute.

You toss the toy onto his desk once you decide you're bored with that too, and just take a moment to…look.

Everything in here had gotten bigger, more sturdy, over the past couple years. Roboute grew like a weed, and you don't think he's done yet still, so anything he used had to be made to match his size. And yet, there were still things littered about that were more you sized. A chair next to his desk where you would often sit and just talk to him while he studied, the lectus you liked to laze on when getting into his bed to take a nap was too much work, and a handful of other things, all here for you.

The extra furniture takes up a lot of space, you think, and is perfectly illogical. But this was just one of the things that he did. Made space for you where you had no business being just because he liked having you there. You honestly shouldn't be in his rooms with him unsupervised- not anymore, anyway. You were both getting to be old enough for it to be improper, and you knew he knew it too.

The sound of the door shutting startles you. Turning quickly, you find Roboute hovering just inside the room, his tired eyes on the now empty desk.

If he were more awake, he probably would have said something. Made a comment about you being ridiculous or fussing about you ruining his organization. But he just sighs, and shuffles towards his bed, already understanding that this is a battle lost.

He reaches for you as you approach him, grabbing your skirt and pulling you to stand between his knees rather than letting you sit next to him. He doesn't hold you there, his hands falling once you're close enough, but he does let his head rest against your chest, eyes closing.

You press your palms into his shoulders, rubbing them lightly before letting your fingers find his hair, pulling a sigh from his nose.

"It's alright," You murmur. "I've got you."

He hums, the sound far in the back of his throat. You rest your cheek on his head, pushing yourself closer, holding him as best you could considering his size and the position you were in.

"I'm tired," He mumbles, voice most certainly not shaking at all.

"Then lay down and sleep."

"I can't."

"Roboute-"

His hands grab at your elbows, head tilting upwards to look at you.

"Every time I try, I see it. My father, dead on the floor. Slain by a man he trusted over something as petty as power. Then it's you. Again and again and again. Falling off that damned wall and breaking against the ground. My dreams are nothing but loss and fear and I cannot stand them."

Your heart breaks for him. Looking down at blue eyes that stare back desperately, as if he's genuinely afraid you're going to vanish from his reality, you aren't sure how to respond. What did you say to something like that? What words will be able to give him the comfort he so desperately needs?

"I'm sorry," Is all you manage. "I'm so sorry, Boots."

You pull him back into a hug, his arms wrapping around you this time, holding you as close as he physically can without crushing you.

Roboute doesn't cry. The tears on your dress go ignored, for they cannot be his. He's just damp still from his bath, that was all. That's what you would tell Tarasha, or anyone else who dared to ask.

"What happened wasn't fair," You, on the other hand, will not deny your own tears should anyone mention them. "But I know Konor would be proud of you and everything you've done. He already was. And I- I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me forever, so you can- can tell your dreams to leave me out of them because you know better."

He huffs out something close to a laugh.

"You're right," He says, voice muffled. "You are always right."

"I know I am."

Another half-laugh.

"It means more than you know that you came to see me tonight," He says. "I've missed you."

"I missed you too, Boots."

"I'm tired," He repeats himself, even quieter and more worn down than before.

"Then lay down and sleep," You say again.

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, like a grumble mixing with a hum.

"Will you stay?"

Any other night, you'd roll your eyes and laugh. You'd make a joke, pretend to turn him down, and maybe even leave the room while he pouted. But this wasn't any other night.

"Of course I will."

"Thank you."

…………………………………………

When Tarasha calls for you, you think nothing of it at first. The two of you were rather close- closer than you were with your own mother these days- so her wanting to see you really was nothing new.

You sit in the garden with her, enjoying the warm afternoon, chatting idly about all kinds of things.

Roboute had firmly settled into his position now, and was proving himself more and more to be everything he was meant to be. A diplomat, a great military leader, and a well organized, well mannered man. The first few weeks of the transition had been hard on him, but he'd recovered well over the past couple years, you think.

Your companion calls your name.

"Tell me, has anyone special caught your eye?" She asks.

You laugh and shake your head.

"No, not at all," You say. She hums and nods, as if she already knew your answer before she'd even asked the question.

"You're old enough to get married now. In fact, your mother said she was already preparing for it. You've been getting offers, I hear."

Your eyebrow twitches, and you stifle a frustrated sigh.

"There is a man who has been trying to convince me to marry him, but I simply have no interest."

"You may not have a choice, either, girl."

You look away from her, scowling at the air. You knew that better than anyone, she didn't need to remind you of how little control you actually held over your own life.

"Might I make a suggestion?" She asks, words slow and calculated. "Why not marry Roboute?"

You blink, then turn to look back at her.

"What?"

"Marry Roboute. You two have been attached at the hip since he was sent to us, and I would think he's a much more preferable option than some man you neither know nor care for."

"I- " You have no idea how to respond to that in the slightest. You just stare at her, eyes wide, jaw practically on the table, face uncomfortably warm.

You shove back from the table, standing on unsteady legs. You stutter out an excuse to leave, all but running away from her, her gaze burning into your shoulder blades until you're out of her line of sight.

There is only one place you can think of to go, and it honestly makes you laugh to yourself a little as you walk quickly through the halls of the palace, servants scrambling to get out of your way before you run them over in your hurry.

You don't knock. Roboute didn't take work meetings in his private rooms- it was one of the rules you and Tarasha had to give him- so there was no worry of you interrupting anything.

He's standing in the middle of the room, eyes on you the moment you come bursting in technically uninvited. A frown presses into his face at your expression and soft gasps for air.

"Are you alright?" He asks. You take a breath, forcing yourself into some semblance of calm, and step farther in.

"I was just with Tarasha," You say.

"I know, I heard."

"Has- has she said anything weird to you, recently?"

He blinks, head tilting to the side somewhat.

"I don't understand the question."

"I mean-" You step around him, unable to look him in the eye right now, and go to hover by the open window. "I mean about, like. Getting married…to me…"

He takes a long, slow breath, letting it out through his nose. Then he turns away from you, suddenly far more interested in the contents of his desk than when you first entered.

"It may have come up," He says slowly, picking up papers, stares at them a moment, then sorting them carefully. "I take it she said something to you about it today, then?"

"Yes, she did."

"And…what do you think about it?"

"I- I don't- " You groan, leaning against the windowsill and burying your face into your hands. "I don't know!"

"Explain."

You drag your hands down your face before dropping them in front of you so that you can pick at your nails.

"It's not that I don't get it. Marrying you is, in every sense, my best possible option, and if I don't, then I'll probably end up handed over to someone else, but…" You sigh. "Marriage is complicated for me."

"It does not have to be."

You look at him, still facing away from you, his wide shoulders stiff. He's holding some papers from his meetings earlier, but you know well he's not actually reading them- it's possible he hasn't been this whole time. Instead he's listening. Waiting.

"Roboute..." You say slowly. "Do you...want…to marry me?"

He doesn't answer immediately, when he does, it's cautious.

"It makes the most logical sense. I have known you my entire life, and trust you more than myself most days. Who else, if not you?"

A long silence stretches between the two of you. He does not turn to face you still, letting you stand there and process what he's just said without demanding more immediately. You start to speak several times, but find yourself unable to get the words out. When you finally do, you know they aren't what he wants to hear.

"…you and I both know why we can't."

He sets the papers in his hand down, not caring for a moment where they landed, and finally turns, his eyes dropping to meet yours.

"I don't, actually."

"Roboute-"

"If you think it's logical," He steps towards you, reaching you quickly thanks to his unnaturally long legs. "And I think it's logical," He very gently takes your chin and tilts it, forcing you to look all the way up at him. "Then explain to me what you're afraid of."

You're used to him being close to you. You spent your whole life practically on top of him, but this felt different. There was something in the air between you now that there hadn't been before. A warmth, an intimacy that was far from platonic.

"I can't- you're going to die before I will," It comes out of you in something that wasn't quite a whisper.

"You don't know that."

"I do."

He says your name, finally lowering himself to one knee to safe your neck from the strain.

"You don't. Do I need to remind you that you are not the only person in this room who isn't entirely normal?"

He was right. There was no point in arguing that fact in the slightest. If his size alone wasn't enough, the fact that he had two heartbeats, and literally fell from the sky cements it. Along with the everything else about him. But even still-

"It's not the same."

"No, it isn't," He agrees. "I very well may die if hurt enough. But you will not be left an immortal widow in the next handful of decades. I will be at your side until the galaxy itself stops shifting."

"You can't promise that," You don't know when the tears started.

"I can. And I am."

"I…" You don't know what to say. You loved him, and had for a very long time, but this- this was a promise of forever. A promise that, if he really made it, he would tear the world in half in order to keep. But could you really ask that of him? To tie himself to you for the rest of your lives? Was that fair?

"Can- can I think about it?" You ask. He takes your hands in his, holding them gently.

"Take whatever time you need."

You nod, face warming a bit when he drops one of your hands to rub the tears from your cheeks. You take a breath, preparing to offer him a weak thanks, but several panicked bangs on the door startles you both.

"My lord! Forgive me! It's an emergency!"

Roboute stands, keeping a hand on your shoulder.

"What is it?" He calls.

"There's a man- please, my lord, you must come quickly!"

"Damn it all," He hisses under his breath, pulling a startled laugh out of you.

"Go," You say, pushing at him. "Do your duty. I…we'll talk about this again later…"

He looks at you for a moment too long, then nods once.