LOLinyashazeldafan

"Hey, where's the fire?"

Robbie hops out of his foxhole, shivering miserably as the wind picks up. He doesn't turn back, though, braving out the bitter cold to join Eve, pressing his shoulder against hers and burrowing into his coat. Eve's eyes widen at first as he joins her, and then she rolls her eyes at the grin on his face.

"No, seriously," he jokes, "where's the fire? I'm freezing, angel!"

That gets a laugh out of Eve as they walk through the snow, small but still there. Robbie's chest warms at the noise.

"No fire, unfortunately," Eve says. "Just got orders for a patrol. About to go wrangle up the troops."

"Who're you taking?"

"My squad."

Robbie's grin fades. "Your squad isn't exactly…at full capacity."

"I'm bringing along a couple of replacements we got before we got locked in this frozen fucking forest," Eve explains, arms crossed firmly against her chest and her hands tucked away underneath her armpits to help keep warm.

"You should've asked some of us to go—"

"And drag you guys out for either a boring walk where we hope we don't accidentally stumble across the German line or for a needless skirmish with a Kraut patrol? No thanks. Besides, the rookies will never get broken in if we just leave 'em behind."

Robbie sighs, the air punching out of him. Lowering his chin to bury into the scarf Eve made for him, he blows hot air back into his face. Why does Eve have to be such a…such a sergeant about this?

"I don't like that you're going and I'm just…stuck here," he states, glowering down at the snow around them. It's midday, most men bundled up in their foxholes, a few passing them by as they try to keep their blood pumping.

"Are you saying you want to go on the patrol?" There's exasperation in Eve's voice now. "You hate patrols."

"I'm sayin' I don't want you to go alone."

Eve huffs as she stops, turning to face him with a frown twisting her lips. "Did you not hear me earlier?" she asks. "I just said I'm taking a squad. What's up with you?"

Robbie stomps his boots into the ground. "I just don't like when we're not together," he grumbles. "What if something happens? I'd rather be with you."

At his explanation, Eve does soften somewhat, the irritation leaving her face.

"I can take care of myself," she replies. "Besides, I'm more worried about you all getting hit by artillery while we're gone. You know we'll probably just go for a long, boring walk before coming back, but the artillery lately…"

They both shiver in the blistering wind. They're both silent for a moment, just the creaking and groaning of any trees still left standing passing by on the wind. Eve's eyes flicker across Robbie's face and he waits, resisting the urge to continue complaining.

"Do me a favor," she starts. "Why don't you just hunker down in a foxhole while I'm gone? Just in case there is any artillery."

That sounds like an excellent idea, but he's not going to admit that.

The next day, Elio marched determinedly up to the bar where Husk and Alastor were comparing calendars over a bottle of rye, clambered up to perch himself on a stool, and smacked a pack of cards on the bartop. “Want win.”

“Yeah?” Husk picked up the pack, getting the cards out to shuffle. “Whatcha wanna play, bud?”

“He didn’t say he wants to play,” Alastor pointed out with a canny grin, “he wants to win.” Conspiratorially, Alastor leaned down to stage-whisper to Elio, “To which end, mo garçon, I would recommend challenging someone other than two out of the three most proficient card players in the hotel.”

Elio frowned thoughtfully, little ears tipping back, then held a demanding hand out to Husk, gesturing with another for him to give the cards back. 

Husk did as requested, Elio glared at the scoreboard for a long moment, hopped down off his stool, and strode away across the lobby, hollering for Charlie. 

Once he was gone, Husk’s gaze slid back over to Alastor with a smirk. “Two of the three, huh?”

“Oh, hush, Husker,” he huffed. 

“Formally conceded your spot to Sasha, then?”

“Only temporarily. She and I have a rematch scheduled for Saturday. On which note—” he tapped at Husk’s planner with his own pen “—how does your Friday morning look?”

“Depends on when the delivery for the bar gets here.”

DAY ONE (JULY 25th): GREEN: SENSORY DISABILITIES

Create something for an original character with a disability that affects their ability to process sensory information such as sight, hearing, taste, touch, and/or smell! (Rutgers)

DAY TWO (JULY 26th): BLUE: PSYCHIATRIC DISABILITIES

Create something for an original character with a disability that affects “mental impairment that substantially limits one or more of the major life activities of an individual!" (The ADA)

DAY THREE (JULY 27th): WHITE: INVISIBLE AND UNDIAGNOSED DISABILITIES

Create something for an original character who has a disability that is not immediately visible or "obvious" to others (Invisible Disabilities Association) or who you have created/written with a disability but does not get diagnosed or outwardly named in their canon!

DAY FOUR (JULY 28th): GOLD: NEURODIVERGENCE

Create something for an original character "whose brains develop or work differently" (Cleveland Clinic) due to a "neurological or developmental condition" (Harvard Health Publishing)!

DAY FIVE (JULY 29th): RED: PHYSICAL DISABILITIES

Create something for an original character who has a disability which effects their "physical functioning, mobility, dexterity or stamina!" (United Spinal Association)

DAY SIX (JULY 30th): THE BLACK FIELD: JOY/RAGE

In a world that tries to treat people with disabilities as if they are lesser, joy is an act of rebellion and rage is a necessity. How does your OC find joy, express their anger, or turn either into an act of resistance?

DAY SEVEN (JULY 31st): PARALLEL LINES/DIAGONAL BAND: SOLIDARITY AND SLASHING THROUGH BARRIERS

When he had first begun his travels she had given him the ocarina in hopes that should he ever find himself in trouble he would always have a way out. It had seemed like an unnecessary attempt at protecting him when compared to the tales he had weaved for her of their first timeline, but if it gave him even a little more safety, a little more certainty when faced with adversity, as he traveled then it would be worth it. Those tales of his were littered with struggle, hardship, and steadfast dedication that could only be fairy tales for her while they remained entirely real for him. The little girl in her had found it romantic how he had made his way to her again instead of keeping his distance after having persevered so much. They had reminded her of the stories her mother would read to her at night of lovers who were so intertwined nothing could separate them.

As they got older those rose-colored tales were slowly morphing into something far more genuine. He had been her hero in the first timeline, and he, while still her hero in this second one, was far more than that. Every blush that dusted his cheeks and ears had gave way to hope that these feelings she’s been harboring are reciprocated only to never be bold enough to just ask.

That timeline had undoubtedly clung to him and in its own way it clung to her too, even though she was not the ‘her’ of that time. Those memories that haunt him had been caused by ‘her’. They were separate yet the same. She has no way of knowing if she had grown to be exactly as he remembered her, but there is guilt and remorse for the decisions and pleas she had made in that other timeline. With him being away for so long she cannot help the self-inflicted woes she blankets herself with at night, and the spinning of what has kept him away from her.

What would she do if he never came back? Would she wallow with these feelings forever? Had the journey truly kept him away for so long or had he simply grown tired of her? Tired of this destiny that had entangled them in each others lives? Did the regret finally settle in that he should have avoided her after ‘she’ had sent him back? That she was truly at the center and the arbiter who had drug him through those horrors for a kingdom he had no true duty to?

These questions and worries she knows are her insecurities and guilt over the other ‘her’, but these fears of hers are no less real. A type of real that she could no longer escape or feebly deny should they be confirmed, and that’s why she’s delayed time and time again from going to search for him. To come to his aid if he might need it—until finally she had left her kingdom in the dead of the night like some kind of thief on the run, taking only her mare, cloak and a small pouch with her.

This decision could end up haunting her. She could be known as ruler who abandoned everything in pursuit of a man, a man who had finally realized he could have had a much different life—childhood—if she had not asked so much of him. A childhood that wasn’t twisted in loss, blood, timelines and fights for a kingdom he truly had, had no duty nor responsibility for beyond her selfish pleas for help.

The ‘her’ of that time never should of asked him for so much. After all it was her kingdom—not his. Yet, that ‘her’ had asked him for his help.

There’s hate for herself because she knows she would have done the same as ‘her’. She would have pleaded for help in saving her people and kingdom, placing that monumentally heavy request upon small shoulders not truly strong enough to hold it up. There’s also hate for the fact she is thankful that she had been able to meet him, not just once but twice, even as that first meeting is one she’ll never truly know for herself. That thankfulness, she cannot stop herself from feeling, bathes in contrition feasting gluttonously upon her after every interaction, every meeting, and every thought of him.

What if she ended up asking for too much of him again?

That personal journey of his, had it taught him he was better off without Hyrule? Without her? If he said such a thing to her could she handle that? Accept that?

This self loathing is one she desperately continues to deny but she can never extinguish—its thick at the base of her throat choking her when she dares to lay at night.

Perhaps this is why Impa hadn’t stopped her? When she had made it far enough away into Hyrule Field she had dared to stop and look back at her home. She had dared to look at it longingly like she hadn’t willingly abandoned it for him. If anyone would have noticed her missing it was Impa. She would have noticed her disappearance immediately. Maybe this was her way of letting her come to terms on her own that the story that was Link and Zelda was done. To accept that they were not as entangled in one another as she had deluded herself into believing.

It might be just her and not so much them.

Unlike her he was the human incarnate of his piece of the Triforce. He was courageous, and he was determined. Steadfast. He hadn’t let his doubts steal who he was away nor stop him from moving forward. She, on the other hand, for all the wisdom she carried had made choices and decision that had changed the lives of so many. Decisions she would never truly know the ramifications of. Choices she hadn’t experienced first hand. They laid locked behind a timeline only he remembered leaving her unable to confront the truth that gazed back at her when she looked beside her only to see nothing and no one.

Heartbreak waits for her at the end of this decision, and the longer she chases after his shadow the more she finds herself falling into acceptance, but until he looked at her and she looked at him one last time she had to do this. She had to keep moving forward. Persistence would see her to the end. One last encounter with him before she could allow herself to release the vice grip she’s had on him for so long. One last selfish request that she would impose on him. Whether it ended in tears or, in that last ounces of hope she was holding onto for dear life, smiles she would finally know what she meant to him instead of floating endlessly in a sea of doubt.

It hadn’t taken long for her to catch the first few rumors that circled through her territory of a young man in green. The gossip that comes from those she meets claim he’s grown even taller since they last stood in front of each other. He, also, still had Epona from the sounds of it. He never stays anywhere long, but he had continued helping anyone he met along the way. This personal journey of his had carried him so far from her—so far she’s not even sure how she got to this town, the locals say it’s called Clock Town.

One moment she had been chasing after what she thought had been the fairy he had told her about, who had left him behind without a word or trace, all those years ago. The very next she had, had to yank onto the reigns as light blinded her when they exited thick woods almost running over the edge of a cliff. The stretch of land below her was one she could not recall being on any of the maps of her kingdom.

Unearthly. Eerie. Those were just a few of the words that came to mind as she walked in their gates with her mare following in tow. The people she saw all looked familiar, almost uncanny, as if she’s seen them in passing in her travels but not clearly enough to say with any certainty that they are same. That sense of deja vu emerging as she dared to glance around herself prickling against her skin. None of them are particularly rude nor off putting when she dares to approach and ask for directions. They treat her well enough for an outsider giving awkward soft smiles as they point her along. Mild suspicion crosses their faces when she doesn’t know she stands in a realm called Termina. Only one seems to be aware of her kingdom at all, and the smile on his face has chill running down her spine unsettling her.

These people do tell her something of interest when she asks idle probing questions. The rumor she catches is different from those that came before. They speak of someone that almost matches his description. The way the couple at the inn speaks of him is the way one would speak of the Goddesses—in reverence. One would think it was pure devotion, but the fear that laces every word they speak says otherwise.

The more she asks those around town the more she questions and doubts it’s him. The description of this godlike being doesn’t quiet match. They claim this is a man who towers above them, while Link had no doubt been growing to have grown to such as size must be exaggeration and not just for him, but anyone. His hair is claimed to be stark white—had the glare of the sun really bleached his hair so pale or had they simply mistaken the color? The description of his hat is the one piece of information that keeps her from outright dismissing it all together. It’s color is wrong, though. It’s not enough to dissuade her from continuing to follow this lead. Would it truly be that strange to have gotten one in a new color after all these years? Perhaps he had desired a change, and that change had been shedding his tunic of green for one of pale blue.

Those changes might not be just in color preferences. It may have also included him leaving Hyrule behind—leaving her behind.

All of it sounds off, and the whispers of this man leave her feeling skittish. The more these people speak of him the more concerned they start to become. The way their eyes dart and the subtle glance behind them, for extra comfort and confirmation, before telling her what they know sends waves of unease over her. Some lean in close, giving extra care to cup their hand around their mouth, lowering their voices to the barest of whispers that she almost cannot catch. The words are rushed even with how quiet they try to keep themselves and if she dares to ask too many additional questions they are equally quick to rush her off not daring to be caught speaking of this man for too long. The fealty they have is unmistakable. It’s entirely different, though, from the one her people hold with the Goddesses. This is a loyalty hinging upon an unexplained terror. It hangs off ever word and every movement they make. They haven’t dared to speak a hint of criticism nor give way that this man has done them harm. There’s an undeniable gratefulness there, as if he has done very much the opposite, so much so that they fear upsetting him at all. It’s humming within their hushed tones.

The voice of that man who’s smile turns her stomach startles her. The way that smile widens as he stares down at her has her taking a much needed step away from him. He’s, almost, too eager to tell her more myths about this man. She forces back the discomfort of being under his gaze because she thinks this lead is worth it. The worst that happens is this man is not Link, but instead someone these people have made larger than life. Even if he is not Link he may have at least crossed paths with him.

The path to this mysterious person is obscure and vague, but that overly eager man had seemed more than happy to tell her he was last seen in these thick woods not far from Clock Town. There’s a very real chance she’s falling into a trap with the way those lips of his curled as he told her about this man. There was also something that crawled its way across her skin as he seemed to be holding something back. Gauging her. Sizing her. Scrutinizing her. The way his hands palmed themselves in front of him as if he was holding back a secret she desperately needed to have. The thud of her heart as she looked at him had sat heavy in her ears—far more terrified of this overly eager man than the myth of this almost godlike being they all whispered about.

That unsettling feeling haunted her as she made her way closer to these woods daring her to peak behind her as if being followed. There is nothing ever amiss when she dares a subtle glance, but her mare would disagree as it becomes more and more weary the closer they get to the line of trees. Patting upon her neck does nothing to sooth these fraying nerves. These trees reminder her of the very ones he had hailed from, where the Great Deku Tree had taken his last breath. Had he felt the same? If he had truly made it here, had it reminded him of home and of Hyrule in anyway?

—had there been any lingering attachment?

Hooves stomp deep into the grass refusing to get any closer, even going so far as to back up a step or two. The line of trees in front of them foreboding even to her. Another attempt at soothing her mare does nothing to settle how clearly apprehensive they feel. The swallow in her throat is thick. The press of her tongue against the roof of her mouth, as she sucks in a breath, heavy. The look over her shoulder another failing attempt to keep her wits about her. All of these actions are just an excuse to prolong her from entering these dense woods. She cannot allow these fears to keep her here like she had allowed them to keep her from search for him all these years.

Shoes touching the ground as she dismounts is the first step to pushing herself forward. The second is her petting upon her mare with a whisper that she’ll be back. The voice inside her head tells her to turn back now and reconsider everything. It tells her this is definitely a trap. That man means to harm her, but this lead is all she has to go on and so she has to take the chance—she could be so close to finding something, anything really, about Link and his whereabouts.

Each step inside these woods sends something hauntingly icy down her spine and tugging the hood of her cloak over her face a little more, as if it will shield her from whatever lurks inside the shadow of these trees. Glimpsing behind her as she takes cautious steps forward lets her gauge how far from her mare she’s made it before she cannot see her at all.

There is something dangerous about these woods. It’s in the way the trees block out the sun making everything so much darker and drearier than it had been for her moments before she step inside. It’s in the way even as the wind dares to breeze through the leaves don’t make a sound. The silence is palpable. There’s a shudder to her breath as she tries to think of anything but the fear that’s creeping upon her skin. Further and further into these woods. Deeper and deeper she continues to go. The darker her surroundings become the more unsure her steps become. This progressing darkness would have her questioning if she had misjudged the time of day had she not just seen the sun high above her indicating midday before entering. The crunch of a twig beneath her boot has her body freezing in place, her ears prickling at the sound as her heart begins to increase its pace. She’s afraid to breath out of fear it’ll be too loud for her to hear what she might have attracted with such a sound.

One beat. Then two. The only sound her heartbeat—and then she’s gasping out as if the wind has been knocked from her lungs as a laugh, similar to that of a small child, echoes too close to her ear.

Her legs move before her thoughts can even comprehend what is happening. They run hard and fast no longer slow and cautious with every step. She cannot even think straight enough to regret having not worn pants for this excursion. Fingers grip and push off the trees that stand in her path letting her weave between them as she runs as deep into the woods as she possibly can. These woods feel endless and everything is so, so dark. Her boot catching upon the ground sends her flying forward scraping her hands against the earth as she lets out a cry, desperate to catch herself, before launching herself back up with every ounce of strength she has—only to be confronted with a fairy in front of her face. The scream she lets out is so loud the woods come alive with birds fluttering and yelling back in response to the disruption sending her heart soaring high above the trees.

Twisting herself around she only makes it a few hurried and tripped steps back where she had come from only to have another fairy fly within her face and that childlike giggle ringing out again, bouncing among the trees. Rearing back she tries to head another direction only to feel her feet root in place when the glow of something orange catches the corner of her eye. The turn of her head is mechanical and slow. Her heart thuds deep in her ears drowning out even the heavy breaths that pour from her lips. Something wet glides down the side of her face and it takes her a moment to realize it’s tears as she stares down the large tree where those orange glows—not one, two—stare back at her. There’s a vibrant and mischievous glee to them that only becomes more apparent the longer it peaks out at her from behind the large tree it hides behind. The tilt of it’s head comes and she can feel her air seize within her throat as she makes out it’s mouth.

It’s similar to that of a bird. A beak.

Stomach sinking deep a shrill, hoarse and ear shatteringly high, escapes her mouth as she finally forces her feet to uproot themselves. Sobs desperate and agonizing come with every gasp she dares to take, her lungs pleading at her for air. The force in which she has spun has knocked her hood from her head. The burn in her legs is painful as she begs them to run faster, her dress slowing them down and tripping her with each extension of her legs—but she must keep moving. There is no telling what might befall her if she were to let it catch her. Over and over she pleads to herself not to look back. As if doing so will actually keep her from daring a glance. It does nothing as she dares to see how far behind she’s left it.

And down she goes —over the side of a ravine.

Her body slides unforgivingly down the earth, tearing at her with every futile attempt to dig her shoes in to stop her from descending further below. Every root she desperately tries to grab upon shreds against her skin as it slides out from the palm of her hands. The cry she lets out is tangled in fear and disquiet. Aching from the fall her lungs still beg desperately for a moment, even just a second, to catch a breath. Smashing onto her knees dirt covers her and she cannot tell if the parts of her skin and face that feel as though they’ve ignited are just residual sensations from the fall or an actual injury. Fingers twist in the dirt as she tries to orient herself.

That thing is right there above her looking down with knavish wonder at having caught her. The silence that rings between them makes her breathing the only sound that touches her ears. Orange shift noticing something she hasn’t. There’s hesitation and a subtle step back as if afraid. The hair on the back of her neck rises and air ceases to exist as if her windpipe has been gripped. Trembles overtake her being as she dares to look at what has garnered it’s paused gaze.

Eyes shake as she takes in this being standing impossibly and imposingly tall. This is the man they spoke of with devout fervor laced in fear. He stands there with his weight upon his hip holding what she can only guess is a sword against his shoulder. The shape of it odd compared to any she has ever seen. It only adds to how pernicious this man feels as he stands there. It’s entirely overwhelming but she cannot slide her eyes from him. That overbearingly tall stature, the pale blue that adorns him, and that stark white hair they had mentioned—the people of Clock Town hadn’t exaggerated at all.

What they hadn’t told her was that his eyes would be endlessly bright white to match.

Is it hysteria or might they also be glowing beneath these dark eclipsing trees?

Her voice is lodged into the middle of her throat as she dares to want to say something, anything to gauge if he will harm her, but instead she’s taken to hyperventilating as her heart beats heavily against her chest begging for release. It’s painful making her fingers twist into the cloth of her dress, a desperate attempt to help her heart escape from her rib cage. This man is tremendous in his presence. The danger that is him radiating in waves.

She is going to die. She will die and never see Link again. She will never know if her fears were real or what his feelings towards her truly are.

The sound that escapes her is hinged with delirium, she does not need to ask this man if he is a danger to her, he is. It’s in his very being. His very essence even as he stands there having not moved even to shift his weight. The danger that pours from him soaks the ground and the trees she had dared to find intimating prior to being before him. The world is spinning and darkening before her eyes and then she hears that giggle behind her. There’s something, something not even real, grabbing her and dragging her down as she finally finds the oxygen needed to let out a loud choked wail as her tears spill.

The snap of something beneath his feet has her attention divided between letting herself be dragged under or keeping her attention on him before she meets her end. Step after step brings him closer. Tears filling her eyes distorts him as if her body wishes to increase her hysteria and torment. Dizziness over comes her allowing nausea to rush up her throat threatening to pour out—it’s all just too much.

The sway of her body comes and she’s lost all ability to fight the darkness that presses firm against her. She submits to it willingly. Everything has gone silent beyond a loud ringing within her ears and her vision evaporates into black.

How long she’s been out is questionable but there’s a numbing sensation upon her hand as if someone is holding it as they wrap something around it. Her vision is blurred and hazy as her lids slowly open to take in the trees above her. Their leaves are still and the sky remains out of reach so deep inside these woods. It’s an out of body experience that leaves her mind too exhausted to even start questioning what has happened to her. Pale blue slide to her hand that she now realizes is raised. Fingers are touching her so gingerly and the haziness prolongs her understanding that it is that godlike man’s hand holding hers as he wraps it in bandages slow and methodically.

He is no myth. He is right here.

The voice that had told her to not to enter the woods whispers in her ear to tear her hand from him, but she does not have the will nor the energy with how numb she feels to do so. Defeated. She’s feels defeated and listless. So she stares at him—really stares at this man—as her mind tries to dig its way out from the dark haze its been buried beneath. The angles of his face. The way his nose curves. The parting of his hair, and then there’s that long hat that has found it’s end resting upon his shoulder. Those eyes aren’t the sea of blue she knows. They are an endless white that glow within these dark trees. From so far away she hadn’t even realized he had pupils. They had blended together from so far away. That mouth looks so familiar but older than when she had last been able to lay her eyes on him. The markings on his face are hauntingly beautiful and she wonders if he’s painted them upon himself or if they lay as part of the skin.

Her throat is dry and sore as she lets out a whisper, “Link.”

His fingers cease their movement and his head is slow as he moves to look at her. It’s a moment—a second if she’s being honest—before she feels his fingers twitch upon her sending a prickling sensation sliding up her arm, “Princess.”

This voice is soft, deeper than she would have expected, and stentorian, but it is his. She can tell it is most definitely his, and that springs forward fresh hot tears to pool within her already exhausted and weak eyes as she looks up at him, “Is it really you?”

The silence has her throat constricting, and then as if to release her from this apprehension he speaks again, “Yes.” and there’s just so much warmth upon his tone as looks down at her.

The roll of her head has her lids fluttering closed and the tears that had welled up escaping down, dripping into her ears. Her voice breaks as she whispers between them, “I’ve been looking for you—searching for you.”

The breeze that softly rolls over them does nothing for the heavy silence that blankets over them. It’s as if he’s looking for what question to ask first or how best to respond to her efforts. It makes her chest feel hollow and those insecurities and doubts bubble forth to the surface eager to seize this opportunity to devour her whole once and for all.

He hadn’t wanted to see her. He hadn’t wanted her to find him. It’s all too clear for her in this moment.

He no longer wants to be entangled in this mess of a web that is him and her. There is no Link and Zelda. There is only Zelda.

Biting upon her bottom lip she hopes will stop the quiver that has overtaken it before turning her head away from him. Her voice is small and barely an audible whisper, “You never came home—I feared the worst, but it seems—I’m sorry,” the break in her words is a choked back cry, “I was selfish for coming when you probably wanted to stay far away from me and—”

“I could not come back to you like this.” that stentorian voice of his is rushed and booming between them making her vision spin as she whips her head to look at him, “I did not know how to face you, Princess—Not like this.”

His hands tighten their grip upon her fingers before pressing the back of her hand against his forehead, “You do not wish to be rid of me. . .of us?” her fingers twist within her cloak as she finally releases and gives true life to this fear that’s haunted her for years silently.

Her eyes catch the way his bottom lip trembles before giving way to teeth that clench and grind together, “No. No. I do not know a world where you are not within it’s center, but how could I return to you looking like this? Just seeing me now—look at how you’ve ended up.”

The frustration in his words send her heart aching and desperate to comfort. Pain rushes through her, finally no longer numb being, as she forces herself to raise. He tries to shift back from her as if that would stop her attempts to comfort him. Fingers curl upon his cheeks desperate to ease this burden of distance he had deemed necessary. His own fingers are firm upon her arms as if urging her not to move so much. Startle paints his features at her having cupped his face as if he hasn’t had it in so long he’s forgotten what it even felt like. That smell of his has changed but it’s still him, the earthy tones he’s always carried lingering in-between all of the new. It fills her nose as she presses her forehead to his. The murmur that ghosts from her lips so soft she’s not even sure he can hear her, “I was scared. . .scared that you had finally realized that if I wasn’t at the center of your world your life could have been so much different. Better even.”

Every nerve within his body tightens at her confession as she dares to use his own words. For as quiet as she had dared utter such a thing he has very much heard it. Fingers slide from her arms finding their way upon her waist, gently squeezing it, before sliding further to wrap around the back of her thighs lifting her up and over his legs. His hold is firm as if to ease the strain upon her knees and tight as if she may disappear if he were to let her go. His nose trails from her shoulder up to her ear, sliding against the shell of it before nuzzling against her hair, “I’m sorry.”

They are a mess of entangled limbs and clothes as they sit deep inside these woods. Her fingers slide against the column of his neck to rest upon his shoulders. His skin feels cool to the touch and there’s a hesitation lingering upon his brows as he looks up at her as if she is the one they discuss with reverence. She feels the way his muscles move beneath her, tense and strong, as he presses his mouth to hers. It’s soft and light—something that seems so at odds with how immensely dark and tremendously powerful his existence feels now.

Gentle and slow his lips press against her. So gentle that they feel like whispers upon her lips. His fingers although tight against her legs are equally as soft. They spoke of this man as if he were a God—a being meant to be loved yet also feared. There is no fear for her in this moment as he holds her. Comforts her. A kiss upon her cheek. Another to each of her eyelids. One pressed under her chin as her fingers find their way against the back of his neck and into his stark white hair. Each one of these kisses a silent promise upon her skin that he truly had always intended to come back to her.

It’s all so soothing as if she were so precious and delicate he may very well break her if he were to not handle her with care.

Whatever has happened to her hero has scared him. Something has hurt him enough that he dared not face her. She had left him alone to sit with himself out of her own haunting doubts of where they had stood after she had not seen him in so long. She had wasted years on self-loathing fears that he had grown tired of her and their bond when he had been longing for it through self-imposed distance. There’s regret in having not come for him sooner. He had called her the center of his world, told her that he did not know of a world where she was not there—the same as he had been to her for so long.

She does not know what has happened, but there will be time for that. They will figure it out. Maybe it is something that cannot be undone. They’ll figure that out too. She will not leave his side, and when they have figured it out they will return home.