#fe randolph

Buckles clinked softly as you adjusted the leather straps on your husband’s pauldron, securing it to his harness and over his cloak. The polished, ruddy steel glinted against the early morning sunlight streaming through the large windows. You toyed with the tassels adorning his right shoulder once you finished, your gaze remaining fixed on his chest. The weight of your heart crushed against your lungs, the lump of emotion in your throat nearly suffocating. Biting it back, your other hand dropped to his forearm, idly tracing the edge of his vambrace. You knew he had to leave, to answer his country’s call, Her Majesty’s order. The summons had arrived yesterday morning: he was to ride to Enbarr on the morrow for an undisclosed amount of time. You dreaded the thought of what lay ahead; surely, the Empire was not preparing for war. But, as long as your hands lingered, he was there, alive and well and unscathed.

Randolph studied you silently, soft red eyes taking in whatever he could, while he could. Your expression broke his heart, features forced into neutrality, but unmet gaze betraying; a vain attempt, beloved. It was more for his sake than yours, he knew, and for that reason he never questioned. The letter had surprised you both; the Emperor’s plans were not foreign to him, but for her to act so quickly...

He did not miss the movement of your throat as you swallowed whatever sorrow crept, nor did the small motions of your fingers against his armor escape him. He shifted slowly, gauntlet-covered hands hovering just over the curve of your hips. Gaze lowering in attempt to find yours, Randolph stepped closer, the side of one sabaton brushing against your bare foot. His cuirass skimmed your chest with each breath.

Your hands had long since stilled, right hand resting in the crook of his elbow, left against his shoulder. His hands settled on your waist, grounding, real. He stooped, his nose brushing against yours, russet eyes a silent plea. You tipped your head forward, your brow meeting his as your gaze fell to the floor beneath you. Your hands sought purchase in the sleeves of his tunic, the chocolate wool of Adrestia’s winter uniforms soft and sturdy. Like porcelain, your resolve started to crack, breath shallowing, eyes warm with the beginnings of tears; looking your husband in the eye so close to his departure—for what purpose you had no clue—was dangerous. You had been through his deployments before, yes, each harder than the one previous; but this one felt different, off.

Randolph gently pulled your shorter frame flush to his, keeping his forehead pressed against yours. His armor chilled you through your chemise and peignoir, a sharp inhale escaping as a shiver coursed through you. He rubbed your waist in apology, ghosting his hands up your sides, over your arms and shoulders, before cradling either side of your face. The dark leather was warm against your skin as he tenderly tilted your head up.

He breathed your name like a prayer, unadulterated reverence effortlessly falling from him. You hitched, breath and heart faltering as your hands moved to clutch his wrists, anything to keep him close. Tears blurred your vision, barely clinging to your lashes. He stroked your cheeks, his tone adoring, elegiac, a command wrapped in silk, “Look at me.”

Whether it was out of obedience or simply because it was him, you would never know. Slowly, you brought your gaze to his, those intense redwood eyes that were always so gentle, so loving toward you. You choked back a soft sob, the tang of dolour thick in your mouth. You felt the leather grip brush under your eyes, taking with it the slightest hint of moisture; tears, it hit you, you were crying.

Randolph’s movements were careful in an effort to avoid cutting you on the edge of his gauntlet. This. This was the hardest part of leaving. To see his darling, his wife, so shattered broke parts of his soul he never knew existed until he found love. He needed to leave soon, if he was to make it to Enbarr before evening. But to leave you like this, he could not; goddess damn his heart if he did.

He pressed closer still, the bridge of his nose meeting your cheek. Your hands moved, settling weakly on his jaw and neck as you pushed back, ignoring the ridges of his breastplate against your front. Your voice sounded foreign in your ears, soft and brittle, “Please don’t leave.”

He brushed his nose against yours, straightening to kiss your brow before meeting your eyes again. His right hand trailed over your shoulder and back, resting firmly in the small of it; the other remained on your cheek, cradling it. The ash blond’s smile was sad, forced, “If I had the choice, beloved, I wouldn’t.”

Your thumbs dragged languidly over his broad jawline. You craned your neck as you leaned into him, his hold on your waist tightening. Your gaze softened, exhaustion seeping in. Swallowing the thickness in your throat, you spoke, “How long will you be gone?”

Letting his other hand fall to your back, Randolph sighed. He averted his gaze, leather-covered fingertips tracing along your spine. “I don’t know, unfortunately.” Noting your crestfallen expression out of the corner of his eye, he continued, “But, I shouldn’t be away long; a moon and a half at most, I’d wager.”

Your shoulders dropped. Wrapping your arms around his back, you leaned your cheek against his cuirass, the steady thrum of his heart hidden behind plate. His embrace—safe, secure—had always been a place of respite once you began your relationship in earnest. You felt his left arm envelop your shoulders, the other staying snugly around your waist, holding you fast against the general.

Randolph let his gaze wander over your head to the large windows on the opposite side of the chamber. Bergliez was truly a beautiful territory, nothing but expanses of fields and pastures for miles, a few villages scattered here and there. It smelled of fresh grains and flours, always; the people were kind, happy, grateful to the ruling family. Though not the house of his birth, it was home. If the war were to find it, to find his loved ones, well... He preferred not to dwell on such thoughts.

His eyes fell to you, tucked against him as though he were a lifeline. At some point, the hand at your shoulder had begun to trace patterns, leather sliding easily over the silk that covered you. The lives of those on the home front was not easy, that he knew well; countless nights had been spent discussing “what if’s” and easing the other’s worries, oft through tears. That won’t happen; I’ll come back to you; I promise—all common phrases that only the stars bore witness to. Silver weighed heavy on his finger, the band a constant reminder of oaths he did not know if he could keep. This deployment was not like the others; in three day’s time, he would be marching to Garreg Mach at the Emperor’s whim, her hope to topple the church in a blitzkrieg. Should they fail, the continent would be plunged into conflict, fire, and bloodshed. War was cruel, vicious, heedless of the lives it took in its rampage; he had no idea if he would return at all. The thought gripped his heart and throat like a vice, a sickening chill left in its wake.

His left hand found your face again, tilting your chin up to meet his ruddy eyes. Though your tears had stopped, the melancholy of acceptance in your gaze did not seem much better. The gentle smile that crossed your face was sad, but nothing short of adoring. You would wait for him, counting the hours until he held you again. You trusted him fully, knowing he would do everything in his power to return home. His chest ached. Goddess, what did he do to deserve you?

Randolph held you steady by your waist as he guided you onto your toes, stooping to meet you halfway. He kissed you softly, sweetly, one of your hands raising to cup his cheek, the other finding purchase on the junction of his neck and shoulder. It was meant to be a chaste farewell between a husband and wife; but as contact mutually deepened, it became far more: “I’ll be home soon” changed to “I may not return”; tenderness fell to desperation; hope shattered to fear. Masks crumbled, leaving two haunted lovers in their wake.

Both of you were breathless as you pulled apart, a slight saltiness lingering on your mouths; though whose tears they were neither of you could tell. You felt every divot and rise of his armor against your chest, his belt pushing against your stomach. However uncomfortable, it was proof that he was alive.

He pressed his forehead to yours, thumb stroking your cheek. He would fight a thousand wars if it meant keeping you safe. “I love you.”

Your eyes opened to find his, soft but piercing and all too unsure for so confident a man. Losing him would kill you. “I love you too.”

A sharp rap on the chamber door startled you both, heads turning. Upon hearing Randolph’s confirmation, an older servant opened the door halfway. “Forgive my intrusion, my lord and lady. Lord Bergliez, your horse is prepared. Shall there be anything else before you depart?”

The general, cheerful demeanor rebounding, simply smiled, “No, my friend. That would be all. Thank you.” Upon hearing the click of the door shutting, he sighed, expression faltering as his head turned to the large battle axe against the rack. He walked over and attached the sheath to his harness before picking the silver weapon up, brandishing it before holstering it behind him. He ran a gauntleted hand through his sandy blond hair, his attention falling to you. “Well,” he chuckled dryly, “it appears it’s time for us to part, my darling.”

You clasped your hands in front of you, bare feet padding softly against the floor as you moved to stand in front of your husband again. Grasping the collar of his cloak, you stood on your toes and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. As you returned weight to your heels, he caught your left hand, kissing the inside of your ring finger, and with it your wedding band, softly, reassuringly.

You smiled, right hand grazing his cheek, “Stay safe, my love.”

The undercurrent of worry in your tone was not lost to him, no matter how well you tried to hide it. He smiled in return, baritone airy, “I’ll try my best.” A laugh rose in him at your furrowed brow, Honestly, Randolph? “I will. I swear it. When have you ever known me not to be careful?”

You did laugh at that. “Many times, if Fleche’s stories and patching you up myself are anything to go by.” Your voice softened, “Write to me.”

He hummed, “As soon as I may, as often as I can.” He kissed your forehead once more before releasing you, stepping away and toward the door. “I love you, with everything I am.” Goddess, did he cherish you.

“I love you too.” Goddess, protect him.