#mannakete

“Everywhere,” he replies, quieter, a whisper that the wind may break even as it carries it. “If I— if fortune permitted us, I would want to go anywhere that the tower’s reach may allow. However far, however obscure. Any, and all sorts of places.”

His gaze falls to the ground. A dry breeze carries away the dreams sleeping in the sky. Clouds drifting, parting, changing – but still as vague as ever.

What end, what sort of end—

“Then, I promise.”

He stiffens as you take his hand, raising it so that the knuckles lightly graze your forehead, lips to his fingertips. Even as your eyes close tight, your fingers only curl with the barest of strength around his. 

“Everywhere,” you repeat firmly, praying fervently, even though you know far too well that fate has never been so kind as to return those loved and those lost. Only takes, so that you may remain ever emboldened to keep others from suffering so. “Everywhere and anywhere. Upon the seas, upon the wind. Wherever it may be, we will go together. Just as we promised before.”

“I…”

“Please,” and here, your voice breaks, finally, even by the slightest - “Please.”

Madder red, regal and royal, turn away from you – to where glory continues to shine ahead on a mountain. However slowly, however reluctantly.

Eventually, he pulls back his hand. You let him.

Duty, the too-familiar too-close voice, laughs like a person on the verge of mad tears.

“Tis such a beautiful dream,” he murmurs, distant. “But you must know then. Ere, I have dreamed long, for more than a hundred thousand lifetimes’ worth. I am content with my generous fill of them now.”

“You can be selfish, too.” I wish I were.

He shakes his head. And that is simply that. Both of you can hear it – that insistent voice of duty, beckoning on the horizon, march, march forward, for the whole world compels the end of all this. Who cares for the person under the mantle meanwhile, the person holding the sword?

You do. He does.

And yet something, something you only have the faintest inkling of, some grand destiny – won’t permit it, ultimately.

Denial plays its favorite, desperate song through your heart. He watches your expression crumble, and even with eyes unseen, you can easily imagine them widening, unexpected, distressed for your distress. He opens his mouth to say something, to soothe perhaps, but decides against meager solace. Such is the silence that drifts, momentary.

Instead - a soft shuffle of cloth, accompanied by the quietest clatter of gold. You do not get a long enough moment to comprehend the old-familiar face under the hood before his crystal hand reaches for your face, lips meeting yours, warm as you so distantly remember him always being, the sun-seeking man you have never forgotten him to be.

And just as in the past, it is a kiss of promises. Promises made to be broken.

When you part, when he pulls away once again, always him leaving always the other leaving, he looks at you as if you were his dream made manifest. The one selfish dream he won’t allow himself.

(and yet, he wants, as all people do, as you do.)

“Forgive me,” he says, says, repeats softer and softer, again and again under his breath like an apology to you and to not-you, the crystal of his hand refracting endless light into prismatic flowers on your skin. But you think little at all as you lean into his touch regardless, starved. You wish you could just stay like this.

The sunless moonless starless sky bears its burning light on your back, a reminder throughout.

“I forgive you,” you say, even if meaningless, even if it feels somewhat a lie. “No matter what it is you foresee, I… hope, to forgive it.”

He smiles, small and rueful, not quite like the boyish smiles he had for you so long ago – but it’s close, almost, and for a moment, Mor Dhona shines in blue around you.

And then it is gone, all gone.

Royal red hidden, madder ears pressed back into the dark of his hood – the Exarch soon gets to his feet, eyeing the finale in the distance. You stay where you are, even as you look in the same direction, knowing that nonetheless, you will reach the summit and see what epilogue is in store for you. For him. Fate will see it so.

But where tales end, so do others begin. And what else are you known for but the impossible?

At least, for once, you hope to be that miracle-maker again. Just once, for yourself.