Archive of Our Own

I knew I could not demand his company, nor force mine upon him. I could only hope that as days passed, the healing rift between us would further close. And so the days ticked by.

- Golden Fool

Over two weeks had passed since I’d last spoken to the Fool. In that time, I’d been woefully unable to banish from my thoughts both his tattoos and the harrowing tale of how he’d acquired them. Neither had I been able to dislodge his horrible words from my mind, that it was his turn to die on our quest to Aslevjal.

Intermittent, panicky recollections of that frightening conversation echoed nauseatingly through my mind at random intervals. Each reminder of it made me grind my teeth together painfully against the sickening apprehension that rose steadily in my gut.

I could not allow it.

That thought alone had been enough to keep me from his side. Or at least, from seeking him out purposefully. I did check his rooms faithfully every night, but he seemed to stay out in Buckkeeptown later and later each evening, gambling and drinking and keeping me at arm’s length, I supposed. That was no new development. He’d been distancing himself from me more and more starkly since our quarrel.

I did not blame him for it, truly. I’d tried, and found that I could not. I’d behaved reprehensibly towards him, my truest friend, flinging cruel accusations and hurling terribly hurtful words at him like weapons. I regretted it more than I could say, and the memory of my actions shamed me greatly, so much so that I had not even attempted to speak to him about them. Perhaps that had been my worst mistake. I was almost certain it was why he’d been slipping ever further from my reach with each passing day.

It would be better this way, I told myself. If we did not speak then he would have no opportunity to realize how gravely I deceived him. Even after all these years, I found it difficult beyond words to keep the truth from my friend. I’d never been much good at it. It would be easier to leave him behind under these circumstances, I lied to myself. A clean break. I wondered if it might be easier still not to think about him at all.

But that was a laughably futile query. Images of his colorful back ran through my mind unceasingly. I dreamed of them at night, awakening drenched with sweat and breathing hard. I caught myself ruminating obsessively over them in broad daylight and would flush, flinging up my Skill walls lest Dutiful or Thick or even Chade catch a glimpse of my errant thoughts.

Memories of him peering over his bare shoulder fearfully seemed to assault me. The haunted look in his eyes, the drape of the cloth he’d held around himself closely, the way he’d trembled when I’d drawn nearer to take a better look. How badly I’d wanted to reach out and touch him. That thought had been plaguing me most of all.

It was not his distress that had drawn me in, but rather his seemingly unshakable trust in me, that even despite all that had transpired between us, still he was willing to reveal to me a piece of himself which he clearly deemed shameful and vile. Personally, the only shameful and vile thing I’d seen was how wretchedly his school had treated him.

My hands clenched into fists. I knew next to nothing about this false White Prophet, but one thing I was certain of. She had hurt him when he was no more than a defenseless child, and I wanted her dead for it. It grated raggedly at my spirit that she’d been allowed to injure one so gentle as him with flagrant impunity. He was no fighter, he never had been. He was delicate and defenseless. I could think of no one who deserved such ill treatment less.

Abruptly, I knew that I needed to see him. Tonight.

I knew he came in very late, and so I carried down a hefty armful of scrolls from Chade’s hidden room and sequestered myself in Tom Badgerlock’s former sleeping quarters with several candles and a few apples to keep any hunger pangs at bay. He’d been sneaking in far past the midnight hour, so I would simply have to wait up for him. I took up a scroll and an apple and settled in for a long night.

I blinked my eyes open groggily some time later, scroll resting under my chin. The candle was nearly burned down, and my half eaten apple had rolled out of my hand and onto the floor. I could see a faint light under my door. I took a moment to rouse myself fully before rolling the vellum back up and pushing myself up and off the bed with a low groan of pain. I was still a bit weaker than I’d like from the Skill healing.

Cautiously, I pressed my ear to the door, wondering if he was even awake. I could hear quiet movement, and a sound like liquid pouring. Perhaps he was having a drink before bed. I steeled myself for a moment, gathering my wits. I did not know what I would say to him, but I knew that I desperately needed to say something. I pushed open my door slowly.

The fire in the main room had been banked for the night, but a few candles had been left burning, so I knew he had not yet gone to sleep. He never carelessly left flames burning in the night. He was far too meticulous. I glanced toward his door. Muted light poured out from beneath it. I took a fortifying breath and went to it, rapping softly against the wood with my knuckles.

“Fool?” I called, loudly enough that he might hear me if awake, but not so noisily as to arouse him from slumber. I waited for a moment. He gave me no response. I tried again. “Lord Golden?” I queried. Again, no answer. I heard him pouring more liquid.

I frowned, suddenly hopelessly tired of being shut out. Impulsively, I reached for the handle of his door, knowing even as I did what a terrible idea it was. There was nothing the Fool resented more than a breach of his privacy. It was next to unforgivable. Oh well, I thought rebelliously. It seems he and I are already well past that point, anyway. I opened the door and stepped into his room.

He was in the bath.

We both startled at the same time, I with a gasped, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” and he with a flinchingly sharp, “What in the world are you doing?!”

“I was hoping to catch you before you went to bed,” I explained, red-faced, grateful he was not looking at me. He’d folded his arms across his chest protectively as soon as I entered and turned quickly away from me so that his brilliantly inked back was all I could see. I found that I could not tear my eyes from it.

“Whatever for, Badgerlock?” he demanded harshly, and I realized I was speaking not to my friend, but my master. I hung my head a bit in defeat.

“I… I had wanted to talk to you,” I told him lamely. He let out a little huff of air that could have been disbelief or a feeling far deeper. It was hard to tell.

“It is late,” he reprimanded me wearily, his voice like ice. “I have had a very long day. All I wanted at the end of it was some peace and quiet and a moment to myself. Not for you to burst into my private rooms uninvited while I was in the bath. Honestly, Tom. This is most unacceptable. Never would I have expected this sort of behavior from you, of all people.”

His cultured accent never wavered, but I could hear raw, frayed nerves beneath his angry words. I tried to focus on them, and not the way the light from the fire glistened off the graceful, dewy juncture where his sharp shoulder met his swanlike neck. Somewhere in my mind, I knew that I should have been backing out of the room apologetically, but my feet felt rooted in place as I stood looking at him stupidly.

He huffed out an irritated breath, and turned to look over said shoulder at me. His golden eyes darkened very slightly and something shifted in his gaze as he took in my awkward staring. “Well, don’t just stand there gawking, Badgerlock,” he drawled salaciously. “Either join me in the bath or get out. And shut the door behind you, you’re letting in a draft.”

I stood still as stone, staring at the colorful dragons and serpents that adorned his slender back. Water droplets runnelled down his shoulders like tears. His golden hair, pinned up past his neck, was beginning to curl from the hot steam rising off the water. He kept on glaring over his shoulder at me imperiously. Challengingly.

As if drawn by an invisible string, I slowly shut the door behind me and took two steps forward. His elegant fingers curled around the side of the tub in a death-grip and something almost like panic flashed in his eyes, but his expression never wavered. Slowly, as if in a trance, I lifted my hands to my own throat.

I calmly unbuttoned the collar of my shirt, then pulled it over my head. I heard a very soft intake of breath. I ignored it and toed off my boots. There was a soft splash, as though he was shifting in the water. Before I could pause to think on it, I hooked my hands beneath my waistband and peeled off my leggings, taking my stockings with them.

The air in the room felt charged, fizzy and crackling. I pushed my smallclothes over my hips and let them fall to the ground. Lord Golden made a strangled noise, and it abruptly hurtled me out of the hypnotic, dreamlike state in which I had been undressing, launching me back to reality. I looked up at him. His eyes were wide as saucers, but he was also staring at my bare body with unapologetic frankness.

“Fitz,” he whispered warningly, but he made no move to stop me.

“My lord,” I replied and closed the distance between myself and the bath. Only when I wrapped my own hand around the edge of the tub did I finally hesitate. The pause lasted less than a moment. I wanted this, I realized dully. I wanted this badly. Why, exactly, I could not say.

It was a culmination of many things, I think. My muscles ached, and so did my heart. I was so lonely. I missed my wolf horribly, and felt his absence like a stab through my soul. I hated being cut off from the Fool’s company. The loss of his friendship throbbed and festered like an open wound. The idea of losing him forever, just as I had lost Nighteyes, was unbearable. And to lose him while we were so at odds was even worse, a disaster I could not afford to even dwell upon. Jinna’s arms and bed had offered me no solace, and I desperately wanted to be comforted, to be held. 

To touch and be touched. Touched by someone who loved me.

I did not deserve his invitation, and I did not for a moment think he’d truly meant for me to take it. More than likely he had extended it only to drive me from his side. But I wanted to be there, desperately. I waited for him to order me away angrily. He did not. Instead, he shifted forward, almost imperceptibly, and then his hand came to rest, featherlight, upon my own.

He looked up at me, golden eyes filled with terror and hope. He would not send me away, I realized. Even after everything I had done to him, he wanted me there. He wanted me.

I want him, too.

The thought stunned me even as it propelled my legs over the side. I stood in a daze for a moment and then suddenly lowered myself into the tub behind him and sat down, a bit too hard. Water sloshed over the edge. It was just this side of too hot. His wet skin slid against mine and my heart began to pound painfully. I’d never been this close to him before.

There was not truly room for two men in that tub, even if one of them was as slender as he. My legs bracketed his, and his jewel toned back was pressed tightly against my chest. He was shaking. Not trembling. Fully shaking, rattling as though he had an ague. I reached my arms up hesitantly and placed a hand on each shuddering shoulder, desperately hoping he would find my touch soothing and not repellant.

“I’m sorry… Beloved, I’m sorry,” I choked, voice shaking as violently as his body beneath my palms. The speaking of his name was somehow more of a risk than anything else I had done so far that night. “I was cruel to you. I said such wretched things. Unforgivable things. And I was wrong. Wrong about you, wrong about all of it. And I am sorry, more sorry than you can ever know. I regret it more than I could ever say. I am so sorry.”

The admission tumbled from my lips of its own accord. I realized the utter truth of it as stillness took hold of us both. The water that lapped against us smelled of fragrant oil. Liquid heat seemed to lick at my chest, but his skin beneath my palms was still impossibly cool. I waited agonizingly, bracing myself against the dead silence that I knew I deserved.

Gilded strands were escaping from his pinned up hair, curling around his temples. As he twisted around to face me, it seemed that they framed his whole face like a blurry halo, and the sight left me breathless, dry mouthed and dumb. The low, warm candlelight surrounding us caused the droplets of water on his collarbone to glitter like tiny diamonds. Now, I thought. Now he will surely send me away.

He looked up at me through long, wet lashes and parted his lips with a shuddering sigh. “Oh, Beloved,” he whispered. “It is too late to apologize. I have already forgiven you.”

At those words the terrified breath I’d been holding rushed from my lungs like a gust of wind, and my arms closed around him convulsively, crushing his back to my chest as I dropped my head forward into his hair. I felt boneless with relief and sick with shame.

He drew in a sharp breath of surprise when I began to sob. “Oh, Fitz,” he said softly, and after a moment all the tension seemed to melt from his body and he sank backwards against me, resting his head on my shoulder so that our cheeks were pressed together. I could feel the flutter of his lashes against my skin. He brought his unsilvered hand up to cup the other side of my face tenderly. “Beloved, don’t cry,” he said, so gently. I wept harder.

He brushed his fingers soothingly against my face and let me. I cried like I hadn’t since the day Nighteyes had died. It was as though a portion of my heart had cracked apart in the face of his selfless forgiveness. This time I did not hide my sorrow or my contrition from him, as I had before, but let it pour from me in low, wet gasps. He did not speak, but let me clutch at him as we lay cupped closely together, naked and cradled by the weightless embrace of the warm water.

It should have felt humiliating, to show him such weakness, to be so completely, nakedly vulnerable in his presence. It did not. Instead, it felt indescribably safe, as though we alone had discovered a small pocket of the universe, a place where only we two could go.

His body, too, should have felt wrong in my arms, too angular and cold. It did not. It felt as though he’d been made for me, each seemingly sharp edge surprisingly soft and supple beneath my touch, each cool expanse of his skin refreshing, soothing me like a cold compress against a feverish forehead.

Eventually I had no tears left, and he seemed to sense it, for he shifted fluidly around until we were lying chest to chest and he could look me clearly in the face. “Better?” he asked me, so quietly, as if speaking any louder than a whisper would shatter something between us irreparably.

I nodded, barely able to trust my own voice not to waver. “Thank you,” I answered, as sincerely as I was able.

He smiled, and it was not Lord Golden’s haughty smile, nor the Fool’s arch one, but a smile that before tonight I’d had no name for. It was Beloved who smiled up at me, face open and fond and a little uncertain, and something in my chest twisted tighter and tighter until it suddenly burst. I leaned forward to kiss him.

A cool hand upon my chest stopped me a bare instant before our lips met. I could feel his breath against my mouth as he spoke, the words grave. “Are you certain?” he asked me. My heart clenched.

“You do not want me,” I said, crushed. Of course he wouldn’t, after what I’d said to him. How could I have possibly thought otherwise? Unspeakably ashamed, I began moving my head away.

His hand came up around the back of my neck like a vice, his shocking strength holding me immobile. “I will want you until the day I die, FitzChivalry,” he replied evenly, gazing into my eyes intently. Both his tawny stare and the blunt truth in his words stunned me. “I but asked if you are certain.”

He took a deep, quelling breath. “I need you to be certain, Fitz. It is the only thing I ask of you. If you are not, it will change nothing between us. I swear it. I will love you just the same. We need never speak of this night again. But Fitz, if you and I choose to travel this path together, you must be certain. I need for you to be certain.”

I stared at him, my dearest friend. I tried to imagine stepping out of the bath and walking away. I valiantly attempted to envision shutting the door to this room and pretending that tonight had never happened. That I had never wanted this. Wanted him.

The thought was like an icy chasm in my gut. It was panic inducing. To find such peace only to abandon it seemed unthinkable. I quailed at the idea of leaving behind the warmth of his embrace, the safe blanket of his acceptance, only to sleep in a cold, empty bed. And to what purpose? To pretend I did not feel what we both clearly knew I felt?

What a waste. I had wasted so much time for us both, I realized suddenly, with bitter regret. I would not waste anymore.

You were never very good at living like a wolf, little brother. Wolves do not worry to themselves about times that have since passed or have yet to be. We live only in the now. You should do the same. Live like a wolf.

The echo of Nighteyes bolstered me, dredging up the last reserves of courage I needed. I looked into my Fool’s beautiful face, otherworldly and luminescent in the dim light. I reached down deep and summoned forth the words he needed to hear, spoke them, and meant them. “I want you. I am certain.”

He loosed his death grip on my neck, pupils huge. I leaned forward, slowly, taking my time. This, at least, I would do the right way. I took his face in my hand. He leaned into the touch immediately with a trust that broke my heart, his eyelids fluttering shut as he did. We were touching nearly everywhere except for the place I wanted to feel him the most.

“Beloved,” I said, and I kissed him. It was soft and slow and unbearably tender. I moved languidly, letting there be no rush at all. I allowed each movement to speak a truth that I had no words for, and he sighed into my mouth, a dreamy, contented sound that trickled through my entire body like a warm drink, like a soft summer rainfall, like the first snow of the season as it blankets the trees in soft, glittering white. He felt that unspeakably peaceful and lovely to me.

I could feel every part of his body against mine as the water undulated gently around us. I drew out our kiss for as long as I possibly could, letting every sensation fill me, memorizing each new feeling. Our legs twining, his smooth and mine rough and furred. Our chests, slippery and bare, pressed so closely together as we embraced that I could feel his heart beating steadily against his breastbone.

His arms affectionately encircled my back, his unsilvered hand rubbing soft circles there, as if he couldn’t bear not to touch as much of me as possible. His other, silvered hand was held in a careful fist so as not to mark me in any way that I would not want. I want all of it, I thought wildly. I want his fingerprints all over my body. My heart pounded at the very thought.

“Touch me,” I said quickly as we broke apart for air.

He stared at me in astonishment. “What…?” he managed, dazed, lifting his silvered hand to his mouth and running his thumb along his lower lip as though checking to make sure it was still there, attached to the rest of him.

“My wrist,” I clarified breathlessly, staring at his hand. “Touch my wrist,” I bid him. “Please.”

I had been drawn in by the addictive nature of the Skill many times, but somehow this hunger felt stronger even than that. I’d never experienced a more powerful temptation before in all my life. I craved the connection I knew he and I shared, and for once I did not fear it at all. I welcomed it. I needed it. I prayed he would give it to me.

“Only if you want to,” I clarified a bit belatedly, realizing he was still staring at me, silent and dumbstruck.

“Of course I want to,” he said at last, voice husky. “Gods. Of course I want to. But Fitz…” he said slowly. “First there is something I need you to tell me.”

I nodded immediately. “Anything,” I replied, and at my eager words he took in a deep breath through his nose.

“Why did you get into this bath with me? I am thrilled that you did,” he added quickly. “Thrilled beyond words. Never in my life…” He trailed off as his gaze raked over my bare chest hotly, then cleared his throat and continued. “Why did you do it? What was the purpose of it?”

His voice sounded tight, as if he were fighting back some strong emotion he dared not show. “Did you join me because you thought I would not forgive you unless you offered me your body?” he asked painfully, placing his unsilvered hand cautiously on my shoulder. “Because if that is the impression I gave you, my friend, I am truly sorry-"

“I joined you because I wanted to, and you invited me,” I interrupted, irrationally irritated that he would think otherwise, though I knew he had every reason to. “I kissed you because I wanted to, as well,” I added. “And I would like to do it again.”

Then I leaned down and did exactly that. I made sure our second kiss had far more power behind it than our first. I strove to impress within it my hunger for him. He parted his lips to mine instantly, and I knew then that I had convinced him, that finally, he believed me.

I kissed him passionately and thoroughly, until I was physically unable to continue and was forced to part from him for air. I studied him appreciatively as I gasped for breath, taking him in as if seeing him for the first time. In a way, I realized, I was. I was seeing him honestly, finally looking upon him in the manner I’d always wished to, but was never brave enough to do.

His lips looked red and bitten and his cheeks were flushed gorgeously. His eyelids were heavy and his mouth was still gently parted for air as he looked at me with equal appreciation. “I always knew that it would be good with you,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I always knew. I just never imagined…”

He trailed off and something painfully sad flashed in his eyes. I knew I was the cause of it and the guilt was momentarily unbearable. I wanted it to go away. I wanted to be the one to make it go away. I wrapped my hand around the back of his neck, mirroring his earlier action towards me, and pressed my forehead to his, looking him in the eyes.

“I want you, Beloved,” I asserted again, this time with more conviction. “I want you badly. And I think I have for a very long time.” The corner of his mouth turned up in a tentative smile at that, and I kissed it gently before continuing. “I want you in whatever way you’ll have me,” I told him. “Any way at all.”

He closed his eyes a moment, as though garnering strength before meeting my gaze once more. “Even in my bed?” he said slowly. “Even as my lover?”

I felt a powerful shiver run down my spine at his heady words. “Especially in your bed,” I replied, voice rough. “Especially as your lover.”

I could feel myself growing hard at the thought. As tightly pressed together as we were, I knew he could feel it too, and so he knew I did not lie to him. He laughed shakily as I shifted against him, trying to readjust myself subtly and instead sliding our bodies together in a way that made us both gasp a bit.

“Well,” he said, a little faintly, “Then I suppose we’d better finish this bath and find somewhere with a bit more space.” My heart started pounding, in anticipation and trepidation both, and he squeezed my shoulder before straightening up. His bare chest shimmered like precious metal. I skimmed a hesitant, shaking hand across it, and he smiled sympathetically.

“We can take it as slowly as we want, you know,” he reminded me. “We make all the rules here, you and I.”

“Can I wash your back?” I stuttered out, almost on top of his words.

“Of course you can,” he agreed easily, though he still looked surprised as he gestured to a small table at the foot of the bath that I had not noticed before, covered with stacks of small cloths, pots of soap and jars of perfumed oil.

He turned himself gracefully around in the tub as I grabbed for some soap and a cloth, before realizing he hadn’t told me if there was one in particular he preferred. I’d never bathed with a lover before. I did not want to do anything wrong. “Which one do you want me to use?” I asked helplessly, and he actually snorted at me.

“Use whatever one you like best, Fitzy-fitz. You’re the only person who’ll be close enough to notice.” This, he said coyly, and I caught a glimpse of my Fool slyly shining through Beloved’s steady demeanor. It gave me a bit more confidence, spurring me to action. I snatched up a pot at random and lathered the cloth well, then scrubbed carefully across his back, blanketing the colorful scene there with a layer of white bubbles.

He seemed to purr at the touch, offering me no resistance or instruction, letting me move him around as I saw fit. A bit nervously, I slid my arms around his torso and dragged the soapy cloth down his chest, and he leaned back hard against me with a sigh, covering me with bubbles too.

In the end, I painstakingly washed every inch of him, not just his back, taking far longer to do so than I’m sure he would have. The whole thing was certainly titillating, brushing against his bare body with nothing more than a wet cloth between us, but it was also strangely soothing and reassuring. This, I knew how to do for him, and do correctly, and he seemed to like it very much.

When I was finished, he rinsed himself off in the now lukewarm water and turned to face me again. “My turn,” he said, and reached for a cloth of his own. I grew suddenly nervous, and I think he saw. “If you would like,” he clarified, smiling as if to assure me that no answer I gave him would be wrong. “Only if it is something you want.”

I wanted. I gave him a quick nod, embarrassed to feel my cheeks flushing. He lathered up the cloth and washed me.

It was comforting beyond words. His hands were competent on my body and he was much faster than I, and probably more thorough. Even so, his movements didn’t feel rushed in the least, rather indulgent and adoring, and after a moment I relaxed into it, until suddenly he was saying, “I’m finished, Beloved,” and kissing my hot cheeks. Only then did I realize my eyes had fallen shut blissfully beneath his ministrations. I slid down into the rapidly cooling water to rinse myself off and then opened my eyes as I felt him slowly rise from beside me.

I stared up at a gold-limned divinity. The scented oil from our bathwater seemed to cling to his skin, rendering him with the otherworldly sheen of an expensive painting or a holy vision. He was naked, unbelievably naked, and I could see every single inch of his bare skin. It was both everything and nothing like I’d expected. His hair was more down now than up, curling and shimmering, wilder than I’d seen it in all the time since he’d returned to me.

“Beautiful,” I croaked out, utterly speechless and painfully idiotic. How could this gleaming, ethereal creature want me? It defied logic. The warmth in his gaze was more reward than any other response he could have given me. I struggled to my feet beside him, and he handed me a towel before taking one for himself and stepping out of the bath. He offered me a hand to do the same, and I took it, feeling vaguely foolish for gripping onto him so tightly.

I just kept standing there, staring at him and dripping onto the floor as he efficiently dried himself off and then wrapped the towel around, not his chest, as I’d expected him to, but his waist, leaving him bare from the hips up.

“Fitz?” he asked, bemused, and took the towel from my hands. “May I dry you off, my love?” he asked me patiently, as though he was speaking to someone who’d suffered some great shock.

Maybe he was, I thought hysterically, as I said, “Yes. Please. Thank you. I’m sorry.”

He kissed down the slope of my shoulder as he ran the towel over my arms. “You’re welcome. It’s alright, Fitz. You’re alright. Tell me what you need. You don’t have to be afraid.”

I opened my mouth to tell him I was not afraid and realized I was trembling. I closed it again and let him keep drying me off.

I was still half hard, I realized with embarrassment, as he knelt down to dry my legs. “You don’t have to-”

“I want to,” he informed me serenely, running his toweled hand down my calf gently. I did not argue. When he was finished, he straightened up far more elegantly than anyone should have been able to do in a towel and offered my own back to me. I shook my head. He let it drop to the floor.

“The bed?” he asked me. “Or somewhere else?” He waited a beat, and after a moment of silence added, “Or nowhere else, tonight? Would you like to go to sleep?”

“No,” I said firmly, desperately trying to gather my wits. “The bed. The bed is good.”

“Alright. The bed it is,” he said. “Why don’t you go wait for me there? I need to gather a few things.”

Obediently, I crossed the room and climbed up into his large featherbed. It was much more comfortable than mine, I noted, draped in bright, jewel-toned blankets and covered in colorful, plush pillows. I could hear him moving around quietly.

“Are you thirsty?” he called. “Would you like a drink?”

I considered asking him for brandy, then thought better of it. I wanted my head to be clear tonight. I thought he’d want the same. “Water, please, if you have any.”

“I do,” he answered, sidling up to the bed smoothly, holding a tray filled with the strangest assortment of items I’d ever seen.

He placed it on a table next to the bed with no further explanation, then offered me a jug of water and a cup. I accepted them both and poured myself one cup and then another, drinking deeply. As he took them back from me, I noticed he had put on a smooth leather glove. It was nearly the same color as his skin, and I’d never seen it before. I wondered with a sudden pang if it was one he used specifically when taking lovers to his bed.

He saw the look in my eyes and lowered himself down, scooting in closer until he was tucked up beside me. “It’s new,” he explained, running his hand along my thigh. The fabric of the glove slid pleasingly against my skin and I shivered. “I’ve never worn it before,” he added, and there was, perhaps, a hint of reproach in his voice.

“It isn’t any of my business,” I said stiffly, even as I wrapped an arm around his back and pulled him up to my chest. He rested his head on my breast.

“No, it isn’t,” he agreed cheerfully, curling his legs up to his chest and nestling closer, and I glanced down at him in surprise. He looked up and gave me a cheeky smile. “But I’m telling you anyway.”

I huffed into his hair and unthinkingly pressed a kiss to it. “Fair enough,” I admitted.

We sat like that for a bit, and it was a strange mix of familiarity and novelty. He ran his fingers casually over my legs, drawing patterns across my torso and hips but never attempting to touch me further. I almost wished he would. I wished a great many things. There was much I needed him to know, and I couldn’t for the life of me find a way to say it.

I shifted a bit and the silver fingerprints on my wrist brushed against a blanket. I felt a brief moment of uncomfortable knowing and tensed. His fingers stilled. “What is it?” he asked me cautiously. Impulsively, I thrust my wrist forward in offering, placing it between us.

“Will you touch me now?” I whispered, trying not to sound like I was begging. His amber eyes darted from my face to my wrist, lightning-quick, and he licked his lips nervously.

“You’re sure?” he asked quietly.

“Fool,” I pleaded and he curled a little closer at the name. “Please. Touch me.”

He pulled his glove off without hesitation and laid it carefully beside us on the bed. Then he leaned forward and kissed me tenderly, running one hand slowly up the back of my neck and threading it into my hair before letting his other fall to my wrist. His fingers found their mark unerringly. My vision went white.

We twined together, he and I, in a river of silver, in a lake of stars. I could feel my body jerk violently in reaction to his touch, as though struck by lightning, but I could not stop it, for I was wholly overwhelmed by his presence. It felt as though he had burrowed deep within me, replacing my blood with molten gold and my breath with liquid fire. Never before had I experienced a sensation so intense. I could not speak, nor could I think.

He could feel it too. In fact, he could feel everything that I did, for we shared an awareness. The realization caused the sensation to double, and I think I cried out. I think he did too. It was both incredible and terrifying. There are no words that could possibly encompass the sheer connection we experienced in that moment.

I was him and he was me. For a moment I knew him so completely that I felt only elation. His bubbling, sparkling tumble of life had not changed since the first time I’d joined with him. I embraced it joyously, eager to welcome him back into my heart and my soul, where he belonged.

There were things he’d rather I did not see, I realized as I did. That was alright. I did not need to know his secrets to know him. He had given me plenty. What he offered went far beyond what I had ever dreamed of receiving.

I felt his relief at that, and his warm acceptance, drawing me in to him and surrounding me. We reflected off one another like crystallized light off a broken mirror, each reflection of him dancing brilliantly off of me and reflecting back onto him once more. It was ecstatic.

Dimly, I was aware there had been things, once, that I had feared him discovering. Secrets I had held close, unwilling to share with him. They did not matter now, I decided. Let him see all of me. It felt so good to be whole, to be one with him. Let him look. Let him see. I opened myself wide and welcomed him in.

He surged through me and encompassed me and I let him, feeling his amazement and hunger and most of all, his love for me. Oh, the overwhelming intensity of that love. It defied all logic and reason. It belied belief.

He saw my secrets, and the intent behind them, and he forgave me without thought. He saw my deepest desires, the secret ones I had deemed too shameful to think about even when alone, and embraced me, assuring me that I was not broken nor disgraceful. That what I wanted was beautiful, and precious, and good. That I was beautiful and precious and good.

Was there any confession that lay within me, I wondered in awe, that he would not forgive? Anything that he would not do for me? Was there nothing I could tell him that might make him love me less? Where did it end?

For it always ended. There was always a limit to what could be endured. When did such a love stop? There must be some turning point, some defining place in which it ran out, and there was no more. There must be some dark, broken piece of me too heinous, too murky and vile for even him to accept.

No limits, he told me, so clearly that the words rang like a thousand silver bells, musical and sweet as they reverberated off my soul. I set no limits on that love for you, Fitz. None at all.

The steadfast truth rushed over me and I was drowning in him, drowning in love and pure, brilliant light as we merged, our boundaries fraying and blurring. We swirled together in a thin silver mist. I should just let go, I thought. We should just stay like this. This is good. This is right. This is how we were always meant to be.

Not yet, another voice told me. It was familiar, so familiar. It was me, and yet not me. Us, and yet not us. Not yet, little brothers. Someday. But not yet, and not like this.

Nighteyes. It was Nighteyes. I abruptly felt us part as if torn. It was as though a wolf had taken my neck between his powerful teeth and worried me like a rabbit, then flung me down to the ground. Disoriented, I found myself hurtling back into my own lonely body.

I opened my eyes. The Fool was staring at me. I stared back. We lay like that, still as stone, for a long, long time, stunned into silence. It was he who gathered his strength first, sitting up slowly before he spoke.

“You were going to leave me behind,” he mused, almost as though he was realizing what that meant for the first time. I swallowed hard against my fear. No limits, he had said. Had he meant it, truly? Could I trust him? I sat up beside him and willed myself to be brave as I curled my hand around the smooth globe of his bare shoulder, gripping the delicate skin there far too tightly.

“I do not want you to die. I will not let you die,” I explained, voice tight. “If you do not accompany us, you will not die.”

“Oh, my Fitz-” he began gently, and then stopped speaking abruptly, instead placing a hand against my cheek as tears filled his eyes.

“Another night, perhaps,” he said quietly. “We will talk about this, you and I. Another night. But not this one.”

“Not this one?” I repeated, bewildered. Could he truly let go of my treachery so easily, allow it slip from his thoughts as carelessly as he’d dropped my towel earlier? I opened my mouth to protest.

“It was ill-conceived and thoughtless, Fitz,” he said before I could speak. I leaned forward to brush a gathering tear from the corner of his eye, catching it before it had the chance to fall. He gave me a faint smile. “But it was also well meant. Even one as foolish as I can see that. I am touched that you would risk losing our friendship to save my life. Though I do not agree with it nor do I condone it,” he added, his voice hard as stone.

I bowed my head, trying not to argue. Another night, he’d said. Not this one. “I am sorry,” I told him instead.

“As I said before,” he told me, voice softening as he slid on his glove and then reached around my neck to free my hair from its bedraggled warrior’s tail, “I have already forgiven you. Let us speak of it no more.”

Then he looked up at me through impossibly long lashes, his eyes twinkling just a bit as he absentmindedly twisted a dark curl around his finger, deep black against brilliant gold. “Besides, there are other things I have discovered about you this night that interest me far more than that.”

I felt myself flush from head to toes at his unexpected flirting. It was far from the most ribald thing he’d ever said to me, but here, naked in his bed, after what I’d just shown him, the words felt absolutely filthy. “Oh, look at you blush,” he breathed wonderingly, brushing his hand across my chest.

“I swear, you’re the only man in Buck that blushes like this,” he told me fondly, as I flushed even deeper.

“So I’ve been told,” I replied, my voice a bit strained. He laughed, and it was as airy as chimes on the breeze. Then he swung one leg over my lap and straddled me, and I am certain I turned a shade of red I’d never been before, skin flaming.

“Do you like this?” he asked me patiently, tucking my hair behind my ears.

“You know I do,” I told him hoarsely, for he was sitting in my lap and could surely feel my arousal beneath him.

“I wanted to hear you say it,” he murmured, leaning forward and kissing me, open mouthed and much, much deeper than we had before, until I was dizzy from it. When he pulled back, he looked serious.

“How do you want this to go, Fitz?” he asked me. “When we were joined in the Skill, you showed me a great many things. Are those the things you want to do together tonight?” He was speaking to me in incredibly simple language, rubbing my shoulders as he did, as if to gentle me like a horse.

My mouth felt dry. For so long I’d tried not to think about this, to deny it to myself as even a possibility. I was overwhelmed by the thought of trying to choose what to do first. What to do with him, I realized with a bone-deep shudder of desire. What to do with him.

“Do you want to take me?” he asked baldly, and I choked a little at his plain language.

“You would- I mean- You have done… You would want that?” I spluttered out, face completely on fire. He cast an amused grin at me.

“Yes, Fitz. I would want that. And yes, I have done it.” A strange look crossed his face very briefly, and I wondered, not for the first time, at the secrets he kept so closely guarded.

Something did not sit right with me, suddenly. If he offered that to me, I wanted it to be without shadows in his eyes. I wanted him to offer it to me smiling, and for that smile to stay when he spoke of it. I did not want him to do anything with me that he did not desire with all his heart. 

“No,” I replied, sounding much surer than I’d even meant to. He froze, and gave me a suddenly wary look. That, I did not like either. He was clearly poised for rejection, even after all we’d done that night, and I felt sick with the knowledge that my actions had made him feel that way. I wrapped both my arms around his torso tightly and hauled him in even closer to me.

“No, I don’t want to take you. I think I’d rather have you take me,” I told him honestly, remembering every secret dream and unbidden fantasy I’d ever had, the ones I’d kept locked down deep in the furthest recesses of my mind for longer than I cared to recall. I leaned forward and kissed his frown as it melted away into a look of understanding.

“Make love to me,” I clarified, feeling horrifyingly shy, like an inexperienced youth. “If you want,” I tacked on needlessly, for he was already running his fingers down my back ardently, kissing up my neck with pinpoint precision.

“Oh, Beloved,” he whispered into my ear, his hunger for me a living thing between us. “I want.”

After that I ceded to him full control, for he clearly knew what he was doing far better than I, or at least it seemed that way to me. He kissed and touched and caressed and explored his way across my body and I let myself do the same for him, drinking in the reactions he gave me like a man parched. At some point he dragged me gently down the bed until I was laying on my back, staring up at him. Then he leaned over and snatched up something from his strange little tray.

“Oil,” he told me, kissing down my chest as he did. He did not need to elaborate. I knew exactly what it was for. I had heard guardsmen joking about this, heard that it was not pleasant. That it hurt and worse; that it was humiliating. I myself had tried not to think about it at all, but when I did, it was often to wonder curiously what it might be like, doing it with someone I loved.

With him. No need to lie anymore. What it would be like to do it with him. He would never purposefully hurt me, especially for his own benefit, I rationalized to myself. So then I did not think it would be as terrible as they said. And I did not feel humiliated, either. Only adored. Frantic with need and nerves, perhaps, but adored nonetheless.

“Are you sure you want this, Fitz?” he asked me, as thought he’d crawled inside my brain and listened to every thought. “Because we do not need to do it. We do not need to do anything you do not want,” he stressed, for what seemed like the twentieth time that night. It was incredibly important to him, I realized, that I wanted this as much as he did.

“I’m sure,” I answered, trying not to sound impatient, but badly wanting to start so that the terrible thrill and dread of my ever climbing anticipation might cease.

He must have heard it in my voice for he chuckled for a moment before growing deadly serious. “If anything happens that you do not like, if I hurt you at all, you’ll tell me, and I’ll stop. Alright? I will always stop.”

I suddenly thought I might have an idea about what had cast those shadows in his eyes, and I grabbed for his wrist. “Me too,” I ground out, gripping him tight and running my other hand roughly through his hair. “I will too.”

He nodded tranquilly. “I know, Fitz. I’ve always known that.”

I moved to lift my hand from his head. “Actually, you should keep it there,” he suggested, and then bent and took me into his mouth. My fingers tightened their grip. He did not stop. I quite suddenly lost track of time. Of everything, really, except the feeling of his soft hair tangling in my fingers and the inexorable warmth of him surrounding me. I thought of his earlier words. I never imagined…

Me neither, I thought. Me neither. Never had I dared to. He was far more courageous than I, for always, he had dared. I heard the soft pop of the oil jar unstoppering and the sweet scent of rose and sandalwood filled the air around us. My heart thudded painfully against my ribcage. He pulled off of me and rested his head tenderly upon my hip. His cool cheek and his breath against my damp flesh sent goosebumps racing across my skin.

“This part is difficult, sometimes, even when you’re used to it,” he told me in a soothing voice. “It might not be comfortable at first, but I promise you, if it’s done right, by someone who is patient and who cares, it will not hurt you. I am both of those things. You can trust me. But I do need you to relax. It is very important.”

He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to my skin and I did all that I could to let the tension seep out of my muscles. “Good,” he said approvingly, and a small measure of warmth shot through me at the praise. “You’re doing so well already.”

He poured the glistening oil out onto his long, slender fingers. How many times had I caught myself staring at those hands, I wondered, and tried not to imagine him doing to me exactly what he was about to do now? Any fear I had felt was suddenly crowded out by eager anticipation. I wanted this. With him. Always with him. Only with him.

He had not lied to me. It was strange, at first, intense and uncomfortable. A bit painful, even. But slowly it became less so, and more bearable. And then, more than bearable and very nearly pleasant. He never stopped his steady stream of reassurances as he tended to me, his gentle voice unceasing except in the moments when he’d take me into his mouth again, or suck gentle bruises into the meat of my thighs as I twisted beneath him.

I clung to the sound of him like an anchor. Whole, a voice deep within me chanted as he worked over my body expertly. Whole. Beautiful. Precious. Good.

So good, I thought blearily. It was so good. Suddenly, I realized how very little I had done for him. He had taken care of everything, and in comparison I had barely touched him. I want him to feel this good, too. Needed it, even.

I reached out a shaking hand and he immediately took it in his own. “Still alright, my heart?” he asked, and I felt my own heart plummet into my stomach at such an endearment. His heart. I did not deserve any of this. His heart.

My heart, I thought fiercely. My heart, carved from my chest and wandering through the world, vulnerable and unprotected. And I had let it be so for far, far too long. Never again, I swore to him silently. Never again.

An errant crook of his fingers sent the thought flitting away as I writhed against him. He stared down at me, lips parted in wonder. “I wish you could see how incredible you look,” he told me affectionately, lacing our fingers together. “You are the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes on.”

“I want you inside of me,” I blurted out and he parted his lips further in mock surprise.

“Beloved, I am inside of you,” he reminded me lightly.

“I want you to feel good,” I pressed on breathlessly, steadfastly ignoring his teasing. “Please. I want this to be good for you, too. I need it to be.”

He gazed at me fondly and lifted our joined hands to his lips to give my knuckles a kiss, much how a lord might publicly claim his lover. “Fear not, sweet one,” he assured me, and I tucked that endearment away just as I had the last. “I am enjoying myself immensely.” Slowly, he removed his fingers from me, and I gasped. “But, if that is what you want, I am powerless to resist you.”

Then finally, finally he untucked his towel and laid his entire body over mine, skin to skin, and I found myself feverishly kissing and touching every bit of him that I could reach. He shivered gratifyingly when my hand finally closed over him and for a moment he allowed me to simply caress him, the necessary movements well known to me yet completely alien all at once. His hips moved towards my touch with graceful eagerness, and his skin beneath my rough fingertips was both soft as velvet and cool as stone.

After far too little time at it, he brought his lips gently to my throat and carefully bit down. “Enough,” he breathed huskily, the sound sending a pleasing tremor through me. “There is far more I wish to do with you than this.”

Only then did I realize how near to the edge he must have been, for he had expressed no visible outward sign of it. He saw my expression and quirked an almost bashful smile at me. “Consider it a compliment,” he demurred, shifting from my grasp smoothly. “You learn very quickly. But I am ready to move on if you are.”

This time it was I who surely looked bashful as I nodded with alacrity. That earned me another one of his sweet, earnest smiles. “This next part is the most trying of all,” he told me seriously, brushing against my lips with his own as I ran greedy hands across his back, scratching just a little. “Mmhmm,” he intoned approvingly before continuing. “I’ll go slowly. But remember-”

"I say stop, you stop,” I replied. “I know. Please, Beloved. Please.”

He kissed me a few moments longer and then sat back on his haunches, and reached once again for the oil. This time, he applied it to both himself and me liberally as I goggled up at the spectacle he was creating with awe. “Like what you see?” he teased me, stretching sinuously as I ogled him, my pulse leaping.

“I love it,” I replied, throat dry. His breath hitched.

“As do I,” he agreed in a gravelly whisper. “As do I.”

I would be lying if I said I did not feel a moment of utter fear before he began pressing into me, so gently and slowly that it seemed almost impossible. But the terror merely passed over me briefly, much like an errant cloud buffeted away by a warm westerly wind. I did as he had told me and I relaxed into it, into him, trusting both he and I to know what I could take. Allowing myself to feel safe.

His hands caressed me so lovingly as he settled himself within me, looking entirely unperturbed. I did not share his unruffled composure, for I was breathing hard and desperately fighting the urge to whine at the onslaught of strange sensations and emotions overtaking me. “Give it a minute,” he murmured, stroking my jaw comfortingly. “I know it feels different than anything you’ve felt before. You’ll become accustomed to it. Just give it time.”

He placed one hand on my hip and slid his other into mine. “Squeeze as hard as you need,” he said. “I know this is frightening for you. It is for me too. But it’ll be good, too. I’ll make it so good for you, Fitz. I promise. Do you trust me?”

It was difficult to even formulate a response. “I- I do,” I told him haltingly. “You more than anyone.” I gripped his hand so tightly that for a moment I feared I’d gone too far and a bone might crack. 

“Me too,” he said. “Let’s just stay like this for a while, shall we?” And he leaned down to kiss me.

He did not stop until my muscles had uncoiled and my shoulders had slackened, until I was loose limbed and utterly relaxed as I sagged against him. I clearly recall the moment when suddenly I knew that I could bear more.

“Move,” I said to him, and he kissed my furrowed brow.

“Anything you want,” he replied fervently, and he moved, and it was good.

He was incredibly patient and gentle, exhibiting far more restraint that I would have been capable of, had our roles been reversed. But he was and always had been utterly unselfish, and so of course his touch was reverent and sweet. Through a stupefying fog of unfamiliar sensation, I realized I felt safer here in this bed than I ever had before in the whole of my life, except perhaps with my wolf.

But I did not want to think of Nighteyes now, I told myself hazily, gazing up at Beloved. He was moving above me so calmly and evenly, as though there was no place in the entirety of the world he would rather be than here and now, with me and within me. Perhaps there was not. I knew I would rather be here than anywhere else.

He placed a cool hand on my hip. “I’m going to try and move in a different way now, my love. You need only say the word and I’ll stop.” His voice was warm and reassuring and I nodded, feeling as though I was floating in some strange, half formed place between wakefulness and dreaming. He would not hurt me. Not ever.

“Yes,” I murmured, voice breathy to even my own ears.

“Fitz,” he said, and there was a bite to the edge of my name against his tongue, but his gentleness never wavered. Strong hands tilted my hips up and held them firm, and he moved again, but this time when he did, I found myself scrambling up on my elbows with a choke as sharp, bright spots of pleasure shot through the column of my spine, scintillating and fizzling against the base of my skull and tickling at the backs of my eyes.

He smiled. “Good?” he asked, leaning forward and kissing me.

I nipped at his lips desperately, tongue thick. “Good,” I confirmed dazedly as he pulled away.

He smiled a bit wider, and gently pressed me back down to the bed. “Relax,” he said softly. “Let me.”

I let him.

It was strange to be held at the mercy of his strength. No fighter, he, but still I felt protected in a way I could not explain, pinned lovingly beneath him. His loose curls floated about his head like a cloud and I stared at them, enraptured, as short pants escaped me.

“All is well?” he asked me quietly, kissing the center of my forehead and trailing all the way down to my lips. He took his time when he reached the bridge of my nose, and I recalled overhearing Amber’s words to Jek. Nothing could ruin his face. Not for me.

For an absurd moment I thought I might cry again. Then his lips captured mine and I could think of nothing else. Only him. He was everywhere, in me and above me, surrounding me and consuming me, and I felt drunk on him, suddenly flooded by his presence almost as strongly as I had been when joined to him in the Skill. After so many months bereft of him, being this immersed in one another was bliss. I had missed him so badly during our quarrel.

The thought made me feel abruptly sick. This was what I had shamed him for. This goodness, this pleasure that he offered to me now so freely. I was suddenly so remorseful that almost, I bid him to stop. I did not deserve the tenderness he was showing me. I did not deserve him at all. Distress must have shown on my face for he suddenly cupped it with his hand, holding me steady and forcing me to look him in the eye.

“Do you need me to stop, Fitz?” he asked, so calmly and kindly. Did I? No, I thought, I did not. In fact, if he stopped I was half afraid I might die of longing. How could he be so compassionate to me after what I’d done to him? I could not reconcile it.

“Please do not,” I begged him. “Beloved, do not.”

He caressed my cheek lightly. “Then what do you need?” he prompted me.

For you to move. To take me apart. To tear me into pieces, like I deserve. “You,” I blurted out instead. “More of you.”

“More?” he repeated carefully, removing his hand from my face and gently, proprietarily caressing my side, golden eyes aflame with his desire for me. Oh, I did not deserve him. I gulped back a torrent of tired apologies and bitter tears and bobbed my head, teeth starting to chatter from how long we’d been laying, connected but unmoving. My skin felt like it was on fire.

“Please,” I said again, and then, because I knew he wanted to hear it and because I wanted to say it and most of all, because it was true, “I need you.”

He drew in a very sharp breath at that, and he finally moved, much more powerfully than before, and I cried out as he finally, finally lost some small measure of control and took me entirely out of my head. There was no room at all for thought after that. Only for him.

Everything felt different then, both nebulous and serrated by varying degrees, and I gave myself over wholly to sensation and abandoned all but the here and now. I was with him. Not a single thing besides that mattered. He felt wonderful. So did I. We clung to each other and moved as one, and it was as natural as breathing.

At some point he wrapped his hand around me as he moved, never ceasing in his praise and adulation. It did not take much for me to lose control entirely and spill into his fist with a soft keen. “Beautiful,” he said in a low, darkly reverent tone I’d never before in my life heard him use.

He moved as if to leave me and I wrapped my hands around his narrow hips tightly, trapping him inside me. “Not yet,” I gritted out. “You aren’t done yet. You cannot stop.”

He nodded, eyes unfocused, as though what I’d said had rendered him momentarily senseless. Then he moved again, hard, and I cried out. It did not take much for him, either. I think he had been ready for just as long as I’d been. As he shuddered for the final time within me, I wrapped him into a tight, bruising embrace and pressed my cheek to his. “I love you,” I whispered. “I love you.”

He had been almost entirely silent up until that point, but at those words he let out a soft, breathy noise that was not unlike a sob and buried his face against my neck. I held him and held him, far past the point it was comfortable and certainly beyond what would have normally been pleasant. I did not care. None of that mattered. This was all that had ever mattered.

When he finally lifted his face, it was wet. “Are you well?” he asked me, so tenderly, pushing my hair out of my face.

“Are you well?” I countered, and then winced as he gently slipped out of me. He made a soft noise of sympathy.

“You’ll be a little sore.” He looked ashamed, his voice regretful. “I’m sorry. I should have been more careful with you.”

I almost laughed aloud. He had treated me more gently than I’d ever been handled in my life. “Too late,” I said with a smile. “You’re already forgiven. Besides, I liked it.”

“You did?” he whispered, pleased.

“I did,” I confirmed. “I’d like to do it again. Not now,” I spoke over the beginnings of his protestation. “But soon. And often. And always with you.” I knew I’d said the right thing for once as he beamed down at me, like sunlight after a storm.

“People might talk,” he cautioned me, smile dimming a bit as he leaned toward his little tray to gather and wet a few cloths before returning to kneel over me. He cleaned me with the same tenderness that he’d shown me all night, as if it was the greatest of privileges to even be touching me.

I picked up the other cloth and gently returned the favor. His expression of shocked delight hurt my heart. I would be better, I vowed to myself, about showing him how much I valued him, in our bed and out of it. “Let them,” I said firmly, as I pulled him down beside me. “You and I know what is real between us.”

He reached for one of the many colorful blankets adorning his big bed and draped it across us. It was a deep, vibrant magenta and it offset his tawny skin like jewels in a crown. I lay my head against his cool chest to listen to his heart, slinging a leg over his and draping my arm around him protectively. He was finally right where he belonged, cozy and safe with me.

I was suddenly so limp with satiation and relief that I wondered if I might pass out from it. He was running his clever fingers through my hair over and over, softly singing some nonsense song in a language I could not speak, his voice rich and sweet. I loved it.

“Are all White Prophets so good to their Catalysts?” I asked him, half joking.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “If I ever meet another one, I’ll have to ask them.”

I could see the first etchings of dawn creeping their way across the sky outside his window. We had stayed up all night. “You must be exhausted,” I said quietly as he continued to stroke my hair and hum.

“On the contrary, my dear one,” he said distantly, staring out into the early morning. “I was exhausted before. Now I am rejuvenated. I have strength enough now to do what needs to be done. And it is all because of you.”

I felt a cold chill creep over me as he spoke, and I wrapped my arm around him tighter. “I will not stand by and let you kill yourself for some greater good,” I warned him. “Not ever, but especially not now.”

He kissed my head and then kept his mouth there, speaking against my hair. “I know when the time comes you will do what you must. You always have, Changer. As have I.” He sighed. “This will make it harder. But you are worth it.”

“Stop speaking like this!” I demanded. His arms came up around me.

“I’m sorry, Fitz. I know it frightens you. It always has, when I speak of our path. I can stop, at least for tonight. Try not to think about it,” he suggested, dipping down and kissing me softly. “That’s what I do.”

“You will live,” I vowed stubbornly. “I will make sure of it.”

He looked as though he wanted to argue with me for a moment, but then thought better of it. “I love you, FitzChivalry,” he said instead, his expression softening as he rested his forehead against mine. “I have loved you since the first time I saw you.”

“And I love you, my Beloved,” I whispered in return.

His features were so close that they blurred together, but that hardly mattered. I would know his face even in the blackest of nights, and so I knew what he looked like when he tried to hold back tears.

“No more of those,” I whispered, giving him a final kiss before I settled back upon his chest. “It’s a beautiful new day.”

“So it is, Fitz,” he murmured, pulling the blanket and his arms tighter around us both. “So it is.”