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ya’aburnee
[So first, a timeline of things that may or may not be important]
[At thirteen, he meets his future matesprit for the first time. A sweep later they have won each other, and they are sure they will burn a path through the world. Or, he is sure anyway. Mindfang has the good graces to never tell him how it ends]
[At sixteen, he lets his hair go black again. The upkeep is too much effort lately, and time seems cut suddenly short. Nights pass him by with a sort of startling ease. The daymares catch him up more and more, and his body aches in the moments before the dawn. His faith in the revolution is still absolutely unshakeable]
[Twenty sweeps and an assassination is attempted. He nearly dies, but doesn't. The knife scar stands in sharp relief against his otherwise unmarked throat]
[He finds out his matesprit has betrayed him, and he loses hundreds for his trust. Twenty-three, and he remembers the feeling of the lance through her chest until the day he dies. A perigee later, he gets reckless and angry, tries to rip apart an entire platoon with his bare hands. He's struck across the face for his trouble, and once he wakes from the deep coma they put him in, he is left with a long scar that arcs up his cheek, through his eye and over his temple to break against his horn. He wears it like a trophy]
[But he never recovers completely. The revolution limps on for a sweep. Two. He loses the curve of one of his horns in battle, age turning them brittle enough to snap]
[And through all of these things, there has been a single person by his side. His moirail. A redblooded woman who remains young despite the sweeps and sweeps that have passed since he first met her. It is something he relies on. Her consistencies. She is always so pretty, and she comes most often when he is alone, so tonight he takes a walk out, wandering slowly through the hills that surround their current encampment]
[He has known this particular night was coming for a long long time, of course. If he's truly honest with himself, he expected it sooner then this. Amazing they got even two sweeps out of it, but he hardly knows who to credit for their tenacity anymore. He hardly remembers the days when he carried this entire, messy thing on his shoulders. They seem like better times. He doesn't like to think about it...]
[But there is something in the air tonight. A sullen quiet that hangs around his shoulders. He knows. He finds a the highest hill he can, sits in the grass at the top of it and waits, watching the moons and listening to the breeze. It would be very nice to see her one more time before he goes to die]
[At thirteen, he meets his future matesprit for the first time. A sweep later they have won each other, and they are sure they will burn a path through the world. Or, he is sure anyway. Mindfang has the good graces to never tell him how it ends]
[At sixteen, he lets his hair go black again. The upkeep is too much effort lately, and time seems cut suddenly short. Nights pass him by with a sort of startling ease. The daymares catch him up more and more, and his body aches in the moments before the dawn. His faith in the revolution is still absolutely unshakeable]
[Twenty sweeps and an assassination is attempted. He nearly dies, but doesn't. The knife scar stands in sharp relief against his otherwise unmarked throat]
[He finds out his matesprit has betrayed him, and he loses hundreds for his trust. Twenty-three, and he remembers the feeling of the lance through her chest until the day he dies. A perigee later, he gets reckless and angry, tries to rip apart an entire platoon with his bare hands. He's struck across the face for his trouble, and once he wakes from the deep coma they put him in, he is left with a long scar that arcs up his cheek, through his eye and over his temple to break against his horn. He wears it like a trophy]
[But he never recovers completely. The revolution limps on for a sweep. Two. He loses the curve of one of his horns in battle, age turning them brittle enough to snap]
[And through all of these things, there has been a single person by his side. His moirail. A redblooded woman who remains young despite the sweeps and sweeps that have passed since he first met her. It is something he relies on. Her consistencies. She is always so pretty, and she comes most often when he is alone, so tonight he takes a walk out, wandering slowly through the hills that surround their current encampment]
[He has known this particular night was coming for a long long time, of course. If he's truly honest with himself, he expected it sooner then this. Amazing they got even two sweeps out of it, but he hardly knows who to credit for their tenacity anymore. He hardly remembers the days when he carried this entire, messy thing on his shoulders. They seem like better times. He doesn't like to think about it...]
[But there is something in the air tonight. A sullen quiet that hangs around his shoulders. He knows. He finds a the highest hill he can, sits in the grass at the top of it and waits, watching the moons and listening to the breeze. It would be very nice to see her one more time before he goes to die]
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[What. He... is confused!! Confused as much as he is grateful, and he ends up drawing her closer, squeezing her a little for how... sort of amazing that news is?]
You don't have to, leave again...?
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Not this time.
[She can deal with the consequences later.]
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[Kisses her hair, and settles against her. Just... holding her in silence for now. This is good enough. He will decide how and when to send her away... some time that isn't right now]
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So the Handmaid relaxes, toying with the hair at the back of his neck absentmindedly. She can just pretend nothing horrible is going to happen for a little while, right?]
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[Eventually, he sighs and... smiles ever so slightly. Well if she... doesn't have to go back, then... maybe...]
You should come back with me tonight. So I can show you off~ [Faintly teasing lkjdf]
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Why would you show me off?
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[...no he doesn't. But he has mentioned her a few times, and he really would like to introduce her... At least to his closest officers???!!!!]
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...Okay.
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Good. [And then softer: ] Thank you.
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You're welcome.
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I think. You were the best thing that ever happened to me... Can I say that...? [Without being too grossly romantic of course]
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You were the best thing that ever happened to me, too.
[Her voice breaks slightly on the last syllable. He has no idea just how true that statement is, and she has no idea what she's going to do without him.]
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There will be others for you. [Which is... well, sort of a cruel thing to say to a moirail. They're supposed to be soulmates right? But he thinks... since he doesn't know how much longer she'll live, there is definitely a chance she will find someone else in her long long life. Hell, maybe it'll even be someone she cares for more then him, and he is both hurt and warmed by that thought... Ah well. He shouldn't dwell. Not this late in the game anyway]