Phantoms.
Click to viewShow me what is mine
Take my finger, drag it through
What no one else will find
Take your time
I have got all night
Take your time
In the morning the sun will have its fight.
She sits at her workbench, a set of goggles with a magnifying glass installed on them covering her eyes as she examines some gear for her engineering work. The delicate parts look large and rough between her slender golden fingers, but if they were to be placed in his own calloused soldier's hands they would seem impossibly small. He lacks the dexterity to handle such things with precision, but the simple plait down the centre of her back is his work. That she lets him toy with her hair is one of the many small joys in their relationship.
Everything you see is all for your taking
Climb into my dreams and leave nothing
I have got all night
Leave nothing
In the morning the sun will have its fight.
She loves him. It is so very obvious now that they've admitted it to each other. In public, he maintains his distance and never presumes to treat her as though she is special to him, and she reciprocates with the same. They do this not because they are embarrassed of what they share, but rather because it is theirs, and not for other people to take part in. She is a figure of authority, and the mantle of it is new to her at that; he will not undermine her in any way. He will not be a weakness, but he will stand behind her in quiet support. If she stumbles, then she will right herself - but if she falls, he will catch her.
And you know there's nothing I won't do for you, dear
That I won't do for you, dear
There is nothing that can stand up to my fight
For you
For you.
In front of him is the paperwork from the Crusade that describes the enhancements and properties of the weaponry they recovered at Runestone Shan'dor two months or so ago. Little did he know then that the simple leaf-bladed obsidium dagger signified anything important, and neither of them had the least clue that she would end up being given the title of Ranger-Captain, but now it is all tying together. He arranged for the information to be sent to him, and now she needs it.
She arranged for him to bring her home, and now he needs her.
It is odd, and beautiful, how life works out.
So show me what is mine
Take my heart and drag it through your life
Take your time
I've got all night
Take your time
In the morning when it's fine.
He rubs at his eyes. They're feeling a little tired, and he turns the knob on the lantern to let more oil lick at the wick. The brightened flame makes the print easier to read, the diagrams and charts simpler to decipher. It is late in the evening, after all, and his age is undeniable. He is not exactly past his prime, but decades - Light, a century or more - of soldiering, of living, wears on the body, no matter how lucky he has been in terms of physical injuries. No, his wounds are nearly all spiritual and psychological.
Still, perhaps he should look into reading glasses.
And you know there's nothing I won't do for you, dear
That I won't do for you dear
There is nothing that can stand up to my fight
For you
For you.
What are they doing together? What does he want from her? Only a few weeks ago, these were questions he pondered with a sort of helplessness, unwilling - or unable - to admit what he felt for her. He still wonders if falling in love again is a betrayal of the woman whose spectre lingers behind so many of his memories and dreams. The only way he can honour her anymore is to call her wife, even if they were never officially wed, and tend to her gravesite. That is a place he has never shared with someone else, and is uncertain whether he ever will. Why would he take his new love, the woman whose fires are as bright as her shadows are dark, to see his ghosts?
He should throw his wife's gravestone into the lake and let her resting place grow wild, then sell the house and the land about it. But what he should do is not necessarily what he will do.
And you know there's nothing that I can't do for you dear
That I can't do for you dear
There is nothing that can stand up to my fight.
They are going to visit apartments in the Bazaar, soon. He will move out of the barracks and she will move out of this inn room, and together they will find a place to call their own. No matter how they care for one another now, a house is too risky of an investment to step into with a newly-acknowledged partner. He is a man who sees the end of things before he sees the beginning of them. Some might call that pessimistic, but he calls it pragmatic.
And you know there is nothing that I can't do for you dear
That I can't do for you here
There is nothing that can stand up to my fight
For you
For you.
And no matter how truly they care for one another, their relationship has never been tested. It has never been made to bear the stress of work and disagreement and words spat out in anger. This is still so very new, and the things that they find charming about each other might well turn into irritations over time. He cannot imagine ever falling out of love with her, but then again, it was not so long ago when he could not have imagined loving her at all. Yet he's still in love with a memory of a woman who has been gone long enough that he no longer counts the years individually, but in handfuls.
Harlo has her darkness. Talon has his.
He will fight to keep them both walking in the sun.