(Untitled)
"You can open your eyes now, Sophie." Letting go of one of her hands, he takes in a deep breath of fresh air: he's led her to their flowers, to the very end of the path just before the ground turns to marsh. There, he's got a table covered in a fluttering white tablecloth. A single candle lights the scene; the table is laid out with place settings
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Comments 26
Sophie stares, half-delighted and half-uneasy - it's always perfect, with Howl. It's part of who he is, and part of what makes him so, well, infuriating. Sophie never manages perfect; she always muddles things up, somehow.
But she's determined not to, tonight. Because Howl's been working as hard as she has, she knows, and for once he really deserves perfect.
"It's beautiful," she says aloud, her voice still a little hoarse from days of assembly-line charms.
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He's never considered himself to be the type who dotes, but Sophie is everything to him, whether he admits it or not. At his core, he's got a steely romantic spine that wants to be loved and adored, and wants to love and adore in turn. The circumstances of his life may have made that nearly impossible for a long time, but he sees no reason to let them keep him from his heart's desire.
My heart's desire.
The concept is still so foreign to him, but he cherishes it and nourishes it and takes the greatest delight in watching it grow. Hearts, he knows now, are both fragile and complicated, and he can't believe he gave his away for power.
Still, without that, there might be no Sophie here at his side and that, he knows, would be the bigger tragedy.
"If I tell you I love you, will you blush?"
My little grey ( ... )
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Blast it, anyways. Someday, she promises herself, she'll manage to conquer her telltale face.
(That may even be the same day when she stops being surprised to hear it, because she believes - really believes, permanently and without any lingering doubts - that Howl won't eventually get bored with her.)
"And I'm hardly ragged, Howl, I've been sitting in one place for the past three days - and anyways, what about you?" She frowns up at him, noting, once again, every sign of tiredness on his face. "Talk about the pot and kettle!"
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There. That should be a little bit better. He doesn't do it quite as well without Calcifer's assistance, but there are a fair few things he can do by himself. Small healing spells are among that number; he used to do them on Sophie's heart when she was old. Sometimes she knew and other times he suspects she didn't, but there's no ego tied up in this kind of work. That's one lesson Mrs. Pentstemmon taught him well.
There are many wizards, Howell, but few can be numbered among the best. If you want to be one of the best, you must release yourself from outcome. There's no glory in helping people. The help is its own reward.He didn't always understand that lesson, but he does now. Selfless magic isn't something one needs to like; it's simply something one needs to do without a second thought. It's something one does because it's the right thing to do ( ... )
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