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Peanut Butter - Fire
Main entry
Timeframe : 1280
Rune’s fumbling with the candle, trying to figure out how he’s supposed to light the match and then the wick with only his left hand free. And Ski is about to intercede, when Lyssa rolls her eyes and the candle sputters and sparks.
“You know,” he says, frowning at the softly glowing stick, “I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to do that myself. Or one of them should help me.” He gives the gathered guests a nod. “Really, anyone but you. Or else what’s it mean when I give it to you?”
Lyssa laughs, and though the lines tug at her eyes, there’s that light that dances across their depths that brings him back more than twenty years every time he sees it. “But isn’t that the way it’s always been with us?”
There’s a tug on his arm, under the sheet, and he can’t help but laugh too as she’s pulling him in.
“Would you two get on with it?” Tristan calls, just as Rune’s holding the burning candle out of the way so he can lean in for a kiss.
“It’s been twenty-five years,” says Lyssa, her grip on Rune’s arm tightening. “What’s another five minutes?”
“Five minutes too many,” says Rune, and he clears his throat as he rights himself. “From this day forward.” He lifts his candle and Lyssa grudgingly raises her own as well. “I give to you what’s left of my heart that you didn’t already steal twenty years ago.”
She’s laughing again, but he’s fairly certain he can see tears creeping into her eyes as the candles meet and the glow spreads from his to hers. “That it may always light your way.”
Lyssa bites her lip as she withdraws, quick to brush away the tear that slides down her cheek with the back of the hand still clutching the lit candle. And he’d like to shake his head and point out to her what a Lyssa thing that is to do, but he’s too caught up in the words she’s barely more than mouthing. “It has.”
Main entry
Timeframe : 1280
Rune’s fumbling with the candle, trying to figure out how he’s supposed to light the match and then the wick with only his left hand free. And Ski is about to intercede, when Lyssa rolls her eyes and the candle sputters and sparks.
“You know,” he says, frowning at the softly glowing stick, “I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to do that myself. Or one of them should help me.” He gives the gathered guests a nod. “Really, anyone but you. Or else what’s it mean when I give it to you?”
Lyssa laughs, and though the lines tug at her eyes, there’s that light that dances across their depths that brings him back more than twenty years every time he sees it. “But isn’t that the way it’s always been with us?”
There’s a tug on his arm, under the sheet, and he can’t help but laugh too as she’s pulling him in.
“Would you two get on with it?” Tristan calls, just as Rune’s holding the burning candle out of the way so he can lean in for a kiss.
“It’s been twenty-five years,” says Lyssa, her grip on Rune’s arm tightening. “What’s another five minutes?”
“Five minutes too many,” says Rune, and he clears his throat as he rights himself. “From this day forward.” He lifts his candle and Lyssa grudgingly raises her own as well. “I give to you what’s left of my heart that you didn’t already steal twenty years ago.”
She’s laughing again, but he’s fairly certain he can see tears creeping into her eyes as the candles meet and the glow spreads from his to hers. “That it may always light your way.”
Lyssa bites her lip as she withdraws, quick to brush away the tear that slides down her cheek with the back of the hand still clutching the lit candle. And he’d like to shake his head and point out to her what a Lyssa thing that is to do, but he’s too caught up in the words she’s barely more than mouthing. “It has.”