![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hellorhighwaterNeil was scared. Legitimately scared.
It had been a long, long time since he'd felt this kind of fear--not even when he thought he was dying had he ever felt this. Too long, death had been a foregone conclusion for him: dying on the streets, dying in service of his king, dying at the hands of his own magic. No, death didn't scare him--death was an old friend, familiar and well loved.
This was the fear he felt the first night he slept in his new bed within the safety of Castle Nocturne. This was the fear he felt when he held a sword or threw fire for the first time. The fear of his first kill, with his first woman, of realizing he'd adopted his first teenager.
It was the fear of the unknown and the wanted. He was fucking terrified of something good and glorious and eternal not because he could have it--but because he could lose it.
And yet, he had to try.
The ring was easy: he bought it early on, entrusted its safety and that of his future to the Sky Maker, burying it not far from the box of souls with an offering of blood (not much, and the cut on his palm he attributed to a sparring session gone wrong). It was the other pieces that were hard--things he needed to do this right, to invoke the blessings of the gods that would give him what he wanted. He was well aware of how wrong this could go, and Neil wasn't about to screw it up if he could help it.
And he could help it. So he did.
The pieces came slowly, but when he got each one right he could almost feel the electricity, the weight of eyes--the awareness of his goddess and her son on high, the attention of the Sky Maker below. The elements, the vessels...it all felt perfect.
The clash of steel on steel stirred him from his fretful thoughts, the vibration of the blow rattling his teeth as it rocketed from fist to forearm to shoulder and finally head.
Maybe live combat sparring with real swords wasn't the greatest idea when he was so distracted.
Neil parried the strike he'd blocked, then advanced, trying to lose himself in the old dance of the fight. Sparring at home could only keep him so sharp, but fortunately he'd found some partners to work with in Fayren that could match his skill level well enough to challenge him, partners unafraid of working without restrictions, and work at the military hours he still tended to keep.
Today, he'd needed the help. Today, when he'd figured out how to begin the process of proposing. He thought of a dozen grand and sweeping gestures, a dozen more ridiculous and sappy presentations heavy on the flowers and equally flowery declarations of love--but he'd ultimately realized that the best way to begin was the way they had begun. It wasn't all that different from the Sky Maker and the Sun Goddess themselves, in the end.
Like the Sky Maker, he'd come to love a woman bringing him pure light. He'd even courted her with gifts: the eye of the Ember he'd presented her on their first date, the totem of her heart in condensed dragon fire the day he'd truly given up his heart.
Everything they were just...happened. It was how they started...it was how they would start.
So he'd slipped out as quietly as possible before the sun to head to the Drunken Monkey, where he'd met his sparring partner. It was his day off, but he still left a note on his pillow for her: At work. - N
And under the note, he'd left the long, black velvet jewelry box, containing a sterling silver chain on which hung a sleek, discreet glass pendant that contained a pinch of dark, fresh soil inside. No explanation, no reason--he just left it, left the house...
And sparred with a partner, instead of standing there biting his nails in terror as he waited for her to find him.
It had been a long, long time since he'd felt this kind of fear--not even when he thought he was dying had he ever felt this. Too long, death had been a foregone conclusion for him: dying on the streets, dying in service of his king, dying at the hands of his own magic. No, death didn't scare him--death was an old friend, familiar and well loved.
This was the fear he felt the first night he slept in his new bed within the safety of Castle Nocturne. This was the fear he felt when he held a sword or threw fire for the first time. The fear of his first kill, with his first woman, of realizing he'd adopted his first teenager.
It was the fear of the unknown and the wanted. He was fucking terrified of something good and glorious and eternal not because he could have it--but because he could lose it.
And yet, he had to try.
The ring was easy: he bought it early on, entrusted its safety and that of his future to the Sky Maker, burying it not far from the box of souls with an offering of blood (not much, and the cut on his palm he attributed to a sparring session gone wrong). It was the other pieces that were hard--things he needed to do this right, to invoke the blessings of the gods that would give him what he wanted. He was well aware of how wrong this could go, and Neil wasn't about to screw it up if he could help it.
And he could help it. So he did.
The pieces came slowly, but when he got each one right he could almost feel the electricity, the weight of eyes--the awareness of his goddess and her son on high, the attention of the Sky Maker below. The elements, the vessels...it all felt perfect.
The clash of steel on steel stirred him from his fretful thoughts, the vibration of the blow rattling his teeth as it rocketed from fist to forearm to shoulder and finally head.
Maybe live combat sparring with real swords wasn't the greatest idea when he was so distracted.
Neil parried the strike he'd blocked, then advanced, trying to lose himself in the old dance of the fight. Sparring at home could only keep him so sharp, but fortunately he'd found some partners to work with in Fayren that could match his skill level well enough to challenge him, partners unafraid of working without restrictions, and work at the military hours he still tended to keep.
Today, he'd needed the help. Today, when he'd figured out how to begin the process of proposing. He thought of a dozen grand and sweeping gestures, a dozen more ridiculous and sappy presentations heavy on the flowers and equally flowery declarations of love--but he'd ultimately realized that the best way to begin was the way they had begun. It wasn't all that different from the Sky Maker and the Sun Goddess themselves, in the end.
Like the Sky Maker, he'd come to love a woman bringing him pure light. He'd even courted her with gifts: the eye of the Ember he'd presented her on their first date, the totem of her heart in condensed dragon fire the day he'd truly given up his heart.
Everything they were just...happened. It was how they started...it was how they would start.
So he'd slipped out as quietly as possible before the sun to head to the Drunken Monkey, where he'd met his sparring partner. It was his day off, but he still left a note on his pillow for her: At work. - N
And under the note, he'd left the long, black velvet jewelry box, containing a sterling silver chain on which hung a sleek, discreet glass pendant that contained a pinch of dark, fresh soil inside. No explanation, no reason--he just left it, left the house...
And sparred with a partner, instead of standing there biting his nails in terror as he waited for her to find him.
no subject
Date: 2019-08-29 10:36 pm (UTC)When the purple smoke dissipated, and he was sitting on the edge of their bed instead of a barrel, and they were safely ensconced in their bedroom rather than outside under the sun, he grinned against her mouth and lay back, tugging her down over him with an arm around her waist.
"...and three...and four...and five..." he continued between kisses. "Gotta stop me some time, else I'm just gonna fuck you all day."
no subject
Date: 2019-09-11 05:45 am (UTC)She didn't give him a chance to respond, though, before she was kissing him with considerably more heat and intention. He couldn't just go half-proposing to her and then expect her to be all normal and playful.
Even if she was happy, she couldn't stop hearing and seeing all of her failures. He owed it to her to shut them up by the most pleasurable, most expedient means. Before she got manic and panicky and, oh look, too late.
"In all seriousness, Neil," she finally said, voice rough and raw with rollicking emotions. "It's time to be naked. If you want to do it the old-fashioned way, start now. Otherwise, magic."
no subject
Date: 2019-09-11 07:51 pm (UTC)He'd touched a nerve that night, and had no idea how to handle it, how to fit together her broken pieces without cutting himself or assembling the picture wrong. All he could do was hoard them, collect each one and store it away within himself until somehow the pile miraculously shifted and settled until it was all in order again.
Some days, it still felt like that, like he was going to get it wrong. He had more to lose, every day his love deepened, by screwing up.
So he sat up again, holding her steady in his lap with an arm around her waist, and once he was up let her go to grab the back of his shirt with both hands, tugging it up and off over his head.
She wanted him to push the past away, the old mistakes and shadows, with his body--a thing he would do gladly, a thing he would revel in--but he took a moment to slow it down, to pause by wadding up his shirt and pitching it across the room before he took her face between his hands. He gave himself that moment to look into her eyes, to make her look into his and see the present, the future instead of that dreaded past.
Then he drew her in, ghosting his lips over that tiny scar on her mouth that he adored before he gave her the kiss she wanted: deep, hard, filthy mating thrusts of his tongue as his hands fell to her shoulders, then started the work of getting her shirt off in turn.