Chapter Text
Cayde loved to watch her get ready.
It wasn’t some perverted reason - not the fact he gets to see her body or whatever - but the way she does everything with such certainty and finality. Her chest piece was laced up with precision and practiced ease, the perfect tightness. Shoulder armour strapped down confidently over the long sleeved black undershirt. Shin guards always placed exactly where they should be, no hesitation. And that cloak - long, sweeping; deep shimmery black with the brightest gold tree emblazoned on it. The fur collar made her look like royalty, the hood dropping behind her. Her boots were always sturdy and clean, though Cayde can never recall her cleaning them.
And that helmet. God, that helmet. Large snarling teeth jutted from the front, gold and menacing. It was like a nightmare. She always slicked back her hair into a bun, shaved side cut clean and never were there any flyaways. Jet black bangs never touched lower than her eyebrows.
Her eyes were always determined. Strikingly bright orange against the rest of her, with big chunks of orange paint on the inner corners of her eyes. It was incredible. She was incredible. She was a soldier, through and through - no, more than that, a General, stoic and fair and braver than anyone Cayde has ever met.
She was the deadliest Guardian the world had ever seen. No one could beat her in the Crucible. No enemy could beat her on the battlefield. People were rightly scared of her - a war machine with no off button.
Equally, Cayde loved to see her undress.
He knew that the way she readied herself was a strategy. If you dress like it’s the last time you’ll be able to, you’ll try harder to survive. She’s known defeat, and she’s known loss. Her off button is right here, in their apartment, alone in the quiet.
It’s where she can be herself.
She’s gentle and quiet but has a streak of self confidence that makes her stand up for herself. She’d never kill without reason, never attacks first, always looking, searching for a way to end everything without bloodshed. Brave, kind, and stoic. Gentle, silent and fair. Intelligent without arrogance.
Undressing stripped away those layers of protection. The coldness, the ruthlessness, the deadliness. Wearing that armour seemed to call for that attitude.
But her down to her underclothes with her hair down in bed, reading until she falls asleep, that’s her. She came from heartbreaking defeat to overwhelming victory.
He loves all of her.
He loves her when she wakes up crying with names on her lips that he doesn’t know, he loves her when she gets home from a mission and she tiredly smiles in relief, he loves her when she’s sleeping gently, he loves her in their passionate moments when she repeats his name like a mantra, he loves her when she wins convincingly in the Crucible every time she tries her hand at it.
He loves her, completely, forever.