Work Text:
Spring
It was Spring when they first met. Flowers bloomed despite the war, against the odds, from dried blood soaking the earth. New beginnings were only a promise, far away, off the battlefields and usual paths. He was a captive but he was not the only one running, for she was running from herself, from who she thought she could never be. He, meanwhile, was running from the man he grew to be, with no faith in the man he could still become. That was, until their worlds collided, until swords kissed and sprang apart. And for a time, they ran together, side by side, not knowing to where they were headed.
Summer
It was Summer when their travels stopped, if only for a while, and peace buzzed in the heat like the flies in search for a landing place. Sun warmed theri skins and hopes started to grow where once desolation had ruled. They thought they could do it all, that they were on the right track, headed towards a certain destination, a place where honor meant something again, but in the end, they had to bid farewell. He wanted to run after her, but he did not. She swore to herself not to turn around, but she did. And the only thing that lingered in the hot summer air was a word, a promise, an oath.
Summer Solstice
They met again, so unexpectedly, at Summer Solstice when nights may seem short but all the darker. Neither one knew what to say or how to move. Where they used to move side by side, they found themselves standing on opposite sides of a war not theirs all over again. He wanted to follow her, he did, he did, he did. He wanted to leave it all behind, but he could not. It was the longest day to see her come and go, to let her leave and not hold on, to stand shrouded in the dark red of his own House. Only as night fell and he stood upon a castle drowned in the darkness of the desolation of victory did he see a flicker of hope, stealing away across the water, did he dare to breathe again. They bid farewell again, without words this time, with just a single gesture neither one could tell the other saw, but he did. And she did. And as night fell and long days ended, both dared to hope, if only for themselves, that one day, they’d see each other again.
Fall
Fall brought change, a cut in time. It was a jolt, a wakeup call, for it was time for him to awaken, from dreams he dreamed for far too long, promising no Spring but only endless Winter. He didn’t believe, or didn’t want to believe, he couldn’t tell, but when she touched him, so unexpectedly, he was reminded of the thousand leagues they had travelled side by side, through forests now bearing golden leaves about to fall and die. He was reminded of the promises made, the oaths kept, those neglected, and those on the tip of his tongue which he learned to hold for so many years. He found his voice that day. Because of her. For her. For himself. For the man he thought was gone but lived on in her faith in him, in who he could still become. And so he left as seasons changed, and he along with them.
Winter
The cold winds blew him North, to where it all began, to where he began anew. Because he had to find her, as he had found himself. He did, amidst an angry crowd who saw the name but not the man. She spoke the words he never would have found for himself, never would have dared to claim for himself. But she did, for him, and so he found himself embracing, slowly, tentatively this man he had become through the seasons, through hardship and defeat, through loss and pain but also hope, no longer as distant as it once seemed, resting in the ice blue eyes of the woman he rode North for. And with her, he wanted to fight. And by her side, he wanted to stay as days grew darker still, grew colder yet, announcing the beginning of the ending yet to be decided amidst ice and fire.
The Long Night
Side by side they stood, in the dark, wordless, breathless, as life was devoured by a black sky. Together in the dark, their eyes met where their hands wanted to touch, to reassure one another of the presence still there, not yet gone. The sky split open as death knocked down the doors, kicked down the walls, pulled them down, tried to devour their lives. He found her and she found him. And side by side they fought, made legend of a story not yet told, made legend of an honorable man and a just woman who stood for the living, who dared to fall for life, but, unexpectedly, kept standing as death fell, and with it, silence.
Winter’s End
Hope is born in the strangest places, in the most forlorn situations. It doesn’t grow out of easy solutions. It is born amidst smoke and ashes, fire and ice, life and death, on the tip of a sword. He nearly lost it, finding himself unworthy of the affection, the trust, the love. He nearly lost it, lost her, riding away, but she found him, life dangling by a single thread, covered in dust, in stone. Because it is from such desolation that hope can grow, fragile as it is. She came for the man she knew he had long since become. It was she who made him open his eyes again to the truth resting inside hers, that the journey he’d undertaken had long since ended, that his path was a new one now, and that every path, every track, led back to her, into her strong arms. They embraced, they kissed, and no music was playing beside the one of two healing hearts finally beating as one. Throughout the seasons he had changed, she had changed. They stopped running from who they were and didn’t believe they could become once they ran into each other – and stayed. Hope is born in the strangest places, between the most unlikely matches. And as green buds spring from the frozen earth, on an island sitting in the deep blue sea, hope is born anew, takes on a new shape, gurgling, drinking the milk of life. Because two hearts no longer beat as one but for three. And two souls found a landing place as seasons change anew, for many years to come, for their Dream of Spring…