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Wren isn't sure how old she was, when she first learned gentleness wasn't for her.
Was it from the very beginning, her genesis in a clan of warriors, the blood she was forged in when she lost them all?
Was it after, raised to be the weapon people needed so desperately? Shaped into a blade in the hands of her father, of the Hannos, of the rebellion, of everyone who needed her to fight?
Was it the day she learned her mission, took it into herself like the only purpose she'd ever been built for, even when her own body had to pay the price? The day she learned that like the weapon she was, there was no mercy for her in the battle, that she was crude steel held up in protection, to bear the weight of all the blows?
Perhaps it was all of these and none of them, and perhaps it doesn't matter either way, because whenever it started, she's learned it now, a lesson etched deep in her bones: whatever she is, she is not gentle. And however she is treated, it will never be tenderer than the way a warrior polishes her blade, care given only to let it cut deeper next time she has to fight.
Gentleness is not meant for Wren.
Only then there is this night.
This night, and Lei's lips on hers, Lei's skin hot beneath her fingertips.
This night, and this girl she met in the heart of the fire, and an impossible softness in the midst of all the brutality of the walls that hold them.
This night, and the sound Lei makes when Wren nips at her bottom lip, and the hitch in her breath, and Wren's fingers on the tie at her waist, and a love so big Wren cannot chart it all.
“I've never...” Lei says, Wren's hand tracing the curve of her hip. “I mean, I haven't ever...”
Wren stills her hand, shifts to put an inch between them, meets golden eyes that steal the breath she tries to steady. “We don't have to–”
Lei shakes her head so quickly Wren almost laughs, caught in a breathless heartbeat of desire and love and a smile she can't fight. “That's not what I meant. I want...” It's too dark to see for sure, but Wren thinks she's blushing, and the tenderness in her heart is so overwhelming it almost scares her. “I want this. You. Just... please be gentle. And let me...” Her fingers brush Wren's hip, where a bruise fades, a bruise Wren will spent the rest of her life fighting to forget. “Let me be gentle with you.”
She's seen it, then, the way Wren holds herself so harshly, doesn't give herself the space to cry, to hurt, to be cared for.
Please be gentle. And let me be gentle with you.
Gentleness is not made for Wren. But it is made for Lei. All the violence and the hurt, and still Lei is gentle. Her touch on Wren's skin, the whispered words they trade in the dark.
It's not gentleness like timidity, gentleness like pity or the absence of passion. It is gentleness like a care bigger than Wren has ever known, gentleness like a belief in all the better they deserve.
Lei asks her for gentleness, and Wren will give everything she has over to that tenderness in a heartbeat.
And Lei asks her to accept gentleness, and despite everything, despite the awareness of the razor-sharp blade she is supposed to be, Wren finds herself believing, for just this night, that she is someone who could be treated softly.
Every grip she has felt in her life closes on her like the pommel of a sword, the haft of a spear, the arch of a bow loosing arrows to pierce the dark. And then there is Lei, who holds her like a lover, like a girl, like tenderness is something she deserves.
She touches Lei, and it feels like a miracle, something sacred and infinitely precious, sensation she will worship like the gods.
Lei touches her, and it feels like a beginning, like newness unfolding across her skin, like spring, flowers blooming on a battlefield, shining brighter than the blood.
She falls into it, into Lei, her skin, her mouth, her careful hands, the taste of her. Feels a sound at her lips that might be wordless or might be I love you, and stifles it against the skin of Lei's shoulder, lets the silence keep them safe as she falls undone.
She never understood, till now, that fire could be gentle. But Lei burns bright, bright as the fires of this thing between them, bright enough that Wren almost believes she could burn this whole castle to the ground, let this brutal court fall to ashes. And yet she is gentle. Her heart, her soul, her touch on Wren's skin.
So maybe someday, Wren thinks, someday when the fires burn out. Maybe someday, she could be made for gentleness.