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It’s the way their fingers lace together that convinces him it's real. Her kiss he has remembered a thousand times, but to hold her hands is to be entwined so seamlessly with her in so many simple ways that it is undeniable.
The crease of the lines on her palm press into his hand.
Her hands are still soft, even in spite of the calluses from her worn down fingers. She has worked too hard, struggled too unfairly, and he wants to press his lips to the toughened skin and allow it to ease with time and gentleness.
With each movement of her fingers he is reminded of the subtle movements she has always saved just for him. The lingering of her fingers in each stroke against his skin, the gentle pressure of her hand holding him. Even in this forever he can tell she holds on a little tighter than she would in the days before.
“Ir tel ghilas, Vhenan,” I am not leaving.
He couldn’t, but even if it were to be so he wouldn’t.
Now that he has given in there is nothing but the fate they share. In this place there is redemption, in this place she may walk alongside him for eternity, and thus his atonement selfishly fulfills his greatest wish.
Her hand grips him affectionately as she smiles up at him, tighter, but with less anxiety. He cannot comprehend how he can bring her such peace after he has hurt her so. But her kindness, her capacity for forgiveness, was always something I admired, he cannot help but think.
“Ar lath ma,” she murmurs as he memorizes the way each of her fingertips feels pressed against his own.
It is just another thing he will covet alongside her as they walk this road together.