It was an offer to share what troubled me so. I idly plucked a small lilac flower from the grass. “I can’t even remember what I dreamed about.” Not an outright lie; I genuinely couldn’t recall any details. Yet my nightmares were always about the same things: the fall of Yggdrasil, the war, his sentencing. Noctis did not pry further, his steady caress of my hair unwavering. But he probably knew.
“You were right. It is beautiful here. Peaceful,” he said, his voice tinged with unusual wistfulness. I moved my head, catching a hint ofvulnerability on his face.Do you long for peace?I might have asked.Are you also plagued by nightmares?
Monsters don’t have nightmares,Sha’am and many others allied with the side of Order would say.Nor do they deserve peace.Perhaps my life would be simpler if I could divide everything and everyone into neat little categories of black and white as well. Light and Darkness, Chaos and Order, Good and Evil. But I knew better. I had touched the heart of Darkness and seen the sparks of brightest Light amid the shadows. Noctis was haunted by more ghosts than I could ever fathom. As for what he deserved… Despite all he had done, I had never fully condemned him. I clung to a last sliver of hope against all odds.
No judgment between us. It held true, even now.
I reached up to his face, a cheeky smile lifting my lips as I placed my little flower behind his ear. “You would make such a lovely flower girl.”
Noctis shot me a narrow-eyed glare that likely would have sent his troops scattering in blind panic. I ignored it, my hand lingering, toying absentmindedly with a few dark locks of his hair.
“Your hair is getting too long,” I said. Its softness and the stark contrast against his pale skin had always fascinated me. It seemed to come alive, entwining around my fingers like living shadows. I could understand why he had cut it shorter than it had been during his time as a god, though. Without magic, it was a chore to care for.
“Are you offering to cut it for me?” Noctis’s voice held a slight rasp, betraying how much my touch affected him.
It was a good idea. While I did not think anyone in Dalath would recognize him, it was even more unlikely the less he looked like his former self.
My fingertips trailed over his temple, down to his cheekbone, and finally rested on his jaw, the stubble rough beneath my fingers. “Yes,when we get home.” Was it my explorations or my words that ignited such yearning in his eyes, causing my heart to ache as well?
“Home?” he asked.
Was I really contemplating allowing the man who had waged war against everything I had created, who had almost destroyed the world, who had broken my heart, to stay at my farm? Was I contemplating trusting him enough to ask him to help me defend all that I had grown to care for?
My mind weighed it all: the good and the bad, the pain and the joy, my fears and my hopes. It was my heart that decided.
“Home.” A soft confirmation, spoken with my gaze never leaving him. The disbelieving wonder on his face nearly undid me.
This time, there was no ignoring the rising tension between us. I agreed without discussion to his demand to ride Nacin down together. We checked on the araks one last time, using the two Air stones to set up a magical barrier, before I climbed up behind him on the stallion’s back. We would return in the morning to milk the herd. As I wrapped my arms around Noctis, pressing my face into the fabric of his tunic, his scent enveloped me. He took such a deep breath that I felt it resonate within me. The ride to the farm was over both too quickly and not soon enough.
I avoided his gaze as we tended to Nacin and stepped into the house. A faint tremble shook me. The reality of his presence, part of me acutely aware of the exact distance between us at every single moment, was overwhelming. I went into the kitchen and gulped down a glass of water, uncaring that I was revealing too much.
“We should head to the bathroom,” I blurted out after setting the empty glass down.
Noctis looked at me, utterly bewildered. “You want to cut my hair now?”
“Yes, why not?” I answered, bustling past him, aware my voice was too high, and that it was far too early to retire inside the house.
“As you like.” His expression was carefully controlled as he followed me. But I noticed the quick pulse at the side of his neck.
What are you doing?part of me wondered incredulously as I guided him into the bathroom. I didn’t know. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to stop. I retrieved a small stool and gestured toward the sink, briefly explaining that wetting his hair would make things easier.
Noctis stopped me with a hand on my arm. “I can do that myself.”
I shook my head. “No, let me.”
He stopped protesting as I arranged all the necessary items along the sink’s edge: a towel, a comb, scissors, and shampoo. First, I was going to indulge, though.
“Take off your tunic.”
To my delight, Noctis simply followed my order. No hesitation, not even one single taunt at the fact that I wanted him to undress. Only quick, efficient movements. His tunic dropped to the floor. Suddenly, my bathroom felt like the smallest space in all of Aron-Lyr. I moved slowly, grounding myself in each sensation. The smoothness of his skin under my fingertips as I tilted his head back over the sink; the warmth of the water cascading down as I activated thelyrin-stones; the soft moan escaping him as I lathered his hair, my fingers kneading his scalp with intentional pressure; the fragrance of snowdrops filling my senses.
“You still use the same shampoo, don’t you?” Noctis murmured, his voice relaxed, his eyes closed. “I always loved that scent.”
He remembered it, even after all these years. “Not exactly the same,” I replied. “Tanez used to make it for me in Lyrheim.”
Being so close to him both ached like an unhealed wound and soothed all my pain. I could see the shadows his long lashes cast onhis cheekbones, could feel every exhale of breath, could savor the heat of his body. The dark strands of his hair slid around my fingers like silk as I rinsed out the soapy water.
“This feels nice,” he murmured. It was over too soon, so I decided to wash his hair a second time, unabashedly drawing this out. Noctis did not complain, though he must have been getting a crick in his neck. He leaned into my touch, groaning softly whenever my fingers found a new sensitive spot. Swept away by the dreamy atmosphere, I let my gaze—and then my hands—wander, gliding down the side of his neck, tempted by the visible proof of our connection until I couldn’t resist anymore. Noctis froze as my fingers traced over the words etched on his skin and followed the elegant swirls above them.
