Eryshae

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Vael

Night pressed gently against the horizon as the camp settled into a rhythm. Rows of neatly pitched tents stood like disciplined ranks under the darkening sky, orange firelight flickering over canvas walls. The scent of ash, charred wood, and simmering broth mingled with the earthy perfume of pine and turned soil. Sparks crackled skyward from a dozen cookfires as the convoy prepared their evening meal.

Vael stood near the largest fire in the center of camp, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the edge of the tree line. She wore the composure expected of an Eryshae Princess, but inside her, unease threaded tightly around her lungs. Then; movement. Two figures stepped from the woods: Sam and the Druid. Guards straightened. A few offered Sam respectful nods and slight bows, as if unsure whether to treat him as the Vice-Chief or something... more.

Sam ignored the deference. His eyes were on Vael alone. He crossed the camp without slowing, without speaking, until he was close enough to reach for her face and press a kiss to her lips; firm, warm, anchoring. Vael's fingers curled into the front of his tunic, as if confirming his presence. When they parted, she breathed, "How did it go?" A quiet confidence passed across his features. "He's helping me."

She nodded slowly, studying his face, then glanced past his shoulder toward the trees. "Where is he?" Sam turned. The Druid was gone; vanished without sound or trace.

Sam let out a low breath, half-laughing as he held up a bundle wrapped in wide, veined leaves. "He left this. Fresh venison. Said it was a gift." Vael accepted it, lifting the warm parcel with both hands. Relief rushed through her; swift and unexpected. Sam was safe. The Druid had offered a gift, a gesture rarely made without meaning. He might not be theirs, not truly; but he wasn't against them either. At least not now. And that was enough.

She laid the meat on a wooden board, reaching for a tin of spices from her saddlebag; rosemary, garlic salt, a hint of crushed pepper. With practiced ease, she rubbed the seasoning into the meat, then set it to sizzle over the cast iron skillet resting on the flames.

Behind her, arms slid around her waist. Sam pressed his chest to her back and leaned in to kiss the curve of her neck. She tilted her head slightly, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself. "Missed you too," she murmured.

The meat hissed as it met the heat of the skillet, fat crackling and curling around the edges. Smoke drifted upward, curling into the night like a summoning spell. Sam held Vael a moment longer, cheek resting near her temple, before he released her and sat close by.

Vael turned the meat, careful and deliberate, her brow relaxing with each pass of the knife. When it was ready; seared on the outside, tender within; she carved a generous slice and placed it on a wooden plate, handing it to Sam. "You'll need your strength," she said, voice soft but steady. "Already feel stronger," Sam replied, then took a bite. He gave her a look that was half gratitude, half quiet awe. "You seasoned it perfectly."

Before Vael could respond, Commander Sidney approached from the inner ring of tents, her silhouette unmistakable even in low light. Her fiery red curls were tied back in a thick braid that burned like coals in the firelight, a bright contrast to her weathered armor and purposeful stride. A slight limp still marked her steps, but it did little to diminish the force of her presence.

Behind her came Cardinal Serene Liri, swathed in cream and gold, every line of her robe immaculate. She walked with poise, chin lifted just slightly too high for it to be humility. Her gaze flicked between Sam and Vael, then to the fire, the edge of a cool, unreadable smile on her lips.

"Commander. Cardinal," Vael greeted them, rising. "Please, sit with us. We've fresh venison, a gift from the Druid." Sidney offered a half-smile as she lowered herself to the fire's edge. "If it's hot and not salted strips, I'll bless it twice over."

Cardinal Liri inclined her head, seating herself with precise grace. "A generous gesture, from an unpredictable source." Her eyes lingered on Sam just long enough to press meaning between the lines.

Vael carved more slices, offering each a plate before taking a smaller portion for herself. They ate quietly at first, the fire popping between them, voices of guards murmuring in the distance. When the edge of hunger dulled, Commander Sidney leaned forward, elbows on her knees.

Cardinal Liri placed her cup down with a measured nod. "A gracious meal. I thank you both." Her eyes lingered again on Sam, then Vael, before she stood. "I'll retire early. Travel wears thinner these days."

She turned and moved toward her tent; larger than the rest, stitched from deep violet canvas and reinforced with gilded seams. It stood apart from the others, its entrance flap embroidered with the sigil of the Court. The interior glowed faintly from a lantern's light within, casting tall shadows against the tent walls.

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Vael watched her go with a subtle lift of her chin. Sam exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck before settling again near the fire. Commander Sidney stood, murmuring with a pair of guards who had wandered up with fresh torches and long spears. She was organizing watches, her voice low and efficient, eyes scanning the perimeter with a soldier's instinct.

Vael shifted closer to Sam, then moved into his lap with quiet certainty. He adjusted around her easily, arms circling her waist. She leaned into him, her cheek resting just beneath his collarbone, her breath soft against his neck.

The firelight danced across them, catching the glow of the bioluminescent veins threading Sam's arm. With Vael's touch, they pulsed and shifted; matching the cadence of his heartbeat. The light flowed gently beneath his skin, warm like moonlight through leaves.

Vael traced a finger down the glowing line, watching it curl slightly in response. "It's calmer now," she whispered. "Like you." Sam kissed the top of her head and held her a little tighter. "Maybe I just needed grounding."

"Or maybe," Vael murmured, "you're becoming what you were meant to be." The forest stirred beyond the firelight, but for now, they sat in quiet warmth, the night holding its breath around them.

The campfire had burned low, throwing soft golden shadows across the tented clearing. Most of the convoy had settled in for the night, the sounds of conversation fading into the chirp of crickets and the crackle of wood. Vael sat nestled in Sam's lap, the thick fur of his cloak draped around them both. His arms wrapped around her middle, his chin lightly resting against her shoulder. Her voice was quiet, almost tentative.

"I thought he might take you from me," she said, still watching the rhythm of the light on his arm. "The Druid. Magnolia. He didn't feel like a threat, exactly… but Druids never do until they do. They smile, they speak in riddles, and they carry life in one hand and death in the other."

She turned in his arms to face him more fully. "You're more than just our Vice-Chief, Sam. You're more than a symbol for the Nine Elders or this mission or diplomacy. You're mine. I waited for you by that fire and told myself to be still; but the truth is, if he'd hurt you, I would've started a war to bring you back."

Her voice caught, and she reached up, brushing his cheek. "I love you," she whispered. "I love you, Sam. Not just as the man beside me, but as the man I trust more than anyone. As the man I want to build something with after all of this."

Sam looked down at her, his arms tightening gently around her. He didn't speak right away; he just held her, his warmth grounding her in the cool night. Then he kissed her, slow and certain, the way a man kisses the one he's already chosen.

"You've always had me," he murmured against her lips. "Even before I knew it." He stood then, lifting her into his arms without effort. She made a soft sound of protest; half laughter, half breathless surprise; as he carried her toward their tent, the flap already drawn back from earlier. The fires outside dimmed as they disappeared inside together, shadows dancing across the canvas walls.

Inside the tent, the night wrapped around them like silk. The muted crackle of the fire outside barely reached within, but the warmth between them was more than enough. Sam set Vael down gently onto the bedroll layered with soft pelts and woven blankets, but he didn't let go of her. He knelt beside her, his hands on either side of her waist, his eyes searching hers in the flickering lantern light.

"I didn't mean to fall in love with you," he said softly, voice rough with honesty. "When this all began, I thought survival would be enough. That I could get back home and shield my heart. But then you started slipping past the walls I built without even trying; one soft word, one half-smile, one moment of trust at a time."

He lifted a hand and cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing beneath her eye. "You are the fiercest, most maddening, most extraordinary woman I've ever known. You lead with fire and fight with grace. I look at you and I see the whole world I want to protect."

He leaned in and kissed her again; slow, reverent. When he pulled back, his lips were still brushing her skin as he whispered:

"If I could plant my soul in soil,

it would rise in you like spring.

Not thorns, but roots;

winding deep to everything I am."

His lips found her ear, and he murmured another line:

"Your name, Vael, is the wind I breathe

and the home I never knew I missed."

She was quiet for a moment, stunned not by the eloquence but by the raw truth of it. His arms slipped around her again, and she let herself fall into him, her forehead against his chest. "I don't need crowns or titles," he whispered into her hair. "Just you. Just this."

Vael's breath hitched as Sam's words settled into the soft silence between them, weaving through her like a vow. She raised her hand to his cheek, her fingertips lightly brushing the edge of his jaw. "You always say exactly what I need to hear," she murmured, her voice thick with feeling. "Even when I don't know I need it."

Sam smiled gently, then kissed her; slow and tender, a deepening warmth that chased away the worries of the day. His hands moved with care, pulling her closer, guiding her back against the bedrolls. The lantern light danced across his face, golden over the sharp lines and soft shadows of him. Her fingers found the glowing lines along his arm again, and the veins brightened under her touch, blooming like light caught in the rhythm of a heart.

"You're my compass," he whispered against her lips. "My courage." He kissed her again; longer now, more intent; and her body answered with soft need, her hands threading into his hair as he pressed into her, his weight a comfort more than a demand.

Outside, the fire crackled low. Inside, the hush of their tent was filled with the warmth of shared breath and skin against skin, lips and whispered names. They undressed slowly, reverently; each garment a barrier removed not just from the body but from the space between souls.

When she lay beneath him, fingers curled around his wrist and eyes holding his gaze like tethered stars, she whispered, "Sam…" And he answered her in action, in touch, in devotion. The lantern flickered once, then dimmed. And the night took them gently into its arms.