Chapter 39.1

Eirwen waited patiently at her base, her senses keeping an eye on the room where Red, Flannán, received treatment. He had insisted on only basic treatment initially, with many refugees and mercenaries in need of more. But once the healers had everything under control, Bethan had rushed back and forced him to undergo treatment.

The tenth bell had rung about ten moments ago when finally, Eirwen sensed Bethan withdraw her mana and get up. She came out of the room and nodded at Eirwen. "He'll need time to recover, but I see no reason why it won't be a full one. Dare I say his recovery is inevitable?" She grinned while several people, including Red, groaned. "He should rest but you can go talk with him for now. Just don't exhaust him, he needs his energy for healing." Eirwen rolled her eye as she moved past the healer, her doorguards staying outside as she closed the door behind her.

Red was laying on his stomach, topless, allowing Eirwen to see just how much of a mess he had become. Freshly healed spots of skin, where Bethan's handiwork had prevented new scars from appearing. Burns that had singed off most hairs on his back, leaving few enough that he'd be better off getting rid of the rest as well. And under his skin, his pathways were still damaged. He circulated his mana with care. Most of it he simply kept away, focusing it in his head and heart. Only very small amounts moved throughout his body, leaking out his back.

She studied the damage with her senses. It'd recover, but it appeared as nasty to her senses as a full-body burn would. He grinned at the way she looked him over. "I'd ask if you're enjoying the sight, but it feels as if you'd smack me, and I'm a bit too injured for that. No worries, the damage isn't as bad as it seems. A few days of rest should suffice."

"I know." She rolled her eyes, before leaning against the desk in the corner of the room. For a few counts, she gathered her thoughts. "Honestly, Flannán, I'm not happy with the sights. I wish you had pushed yourself a bit less at the end. That'd have hurt you far less, and it wouldn't have made me worry as much."

He shifted and groaned a bit. She knew full well he could have held that in, but he obeyed her demand for honesty even now. Moving on his side, he looked at her properly. "Flannán, huh. The name will take time getting used to. I'd hate to sound ungrateful, but is it okay if we stick to Red for now?"

She grinned in turn. "Maybe I should call you Sir Caisteal? I did technically knight you, so I could just use that. You're the one that uses given names for everyone, I tend to use surnames." He looked at her, more serious than she had anticipated over her joke, before a twinkle appeared in his eyes.

"You'd be surprised by yourself there, Mo Clòimhneag. I feel like you've not only used given names more often recently, but even mentally you have become more comfortable. The distance between you and your subordinates has shrunk. It's been a pleasure to see, as it means you're slowly mending."

A blush shot up her cheeks as she realised that he was right. Not fair. How dare he understand her that well. "Okay, I give. I'll call you Red. Don't call me your snowflake, please, that just sounds weird." He smiled kindly at her surrender.

She sighed and shook her head at him. "You changed the subject. I really worried about you, you know. The way you forced all that mana out, I feared it'd lash back at you. It also left you vulnerable." If she hadn't been able to interfere, she wasn't sure what would have happened.

"I understand. Unfortunately, I had pushed past my limits. I feared that holding it in would cause my pathways to fully rupture. I could have released it more reliably, but Crimson was already at its limits." His eyes moved towards the desk, where his sword rested in its scabbard. "It already will not be properly usable any more, but if I had forced everything through it there, it'd have shattered in my hands. So I got sentimental."

She looked at him while holding her emotions away from her face. Of course he had. Crimson was a symbol of what he had made of himself, and the sword he had pledged to her. It was no surprise then to hear he didn't want to break it. And he had indeed pushed it past its limits, like he had done to himself. But that didn't make events worry her any less. She distracted herself with a playful complaint. "I thought we had agreed to not burn people?"

"I thought we had agreed that manifestation was sealed? Instead, you cut off an Elder Frost Giant's head for all to see." He played it as a joke, but his eyes were filled with worry. Not about the technique itself, but about her. He put that aside for now. "And yes, if I had been able to use Crimson, I'd have done differently. But with their king gone, maybe it's a good thing that they fear the flame again."

That made sense, even if it was an explanation he had come up with afterwards. Not even he would have been able to think that through on the spot. His plans had purely changed by instinct. She paused once more, gathering her thoughts. He pushed himself up to a seated position and waited patiently for her to speak.

"Take my name."

He blinked at her. Of all the expectations he might have had, all the possibilities he had considered, this clearly hadn't been one of them.

"I want you to take my name. Caisteal was but a temporary one, one that fits your origin, but I don't like it. I don't want to look at you and feel like you are only at home here. I want to see you dyed in my colours, wearing my coat of arms, marked as mine for the world to see. I want you to carry on my name with me. Show everyone that you belong to me, belong with me."

She put her hand on Crimson's scabbard, looking at it for a few counts, before facing him again. Facing her emotions. "You pledged your life and sword to me. Swore to serve me. Obey my commands, put your own guilt aside and gave yourself to me once more. It's not enough. I know you gave me everything willingly, but it's not enough. I don't want to just have you in my bedchamber, hold on to you only in private. I need you to be mine by your own volition. Mine for the world to see. So for that, I release you of your vows. I free you of your binds. Your name is Red Caisteal and you get to decide your own fate. Not I, not your guilt, not the kingdom, none other get a say here. It's in your hands alone."

She held up a hand while taking a deep breath. As she released it, so did she release her mask, letting her emotions flow into her eyes the way he did his. Showed him her love, her pain, her longing. "Years ago I stole your heart and kept it with me. I return it to you now, hoping that this time you will give it to me willingly, let me possess it, possess you, for all eternity. So I ask you now, Red. Will you marry me?"

He moved faster than on the battlefield, fast enough that she could see the grimace as he overly stressed his body, just before his mouth met hers and he embraced her while his tongue moved past her lips. Their kiss didn't falter until he had to breath, which in his current condition was far sooner than she'd have liked. He rested his forehead against hers while struggling to get his breath back under control, not sure whether to keep his eyes closed or look at her, a joyful grin on his face which matched her own as he answered. "Yes." Another breath. "Yes, M'fhíorghra. By my own will, by my own love, by my own decision. My heart is yours beyond my dying days."

As his lips moved towards hers again, they both closed their eyes and withdrew their senses. A slower kiss this time, gentle beyond gentle, while the world stopped existing for but a moment. After all those years, truly together at last.